Red Skelton

by Wes Gehring

  While I applaud Skelton’s enthusiastic spirit here, especially given my own youthful ardor for all things Crockett, I would be remiss if I did not point out that Skelton’s pooh-poohing of actual facts about the frontiersman (in favor of the legend) is precisely how he constructed his own life story. Granted, for a Disney children’s program such as Crockett, excising a possible notion of “clay feet” is perfectly understandable. But in the adult biography realm, tweaking one’s personal history, though a common human temptation, can jettison the most interesting part of the story.

  A third 1950s event that provided entertaining headlines for Skelton was boxer Rocky Marciano’s guest appearance on the show in the fall of 1956. The only undefeated heavyweight champion in history, Marciano had retired with great fanfare earlier that year, including a front-page story in the New York Times.46 Moreover, when Marciano was on a visit to the nation’s capital to receive a “man of the year” award, President Eisenhower said the boxer had demonstrated “qualifications of sportsmanship, courage, character and citizenship.”47 (This was still a time when boxing, after baseball, remained the most closely covered sport in America.) Given Marciano’s still young age, comeback stories frequently peppered the sports section of newspapers across the country. Consequently, that was the comedy slant taken for his visit to Skelton’s program—a “comeback” against Cauliflower McPugg.

  In a special Los Angeles Examiner article titled “Rocky vs. McPugg,” the former champion played it straight and said, “If I can get on my bicycle [keep moving away from my opponent] and last the distance with Cauliflower, then I’ve had it.”48 Besides allowing Marciano to have some fun with sportswriters, his high-profile visit to Skelton’s program is emblematic of another improvement to the show by the mid-1950s—better guest stars.

  While one could argue that tactic would improve any program, it was especially helpful for sidekick-free Skelton. Many of the other pivotal small-screen comedians during that decade had a memorable teammate or two: Jackie Gleason had Art Carney and Audrey Meadows; Jack Benny had Eddie “Rochester” Anderson and Don Wilson; and Sid Caesar had Carl Reiner, Imogene Coca, and Howard Morris. The overkill of too much Skelton and less than notable guests (when he even had guests) had probably contributed to the poor ratings of the early 1950s. A judicious rotation of Skelton’s comedy characters, and special guests such as Marciano, however, had changed all that by mid-decade.

  Indeed, at the time of Marciano’s visit to Skelton’s show, the champ even seemed imbued with the populist spirit of a Skelton character. In a much-noted interview earlier that year, Marciano recalled winning the title from Jersey Joe Walcott: “I started to holler,” he said in his soft, gentle voice, and I wanted to whoop it up because I was so thrilled at winning. But when I looked at him [on the canvas] all I could think of was, ‘Gee, he must feel awful.’ I just didn’t have the heart to do it [celebrate].”49

  Just how synonymous to Skelton’s mid-1950s show a famous guest had become can be gauged from an episode of Gleason’s The Honeymooners (1955–56). These acclaimed original thirty-nine episodes rarely make note of other television programming, with the exception of Ed Norton’s (Art Carney) obsession with the children’s show Captain Video. But in the Honeymooner installment, “Here Comes the Bride” (first broadcast February 25, 1956), two comic references are made to Skelton and guest Boris Karloff. The catalyst is Ralph Kramden’s (Gleason) advice to a soon-to-be-married friend about not moving in with his in-laws: “Sure they seem like nice people. Now, they seem like nice people. Boris Karloff seems like a nice guy when he’s dancing on the Red Skelton Show, too. Did you ever see him in Frankenstein? That’s the real Karloff. And you’ll meet the real relatives when you move into that house.” What accents this Skelton guest star phenomenon all the more is that when this Honeymooner episode was broadcast, Karloff had yet to appear on Skelton’s show! But the reference works because viewers had become used to famous Skelton guest stars doing the unusual, such as a Karloff dancing, or a real heavyweight champion fighting Cauliflower McPugg.

