DON'T READ ALL ABOUT IT!

Louder, kid, I can't hear you.

Around 12:30 on Saturday afternoon, my wife and I were walking home from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We parted ways on 84th Street and 3rd Avenue -- she to go home, me to make two stops on 86th. I had crossed to the east side of 3rd, when the sound of a police siren approached from 86th and Lexington, one block west.

Initially, I didn't pay much attention to it. What caught me off-guard was the speed at which the police car took the turn onto 3rd and headed north. This thing was going fast, like the driver was in a hurry for a really, really good reason before slamming on the brakes at the intersection of 87th and 3rd. "Burning rubber" it's called, like you see in cartoons, where smoke appears from under the tires.

 The cops had just gotten out of the car when a young man -- 15? 26? Hard to say -- ran east from 87th and crossed 3rd Avenue. One of the cops yelled at him to stop, which didn't do the job. So, he removed the gun from his holster, took aim at the guy's leg, and fired. 

Down went the runner.

My first time witnessing someone getting shot by a cop. Getting shot by anybody.

Everyone froze in their tracks. Someone exclaimed "Whoa!" As the cops ran over to the guy, the cross light turned to green. I walked to the north side of 86th, when I had to make a decision. Do I get closer to the action, with my phone in hand to video what was going on? Or do I walk east and continue on my errands? 

I walked east. It seemed too voyeuristic to stick around. Yet as I ducked into the restaurant to pick up lunch, I was in a daze, feeling like saying to the guy behind the corner, "I just saw someone get shot" before settling on, "I'd like a felafel sandwich on pita with hummus, baba ghanoush and a Jerusalem salad". As I left with lunch, more sirens approached the scene of the shooting. And as I went further east, still more arrived.

Still shaken when arriving home, I relayed my story to my wife, who was understandably shocked. But not so shocked as me when, hours later, I watched the local news and searched the internet to learn the details. 

Nothing. Nothing at 2:00, 4:00, 6:00, 9:30. Ditto for Sunday. 

A cop shot an alleged perp on the Upper East Side on a bright, sunny day -- and it was as if it never happened. It was like those "parallel universe" incidents where people claim to have seen things right in front of them that didn't really happen.

There were no movie or TV cameras in sight, and anyway the police department would have shut down the street where it happened. The cop in question didn't use a taser because those little electric prongs didn't come out of the barrel. 

The question for the reader: If a suspect falls from a gunshot in the middle of 3rd Avenue in front of dozens of pedestrians but it isn't reported on the news...did it really happen?

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SUBTRACTING THE ADS

 The suspicious-looking ads on my newsfeed just won't stop, nor will my takedowns of them:

If that's what the roof replacements look like, no wonder they're so damn affordable.

Apparently, it's to steal them from your neighbors during their home reno.

See that little garbage can icon in the corner of the screen? You're welcome. 

Over his dead body.

Judging by the doctor's expression, whatever Pruritus is must be a lot of fun!

Sure. But you can save even more by not purchasing a house you can't afford to begin with.

And for their boyfriends, if you get my drift.

With a glassy-eyed zombie  for a daughter wearing a spaghetti sauce-stained kitchen mop on her head, not very.

"And if you don't answer in five seconds, you and your family are going to be slaughtered like hogs."

Well, here they seem to be acid, ketamine, PCP, mescaline, and salvia.

                                  

Great, I always wanted to be a counterfeiter!

       ******************

A HAIRY SITUATION

I'm honored to be considered the GOAT in my field. Well, maybe not exactly GOAT, but something close to it, as my latest piece for Next Avenue explains:

https://www.nextavenue.org/taking-it-on-the-chin/

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 47

You've got to get up mighty early to find two movies directed by people better known (and more talented) as actors; one of those actors starring in another picture; and a Magnacolor short starring a one-time Shakesperean actor now slumming in stoogeville. Aren't you glad you stayed in bed while I did the heavy lifting?

UNUSUAL OCCUPATIONS (#23) (1940): Running for 12 years, Paramount's short subject series Unusual Occupations seems to have picked up where Warners' Ripley's Believe it or Not! left off. Not that anything is impossible to believe, since everything is fully documented in almost-glorious Magnacolor. 

Yet a glance at the entire series takes a rather liberal interpretation of the word "occupations". The Dionne Quintuplets? Cylinder records? Clams that look like ducks? None of these are jobs. Still, some of what we see in this chapter certainly count as side hustles. Painting miniature portraits (Jesus, FDR, and Hitler among other subjects), creating art out of flowers, or growing pumpkins in the shape of human skulls could earn folks a buck or two. But what of the gas station attendant who built a hand-cranked machine to kick yourself in the ass when you've done something stupid -- no charge!

