Remembering Hartford Gunn

From my scrapbook: Remembering Hartford Gunn (Boston Globe)
Author:  Edgar J. Driscoll Jr., Globe Staff  Jan 3, 1986

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Seems odd that so few people have commented on the passing of Doug Devitt, videotape and audio engineer at WGBH.

Here's the link for those who might want to leave a comment or a thought.
http://wgbhalumni.org/2012/11/28/doug-devitt-62-audio-engineer/

Cataloging WGBH “firsts"

Help us catalog WGBH “firsts” in national public media

August 12, 2012 | Posted by Jay Collier

Dear WGBH Alumni:

PBS is putting together a list of significant national “firsts” for PBS and public media. We already have a timeline covering WGBH from 1946 to 1978, and many entries include national innovations.
Now, we’re looking for your recommendations and verifications for more!

Please remember, the following are not yet verified, so add your recommendations, corrections, and confirmations in the comments box at the bottom of this post.

http://wgbhalumni.org/2012/08/12/wgbh-firsts/

Google Celebrates Julia Child's 100th Birthday

How lucky were we who knew and loved her!

Fred Calland, a 'Founding Voice' of NPR

Yesterday, burrowing through a file cabinet packed with letters, clippings, notes, and Christmas and Valentine and birthday cards – from a period when these documents could not have arrived electronically – I discovered this note from Fred Calland, sent to me at WGBH, date unknown, sometime during my incumbency as host of Morning Pro Musica.

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For a time, Fred was music director at our sister station at WFCR in Amherst, later he became NPR’s first music producer. More importantly, Fred was a splendid character – a real gentleman, an avid record collector and music enthusiast,  a delightful throwback to a bygone era when radio hosts were more passionate about their subject then themselves. His note to me reveals something of the Calland persona, but this commemoration NPR's Fred Calland Remembered tells much more...(click on RealMedia)

 As I started this remembrance, a waterfall of partially submerged recollections began to tumble forth: An evening of listening to treasures on shellac with Fred and Diana in Amherst promoted by the famous Calland Martini – very large and very dry – guaranteed to render you seated while more and even more records were produced. “I’ll bet you’ve never heard this one...”

 Here is an amusing selection of Fred Calland outtakes, assembled by his colleagues at WFCR:

Of all the Calland experiences, nothing could be more unforgettable than our ill-fated interview with tenor Roland Hayes, the first African American man to win international fame as a concert performer. Fred, having arranged the entire event, picked me up at WGBH, along with a Nagra and my tote bag filled with mike gear, and we drove to Brookline, excited by what was to be an exclusive interview with the now reclusive Roland Hayes

We arrived at a large home in Brookline; inside, the house was cool and dark and filled with a pleasant musty scent. A tall, black man, attired in what looked like formal dress, led us to the living room where Roland Hayes stood waiting for us. It is always exhilarating to come face to face to face with a legend, and even more so when you feel as though history is about to be made.

After we sat and chatted for a few minutes, Fred signaled it was time to begin. However, as I opened the Nagra and began to attach mike cables, Mr. Hayes held up his hand. “What’s this?” he asked. Fred explained this was a tape recorder we used for interviews. “No recording,” replied Mr. Hayes, in a subdued tone. So, I packed up the Nagra and the interview continued, undocumented. 

On the ride home, Fred apologized for getting everyone’s hopes up, but I assured him it was no matter. After all, we had met Roland Hayes.

Fred Calland, a 'Founding Voice' of NPR

Roland Hayes" Were You There"

Stop the War on Public Media

SaveTheNews.Org

Sen. Jim DeMint and Rep. Doug Lamborn have it in for public media. Over the years, both men have introduced numerous bills and written countless editorials attacking NPR and PBS.

Right now, they’re lobbying their fellow members of Congress to block funding for NPR, PBS and your local public media station.

"We face many hard choices ahead," the letter to their colleagues says, "but defunding the Corporation for Public Broadcasting should be one of the easier decisions to make."

Please sign our petition telling Sen. DeMint and Rep. Lamborn that public media supporters are watching and we think enough is enough. We'll deliver your signatures directly to their offices alongside a GIANT banner that says: It's time to defend, not defund, public media

NPR sees sharp downturn in advertising revenue, leading to talk of cuts

NPR’s new chief executive is signaling that there may be some static ahead for the radio and digital news organization.

Stephen Voss - Michel Martin, host of NPR's "Tell Me More."

Tommy Makem "Live at The Harp & Bard" (c.1969)

This project was Joan Wilson Sullivan's idea: Record Tommy Makem "Live at the Harp & Bard" in Danvers, Mass. Later, bring him to the studio and record his favorite songs. We did both The live concert was a lot of fun, as you will hear in this 10-minute segment, Nancy Troland was the producer, I was the lucky engineer.

Tommy Makem with Eugene Byrne, guitar

Crazy Radio Days

Photo by Jock Gill (c.1970)

Most of my Radio Days, the hundreds of yawning hours I produced and hosted at WGBH Radio and for NPR, were relatively unremarkable and almost certainly immemorable. Live radio, however, could be an adventurous and risky business – especially going solo, without a rescue net. One never knows, of course, whom, if indeed anyone at all, is listening at any given moment, particularly on a Sunday morning around eight o’clock when regular people are watching the weather forecast on TV, eating breakfast with their family, or sensibly sleeping-in.

It was on just such a sleepy Sunday in the late 1960’s at WGBH-FM, when calamity struck. It was the inaugural week of our brand-new FM Studio 4 (a combo operation without engineer) that I had the privilege of baptizing.

I had programmed two hours of Bach’s works that morning, principally Brandenburg Concertos, comparing back-to-back, standard performances of Bach’s works with jazz renditions of the same pieces – played alternately by the Modern Jazz Quartet and the Jacques Loussier Trio. I had titled the segment, “Bach-To-Bach,” and for the first half-hour or so, all went uneventfully. While sitting back nonchalantly, editing my rip-and-read teletype copy for the noon newscast, the unthinkable occurred:

THUMP. SCCRRRAATCH. Then, total silence. I whirled around to stare at the on-air turntable, not believing what had happened, and simply sat for a moment, stunned.

Dead Air. Better say something!

“Uh, ladies and gentlemen, believe it or not, the sky has fallen – fallen-in on our brand new studio – fallen in the form of a piece of ceiling acoustical tile that has just landed on our turntable, knocking the tone arm clear off the record!” (Long pause) “Clearly, the Gods are displeased – angered with my irreverence for jazzing-up Bach on a Sunday morning. Well, we better make amends – so here is the same Brandenburg Concerto, played properly now by the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, conducted by Neville Marriner.”


Two minutes later, the studio phone rang. “Nat, it’s Michael Rice. That was brilliant – just brilliant! Well done! I’m still laughing!” A quick moment of relief. The ‘GBH FM Station Manager was pleased, even amused. I was not going to lose my gig, and the Gods were appeased!

There would, naturally, be More Crazy Radio Days . . . forthcoming.

Producing Favorite Themes from "Masterpiece Theatre"

One of the most gratifying aspects producing and recording this album was meeting and working with two magnificent composers: Wilfrid Josephs ("I, Claudius) and Kenyon Emrys-Roberts ("Poldark"), both of whom I commissioned to extend their themes especially for our Masterpiece Theatre album.