  Skelton as boxer Cauliflower McPugg (circa 1956). (Wes D. Gehring Stills Collection)

  The year 1956 also saw several news articles related to Skelton’s writing. The focus was on two projects: a biography of writer Fowler and a screenplay titled Redso, the Clown. (References to Redso had initially begun to appear in 1948, but at that time authorship was credited to Stillwell.50) These and other previously mentioned Skelton writing projects have fallen through the cracks of time. Yet, they were very real and important goals to the comedian, though he seldom shared that significance with the public. One rare exception occurred with writer James Bacon: “Skelton admits that his lucrative life as a clown has gotten in the way of a secret desire to be a writer.”51 For the Skelton biographer, however, his “desire to be a writer” is sadly documented by boxes and boxes of unpublished tales, essays, and story fragments in Vincennes University’s Red Skelton Collection.

  The comedian reveals in one autobiographical piece that Fowler helped give structure to his passions “When he discovered that I, in a very primitive way, took a blank sheet of paper and … [wrote daily,] he was more than surprised. ’Course, I was more surprised than he when he sat me down and calmly said: ‘You have talent in the writing field but God knows you have a lot to learn.’ So I tried. He became my teacher. His lessons and criticisms were love, fun. The most serious of all subjects, life itself, became fun to jot down.”52

  What makes such tutelage fascinating for a Skelton biographer is that Fowler’s approach to writing would have reinforced Skelton’s predisposition to entertainingly mix fact and fiction in pursuit of telling a better and often more sentimental story. Fowler, a longtime journalist, was best known after 1930 as a scriptwriter and best-selling biographer of show-business personalities. A pivotal insight to this later Fowler writing canon comes from the fact that his first significant newspaper job was under the sponsorship of the legendary Damon Runyon, who was famous for his colorful, slang-filled tales about New York and/or Broadway characters with big hearts, strange names, and imaginative styles of speech. Films showcasing his wonderful characters were very popular at the time of the Fowler-Skelton friendship, and included The Lemon Drop Kid (1951), Stop, You’re Killing Me (1952), and Guys and Dolls (1955).

  Given that hyperbolic “anecdotes in the best Front Page [journalism] tradition” were still being told about Fowler years after he left the newspaper business, and that his apocryphal writing style often embraced earthy “gutter terms,” one could even argue he achieved a certain Runyonesque status himself.53 Granted, Fowler’s biographies are more anchored in fact than a Runyan short story, but Fowler still had a tall-tale component he brought to his profiles. For example, as a young reader of Fowler’s biography of pioneering screen comedy producer Mack Sennett, Father Goose (1934), I remember thinking the book was aptly titled, since the author seemed very “creative” (fairy tale-like) with the facts. Consistent with that, the New York Times’s positive review did include the following observation: “Most of the book is written in a style that befits its cinema relationship, a slapstick, dramatic, tinseled, vulgar, incredible yarn that is often, apparently, short on facts and long on imagination and invention. It runs over with anecdotes about movie actors and producers, that the reader can believe or not, as he thinks best. But they are always effectively told.”54

  Fowler’s later biographies, such as his group portrait of the alcoholic quartet—John Barrymore, W. C. Fields, painter John Decker, and poet Sadakichi Hartmann—Minutes of the Last Meeting (1954), are obviously more grounded in fact. Nevertheless, Fowler’s longtime drinking friendship with this foursome, as well as the subjects of several other books, could lead to hyperbolic tendencies. One might call it a trade off, exaggeration mixed with insight, such as his poignant verdict that the quartet’s knowing embrace of substance abuse made them “their own executioners.”55

  Regardless, Skelton’s study of Fowler’s writing, whi
ch the comedian diligently pursued, would have renewed Skelton’s tendencies toward tall tales in his personal life. Moreover, an examination of the Skelton essays and short stories at Vincennes University also suggest that the Fowler influence even muddied an interpretation of Skelton’s fiction, which is often peppered with real people and places. Thus, one has both exaggerated autobiographical writing on one hand, and what might be called “Red’s take on historical fiction” on the other. Sadly, neither Skelton’s projected biography of Fowler, nor Fowler’s planned volume on Skelton, were ever realized. They might have revealed a great deal more about their teacher-student relationship.

