Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

In May of 1961, Newton Minow, the chairman of the Federal Communications Commission at the time, referred to television as, “a vast wasteland.” For the most part, he wasn’t wrong – and things got much worse. Thanks to unscripted television (reality shows), crashing standards, and a laughable rating system, Minow’s wasteland expanded. And, as bad as it was for adults, it became absolutely dismal for children.

Today, endless streaming channels offer even more kids’ TV, still overloaded with mindless nonsense, little to no educational value, and more product placement than you can shake your debit card at. Yes, there are a few exceptions out there, but very few. But, in the early days of television, one man set an unparalleled standard for children’s programming, and it has yet to be replicated.

In the 1950s, networks were new, most TV for kids was locally produced, and much of it centered around some form of live host or clown, surrounded with an array of puppets, cheap props, and goofy slapstick. All of this was thought necessary to keep little Junior occupied and attentive.

But on October 3, 1955, a new program hit the CBS television network’s morning airwaves. A wizened, mustached man in a long, long coat with huge pockets took over TV screens around the country and welcomed children into his Treasure House. From that day on, “Captain Kangaroo,” whose title character was played by Bob Keeshan, would remain a staple of children’s programming for 29 original seasons.

His work in local television as a character actor gave him a first-hand look at the burgeoning children’s programming industry that, in his view, often insulted the intelligence of children. The Captain’s kindly soft-voiced approach was markedly different from other contemporaries, like Howdy Doody, and The Mickey Mouse Club.

Keeshan’s character, Captain Kangaroo, was based on the relationship generally enjoyed between children and grandparents. Just 25 years of age, he adopted a low, quiet voice, and wig that made him appear as a kindly old grandfather. That’s why, to many of us, the Captain never seemed to age as we grew up.

Keeshan always engaged young viewers directly through the TV camera, one-on-one. He had no live studio audience, often referred to as a gallery, because he felt it detracted from his connection with the children at home. In his view, it was impossible to make each child feel special if the cast was focused on a group of kids on the set.

Captain Kangaroo opened his show every morning jingling a large ring of keys to an upbeat theme song as he opened his Treasure House. Then he spent the next hour educating his young viewers through play with the help of Mr. Green Jeans, Mr. Moose, Bunny Rabbit, and a host of other colorful characters. “Play is the work of children,” he said. “It’s serious stuff.”

About 13 years after the Captain’s debut, the neighborhood trolly brought Mister Rogers to PBS. The tone of “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” was like Keeshan’s and the two eventually became good friends.

Unfortunately, even retooling couldn’t save the Captain from sagging ratings and CBS’s need for a competitive morning news presence. It was finally canceled in 1984. But he found a new home in edited, half-hour reruns on PBS through 1993. Rogers’ show ran until 2001.

By the way, having been raised in southwest Ohio, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the “Uncle Al Show,” based at WCPO Channel 9 in Cincinnati from 1950 to 1985 – predating both Keeshan and Rogers. Al Lewis (Uncle Al) and his airborne sidekick, “Captain Windy,” played by his wife Wanda Lewis, offered music, colorful characters, and even a circus at the end of each show. He was probably a big reason I got into music.

Like millions of others who grew up between the 1950s and 1980s, I have fond memories of the Captain, Mr. Rogers, and Uncle Al, well into my teens. Each left an indelible mark on my personality. At the time, I was completely unaware of how much I was learning about character, kindness, self-confidence, and, of course, how to get someone to stand in the perfect spot to dump ping-pong balls on their head.