(Read the full story)

NPR's Slow Slide to the Right

The timing could not have been worse for the latest in a series of controversies to hit the nation’s scandal-prone public radio network. But the fact that it was pledge week didn’t prevent NPR from caving in to conservative pressure and canceling their distribution of “The World of Opera,” last Friday after it was revealed that host, Lisa Simeone, had taken part in Occupy DC, a spinoff of Occupy Wall Street movement, a protest against corporate greed which is spreading to cities nationwide. Simeone, an independent producer, was also sacked from the public radio documentary series “Sound Print” for her political activities.(MORE)

House GOP Unveils Plan To Cut NPR

House GOP Unveils Plan To Cut NPR, Job Training And Education Programs (Via Huffington Post)

A correspondence from Don Fouser

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Follow @rockportbasset

Current state of CPB funding fight

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My Early Radio Days (Part 2)

       So, in the winter of 1967, I landed at WGBH – and just in the nick of time. WGBH had just been awarded funding for its proposed series of 13 radio dramas, to be distributed in a 13-LP boxed-set to “educational” stations around the country. The radio drama production teams worked in Studio 1 and out of the adjoining FM Sub-Master Control. The rest of us lived in what was called FM Master Control.

       In addition, WGBH produced a heavy schedule of live and taped concerts and lectures from around Boston and Cambridge (including the BSO and Boston Pops), the Gardner Museum and New England Conservatory of Music, Sanders Theater at Harvard, Kresge Auditorium at MIT. We broadcast Ford Hall Forum live from Jordan Hall, plus news, poetry, studio recitals, guest lecturers and recorded programs from the BBC and CBC. WGBH Radio was a wealth of significant cultural activity and a very busy, very happy place to be.

     Then, in 1970, shortly after WGBH issued its boxed LP set of radio dramas, another bit of luck: I was chosen to represent WGBH at series of radio drama workshops at the National Center for Audio Experimentation at WHA in Madison, Wisconsin.

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      These amazing workshops, conducted by Desmond Briscoe of the BBC, were attended by public radio representatives from around the country. Besides me, there was representation from WILL Radio, University of Illinois; WYSO, Yellow Springs, Ohio; KBYU, Brigham Young University, Utah; KEBS-FM, San Diego State College; KOAC Radio, Oregon; WFCR, Amherst, Mass; KPFA Berkeley, WRVR New York City and WUHY, Philadelphia. WHA Madison and Radio Hall at the University was the host station and provided faculties for our study and actual production.

     Much of our day was spent in the studio, reading and recording the assigned radio play, creating sound-effects on a table-top Putney Synthesizer, and then the final mix and editing. Oh yes, in those days editing was still on ¼” tape, cut by a razor blade on a splicing block and then glued together with splicing tape. The afternoons were dedicated listening times, during which Desmond Briscoe played us classic BBC radio dramas.

      The play for our group was by Tom Stoppard: “The Dissolution of Dominic Boot.”

      These were heady days and over our horizons, the future looked brilliant indeed.

     

Epilogue

       It was at WGBH I first met Fred Friendly, Edward R. Murrow's producer at CBS, who spoke to us one memorable afternoon in TV Studio A about the dream about to be birthed for the future of radio and TV. In his talk to us, he called it “the Public Broadcasting Laboratory." The last time I saw Fred, many years later, we were both in Grand Central Station and in a hurry to catch trains. I stopped, said hello and reminded him of his visit to WGBH (arranged by GM Hartford Gunn, since departed) and of the dream they had shared with us. Fred was so pleased, and thanked me for remembering. Yet, I could not help but detect a slight wistfulness to his tone, for I think we both knew that times were changing and that perhaps not every part of the dream was to be realized. I don’t remember exactly what we discussed but at the time, I thought I noted a brief flicker of sadness behind that wide and Friendly smile.

      At this post, we are aware that there are hundreds, maybe thousands of ignorant, misguided, misinformed individuals and legislators throughout America who want to defund NPR and PBS, sink them forever, and destroy the legacy of quality broadcasting so many worked so hard for so many years to create. If nothing else, I hope this little blog will be useful, and perhaps inspirational, to those read it and might choose to participate in the fray.

My Early Radio Days - Part 1

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows.

It’s sunset on a Sunday afternoon. I’m eight years old and alone in our darkening living room, listening to a block of creepy radio mysteries crawling out of the Magnavox – Inner Sanctum, The Green Hornet, Lights Out, and the scariest of all, Orson Welles as “The Shadow.” Years later, I’d have strange, personal encounters with Welles himself, but that’s another story...

As a boy, I'd spend hours seated at the console of our Magnavox - a magical machine with a 78 turntable and combo AM/shortwave radio – transfixed by its glowing green dial that drew me into its exotic world: Hong Kong, Paris, London, Tokyo. Strange music and foreign voices, rolling and fading like ocean surf, blending fragments of Morse code or teletype and eerie squeals and squalls, calling to me from somewhere…far out in the ether. This before FM and TV, and the LP, only just beginning to come into our homes.

1964. Fresh out of the army and back home from two years in Japan. I enrolled at the Longy School of Music and Emerson College, and began a part-time job at WBCN, starting on the graveyard shift - Saturdays from 4:00 PM until midnight.

Majoring in organ performance at Longy, I produced my own organ music series at WBCN, “The King of Instruments,” which I later shared with two college stations in Boston - WERS and WBUR. Years Later, “The King” also ran briefly on WCRB before ending up at WGBH in 1967. When WGBH abruptly cancelled the show in the 1980’s, it went up on the bird to NPR stations in the Public Radio Cooperative. Long Live the King!

Staffed by true music lovers, a few cranky Bostonians, and super-bright students from Harvard and MIT, there was no better place to work than WBCN, and no finer opportunity to learn the art of music broadcasting. WBCN had an unusually high-quality stereo signal and despite the makeshift apparatus that served as our broadcast console (see photo below), we were blessed with a magnificent Neumann condenser microphone (see photo) that made every announcer sound like a pro!

Me at the WBCN console (c.1965)



WBCN was the originator in a string of classical music FM stations on the east coast (the Concert Network)  – and we were the Boston Station of the Concert Network. Others stations included WRFK in Virginia, WNCN in New York City, WDAS in Philadelphia, WMTW Mount Washington, New Hampshire and WHCN in Hartford, Connecticut. Broadcasts recorded in Boston were “tape-bicycled” to other member stations which worked pretty well, except when the automated Hartford station started playing our Christmas-week programs in July. For economic considerations, WHCN had no “live” announcers. Money was constantly a worry for everyone.

By 1967, WBCN was nearly broke and our blissful existence as devil-may-care broadcast mavericks was coming to an end. WBCN underwent a format switch from classical music to “middle-of-the-road,” so time to move on – to WGBH. Volunteering in the summer of ‘67, I teamed up with Fred Barzyk and Olivia Tappan on their experimental TV series, “What’s Happening, Mr. Silver?” One night, David Silver, Fred and Olivia visited me at WGBH. They had brought along a brand-new, just-released album by the Beatles: Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. That night, I decided to break with WBCN’s traditionally classical format to air for the first in America, a stereo broadcast of the album. Listeners were astounded – and generally seemed quite captivated.

In December of 1967, with just one-hundred people on staff, I was officially hired at WGBH. My new boss, Bill Busiek, informed me WGBH wanted to continue my organ program and that I could fill in as a part-time announcer, but that I would be paid as an audio engineer – the position for which I was actually hired. Until my move to TV five years later, WGBH Radio seemed the ideal job, although a few quietly questioned whether newcomer Nat Johnson really ought to be wearing so many hats!

Soon after I was hired, ‘GBH-FM built its first “combo” studio whereby on-air-talent could “spin” their own records. I became the first “combo” operator, but that too raised some eyebrows and garnered more grumbles. The compact-disc era had just begun, so WGBH bought a player. One morning, I aired the first compact-disc ever broadcast on WGBH, but only a few minutes in, it stuck – repeating a passage over and over and over. Fortunately, a listener called in to suggest the problem was probably only dust, or a fingerprint! I took the disc out of the player, apologized to the audience, explained what I was about to do and after cleaning the disc, it played successfully.

For two years, I hosted the weekend edition of Morning Pro Musica, beginning at 7:00 AM, until the indefatigable Robert J. Lurtsema arrived and took over the program in a seven day-a-week marathon. By then, I was happy to rescue my social life on weekends, and be allowed the luxury of sleeping-in on Sunday mornings.

