Boy's 15 minutes of fame rigged by quiz show

Boy's 15 minutes of fame rigged by quiz show

By James Penha

JAKARTA (JP): A member of the original television generation, I grew up in front of a small cathode ray tube. Color cartoons in black and white, I Love Lucy, and especially the quiz shows made up my day.

I think I gained more cultural literacy from Hal March, Jack Barry, Bert Parks and all the other TV quizmasters than from my beloved books. And, although I learned to reason in school, my mastering of the intricate rules of those first video games honed a sense of cause and effect -- an imperfect sense I learned later.

Robert Redford's new film Quiz Show reminds me of those days and of those programs and of my tiny role in the saga of the scandal that ultimately rocked American television in the 1950s. My own part was barely a pebble. So small that, at the time, I didn't even notice its place in the landslide.

Because my family lived in New York City, the capital of live television in the 1950s, I frequently had the opportunity during my childhood to join the studio audience for my favorite quiz shows. At the close of every broadcast, as the hot lights dimmed, each show's producer invited people up for interviews. I knew I was too young to have a chance on Dotto or Tic Tac Dough or Break the Bank, but The Big Payoff, a daily program on the Columbia Broadcasting System, presented a weekly segment on which a child could win US$500 in prizes by answering three general-knowledge questions.

One day, after my mother and I had witnessed a Big Payoff broadcast, I waited for an interview. I wanted my shot at the $500 and at TV stardom. The producer asked my name and age and what my hobbies were. He sought to discern, I knew, whether I had the ebullience and fluency required of a contestant on live TV. As well, I focused his attention on my intellectual ability to survive a contest. "What subjects do you enjoy in the third grade, Jackie?"

"History and reading," I replied.

"What are you studying in History now?"

"The discovery of America."

"Can you tell me how many ships Columbus had?"

"Three: the Nina, the Pinta, the Santa Maria," I proclaimed loudly, ebulliently. I congratulated myself on how smart a little boy I was.

"Very good. And what book have you read in school lately?"

"The fairy tales of Hans Christian Anderson."

"Then have you seen," said the producer, "that new Danny Kaye movie?"

"Oh, yes, for my birthday my mom took me to see Hans Christian Anderson at Radio City Music Hall. I love musicals; I love Danny Kaye," I said. Might my appearance on The Big Payoff mark the debut of a new Danny Kaye, I wondered.

"Do you like pop music as much as you enjoy movie musicals?"

"Sure," my family didn't own a record player in those days, so radio's top forty determined my tastes in songs. "I really like That Amore by Dean Martin."

"Can you sing any of it?"

Here was an opportunity to demonstrate the kind of ebullience producers think viewers want to see on quiz shows. I stood and belted out "When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie...that's amore..." I'm sure my squeaky voice made me sound more like Jerry Lewis than Dean Martin, but was I ever ebullient.

"Okay, Jackie, if we ever decide to invite you to be on the show, we'll call you the week before the broadcast."

By the time my mother and I had reached home after our long subway ride from Manhattan, my elder brother had already answered a telephone call from the producer. I would be a contestant on The Big Payoff the following Tuesday.

I skipped school to be sure to be at the studio well in advance of the program's three o'clock start on that day. My mom made me wear a blue shirt (better for television, the producer had told her) and my most colorful bow tie.

Soon after 3 p.m., hostess Bess Meyerson escorted me to my mark opposite quizmaster Warren Hull. I was on the air. I heard the audience applaud although I couldn't see beyond the lights and cameras trained on Warren and me. I noticed Warren's pock- marked face; it didn't look that way on the TV screen at home. And I saw that Warren said nothing besides the words he read from big posters hoisted by a crewman, Welcome Jackie. If you answer three questions, you will win prizes worth $500 including a nineteen-inch Sylvania television set and a cocker spaniel puppy!, or from the small question-and-answer cards he held in the palm of his hand.

"Okay, Jackie, here's Question One: In 1492, Christopher Columbus sailed to the New World with three ships: the Nina, the Pinta, and...what was the name of his third ship?"

Without a pause I yelled, "The Santa Maria."

I heard Warren say "RIGHT", and the audience applauded. Warren proceeded. "Question Two: In the current movie, what actor-singer plays the title role of fairy-tale writer Hans Christian Anderson?"

"Danny Kaye."

"RIGHT again."

This was even easier than answering questions at home. One more and I was a winner.

"Now Jackie, here's your musical question. Listen to the band play a few notes and name the popular song from which they come."

I listened. What luck. How well I knew those notes. I sang the words to myself..."When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie," until the band stopped, and then I shouted, ebulliently, "That's Amore!"

"RIGHT" screamed Warren. Out came Bess with my new puppy.

The dog died within the week, but my celebrity lingered in the neighborhood, in my family and at school.

No one knew that the fix had been in. It never even occurred to me that I had been anything but so, so smart.

...until the newspapers revealed those scandalous secret arrangements by which the winners and losers on supposedly fair TV quiz shows had been pre-ordained by producers and executives. Then I realized just how smart I had been on the all-too- accurately named Big Payoff.

Redford's Quiz Show tells the whole story.