The longest section belongs to John Barrymore, whose occupation on his tax return was "Actor" but in Unusual Occupations appears to be "Collector of Dead Things". As he leads radio announcer Ken Carpenter around his mansion, Barrymore shows off the collection of fish he's caught, animals he's shot, stuffed heads, and a dinosaur tooth, and, not surprisingly, lots of guns. Comfortably ensconced in his self-parody stage of life, Barrymore's deliberately hammy delivery (you have no idea how someone can roll his r's with such ease) and double-takes entertained moviegoers who avoided his classy productions years earlier. Whatever pays the hunting bills, I guess. Although I wonder if Barrymore thought he deserved a round or two with the ass-kicking machine for allowing booze to destroy his career.

BONUS POINTS: A still of Barrymore from this particular Unusual Occupations appeared in a book about film restoration which I owned as an adolescent. It took over 50 years before discovering the movie online. Too bad its current owner plastered a timer and FOOTAGE FILE watermark over the entire movie.

MY TRUE STORY (1951): Columbia Pictures must have run out of radio series to adapt before giving True Story magazine the movie treatment. My True Story appears to have been a one-shot entry into the non-genre, perhaps as a bone tossed to down-on-his-luck Mickey Rooney to direct. A true story about his life would have been a lot more interesting.

Femme convict Ann Martin is sprung from the slammer with the promise of a job from a kindly confectioner claiming to have been a friend of her mother. He is, in fact, part of her three-man pre-prison jewel robbery gang. Ann is set up as the caretaker for dowager Mme. Rousseau in order to steal the secret ingredient for the perfume her late husband created: oil of myrrh.  While Ann starts having second thoughts, the gang is willing to kill the guy who runs the perfume factory, and, if necessary, Ann's bf, and Mme. Rousseau herself. Beware of three wiseguys carrying myrrh!

All due credit to My True Story for coming up with oil of myrrh rather than jewels or money as the criminals' target. But a B-picture starring no one of importance rises or falls on the script and direction. Neither are particularly special -- the dialogue is run-of-the-mill, while Rooney's directorial style seems to be holding the end of each scene for several seconds after the last line is spoken before fading out. Aldo Ray (billed as Aldo DaRae) is featured in his first movie role as Rousseau's chauffeur who's also part of the criminal gang. As for the rest of the cast, Wilton Graff (as the gang leader) seems to be imitating Vincent Price, while character actor Ben Weldon is the only familiar face. Strictly for B-movie fans, My True Story makes for a somewhat interesting if long 67 minutes. 

BONUS POINTS: The ridiculous finale tries to convince you that Ann's change of heart means she'll never serve a day in prison for taking part in a criminal act that wound up with two people dead. 

THE BIG OPERATOR (1959): Any '50s crime picture  beginning with a guy getting knocked on the noggin and tossed into the back of a cement truck definitely gets my attention -- especially when followed by credits accompanied by a brass & drums-heavy theme common in the late '50s. Welcome to the world of corrupt union leader "Little Joe" Braun, who will stop at nothing from preventing honest union guys from testifying against him in a federal investigation -- like torture, murder, and when that's not enough, the threat of torture and murder to be inflicted on a kidnapped child. A guy's gotta keep his job, y'know.

As in Quicksand and Drive a Crooked Road, Mickey Rooney is superlative as Braun. No need for him to give his character any complexity, either -- he's a just an extraordinarily violent, angry guy towered over by the world yet terrifies all who come in contact with him. (You can't tell me the 5'1" Rooney didn't carry around a tremendous grudge -- his onscreen anger is too convincing not to be real.) And as long as he's onscreen, The Big Operator makes for a riveting good show. Unfortunately, unlike his other two movies mentioned above, there's way too much time devoted to the supporting characters, one of whom is set on fire. (Just to set things straight, the hitman did it on his own accord, forcing Braun to admonish him, "Look, you don't set anybody on fire without my permission!")

That supporting cast, though, is dizzying. Jackie Coogan (The Addams Family)! Jim Backus (Gilligan's Island)! Jay North (Dennis the Menace)! Mel Torme (The Fearmakers)! Vampira, Charles Chaplin, Jr, Mamie van Doren, Joey Foreman, Ray Danton, Steve Cochran -- all in Cinemascope! Their presence alone threaten to overshadow Rooney from time to time. But for my money, you can keep the star of jolly MGM musicals and heartwarming Andy Hardy pictures -- I'll take his angry little chumps, doormats, and criminals any time.