Radio Drama

In 1968, a year after I joined, WGBH-FM received grant money from the NEH, the NEA and the Old Dominion Foundation to produce, record, and distribute 13 radios dramas on LP to educational stations around the country. Joan Sullivan and Lyon Todd produced and directed, Bob Carey and Bill Busiek were the principal audio engineers, and I assisted. With my ongoing interest in radio drama, this was the ideal situation to learn, experiment and apprentice. There was nothing like it then, and probably never will be again.

(to be continued)



WGBH Radio Promotion (Early 70's)

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A Stanger in a Strange Land, by Fred Barzyk

A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND
The story of a BU/WGBH scholar, 1958-1959

It all began on a hot summer’s day. The two of us waited, standing on the corner, staring hard at the passing cars. We were searching for our ride. Not that one, or that one. We waited, not quite sure of our new adventure. Tom McGrath and I waited there for what seemed hours, our overstuffed suitcases surrounding us on the hot pavement.

It was 27th street and Oklahoma Avenue in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Just up the street from Leon’s Frozen Custard Stand, an icon of all things dairy in America’s Dairy Land. Right across from Pulaski High School. I had graduated from Pulaski just four years ago. You could tell by its name that this was the South Side, and very Polish. My Aunt Jenny had a sausage shop just a few miles down Oklahoma Avenue. She had all kinds of Polish delights in her white gleaming glass cases. Kiszka, Headcheese, Mettwurst, Kielbasa, and of course, Blood Sausage.

A big old black car pulled up and out stepped our fellow traveler,

David Nohling. “Hi, guys. Nice to meet you.” As we loaded the suitcases into the car, I wondered if it could actually make it all the way to the East Coast. Tom sat in front and I in the back, shoved in with everyone’s belongings. We were all to bear the cost of the drive; gas, tolls, etc. We were all to take turns driving, thus avoiding the cost of having to stop at motels. Just drive right on through to Boston. It was going to take 16 plus hours. And then it hit me. This was a standard shift car! I could only drive automatics! They were kind to me. Don’t worry, we can do all the driving, they reassured me. I felt like a jerk.

The car lumbered down 27th street toward Chicago. Soon we were on the interstate heading East. Dave had figured out that if we drove at night, then the car would be a hell of a lot cooler than it would be driving during the day. His car did not have air conditioning. Dave was a good planner.

Dave had just graduated from the University of Wisconsin, Madison. He was a Communication major. Very knowledgeable. Tom and I had just graduated from Marquette University, with degrees in Speech. Yup, that was what they called it. Why us? God works in mysterious ways. I could understand why Tom was chosen. He had already worked part time at a local commercial TV station. He had experience. I had no experience. I mean, Marquette didn’t even have real TV cameras. We used wooden mock up cameras, faking TV shows. But as I huddled in the back seat, I knew the only reason I was here was because of Bill Heitz.

Bill was finishing up being a BU/WGBH scholar that summer. He had graduated from Marquette the year before. He insisted that I try to get into this scholarship program. He said it was absolutely great. You studied for your graduate degree in communication at Boston University and worked three days a week at the Educational Television station. Free tuition and you got $600 to live on for the year in Boston! Bill said this program would change my life. He was right.

I slept a lot during the trip. Darkness came and went. And we drove on and on. Then Dave gave us his real surprise. He had never been to New York City. Neither had we. He was a good planner. It was late morning when we drove into the heart of NYC, the big enchilada. We drove through the traffic, staring up at the tall buildings. And then Dave pulled over into a no parking zone, got out of the car, opened the hood and peered at the engine as if the car was having trouble. He told Tom and I to go in first. He had stopped outside Grand Central Station.

Tom and I moved though the crowd and into the giant train station. And there he was. Just sitting in a chair while the rest of the film crew moved around the cameras and lights. Someone came to him and asked a question. He responded, but never left his chair. Tom said “It is Alfred Hitchcock!” We had stumbled into the filming of “North by Northwest”. There was Gary Grant and Eva Marie Saint. They were walking towards one of the train tracks. While they were acting inside the station, Dave was doing a wonderful acting job outside. Tom and I came back and now we stared into the engine while Dave rushed into have a look. We couldn’t believe our luck as the car headed off toward Boston.


Several hours later, tired, sweaty, thirsty, we drove into the Boston area. We had made it. And it took just over 18 hours. Dave turned on his radio and searched the dial. And there it was… classical music on the AM dial! Can you believe it? The only classical music station in Milwaukee was on FM and wattage so low hardly anyone could hear it. I had left behind Milwaukee’s three B’s: Beer, Baseball and Bowling. And now I was in Boston with its three B’s: Brahms, Beethoven and Bach. This was going to be some kind of year.

Heitz opened his apartment to us. We showered, had some beers, told about our trip, and went to sleep. The next day Bill took us to what he thought would be the perfect place for us to rent. It was just down the block from Massachusetts Ave., right on Marlboro street. The 3 scholars from Wisconsin rang the doorbell and the landlady opened the door. Mrs. Gautraux. Her hair was frizzed, her elderly eyes had that crazy look after all these years of renting to college kids. She led us to the basement, to a two-room apartment fashioned around steam pipes and the furnace. “$80 bucks a month.” We took it.

She gave us the key and said we should use the backdoor for coming and going. She opened the door, which led directly to the alley. The alley. What can I say? Here among the garbage cans, cars parked in little spaces, lived some of the largest rats in Boston. Bill told us this was known as Rat Alley. Ah, yes and now it was our home.

That night Bill took us to see the latest WGBH remote. There was a huge arts festival happening in a park called The Boston Garden. The three of us stood besides a pond in the middle of the Garden and watched as members of the Boston Symphony Orchestra drifted by in a Swan Boat playing Handel’s Water Music. And our little TV station was broadcasting it live! Wow!

That night as bedtime approached, Tom and I acted like freshman who had just moved into a dorm. Both Tom and I had lived at home while going to Marquette. This was real freedom. Alone at last in our own space. We giggled on about Rat Alley, you know, “Snow White and Seven Rats”, that kind of thing. Stupid stuff.

Dave soon made arrangements to move in with another scholar, Brooks Leffler. Now it was up to Tom and myself to make the $80 monthly rent.

Then the big day. The 1958/59 scholars were to assemble at WGBH. (Jay/Nat there is a picture of our group somewhere in the alumni website. Could be used here) We walked down Massachusetts Avenue, over the bridge into Cambridge. On the bridge were strange markings, Smoots, or something like that. Must be some kind of measurements done by MIT students. (FYI A man named Smoot was placed end to end in the 40s by his fraternity... The bridge was "Re-Smooted" with his son in the last ten years)Finally, we arrived at the address. And there it was, right in the middle of the MIT complex of buildings. It was in a low slung three story building. It appeared to have some non descript businesses, a drug store that served lunch, not much else.

In the middle of the building was a plaque on a pillar announcing that this was the home of the WGBH Educational Foundation.

We climbed the wooden stairs leading us up to the reception area. There sat Rose Buresh, receptionist, and the one person who really knew what was going on at WGBH. We were ushered into the studio. It was huge. It was once an old roller skating rink. Its wooden floor proved to be problematical when moving the TV cameras. If you went straight forward, going with the floorboards, you got a pretty smooth ride. But going across the grain, led to some very bumpy dollies. We all took notes.

We met our leader, Bob Moscone: from then on to be known as the King. Bob was once an Arthur Murray Dance teacher; a slender attractive Italian man who carried a little note card on which he kept track of what was going on at the studio. And he also controlled when we were to work at WGBH. He was the man in charge. He was the King.

His second in command was Kenny Anderson. Kenny was a young slender guy with a terrific Boston accent, full of energy. I found out later he was a true lover of women, all women. The King asked him to show us on how to hang and focus a light. Kenny climbed the ladder, moved the light and then to show off, slid down the ladder. The scholars gasped. The King smiled. He hoped we should all be able to do the same in a few days.


