Here's a replay from December 14 of 2001. Not much to add to it today except to say that I wish some cable channel would find a place for Ed Sullivan reruns. A pretty large number of the old shows still exist and I think they hold up fairly well. The show was so fast-paced that it's tough to get bored with even the lamest of acts. They'd be gone in about the time it would take you to find your remote control and locate the Fast Forward button. I imagine there might be clearance issues here and there but I do think there'd be an audience for it. If nothing else, it might reach the older audience as well as any of those channels filled with commercials for Rascal scooters and staircase lifts…
I'm on a deadline and I didn't have anything in particular I wanted to post here, so I thought I'd throw together a quick update. The photo above was selected just because I thought it was kinda neat, and because I somehow neglected to say anything here upon the passing of George Harrison.
I wasn't the only one who took scant notice. Had the events of 9/11 not already plunged a lot of folks into a state of ongoing mourning — and made us thoroughly conscious of our own, meager mortalities — the death of another fourth of The Beatles would have been a major kick in the karma.
As I look at the above photo, I can't help but think what Ed Sullivan must have been thinking as it was taken…something along the lines of, "The people I have to put up with to keep my show high in the ratings." From all reports, America's Master Showman — at least on Sunday nights on CBS — had no special affection for any of the zillions of singers and comedians and jugglers and performing anthropoids who traipsed across the stage where Mr. Letterman now works. Ed just loved the success and the money and especially the fame. When in one famous network match-up, Steve Allen went head-to-head against him on NBC, a lot of TV reporters wagered heavily on Steverino. After all, it was Steve, the man who could do anything — sing, do jokes, play piano, write songs, etc. — against Ed, the man who couldn't even introduce Jack Carter without it coming out "Jack Carson." (My fave of all the reported Sullivan gaffes was the time he described an actress as "currently starving on Broadway.")
Sullivan was an appallingly amateurish host, but that was an indicator of his greatest skill: He was a survivor. When he first started hosting The Toast of the Town — later redubbed The Ed Sullivan Show — just about everyone on TV was appallingly amateurish. Ed just had the tenacity and drive that allowed him to stick around, long after the professionals had encamped. It was almost charming that he never got any better.
But he hung in there. He beat The Steve Allen Show because, I suspect, he had the greater need to succeed. After all, Allen knew that if his show got cancelled, there'd be another Steve Allen Show along, sooner or later — and there was. (There were several, in fact.) Sullivan, it is said, lived with the belief that his show was his one shot at being a famous, well-paid TV star. He believed — probably accurately — that once it went off, he'd be back to being just another sports/Broadway columnist in the increasingly less-lucrative newspaper industry. So he fought like mad, trampling over competitors to book the biggest stars, the hottest acts…which led to the night The Beatles graced his stage.
In the Billy Crystal movie, Mr. Saturday Night, the comedian character he played had the misfortune to be booked that night to precede John, Paul, Ringo and George. This meant facing an audience of hysterical teen-age girls who resented every second anyone not from Liverpool was on stage. Well, that happened…to my friends, Charlie Brill and Mitzi McCall, who were the luckless comedy team on that evening's show. Charlie can still wake up in a cold sweat, recalling the worst challenge any comic has ever faced.
But it made them a part of history…for something changed in America that night. When Elvis graced the Sullivan line-up — from the waist up — the change commenced, and when The Fab Four sang "She Loves You" or "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" or whatever they performed that night, the transformation was complete. The youth of the day had won, and the world would be all about them from that moment on…with the music of The Beatles often playing in the background.
I have no idea how much George Harrison had to do with this revolution, though I doubt he was carrying pictures of Chairman Mao. Perhaps he was just one of those historical figures who was fortunate enough to be near the epicenter when the Earth moved. Everyone seems to feel that John and Paul were the heart and brains of the band, not necessarily in that order.
Perhaps Mr. Harrison was just a good musician. His solo albums — which I seem to have liked more than a lot of rabid Beatles fans did — would bear that out. But, hey, he financed a couple of the better Monty Python projects and even put in a cameo in The Rutles…and I don't recall anyone ever saying anything bad about him. For that alone, we should weep for the man…that is, when we're not weeping for the sad fact that The Beatles, and therefore a lot of us, are now old men. Physically, at least.