BONUS POINTS: Jackie Coogan -- oddly also receiving a "Dialogue Coach" credit -- played opposite Charles Chaplin, Jr.'s dad in The Kid in 1921. 

GANGSTER STORY (1959): There must have been something in the air in the 1950s for
actors wanting to spread their unsteady wings. For not only did Mickey Rooney The Big Operator, Walter Matthau stepped behind the camera for the crime picture Gangster Story. And, as with Rooney's movie, the poster claims (meaning lies) it's a true story. The main difference is that My True Story at least looks professional, while Gangster Story is probably the worst B-movie starring an actor who was already established -- if, admittedly, not exactly famous yet. 

Gangster Story is the usual, uh, story about a gangster. Jack Martin, on the run from the police, robs a bank -- by making it look like he's rehearsing a movie! -- before being found by the yeggs on the payroll of criminal ringleader Earl Dawson, who hires him to join the gang. Martin's first job is to rob the safe from a country club. While Dawson intends to keep his new employee on the payroll, Martin wants to run away to Mexico with Carol, a librarian who has fallen in love with him for no damn good reason. A subsequent shootout with Dawson and the cops puts everybody's plan to bed for good.

OK, not exactly original but serviceable for a 65-minute quickie. The problem is Matthau the director. Working with a penny-ante budget and non-union crew, he appeared to deliberately make sure that Gangster Story looked strictly amateur hour. Camera shots consistently off-center and occasionally out of focus, dialogue looped in during post-production, ham-fisted editing, and a score that sounds like needle drops -- everything leaves you asking yourself questions. Was this Matthau's attempt at a calling card to break out of supporting roles into leads? Did he surround himself with terrible actors to make himself look that much better? And how the hell did his career survive this piece of junk? If Matthau the actor wasn't as good as he was, Gangster Story could be mistaken for an Ed Wood production. Definitely a must-see. (Google the title and see just how many fly-by-night video companies have released it with covers featuring photos of 1970s Matthau.)

BONUS POINTS: The only name I recognized in the credits, Radley Metzger (the editor), would later become famous as the auteur of artsy softcore epics. When that's a step up in a career, you know you started at the dregs.

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RACE TO THE BOTTOM

Glad she finds it funny.

 I've made the point over and over that Democrats must be a pretty sorry bunch if they
couldn't successfully make the case against Donald Trump. But by the same token, I've made the reverse argument regarding the office of Mayor of New York. Republicans should have learned from Rudy Giuliani B.C. (Before Crazy) and Mike Bloomberg: Fiscally conservative, socially moderate, cleaning the streets, lowering crime. Being able to read the room.  Nothing difficult to grasp there.

Glad they find it funny.

Instead, after two terms of our former Idiot Mayor Bill de Blasio (whose name I had to Google because I emptied my brain of him so thoroughly), and our current corrupt leader Eric "I Love Turkey" Adams, the local GOP still can't come up with any serious candidate to provide a clear choice for Republicans, disaffected Democrats, and pissed-off Independents (hey, that's me!).  

And as we face a Mayoral election this year, neither major party is doing anything not to look like the fools that they are. The recent mayoral debate must be the first where the incumbent -- the aforementioned Eric "Fly Turkish Airlines" Adams -- didn't participate on advice of his lawyer. Now that's a mayor I can put my confidence in!

The only way Cuomo couldn't offer an
 unwanted kiss.

Since then, Andrew Cuomo has thrown his tarnished hat into the ring. The former Governor has decided that enough time has elapsed to hope New Yorkers have forgotten those charges of sexual impropriety (all denied) and all-around nastiness that pushed New York Democrats and Republicans alike into forcing him out of Albany... and into Manhattan.

Socialist Zohran Mamdami helping to elect
Donald Trump.

Seemed like a fool's errand. Until the most recent polling had Cuomo in the lead with 38% voter approval over Adams' measly 10% . And if you're keeping score, Zohran Mamdani, a former rapper-turned-State Assembly member from Queens, comes in at 12%. In case you'd like to learn more about Mamdami, his platform includes the usual Santa Claus promises: free transit buses, minimum hourly wage of $30 (and you think egg sandwiches are expensive now!), free child care, and city-run grocery stores. (If those stores are run as well as the escalators at the city-run 83rd Street subway station, there's going to be mass starvation.) And just to make sure he's got the Columbia University vote tied up, Mamdani is a pro-Palestine Muslim Socialist.  