Our audio man was Wil Morton. He seemed to be very young but with a keen sense of professionalism. He showed us the mikes, the cables, the endless cables. Eventually we met the TV directors and producers. Jean Brady (The Queen) a sweet, lovely woman with a wonderful southern accent; Gene Nichols (the Court Jester) a quiet man with a great smile; Ted Steinke, a big smiley guy from the mid west; Lou Barlow, who seemed to smoke whenever he directed. I don’t remember him smiling much.

And then there was Paul Noble, who had been a BU scholar in Bill Heitz’s group and had just been hired as a producer/director. It is important to note here that Paul and his crew really set the culture of WGBH scholars. It was family, fun, and camaraderie. His team bonded like no other, still meeting yearly, nearly 55 years later. Paul and his team created a WGBH yellow journalism news rag, The Ille Novi. (Latin for “Here’s the News” (which were the words used by Louis Lyons each night when he opened his news program). Copies of it are in the WGBH archives.) This mimeographed tabloid told all the “real news” for the scholars. Paul once told me his greatest talent was reading memos upside down as they sat on the executives desk. Long live yellow journalism.

There was Whit Thompson, who seemed to do all the music shows. It was said that his father was a famous classical music composer. (Whit's dad was Randall Thompson, compser of symphonies and other pieces. He taught at Harvard. Lenny Bernstein was one of his students)He wore glasses and was very erudite. And then there was Cabot Lyford who had a nasty habit of kicking the wall every once in awhile. He was the director of the Museum of Fine Arts show “Invitation to Art”, a big remote production from one of the country’s great museums. (Not many people know that the museum was internally wired with TV cables in expectation that the MFA and WGBH would be doing shows for a long time. I wonder if they are still there.) The host was Brian O’Doherty, a visiting Doctor from Ireland who had come to Boston to study heart related illness at Harvard University.

Brian became a dear friend. Years later, Brian became head of the National Endowment for the Media Arts Panel. His panels awarded many grant dollars to WGBH. Brian was also the fine arts commentator for NBC’s Today show for 9 years and is a celebrated artist painting under the name Patrick Ireland.

Brian would occasionally invite me to have lunch at Ken’s deli restaurant in Copley Square. I mean, we never even did a show together, but he had somehow become interested in what I thought about TV and art. That was really hard to imagine. I was just a kid from the South Side of Milwaukee. It was very unexpected but complimentary. I really enjoyed the talk and the food.

Yes, the food. Food was a constant concern at our apartment in Rat Alley. Tom and I existed on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, pasta and cheap canned tomato sauce, and every once in awhile, a piece of meat. Milk, when we felt really rich. I remember one day, I traded my jelly sandwich with cameraman Don Hallock for his tongue sandwich. Tongue! I wasn’t sure about eating tongue but what the hell it was meat. After all, I had eaten a lot of weird things in my mother’s Polish kitchen. Czarnina, a black duck blood soup with prunes and raisins; boiled chicken hearts and gizzards over mashed potatoes. I sort of liked the tongue sandwich, even though it was kinda chewy. Brian, I can still taste those big Ruben sandwiches at Kens. Thanks. It meant a lot. More than you ever knew.


Russ Morash, who would soon become one the most important producer/directors at WGBH, had just married. He and his wife took an extended honeymoon in France that summer. Russ eventually returned to direct a French Language show for kids called “Parlons Francais”. He had studied acting at BU and his wife had graduated with a degree in set design from BU. Fellow theater artists. I ended up using Russ in a number of dramas that I did for PBS. The most memorable is when I cast him as a fellow TV newscaster with actress Lily Tomlin. They were perfect together.

There was also Bob Squires. Talk about energy. He was the quickest, the most animated of our directors. He took more shots in one show than most of us ever thought about. Bob soon moved on to become an independent producer and eventually became the Democrat’s PR spokesman. He appeared often with Roger Ailes, the Republican counterpart (now head of Fox Cable News) Bob passed away a few years ago. Sad.


A reflection: As I now look back at the staff of WGBH in those days, it dawns on me how young we all were. I mean, the average age of the camera people, lighting, audio was 23. Even the engineers were young; Bobby Hall, blond, happy guy; Jerry Adler, FM engineer, the only practicing Jew with a Southern accent I had ever met; Andy Ferguson, the only African American on staff were all in their late 20’s. And the staff camera people, Don Hallock, a true artist and one of the greatest TV camera operators I have ever known, was not even 20. Bob Valtz, a recent Harvard grad who wore his tie flung over his shoulder while running camera, was 23. Frank Vento, a dark haired, intense camera/lighting person was probably near 30. Even the executives were only in their thirties.

The Executives. The visionaries who helped make WGBH so special. There was Dave Davis, manager of the station. He was a former trumpet player and lover of jazz and good music. In addition to his duties as station manger, he also directed the Boston Symphony Orchestra concerts. His was a tightly run production, which created the most sophisticated music/camera shot list ever. It was amazing that he could take a bunch of BU Scholars along with this young staff, and make the broadcast seamless and professional. (The BSO and WGBH have paired up to release some of these early TV concerts on DVD, to be released in 2010.) It is fair to say that Dave was the paternal figure in the organization. He didn’t say much and it was expected of you to present your questions in an exact and quick manner. He would then give a quick answer back.

Dave appreciated hard work and creativity. Once, after a music show that I did, he called and complemented the staff and me. It was really a big moment for us. That didn’t happen too often. We celebrated by going out and having a few beers at the Zebra Lounge.

The Zebra Lounge. On the corner of Mass Ave. and Beacon Street. The home away from home. (Now, called The Crossroads) The corner booth covered over with fake Zebra cloth. Our corner booth. A place for the young scholars to relive the day, laugh at what we did and did not do. Our BU Scholar group broke into three groups. First, there were those who had come back from the war and were going for their master degrees. They were older, married, some with kids. Second, there were the serious scholars who wanted their degree. They studied hard, did their WGBH work and acted like adults. And then there were the rest of us.

We thought all of this was fun and games. A great time to learn, try new things, drink beer, laugh, what me worry? Not many of us finished the degree. We went to class, were responsible students, but spent most of our time at WGBH. I mean, we used to go to the studio after closing hours, crank out the big boom mike into the middle of the studio, and play volleyball. This was fun. The whole thing was fun.

Young ladies came into Tom and my lives. Tom hooked up with a sparkly woman, Peggy. I met Ruth Smith casually at the Zebra lounge. She was from Revere, graduated from Chandlers, and now was a special assistant to some big wig at Bank Boston. After a few dates, we became a number. As a matter of fact I ended up marrying her. As she likes to remind me, we will be married 50 years next March. How time files.


Three important executives who influenced my life were Mike Ambrosino, Greg Harney and Bob Larson. Bob was program manager. He had graduated from Harvard and was a practicing Christian Scientist. It was Bob who saw the potential of a TV series for a tall Cambridge woman who had appeared on our weekly book show. Her name was Julia Child. Bob thought I could only be a director since he questioned the kind of education I might have gotten at Marquette. I accepted his opinion then and said I will show him that there is more to me than he thinks. He was my challenge. Years later he accepted me as someone who could become a producer. Bob passed away from stomach cancer, much too young. His religion, which he cherished, did not allow him to see a doctor. His prayers were not answered. Sad.

Mike Ambrosino, though an executive, also produced and directed a number of shows. He was in charge of creating the Eastern Educational Network. He also created the 21 Inch Classroom. This was a coordinated program between WGBH and 35 independent school systems to see if TV could be used in the classroom to enrich the teaching experience. We did a lot of 15 minute shows directed to grade school kids. Mike did a lot of science shows, especially with Gene Gray, a teacher from Newton. It was during one of Gene’s shows that he poured some acid into a plastic cup only to see it dissolve the cup. (In the archives) Not much you could do because the show was live. Gene did a great job making the disaster into a teaching moment. Ambrosino later went on to create one of the great staples of PBS- NOVA.

