The Golden Age of Television: Sky King

Every once in a while, you see a reference to The Golden Age of Television, those sublime years in the 1950’s when a new play by Paddy Chayefsky was televised every other night, and Kitty Carlisle sat around discussing Kirkegaard with Bennet Cerf.

I, apparently, couldn’t stay up late enough to see any of the good and brainy stuff.

What I remember of TV in the 1950’s – and I remember plenty of it – was in good part complete and utter dreck: lousy comedians, simpering family shows, wooden dramas. Sure, there were some shows that have stood the test of time  - I still like The Honeymooners. But there was one whole heck of a lot of crap on those three measly networks.

This all came to mind when I saw the obituary of Gloria Winters in The New York Times a couple of weeks back. (Once a reader of the Irish sports pages, always a reader of the Irish sports pages, I guess.)

Gloria Winters, you may ask. And admittedly I would have as well if the header hadn’t read:  Gloria Winters, Perky Star of Wholesome ‘Sky King’, Dies.

I knew at once: Penny, adoring niece of adoring uncle, Sky King.  And don’t let those cowboy duds or the stage-coachy looking thing in the background fool you. Sky King was no cowpoke; he was a flying rancher, who flew around the Flying Crown Ranch in The Songbird.  The plots of the show were astoundingly forgettable, and I say that because I have an astoundingly good memory, and the only episode I remember is one in which Penny got in trouble with Uncle Sky for turning on The Songbird and using the propellers as a hair dryer. (Oh, that perky, wholesome Penny!)

I did have something of a crush on Clipper, Penny’s brother, and if he wasn’t featured in an episode, I kind of lost interest.

“Sky King” was just one of the many lousy shows aimed at kids, many of which – quite creepily – featured men that, given today’s sensibilities, you wouldn’t let your kid within a barge pole of. (Ever check out the camp director on Spin and Marty? Today’s parents would rather see their sons join the Dead End Kids than hang out at the Triple R Boys Ranch.)

Many of these shows featured absent mothers, or absent parents, entirely, which I suppose was part of the appeal for the kids in the audience. (Who among us didn’t occasionally if fleetingly wish that we’d be spirited away from our “real” families and get to live with some benevolent relation who would adore us with the same only-have-eyes-for-you fervor that the men in Shirley Temple movies bestowed on little Shirley. (Talk about unwholesome geezer interest in ringleted little girls. Ewww. We got to see a lot of these movies because, when there were no crummy TV shows on, Boston Movie Time showed crummy B&W films from the 1930’s.)

So where were Penny and Clipper’s folks? 

I know that Peter Graves, who played Jim, was a nice guy and all that, but what in tarnation was Joey doing living with Jim and Pete-the-ranch-hand on that isolated ranch on Fury?  How were those guys all related? And to think that little Packy’s parents let him go over there to play. Or maybe Packy was another orphan. (And if I have this right, Fury was filmed on the Spahn Ranch, where the Manson family lived. talk about creepy.)

Rin Tin Tin was another one. Nary a woman in sight, which wasn’t surprising, given that it took place on an Army fort smack dab in the middle of wild Indian territory. But why didn’t Corporal Rusty have a mom and dad? Sure, it’s nice to have a handsome Army lieutenant (Lt. Rip Masters), and a good-humored, cuddly Irish sergeant (Sgt. Biff O’Hara) looking out for you, not to mention having a swell German shepherd like Rinty, but still…

Which didn’t keep me from loving this show, even though I didn’t like Rusty at all. (He was certainly no Clipper King, that’s for sure.) My favorite episode – whose wasn’t – was the one where Rusty was going to be trampled by a herd of stampeding buffalo, which were stopped dead in their tracks by the sight of a white buffalo. (Cue mystical, angelic choir music.)

Sky King. Fury. Rin Tin Tin. I’d rather watch the Teletubbies, thanks.

And I think I’m more inclined to agree with Newton Minnow, who referred to TV as a wasteland, than to those who think of the 1950’s as The Golden Age of Television.

As I said, they probably got to stay up later and watch the good stuff. They certainly weren’t sitting their on Saturday morning, eating Sugar Pops out of a melmac bowl, watching Penny plane-dry her hair on Sky King.