These three make up only a small part of the clown show that is the mayoral circus. Even perennial candidate Scott Stringer is in the race, after having lost in 2021 due to (all together now) charges of sexual impropriety. Other candidates' side hustles include hedge fund manager, lawyer for white-collar criminals, and pastor -- three jobs that should disqualify them all from politics.

"But don't touch my kitty!"

So who's the leading Republican candidate? Curtis Sliwa, the Trump-supporting leader of the Guardian Angels, tossed his beret into the ring with the promise of eradicating the rat problem by unleashing feral cats into the city streets. Any chance of convincing Mike Bloomberg to return to his old job?

                                                                            

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THE LORNE AND BALDWIN ROAD

Lorne is the only person in the world who would
look grumpy standing next to a Beatle.

Say what you want about Lorne Michaels, no one is more loyal to his friends, as the funnier-than-expected Saturday Night Live 50th anniversary extravaganza proved. For not only did he invite every living ex-cast member and host to the three-and-half hour party, Lorne also gave a sweet solo spot to one of the most homophobic, misogynistic, violent, and endlessly angry show business figures this side of Mel Gibson. Ladies and gentlemen, Alec Baldwin!

This uncured ham of an actor vanished from his semi-regular SNL gig the moment he shot cinematographer Halyna Hutchins during the filming of Rust. Once the prosecution screwed up their case, Michaels rolled out the red carpet once more to cheers and applause, proving that hating Donald Trump more than makes up for the negatives that would have put any other celebrity's career on show business' official Do Not Resuscitate list. 

Oh God, another generation of annoying
Baldwins.

Still, I couldn't have been the only person viewer shocked to see Killer Alec on the anniversary show, smirking his way through an (admittedly) amusing piece, practically daring viewers to turn away in revulsion. If this appearance and the promos for The Baldwins series on TLC is any indication, Alec is as delusional as his American wife with her mysterious Spanish accent. How much irony is too much when The Baldwins is described as a "reality" series? 

Shooting a cinematographer is OK. Telling jokes
about a murderer isn't.

Yes, Lorne Michaels -- who refused to stand by the late, great Norm MacDonald when network suits wanted him fired; claimed some years ago that he couldn't find a single funny black woman in New York to hire for SNL; for years allowed the show to devolve into an immature  boys club at the expense of the women in front of and behind the camera; who allowed Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian to host -- was more than delighted to bring back Alec Baldwin despite his terrible, self-pitying behavior. When Lorne says SNL is "too crass and opportunistic" to ban certain people from the show, he's not kidding.

Damn, I wish he was my friend.

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ELON MUSK'S FAVORITE JOKES

Elon Musk receives a visitor at his home during a violent storm. After tracking in mud, the visitor says, "You really need something to wipe your shoes on." Musk says, "I do. It's called the Constitution."

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A fan walks up to Musk, shakes his hand and says, "I sure wish you were president!" Musk replies, "What, and lose all my power?"

                        *****************

A friend asks Elon Musk, "Why are your lips turning orange? Are you sick or something?" Musk replies, "Worse. Trump even spray tans his ass!"

                                          *********

Explaining why he has succeeded where others have failed, Musk told reporters, "I find that people lack serious concentration." Asked how they can acquire it, he replied, "It has to be learned at a young age. That's why I'm advising President Trump to start opening up concentration camps."

                               **********

Elon Musk has a friend over for dinner. As the friend excuses himself to go to the bathroom, he asks if there's fresh toilet paper available. Musk replies, "No, but you can do I what I do and use the Constitution instead."

                                      ***********

Elon Musk went on his X account to address accusations that he is flirting with the neo-Nazi movement both here and in Europe. "For the last time, I am not FLIRTING with Nazis, I'm FELLATING them!"

                         **************

Three days after Kanye West's X account was
deactivated following antisemitic posts, it was again reinstated. Asked why West is allowed a platform, X owner Elon Musk said, "You'd allow it, too, if you were a pro-Nazi antisemite like me!"

                                          ***********

Elon Musk is having dinner at a fancy restaurant when he starts farting. When asked by one of his friends why he doesn't control himself, Musk says, "I'm just getting used to the idea of gassing Jews, blacks, and immigrants who aren't white!"

                                      *********

MAYOR ERIC ADAMS' FAVORITE JOKES

 

 Knock knock.

Who's there?

Donald Trump.

Donald! Come on in, let me kiss your ass!