Greg Harney. What can I say? He had arrived from CBS at about the same time as our crew. He was one of the best lighting directors at CBS. However, Greg was ambitious and took the job as production manager at WGBH to expand his choices. He took a hefty pay cut and supplemented his WGBH salary by teaching a grad course at BU. Lighting and Production. This was a class that all of the BU scholars took. His style of directing, lighting and program design was gleaned from his days at CBS and it was soon our style, too.

Greg and I always had an “interesting” relationship. Greg liked to call you into his office after one of your shows and critique your performance. A dear fellow director, Ed Scherer, told me how to handle these sessions. Agree and then go do what you normally do. I did this many times. Many. Finally, one day Harney confronted me in the hallway, and accused me of not really listening to him. He had me caught. What to do? I blurted out that he was probably right. I should really listen to him. He looked relieved. Of course, I just went back to what I was doing anyway.

Greg was pushing me to be the best I could. Many years later, he said that he had tried to hire me as a director when our scholar year ended. But there wasn’t any money. He kept after me, bringing me back three times to WGBH for short stints as a director. Then one day, when I was back in Milwaukee doing a silly job working for a Polish Newspaper, he offered me a permanent TV directing job. Somehow, he had found me at this little office were I was doing blind calls for a Polish newspaper. Novini Polski. I would call up people who were trying to rent apartments and suggest that they should rent to good Polish people who were clean and reliable payers of rent. All they had to do is place an ad with the Polish newspaper. Greg’s offer was exactly what I was needed. I walked up to the office manager and quit. It wasn’t even 10:30. So, for the next 50 years I did at least one show a year for WGBH. Sometimes, doing as many as 100 TV shows. It became my professional and spiritual home. As I often said to the present executives, this is my station.

I haven’t said much about Hartford Gunn. He was the head of the whole thing. He was the brains behind the operation and soon left to create the whole PBS system. Hartford was there, but we didn’t interact with him on a daily basis. He was gracious to us all as he bustled about his business.

Years later, Hartford and I had an interesting confrontation. In those days, I wore white shirts and ties. Hartford grabbed me by the tie and pushed me up against the wall. Why? My fellow producer/director Dave Sloss and I had written an internal memo criticizing David Ives for not being adventurous as we wanted him to be. The musician’s union had complained about our local folk music show because we didn’t pay anything. Ives felt we were in danger of being blackballed by the union and we should cancel the show. He said we always get in trouble when we do entertainment. Our memo took Ives to task for this position, in rather brutal language. Hartford wanted to make a point to me (while holding me by tie and up against the wall), that he too wanted the station to venture into entertainment. He warned me that we had to be careful. Go slow. I agreed with him. The folk music show continued. It was my most intimate moment with Hartford.

Fact: Our personal history is not made up by remembering specific days, but by remembering the special moments. There were three special moments during this period.

First, was my birthday party. I turned 22 in October and the gang gathered at our apartment in Rat Alley. Beer flowed, laughter filled the small apartment, there was even food that somebody brought. And then, Hallock and Vento paraded into the packed place carrying a birthday cake. The crowd sang Happy Birthday. Then they plugged the cake into a wall socket and the whole thing exploded. BOOM! The room filled with smoke. At first, everyone cringed but then, realizing it was a joke, broke into loud laughter. In she came.

Mrs. Gautraux.

In her bathrobe.

She yelled and screamed.

The place cleared out fast.

What a birthday!

Second was Halloween. It had been decided by our crew that Educational Television was dead. It would go nowhere. ETV is dead. It was even chalked on the side of the building in Rat Alley. (I think that was me who did it.) Anyway, it was decided that WGBH scholars, along with the staff, would join in a Halloween parade that was planned for Boston. Don Hallock, God Bless him, built a wooden coffin. They dressed Nohling up as a cadaver and placed him in the coffin and drove around the city in a convertible. A banner declared that ETV was dead. Probably no one in the crowds ever knew what it meant. The driver of the convertible had a little too much to drink and I guess it was a pretty harrowing drive. The WGBH crowd ended up at some apartment on the seedy side of Beacon Hill. The next day, Don Hallock and I carried the coffin across town to my apartment. And there the coffin stood, propped up against our wall, open and empty. It stayed that way until I moved out months later.

And finally, the last week in the apartment, we had a picnic in the alley. Everyone brought what ever booze they had and we poured into one of our old pots. We called it a wassel bowl. English phrase I guess. As I sat there thinking about the last days in Boston, I looked over to our open apartment door. A rat quietly walked out of the apartment and into a garbage can next to the building. It was the end. The end of my scholar days. The end of a great year.

WAIT! Not yet. I haven’t talked about Henry Morgenthau, III. Henry was a producer at WGBH. He was said to be very wealthy. I know that he had a “man”, someone to drive him around, cook his meals. I guess you would call him a butler. But Henry was one of us. He laughed and played just like the rest of us. But one important fact: Henry knew Eleanor Roosevelt. He convinced her to be part of one of WGBH early important shows, “Prospect of Man Kind.” (In the archives) Everyone was on that show; John F. Kennedy, Adali Stevenson, you name it. And it was all because of Henry.

Henry’s father was Roosevelt’s Secretary of the Treasury, signer of all the nations currency. And here he was, one of our producers. Henry was great. Fun and creative. He and I ended up doing a whole ton of shows together, none more important than “Negro and the American Promise.” (It is in the archives) My Dad was very impressed that I knew a Morgenthau. My Dad was a life long Democrat. He was very pleased that I was in good company, especially the son of the man who signed all the nations money.

Money. My Dad always said “follow the money and you’ll find the truth.” All I know is we never had enough of it in those days. Tom and I had each derived ways of making ends meet. Some of them were not very pretty. Fortunately, Greg Harney and Henry Morgenthau were bringing in big budgeted shows that were shot on weekends. That meant the crew were paid overtime.

Tom became one of the regular paid crew members. That money really helped him. However, in some kind of desperation, Tom signed up to be a medical guinea pig. He went to the Mass General Hospital and was injected with a blood thinner. Then they took out some blood and tested to see how thin it really was. I guess it was pretty thin because of what happened next. Tom walked home. The Doctor told him not to get hit by a car or he might bleed to death. (Ha, ha, I guess this is Doctor humor) Tom told me all about it as he combed his hair in our little bathroom. All of a sudden, the bandage came off and he started squirting blood all over the place.

I mean pumping, squirting blood. He held his arm over the tub to catch the blood. I went crazy. I handed him a towel, got the name of the Doctor, raced upstairs to the pay phone in the hallway, dialed MGH and asked for the Tom’s Doctor. As I waited, I wondered if I should have called 911. The operator came back on and said there was no such Doctor at the hospital. Egads! I rushed downstairs to see if Tom could make it to the street where I could call an ambulance. Fortunately, he had applied enough pressure to the wound that the blood had started to coagulate. Whew! Disaster avoided. Tom’s payment for all this… $15 bucks.

My money problems were solved in other ways. Bill Heitz had told me to try and get the Sunday master control job. The local CBS station would not carry the networks Sunday morning shows. So WGBH, as a service to its audience, worked out a deal with CBS for Ch. 2 to air the programs. They aired from 10:00 AM to 12:30 PM. The station needed an engineer, a booth announcer and a master control operator. I got the job. My pay was $10 for each Sunday worked. That took care of the rent.