  Skelton’s fifth memorable 1950s news story involves the remnants of his movie career. Despite film’s constant second-class status in the comedian’s pecking order, behind radio and then television, Skelton was a major film star into the early 1950s. Ironically, even during the midst of Skelton’s universally panned second television season, The Clown was a critical and commercial hit. Unfortunately, the remainder of his sporadic 1950s screen work has been unfairly denigrated, starting with Half a Hero (1953). Skelton and Jean Hagen, the actress with the glass-shattering voice from Singin’ in the Rain (1952), play a young couple who cannot afford a move to the trendy suburbs. Skelton biographer Arthur Marx, the one and only source on the comedian for years, mistakenly implied that Hero opened to uniformly bad reviews.56 Marx’s only research on the subject seems to have been a funny but inaccurate crack Skelton was fond of making for years after Hero’s release. As late as 1956, Skelton told the Los Angeles Mirror critic, “[The movie was so bad] they were afraid to show it at the Chinese [Grauman’s] Theater for fear the [movie star] footprints [in cement] would get up and walk away.”57

  In point of fact, Skelton the actor received excellent notices for Hero. Variety stated, “Skelton’s subdued comedy comes over very well in aiming at the heart more than the funny bone.”58 The Hollywood Reporter called the film “a warm, mirthful domestic comedy presenting Red Skelton at his best.”59 Under the headline, “Timid Skelton Does Fine Job,” the Los Angeles Examiner said, “Both Red and Jean let the story provide the laughs by remaining in character throughout, and with their combined flair for comedy, there’s no dearth of fun.”60 A less manic Skelton probably lessened the box office, yet MGM records document that Hero showed a profit.61 This was no small accomplishment in a television-driven decade, with ever-dwindling box office receipts.

  So why did Skelton kid about the film’s lack of success? There are several possible answers. It was not a monster hit, like so many of his earlier movies. Hero also came at a time when he was essentially closing down a career in pictures. Consequently, implying it was a bomb represented an easy explanation as to why he focused on television. Mainly, the “anti-Hero” crack is symptomatic of what self-deprecating comedians do. For example, Jack Benny mocked his movie The Horn Blows at Midnight (1945) for years, maybe to the detriment of his film career. Yet, this often inspired comedy-fantasy, with Benny as an angel sent to destroy earth, is a delightful departure for him. Finally, Skelton might have used the line because he liked old jokes. The Grauman cement footprints walking away was a bit he had first used in the early 1940s, after getting his own shoe size so honored. Except at that time, the only famous footprints threatening to leave were those of his hero, Chaplin.

  Paradoxically, Skelton’s last MGM picture, the Great Diamond Robbery (1953, though it had been on the shelf for some time), would have been a more fitting target of his comic ire. Skelton plays a diamond cutter patsy in a robbery. Though not without some kudos (Time magazine enjoyed the movie’s “keystone kop finish”62), the Hollywood Reporter was more on target: “Skelton does as well as possible in an inane role that gives him little opportunity to demonstrate his genuine acting ability so well displayed in ‘Half a Hero.’”63 Yet even here, note the critic’s kindly defense of Skelton, and praise for Hero.

  The rest of Skelton’s 1950s film appearances were fleeting, starting with entertaining cameos in Susan Slept Here (1954, a Frank Tashlin-directed comedy) and producer Michael Todd’s epic version of Jules Verne’s Around the World in 80 Days (1956). In fact, Todd’s spectacle could be called the ultimate cameo movie, showcasing a who’s who of Hollywood in bit parts. Thus, for Skelton’s drunk routine to often be featured in reviews was a special accomplishment, given all that star power, and the fact that Eighty Days went on to win the Oscar for Best Picture.

