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.