My buddies during these Sunday stints were (usually) engineer Bobby Hall, booth announcer Bob Jones, and Jerry Adler who was right next door to master control running WGBH FM from a small control room. We were a quiet group, sometimes fighting off hangovers, planning what we would do with the rest of Sunday. There were talk shows, and then there was Camera 3. Camera 3 had been a cultural godsend to me when living at home in Milwaukee. It did segments on the fine arts, the theater, dance, photography. It was up to speed with the NYC art scene and exposed me to ideas and concepts that were beyond my wildest dreams. It helped determine my style and approach to TV.

Side note: Many years later I was asked to be a guest producer for Camera 3. And to show what a small world it really is, one of the executive producers was a former BU Scholar from Bill Heitz group. I choose video artist Nam June Paik as the star of my Camera 3. That meant bringing into the CBS union studio all his broken down TV’s, Charlotte Mormon, who would play her cello while wearing Paiks’ Video Bra, an upright piano which Paik would destroy, and lots of his small non broadcast electronic gear. It probably was the first time that this kind of electronic equipment had been brought into a studio of CBS. I think every engineer in CBS found some reason to walk through the studio on their way to wherever. And every last one of them had to stop and gaze at what Paik had created.

The show was called ‘The Strange Music of Nam June Paik” CBS never asked me back to do another show. As a matter of fact, this turned out to be their last season. Camera 3 was no more. Still, it was wonderful to see the cycle completed. From an avid viewer as a college kid to a full-fledged TV producer creating something for a show that meant so much to me. Special.


And then, my money problem were really solved. Late in that first summer, I walked across Mass Ave. heading from WGBH to MIT’s indoor pool. We were going to do some kind of remote. As I crossed the street, I was hit by a car. Not really hit, more like bumped. The problem was that in those days cars had hood ornaments. This was a Pontiac, which carried a shiny Indian face ornament. This sharp little piece of metal pierced my left side, causing a rather deep wound. Moscone took charge. Somehow, I was in a car racing to Boston City Hospital. They took me to the emergency room. The King kept telling them it was not a knife wound. I don’t know if they ever really believed him. Anyway, they washed out my wound, stitched it up, bandaged it and told me not to lift anything heavy for six weeks. I went home and rested and healed rather quickly. But Bob Moscone, being the King, went a step further. He took me to see a lawyer. The lawyer’s office was situated in a back room of a walkup in a seedy part of Boston. The lawyer listened, got the name of the person who hit me, and said he would get back in touch. I didn’t hear from him for over 4 months.

Then I got a message from Moscone. The lawyer wanted to see me right away. I went to his office and with great fanfare, he presented me the insurance company’s settlement. A check for $600.

This money changed my life style. Since I dreamed of making the professional theater my career choice, I spent a lot of the money going to plays. Wednesday matinees, in Boston’s theater district. Yes, in those days, there were still plays up and running in one theater or another. It seemed like there was a new one every couple of weeks. I became a regular in the balcony section. I shared the spot with a group of ladies who were also weekly attendees. We became great friends. They started bringing me sandwiches. They were great. I saw Carol Burnett, Tom Bosley, Tommy Tune, so many stars. It was heaven.

I decided to celebrate my new wealth by taking Ruth out on a real date. We went to a little French restaurant, which existed on Mass Ave. No longer there. We had Duck l’Orange and a glass of wine.

Then we took a bus to Harvard Square and went to see a New Wave French film at the Brattle theater. The Brattle, whose theater history I knew and appreciated, was not built in the faux Oriental style that I was used to in Milwaukee. No, the Brattle was a basic box theater with little international flags on the wall, tight hard seats, and a back screen projection system. As Ruth and I settled into our seats, it was clear the audience was young, college kids, most likely, Intellectuals. Probably Harvard, MIT, Tufts, Brandeis, BU. We were early and so sat back to wait for the beginning of the film.

AND THAT’S WHEN IT HAPPENED. LIKE A FLASH OF BRIGHT WHITE LIGHT, THE TRUTH BOPPED ME ON THE HEAD. THIS WAS THE EUREKA MOMENT!

Somewhere in the theater, somebody had turned on music to keep the customers entertained until the movie began. It was a scratchy, LP record. The audio was slowly turned up until you could finally hear it. It was a harpsichord. Oh no, it was a Scarlatti Sonata.

AND RIGHT THEN, AT THAT VERY EXACT MOMENT, I KNEW I WAS A HOPELESS STRANGER IN A WILDLY EXOTIC LAND. IT WAS AS IF I HAD BEEN PLUNGED INTO SOME DISTANT PLANET, A PLANET FILLED WITH FLYING THINGS, A PLANET SO DIFFERENT FROM WHERE I HAD COME FROM THAT IT LEFT ME SPEECHLESS. CLUELESS. SITTING, WATCHING, NOT BELIEVING- RIGHT THERE IN THE BRATTLE THEATER!

The recorded music grew more intense, filling the cavernous room with harpsichord music. The young couple in front of us moved closer together. Tighter and tighter.

She looked up at him, lovingly.

“They are playing our song.”

“I know, I know.”

And then they kissed.

-by Fred Barzyk

Producing and recording "Favorite Themes for Masterpiece Theatre"

In 1980, shortly after departing WGBH to seek fame (and possibly fortune) as an independent producer, I approached Joan Wilson with a proposal to issue a record album of "Favorite Themes from Masterpiece Theatre." Joan went for the idea immediately and asked Henry Becton and Sam Tyler for their endorsements. We got a budget and were ready to rock.

Alice Kossoff was our legal beagle at WGBH, and she was great! At the outset, the hardest part of the whole project was negotiating and collecting the executed contracts back from Britain. These were the days of the FAX and/or teletype, but no e-mail, and unless I phoned or until I actually presented myself in person at their door, the Brits seemed content to just 'muddle along' until the eleventh hour. One had to wait for weeks for confirmation from mysterious and slow-moving institutions like Clarabella Music, Limited and The Mechanical Copyright Protection Society.

Most, of the music rights were held by the BBC, London Weekend, EMI, Thames TV, British Decca and Pushbike Music in London. The copyright to the main theme, “Rondeau” by J.J. Mouret, was held by an obscure and hard-to-locate company, Vogue Music, somewhere in France. Since two of the slections were not quite long enough for a record album, I commissioned Kenyon Emrys-Roberts and Wilfred Josephs. the composers of “Poldark” and “I, Claudius,” respectively, to extend their music specifically for the LP. Both were happy to do so and luckily, I got permission to record these extensions with an orchestra of top-flight players at a BBC music studio in Maida Vale, just outside London.

Having previously produced an album for RCA London was, I suppose, useful in opening some otherwise sticky doors but looking back, I must acknowledge that Joan’s unflagging support, a decent budget, and Lady Luck were with me all the way.

Setting up at Maida Vale on a gray Saturday morning, while waiting for all the musicians to arrive, I was stunned to learn from my studio producer that a musical legend would be joining the band that morning: Alan Civil had been contracted to play French horn. Holy Cow! Alan was Dennis Brain’s successor at the Philharmonia, and had played in the Beatles’ albums “Revolver” and “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Holy Cow!

Our band was superb; most everything was completed in just two takes. Some of my fondest memories include meeting and chatting with the composers of “Poldark” and “I, Claudius” and afterwards, enjoying Shepherd’s Pie and a pint for lunch with the crew a local pub following the sessions. I corresponded with Emrys-Roberts and his wife for years, and was once a guest for dinner in their beautiful home in Sussex. It was a different world, recording in England, and I have often yeared for one more trip, one more tune…just one more take.

Mixing down at Maida Vale 6 (Kenyon Emrys-Roberts rear doorway)

(click to enlarge)

(Click 2X to enlarge)

PAIK AND THE VIDEO SYNTHESIZER by Fred Barzyk

The WGBH New Television Workshop existed mainly because artists didn't have access to TV cameras. These were the days before Sony Portapaks. I was doing a local show "What's Happening. Mr. Silver?" which had been brought to the attention a NET show, "Public Broadcasting Laboratory". Dean Opennheimer, executive producer of culture, asked David Atwood, Olivia Tappan and I to come to NY and show off our little experimental shows. After watching our stuff, the artists and the exec producer decided that we might be the best TV types to help give artists control of television. This little story is about the day I worked with Nam June for the First Time and how he came to create his video synthesizer.