                         **********

Donald Trump and Eric Adams walk into a bar that Adams just robbed. Right as the bartender is ready to call the cops, Trump fires him and lets Adams go home.

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What's the difference between Eric Adams and Eric Trump?

Eric Adams is more useful to Donald Trump. Also, he doesn't have to try as hard to get his attention.

                             ******************

How do you confuse Republicans into silence?

Tell them Trump just called off the prosecution of the guy they've been calling corrupt for the last three years.

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How do you confuse Democrats into silence?

Tell them Trump just called off the prosecution of the Democratic mayor of New York.

                                    *********** 

Why did Eric Adams stop being a vegan?

Donald Trump told him to!

                    **************

The cops are giving Eric Adams the third degree. One of them asks, "Where did that money from Turkey go?" Adams replies, "Search me! Oh, wait a minute, you can't. I just kissed Donald Trump's ass!"

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What does Trump's ass have in common with a lemon? They both cause Eric Adams' lips to pucker up!

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How many people does it take for Eric Adams to sell out his constituents?

One -- Donald Trump!

                *****************

A disappointed Adams voter tells the mayor, "Don't you know that Trump's
administration is actively working against blacks and other minorities?" Adams replies, "And don't you know I'm no longer actively looking at a prison stretch?"

                                  *********

A reporter asks Eric Adams, "Is there another quid pro quo in the deal you made with Trump?" Adams replies, "Not at all. Oh hey, by the way, guess who just might arrange to have me named Mayor of New York for life!"

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 46

 This Early Show entry is a mixed bag, with one great movie, one pretty good, one creepy, and a forgotten TV show starring a now-century-old legend. You can't say I don't deliver the goods.

THE CRIMINAL CODE (1930): Just as the first phase of movie musicals was overstaying its welcome, prison dramas took hold, and The Criminal Code was one of the best. Robert Graham is on his sixth lap of a ten-year prison stretch for manslaughter. Mark Brady, the new warden -- and former D.A. who sentenced Graham -- hires him as a chauffeur, giving the young man a daily taste of freedom and for Brady's daughter Mary. But before Graham can make a move on her, he's thrown in the prison "dungeon" for refusing to squeal on a fellow prisoner named Galloway, who stuck a shiv into a stoolie -- even though it means losing his chance at parole. 

The Criminal Code -- better looking than your average Columbia movie of the time -- is remembered mainly as the movie that allegedly inspired director James Whale to hire Boris Karloff (as Galloway) for Frankenstein later that year. There's far more to the movie than that, as it also shows how its director Howard Hawks was already polishing his fast-talking, multi-conversational style in only his second talkie. It's on display primarily in the first few minutes, but Hawks seems to have urged Walter Huston (Brady) to not only keep up the speed but intensify it along the way. And while Huston looks the part of the D,A.-turned-warden, he has an amusing habit of muttering "Yeah" -- both as a statement and a question -- while chewing on a cigar in a possibly unintentionally nasal imitation of Edward G. Robinson. 

As for the others, Phillips Holmes (Men Must Fight) makes for a sympathetic Graham, who over time has gone mad in stir. A young, dreamy-eyed actor, Holmes is convincing and empathetic as the nice guy-turned-grimy prisoner. And then there's Boris Karloff who admires Graham so much for keeping his yap shut that he willingly pays the ultimate price himself. Had Frankenstein not come along, he'd have probably gotten typecast in criminal roles. (He also played a prisoner in the now-lost French language version of Laurel & Hardy's first feature Pardon Us.) But it's Hawks himself who's the real star of The Criminal Code, putting his mark on almost every scene, bringing a welcome fervency into what could have been a routine melodrama.

BONUS POINTS: An unexpectedly young (and dramatic) Andy Devine is the prisoner who provides the weapon when a brutal prison guard gets what's coming to him.

THE LIMEJUICE MYSTERY, OR, WHO SPAT IN GRANDFATHER'S PORRIDGE? (1930): Any one-reeler nearly a century old with a title like that deserves a looksee. Until you looksee it for yourself. Then you realize how you just wasted eight precious minutes of your life -- or if you're pupaphobic, terrified to near death, for the cast is made up entirely of marionettes. 