  Public Pigeon No. 1 (1957) was Skelton’s last feature film in which he starred. He played another dumb bunny victimized by criminals, and reviews were mixed. The Washington (DC) News critic said, “Being a confirmed Skelton fan I was pleased with his nit-witted efforts … and managed a few hearty laughs.”64 The Hollywood Reporter added, “Red Skelton has some hilarious scenes in RKO’s … [picture] and shows again that he can be one of the top clowns of our day.”65 The New York Times’s pan also underlined the time difficulties of juggling small screen/big screen stardom in the 1950s: “Red Skelton movie fans who wish television hadn’t swallowed the comedian may change their minds after seeing ‘Public Pigeon No. 1.’”66

  What was unfair, however, about the Times’ review was that Skelton had already played this part to great acclaim on television as an installment of the dramatic anthology program Climax (1954–58). There had been so many calls for a rebroadcast that Skelton had bought the rights to the story and made it the first project for his new production company; it was released through RKO. (Skelton’s earlier drinking problems are usually given for the reason MGM did not renew its option on the comedian.) Therefore, the box office for the Pigeon movie might have been hurt by its small-screen exposure. Regardless, coverage of both versions generated a great deal of Skelton press during 1956 and 1957.67

  Skelton’s sixth notable news story for the decade involved the sudden 1957 fourth-estate awareness that, despite all his early video struggles, he was a comedy survivor. Syndicated television critic Walter Hawver wrote, “Sid Caesar, Carl Reiner, Howard Morris, Jackie Gleason, Art Carney, Wally Cox, Herb Shriner all have fallen by the wayside. But Red Skelton, whose appeal seems to be eternal, will be back again with his gallery of characters.”68 Hawver might also have added Milton Berle and Red Buttons to that list of prominent comedians then on hiatus from the small screen. What made Skelton’s durability all the more impressive was that most of these comedy figures had been, at one time, phenomenally popular on television. Of course, the student of Skelton has an immediate topper to this achievement—he was just getting started, as he appeared on television for another thirteen consecutive years. Periodically during that time journalists made that longevity rediscovery, such as a two-part TV Guide article from 1961, “Television’s Greatest Clown,” marking Skelton’s first video decade.69

  Still, Skelton always maintained his modesty, treating his success like a comic conundrum, and wishing he could share the humor wealth. In 1957 he had observed, “All around me comics are biting the dust. Why they are out I don’t know. Neither does anyone else. I know this though. If I had any formula for the success of a comedy show, I’d gladly share the secret with the comics. There’s certainly room for lots of laughs in this old world of ours.”70

  Seventh, the year 1957 also provided another news events with special ties to Skelton. Although television Westerns had been popular since the medium’s early days, blockbuster hits such as Hopalong Cassidy (1949–51, then syndicated) and The Lone Ranger (1949–57) were directed at children. Starting with the joint appearance of Gunsmoke (1955–75) and The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp (1955–61), there was soon a mushrooming number of adult Westerns on the small screen. By the late 1950s there were more than thirty video Westerns on in prime time! “There are so many television Westerns,” joked Bob Hope, “I have to brush the hay off my set before I can turn it on!” (The genre’s popularity was equally strong at the theater, where approximately one in four American films was a Western in the 1940s and 1950s.)

  During the 1957�
��58 television season, this six-shooter parade first began to make its presence known in the ratings, with five of the top eight ranked programs being Westerns: Gunsmoke (number one), Tales of Wells Fargo (number three, 1957–62), Have Gun Will Travel (number four, 1957–63), Wyatt Earp (number six), and The Restless Gun (number eight, 1957–59).71 Overall, there were four other Westerns in the top twenty-five, with Skelton’s show logging in at number fifteen. With this much sagebrush product out there, it was only a matter of time before there would be a tongue-in-cheek backlash. By late 1957, a series of nationally syndicated articles appeared that claimed television comedians were planning to spoof the genre off the small screen.

  Given that one of Skelton’s comedy characters was a cowboy, Sheriff Deadeye, the comedian seemed to be, as one headline stated, “Caught In [a] Cross Fire.”72 Wanting to be fair, this same syndicated piece presented the positions of “both” entertainers. Skelton stated, “Cowboys have taken over, and there’s hardly a minute of air time left for us comedians. There’s gonna be a range war, if we can ever find the range.” But Deadeye countered, “Shucks, Pardner, them comics been squattin’ on open rangeland too long. Let ’em declare war on us. We’ll head ’em off at the pass. We’ll make ’em smile [à la The Virginian] when they say that, stranger.”