PAIK AND THE VIDEO SYNTHESIZER

Fred Barzyk, TV Producer/Director

Boston, Massachusetts 1969


I always remember Nam June Paik standing in a television studio, in big old rubber boots, his hands somewhere inside an old TV set, telling me to stand back since TV sets sometime explode when he does this. I backed off. The TV did not explode but gave forth a dazzling array of colors, buzzed and slowly died, never to live again.

"Don't worry. I got more TV sets." said Paik.

And more he did. That day, in the television studios of WGBH-TV, the flagship station of America's Public Television network, Paik burned out more than 12 TV sets. Fortunately, this time their dazzling images were captured on 2 inch videotape. These " visual moments" became part of a six minute video piece which was included in a half hour program called "Medium is the Medium." This was the first time that artists where allowed to control the professional TV cameras, producing their own unique vision for a network show. And quite a show it was.

Paik was one of five artists who created video pieces for this segment of 'PUBLIC BROADCASTING LABORATORY", a weekly two hour show supported by the Ford Foundation. The artist's had been selected from a 1969 gallery show, "TV AS A CREATIVE MEDIUM" Howard Wise Gallery, New York. For his video piece, I had to deliver Paik a videotape of Richard Nixon speech and a woman dancer in a bikini bottom and pasties for her nipples. He did all the rest, to the great delight of the TV crew. This was not the normal PTV show!

This program began my long association with Nam June, along with my partner Olivia Tappan and colleague, Dave Atwood. The three of us became the supporters, defenders and co conspirators in the creation of the Paik/Abe Video Synthesizer.

Why did it happen at WGBH? with me? I had been interested in using television in a more "artistic" way for a long time. My background was theater and art and I was longing to find away of expressing it. I got into an aesthetic argument with our senior producer/director about WGBH's coverage of the Boston Symphony concerts. Why couldn't the cameras paint pictures instead of showing old men blowing horns and bowing violin strings? Not possible, not at WGBH. I finally convinced a group of engineers and camera people to stay late a couple of nights and we created what is suppose to be the first video experiments, "JAZZ IMAGES" (1963). You must remember, we were like a closed society. No one had TV cameras except TV stations. They were just too big and too expensive. We were like a fortress surrounded by a moat, and no artist was allowed to cross over. So we, those on the inside, had to put a break in the structure.

This kind of experimentation gave the three of us (Barzyk, Tappan, Atwood) a reputation for being "far out". We were bringing this kind of "experimental" look to a local jazz show and a local series called 'WHAT'S HAPPENING MR. SILVER?" This kind of continued experimentation within the system was what brought Paik and us together. The producers had heard of our work and we lugged heavy 2 inch tape to New York to show to the artists. Fortunately, they liked our work. We agreed to collaborate.

Howard Klein of the Rockefeller Foundation became the next major player in the creation of the video synthesizer. Klein offered an artist in residence grant to WGBH. I was asked to head up the project. Paik was one of my first choices.

He was brought to Boston for an extended stay as a Rockerfeller Artist in Residence. We tried small little video experiments, but Paik was frustrated because using WGBH's TV studios, crews, etc. was very expensive. He saw his small grant disappearing without any major creations. He looked for ways to make his work " as inexpensive as Xeroxing."

One day he presented me with a most complicated looking diagram. I am not an engineer and sometimes have trouble understanding what Paik is saying, and was totally unsure that day of what he was describing to me. What I was able to fathom, was that he wanted to go to Japan and work with a Japanese engineer(Abe) to create a low cost video machine. This machine would cost $10,000 and give Nam June the ability to create constantly without worrying about costs. He further explained that the $10,000 would include his travel, the engineers time, all the electronic equipment, and bring the machine and engineer from Japan to Boston to set up its operation. Was this possible? He insisted he could do it. And he did.

Paik and I had a lunch with the head of WGBH, Michael Rice, to try and sell him on the expenditure of the grant money to create this video machine. Michael sat there and listened as Paik went on and on about the beauty of the synthesizer and the images it would create. We laid out the diagram on the lunch table, and Paik gave his best presentation yet. To his credit, Michael Rice agreed there, on the spot.

Nam June would soon be on his way to Japan.

"That's the easiest $10,000 grant I ever got!" said Paik.

For the next three months, I heard from Nam June every once in awhile. Back here in Boston, I had convinced the station to give over a very small studio to house the synthesizer. Finally, passing through customs, Paik and Abe arrived with boxes and boxes of equipment. Paik had also purchased an old record turntable on which he would construct objects and spin them at either 33rpm or 78rpm. This was the focus of the synthesizers black and white cameras as the two men set up their video machine. I knew the day it was working, when Nam June showed me a mound of shaving cream whirling around on the turntable, which was being transformed into a mélange of color and images on his color TV sets. The Video Synthesizer lived.

The first broadcast of the synthesizer was a video marathon, broadcast live from 10:00 pm to 1:00 AM. Paik called it "Beatles, from beginning to end". That night he played every Beatle tune that had been recorded (some several times) and created abstract image after another. People, friends showed up to help.

The costs of this three hour television broadcast, including shaving cream, tin foil, and assorted objects plus supper for Paik and Abe was $100. He had done it.

He broke the back of expensive broadcast TV. The only problem with that evening's broadcast was that he blew out the TV transmitter. The chroma level coming out of the synthesizer was much too high and destroyed a component. It had to be replaced and it was very expensive.

"What's television coming to?" said WGBH's head engineer.

"I can't believe what's happening on my TV.", said a TV viewer

"Beautiful. Like video wall paper." said Nam June Paik.

Fred Barzyk's poem MOMA

      In 1962, Peter Hoving (camera) and I traveled to New York to work on a documentary about the renowned Boston photographer, Marie Cosindas. We had received a grant from Polaroid to help defray the cost of doing this "Creative Person" – a half-hour program for NET.

      Peter and I both had experience at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and assumed the MFA would never let us roam free without someone from the museum staff being with us. Probably those restrictions happened after one of our lights nearly melted a painting on exhibit. It was a scoop light that was a little too close to the painting that caused the disaster. Fortunately, the museum experts where able to retouch it and afterwards, it looked pretty much the same.

     The MFA continued our series, Museum Open House, and WGBH employees knew the rules of engagement. But here at the Museum of Modern Art, we were shocked at being left free and alone in a gallery with some of the world’s most noted modern masterpieces. Here is a little poem recalling the event.

MUSEUM OF MODERN ART, 1962

I couldn’t believe it-

We had been left alone-

The top floor of the MOMA

Just me and my cameraman

Left alone by a busy curator

Before any security guards appeared

In the middle of a deserted gallery

We waited, quiet, uncertain

Left alone in the Museum of Modern Art

Pollock, Klee, Kandinsky and all the others

Colors, shapes, demanding us to pay attention

Visual challenges screaming out from the shadows

Paintings, barely lit by the early morning light

We tried to comprehend their messages

but the images just stared back,

providing no other clues

We waited, quiet, uncertain

Left alone in the Museum of Modern Art

Around a corner is where it was hung

Twenty five feet long

Eleven feet high

Black and white,

A screaming woman,

A limp baby

A severed arm clutching a sword

Pablo Picasso’s scream against war and carnage

“Guernica”

We looked, quiet, uncertain

Alone in the Museum of Modern Art

Then the Silence stopped

Now an ugly sound filled the space,

a sound so loud and awful

a horrible sound heard only by our eyes

emanating from the massive, black and white canvas:

red, hideous yellow fire bombings,

pink flesh gnashing against brittle bones

hot blood flowing dark purple, crimson;

black explosions,

white screams;

until nothing but

Death

Horrified, we listened with our eyes

Alone in the Museum of Modern Art

Then it stopped. Gone.