A UK production, The Limejuice Mystery has a plot that... well, doesn't really exist. A murder happens in a bar in London's Limehouse district. (We know that because "Limehouse Blues" is heard almost incessantly on the soundtrack.) As weeks pass without the police coming any closer to solving the crime, master detective Herlock Sholmes is literally begged to step in to help. Not that he actually steps in. As with all the marionettes here, he more or less slides across the floor as if, er, moved via strings controlled by drunks. And if you think the name Herlock Sholmes is witty, his "co-star" is named Anna Went Wrong, as if out of one of those pornographic Tijuana Bibles.

There's no dialogue here, because The Limejuice Mystery is a wonderful example of pantomime that the British music hall in known for. Well no, that's not true. It's because providing dialogue would have been a tremendous waste of time and effort. As with the nightmarish I Am Suzanne! , its alleged appeal lies strictly in watching pieces of wood carved into grotesque-looking humans getting dragged around like a dog by its cruel master. The Limejuice Mystery exists in a good print on YouTube, while movies highly-regarded in their day have vanished without a trace. That's the real mystery here.

BONUS POINTS: Nobody actually spits in grandfather's porridge. 

THE LAST CROOKED MILE (1946): Private dick Tom Dwyer horns in on a police investigation of a bank robbery in order to collect the reward money. He starts by cozying up to nightclub thrush Sheila Kennedy, former girlfriend of the robbery leader named Jarvis who, along with his two assistants, were killed when their getaway car took  swan dive off a cliff. Dwyer is convinced the money is hidden somewhere in the getaway car, now restored and on display at a carnival. But before he can get his mitts on the dough, he has to get past "Wires" McGuire, a criminal whose trademark is strangling people with -- you'll never guess -- a wire. No more wire hangers!

At times it's difficult to figure out if Republic Pictures' The Last Crooked Mile is supposed to be taken seriously. Former cowboy star Don "Red" Barry plays Dwyer like a combination of James Cagney and Dwayne "Dobie Gillis" Hickman -- ready to throw a punch minute, spout goofy dialogue the next. Even the ever-reliable Sheldon Leonard (as McGuire) verges on laughing at one point, as if he doesn't know what's going on. But once it settles down, The Last Crooked Mile is quite an enjoyable 67-minute outing.

But it's B-queen Ann Savage as Sheila Kennedy who got me watching it. Almost unrecognizable at times with dark hair rather than her usual

blonde, Savage is more vulnerable here than in her best movie, Detour, even if she appears to know more than she lets on. A nice twist is the way Dwyer starts romancing her despite having a girlfriend named Bonnie. Is he really starting to fall for the moll, or does he suspect her as being part of the bank heist? You'll have to find out for yourself. All I can tell you is that I was 50% fooled -- which is something else you'll have to figure out yourself by watching the movie to its very last crooked mile.

BONUS POINTS: Barry and Savage have a couple of surprising moments with risqué dialogue that wouldn't have been out of place in a 1930s pre-code movie, proving the censors weren't very bright.

MOTHER'S DAY (10/21/58): Judging by the hoopla surrounding Dick Van Dyke's
99th birthday, you'd think that Mary Poppins and his first sitcom were the only things ever starred in. Why oh why did no one ask him about hosting Mother's Day, ABC-TV's kinder, gentler rip-off of Queen for a Day? Unlike the latter's cruelly exploitative nature, Mother's Day pit middle-aged women against each other in friendly challenges all moms apparently should know, like telling raw eggs from hard-boiled by touch alone, or figuring out which of a half-dozen steaks weighs four pounds. Women sure had it easy in the '50s!

Mother's Day's contestants were submitted by the loved ones of women who were deemed worthy of prizes provided by the producers -- mink stoles, tea sets, portable record players, and a vacation to one of a half-dozen glamorous cities. (The Latin Quarter, where the show aired from, was probably the classiest joint any of the contestants or audience members ever visited.) In addition to those eggs and steaks stumpers, the moms in this episode are submitted to a memory test and, in the weirdest moment of any game show in history, telling the difference between a dynamite cap from three similar-looking harmless devices -- as we're reminded, kids playing in vacant city lots are forever bringing home explosives. 

And as for Dick Van Dyke, no daytime host was ever more affable; women at home probably considered him such a nice young man. Today, he's the only reason worth watching Mother's Day if only to learn that legends had to start somewhere, even if meant wiping egg yolks off their hands. Well, also to remind us that live lunchtime programs like this and The Liberace Show ("next on most of these stations") were the closest housewives had to a vacation from their humdrummiest of lives. 

BONUS POINTS: One of Mother's Day's sponsors is Betty Crocker's hot cereal Protein Plus, back when it was pronounced Pro-Tee-In. Just to show my age, I remember hearing that pronunciation in commercials.

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