The phrase has entered our lexicon. Pose a challanging query to someone and you’ll get the response, “That is the $64,000 question!” It’s the big enchilada, something you probably don’t know the answer to and if it turns out you do know it, well then you’re perceived to be unusually smart. Back in the mid-1950s, however, the expression was a symbol of the magic of television, the merger of entertainment and education.
After all is said and done, it was a game show. Reality television may think of itself as “of the moment” but its origins are with the earlier days of television when live contestants — regular guys and gals looking very much like your next door neighbor — performed on game shows: The Price is Right, Name that Tune, What’s My Line? The $64,000 Question. These programs (or the incarnations that are on the air today) are a little bit of reality, a small dose of magic, an ounce or two of smarts, and 50 percent dumb luck.
But as real as it all seemed, there was also an element of unreality to these programs. “Guess how much a box of cereal costs and win a new Chevrolet,” or “After hearing only three notes, name the oldie but goodie and you’ll win a vacation to a mystery foreign port.” When did you last call up a friend and say, “Guess what is behind my garage door and I’ll give you a new BBQ?” Who thinks up these things?
Charles Van Doren was a contestant. But he wasn’t the boy next door. He was the son of a famous Columbia University professor — and he was smart, clever, handsome, and an advertiser’s delight. He was intrigued by the spectacle of fame and apparently not displeased at the thought of winning a pot of gold.
In a piece in the July 28 New Yorker, Van Doren describes the circumstances surrounding his appearances on television and his fall from grace. I found the piece to be a mixture of honesty, sadness, and some disingenuousness. You’ll want to read it yourself. I’m here to add a postscript.
For those of you who may be too young to remember Charles Van Doren or the events that brought him into public view in 1956-57, I’ll simply say that he was the focus of a TV quiz show. He was a contestant; he won week after week after week. At the time, he was a lecturer in English at Columbia University. I myself was an undergraduate student there, concurrently. A classmate of mine has just shared a story with me that I think adds to the Van Doren piece in the magazine.
He and a friend were walking through the lobby of Hartley Hall, at the time an undergraduate residence, when they saw Van Doren sitting in one of the large, overstuffed leather lounge chairs. They recognized him and because he was a source of pride to all of us, they went over to tell him how much they enjoyed watching him prevail in the competitions and to extend congratulations. Dr. Van Doren was polite, appreciative, he thanked them and then he invited them to sit down in two adjacent chairs and he said, “You know, what I’m doing there on television isn’t really important. It’s celebrity, its inconsequential; it is a memory trick. Don’t give it more credit than it deserves. What is really important,” he said, pointing to the campus, “is what we do here.” I think this little story helps to illuminate and testifies to the authenticity of the Charles Van Doren reflection that he has published all these years later. That is the real answer to the $64,000 question. Van Doren always knew what was important and of course, that what makes the whole story even more melancholy.
Van Doren describes his early conversations with the television executives, the spiel used to lure him in, then goes on to say: “I must have put the whole thing out of my mind, but about a week after my conversation … I suddenly found myself in the studio, with the red light glowing above the camera.” He speaks as if the razzle-dazzle of television somehow overwhelmed him and that he’s unsure what got him from his home or office into the studio. I’m a bit skeptical. Nevertheless, from that moment the point-shaving began and not unlike sports scandals, so did the drama. Who would win and who would lose? Were the game-show hosts deceiving the public or entertaining the audience? Television has struggled for decades to decide which way to go and more often than not, it mixes up the pot.
When an actor under contract for a network comes on a morning news program (owned by the same network) to promote his new evening drama series — news or entertainment? Appearing on a late-night entertainment program — Leno or Letterman is entertainment but on Good Morning America or Today — well, then, what’s the audience to believe? “I’m not really a doctor, I just play one on television.” “I’m not really very smart, I just play a quiz contestant on television.”
What motivated Van Doren? Differentiating himself from his father, making lots of money, garnering a bit of fame, excitement at being part of a new medium, or a mix of all of the above? He was human, which as the devil knows equals vulnerable to temptation. We still wonder how it could have happened and if the punishment over half a century fit the crime.