The sound of high heels on cold tile

The gallery lights sputtering on.

The curator returned and the carnage vanished

Replaced by distant city traffic down below

by a car horn, a police siren

by the heaviness of our breathing.

Time now to film our documentary

Time to turn our attention to another artist

We set up our tripod and loaded our camera

Point and shoot, focus and zoom

We try to forget the cries of anguish we saw

While we were alone in the Museum of Modern Art.

But we can’t.

Never will.

Never.

Jean Shepherd, as remembered by Fred Barzyk, September 2010

I first heard Jean on the radio in Boston. It was 1961. I was babysitting my young son and while idly scanning radio stations, I heard this person, this intense personal voice, talking to ME. Whoa! Is it possible? Something clicked in me. Had I found a kindred soul?

Jean had grown up in the Midwest-Hammond, Indiana. The industrial Midwest. Me, too. I grew up just an hour away in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. My father worked in a factory, International Harvester. My mother worked in a factory during the war, Perfex. My neighborhood was surrounded by all kinds of Factories. You could smell them in the air.
Jean was weaving a tale about the Steel Mill. Running, delivering the mail. He recalled a horrible accident. A vat had turned over, killing one of the steel men. But he also talked about the beauty of the giant plant. He talked about tapping the heat. He never played any music. He just talked! Come on! This was a Saturday afternoon, for God sake. Who the Hell is this guy? Right then and there I knew I had to work with him.

I was a young television director (22) working at WGBH-TV, a little Educational Television station housed in a former roller skating rink, above a drugstore at 84 Massachusetts Avenue and right across the street from MIT. There were 45 employees running the TV and FM radio station. I was on contract to direct a series of French Language shows aimed at grade school students. But what I really wanted to do was dramas for TV. Maybe this Jean Shepherd person might be the storyteller I was looking for. Maybe.

How the hell am I going to meet him, or get to work with him? Youth is great. I figured I would just write him a letter and offer him a half hour of airtime on our little station. I huddled with Mike Ambrosino (a fan; Mike was responsible for the development of the Eastern Educational Television Network and created NOVA) and John Henning (a fan; John had grown up in New York City listening to Jean on the radio. John became one of Boston’s most distinguished newsmen.)

Here was the problem. WGBH had no money. We were lucky to meet the weekly payroll. I was making $80 a week and trying to support a wife and baby. I had no money. So we offered an artist the one thing they can’t resist. Free airtime to do anything he wanted to do.

We couldn’t afford his airfare. He would have to sign a release devised by our financial officer, Jack Hurley. Jack insisted that some hard cash pass between WGBH and the talent. Each person was to receive $1. The chances of Jean Shepherd even responding to this offer were very low. Probably, non-existent.

Boy, was I wrong. He wrote back and agreed! We talked on the phone and decided on a date. Now I had to tell management that I had made this offer and it had been accepted. No, I never did get permission before I sent the letter. What the hell? I never thought he would respond.

Bob Larson, programming manager, looked dubious. A comedian? No, I said, a great storyteller. How much will this cost? A one-dollar release. Somehow (don’t remember what I said) Bob agreed to let me go ahead with the show. Bob had graduated from Harvard and was very erudite. He once told me I would never be a producer because of the school I had gone to. Marquette University in Milwaukee. I shrugged and said OK. Time will tell. Bob took a chance on this one. And for me, it started a 30-year working relationship with Jean Shepherd.
There is an important event that I forgot to mention. That little TV station above the drug store- it had burned down to the ground several months before. With an amazing amount of public support from institutions and viewers, a campaign to build a new state of art studio was created. We were offered free space from many institutions while the new studio was being built. WGBH was spread out across the city in 7 different locations.

The TV studio was a small room in the basement of the Museum of Science. There was a window from which the paying visitors could watch us make TV shows. We were an exhibit. The producers, directors, execs were housed in a small red wooden building behind the Museum, right on the waters of the Charles River.

Bob Larson laid out the rules of the game. I would have a single camera and the show would be a half hour live and recorded on tape. (That original tape exists in the WGBH archives, “JEAN SHEPHERD, AMERICAN HUMORIST”) I decided we would shoot from the dock behind the building.

I would need a big light to cover the area since the show would air at 9:00 PM. The opening and closing credits would be created on a large piece of cardboard perched carefully on an easel. Camera starts on cardboard, pan to Jean, he talks for a half hour, pan back to the cardboard. Done.

The day arrived and so did Jean with a young woman, Leigh Brown. She was introduced as his secretary. She never said much but watched with great interest. Jean was affable and eager to do his bit. I introduced him to the crew and we headed out to the dock. He had a crew cut, wore a summer jacket and tie. He was fit and seemed to enjoy the opportunity to do this for WGBH. I later found out that it was our connection to Harvard, MIT, Boston Symphony Orchestra, Brandeis, Tufts, Boston University, which made this gig really appealing. Jean was looking to forge his credentials in the world of academia.

Jean had brought his theme music on audiotape. The time arrived and we were on the air, in living black and white with the Charles River behind him. He proceeded to tell us two of his classic stories. First came the Ovaltine story and the magic decoder ring. He ended with the blind date story. The stage manager gave him the one-minute cue and he concluded his bit and we panned to the cardboard credits. The crew applauded. Egad, this wasn’t like our normal shows. I mean we were doing lectures, piano shows, educational courses for distant learners. And here was this guy entertaining us. Wow! This called for a celebration.

Jean, Leigh, myself and most of the crew made off to one of our favorite watering holes. This night was going to be on me. Might blow the family budget, but it was worth it. I would pick up Jean and Leigh’s drinks. I had assumed that Jean was a beer drinker, like my Dad. But no. He ordered a martini! And just one. The rest of us bought the cheapest beer in the house. We laughed and talked. And then something amazing happened. Jean asked how WGBH was doing. We said what do you mean? How are the ratings? We all laughed. We never knew if anyone was watching us. Jean asked what kind of shows did we do. At that moment, WGBH was doing a lot of Harvard extension courses for the Navy. Physics, calculus, trig, etc. It was a series of show for the crews of atomic subs that stayed submerged for months at a time. The crew could get academic credit for taking this course when they took an exam on returning to base. Shepherd’s eyes twinkled, and he smiled that crooked smile of his. And he created a story right in front of us in this seedy beer-smelling bar.

Jean: I can see it now. Professor Schmidlap appears at a blackboard and begins to explain calculus to the TV audience. He is amazing, his voice flying over Boston, talking MATH. Suddenly, after just two weeks of his little show, the ratings are soaring. The local commercial stations take notice.

“Who the hell is this guy? What’s going on? Maybe it’s that theme music. I mean who the hell can understand calculus?”

Four weeks later, Professor Schmidlap is number one in Boston TV. The news spreads to New York. They call up and get an air tape. These Big time execs gather in a large conference room and they watch! The theme music comes up (They lean forward), Prof. Schmidlap appears and begins, writing a long equation on the blackboard. (They lean in further) Professor smiles as he shows us the solution. (They are now standing)

“Get this guy on the phone. Now!”

Professor Schmidlap is at home when the phone rings. It’s one of the big time New York agents.

“Professor Schmidlap?”

“Yes?”

“This is _________, who’s your agent?”

“My insurance agent?”

By months end, Professor has his own show on NBC. His show is broadcast over the entire nation. And the ratings take off. Before long he has won the coveted 9pm slot NATION WIDE. The other networks respond. Soon there are shows on Physics, Metaphysics, Epistemology.

And what about WGBH and educational TV? They’re running old Ed Sullivan shows.”

NOTE: In the year, 2002, WGBH, as part of the Public Broadcasting System, aired several episodes of the Ed Sullivan  Show. That was exactly 39 later that Jean Shepherd’s prediction came to pass.