From Television Stars 1966, published by Purnell

But to a husband such a wife could be a problem, as we see when we watch that very funny series “Bewitched”, in which Elizabeth Montgomery as Samantha, the lovable witch, and Dick York as her constantly perplexed husband, Darrin, sort out their domestic problems.

For Samantha the problem is to try and behave normally without calling on her magical powers to make things easier. For Darrin, the problem is trying to stop his wife from utilizing her powers of witchcraft to solve difficult situations, especially when she is egged on by her witch of a mother, Endora, played by Agnes Moorhead.

The result is escapist entertainment with the accent on comedy.

Elizabeth Montgomery plays her unbelievable role in such a way that she has us almost believing that housewife witches really do exist! And so we are left slightly bewitched, slightly bothered and slightly bewildered!

Elizabeth’s real-life husband is Bill Asher, the director of “Bewitched”. Says Bill, “The reason she’s so good is that Elizabeth has no witchy side, and the whole thing with Samantha is not to be a witch—it’s a past she’d like to cover up. They are two totally different people, so much so that when we’re working I always call her Samantha, and, funnily enough, I’ve never called her Samantha at home. If that ever happened, I think she’d hit me over the head!”

Says Elizabeth on the subject of witches, “They’re not much different from ordinary beings, except that they have certain powers and they live longer.”

How old is Samantha?

“I don’t really know,” says Elizabeth, “but she once chided her mother for producing an old picture Samantha was in. It was dated 1689! Mother herself hasn’t given her age. But she did say once, ‘I’ll remember that if I live to be 1,000 — and I have’.”

The daughter of actor Robert Montgomery, Elizabeth studied at the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts. She has appeared in numerous television shows and films. Her role of Samantha has endeared her to millions of TV fans, from the youngest to the oldest.

A mother herself, she understands why the show is so popular with children. It is basically a kind of fantasy in which anything can happen, and usually does.

With that twitch of the nose she can transport herself to anywhere in the world. She can make dreams come true.

As the bewitched husband in the show, Dick York represents the normal human being, who would never believe the things Samantha does unless he sees them with his own eyes, as he does.

Dick was married in 1952 to a girl he met when they were both acting in a radio show in Chicago.

They now have three daughters, Kimberly, Amanda and Stacie, and two sons, Christopher and Matthew.

“Luckily for me,” smiles Dick, “nothing unusual happens when my wife twitches her nose!”

He has also made feature films and appeared in other TV series. He has been in the theatrical profession most of his life.

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It was while working on the series that Bill Simpson met a young actress who eventually became his wife — Mary Miller. They were married in July, 1965, in Scotland. Bill’s co-star, Andrew Cruickshank gave the bride away.

Barbara Mullen, who plays Janet, their housekeeper, in the series also attended the wedding. Such is the happy atmosphere which exists in a show like “Dr. Finlay’s Casebook”.

Bill Simpson was born in Ayr on September 11, 1931, and was brought up mainly in Dunure, a tiny fishing village which has been used as a location for one of the “Finlay” episodes.

Always keen on acting, he left a job as an insurance clerk to enrol at the Glasgow Drama College. So that he could pay his way through college, he took on a job as a cashier in Butlin’s Holiday Camp at Ayr during the summer. After joining a repertory company in Edinburgh he was later offered work as announcer and newsreader on Scottish Television. He intended to stay for six months to earn enough money to buy some clothes, but he stayed for two years. After joining the Citizens’ Theatre Company in Glasgow he decided he would try his luck in London. One of his earlier jobs in London was playing the part of a man who stole a bottle of milk in “Z Cars”.

It was while he was rehearsing this part that an offer came his way to test for the part of Dr. Finlay. He had an audition on a Friday and was told he would hear the result of it on Monday.

“I think that was the longest weekend I’d ever spent in my life,” he says. “But the wait was well worth it when I heard that I’d got the part.”

He admits that when he went along to the audition he did not realise he would be auditioning for the leading role of Dr. Finlay.

Today he is a major TV star. Like Dick Chamberlain and Vince Edwards, those other docs, he has also made discs. He recorded his first in 1964 — an ‘oldie’ called “I Love You for Sentimental Reasons”. He did not actually sing on the record, but recited in his warm Scottish brogue.

There must be many millions of people who have wished their own doctors looked like these favourite TV docs!

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Her own series on BBC TV proves her versatility. The series has a vast following.

From Television Stars 1966, published by Purnell

Even though she has carved her niche in popular music, Kathy is still a devout opera fan and enjoys hearing her two favourite operas, “Carmen” and “La Boheme”, whenever she has the opportunity.

Getting to the top of any profession is no easy task. There was no exception in Kathy’s case. Before her first big disc hits, “Dance On” and “Secret Love,” she can remember the tough, sometimes heartbreaking days, when success seemed a million years away — endless one-night stands and club engagements. For all her charm, however, Kathy is made of stern stuff. “I always wanted to be a star,” she declared, “and I was willing to make the kind of sacrifices one has to make in order to attain stardom.”

She was sweet sixteen when she started on her road to fame. It was then that she was signed by Bert Ambrose to sing with his band. Bert had tremendous faith and confidence in her. He groomed her, taught her, guided her into becoming the name she is today. Never for one minute did Bert or Kathy think in terms of failure.

When she finally hit the jackpot there were other problems to cope with. Success can be worrying, even sometimes upsetting. She found herself working harder than ever. She once confessed, “Success is terribly, terribly strange. At first I didn’t feel anything. People would say, ‘You’ve sold so many thousand records this week and earned such and such’ — but it wasn’t until I walked along the street and people recognised me that I realised what fame meant. It’s amazing. I came from oblivion all of a sudden.”

Some artistes on finally getting to the top forget their early struggles and hardships. Not so, Kathy. “In this business you’ve got to keep your sense of values. I find that looking back acts as a tremendous stabiliser. It makes you realise how much you owe to other people who’ve helped you. All the time you’re thinking of them and not wanting to let them down.”

The glamorous image Kathy has projected on our screens is all part of the magic this dynamic girl possesses. “I would love to be in films,” she says, “but not as a sex symbol. You know, I’ve never tried to be a sex symbol. Early on in my career many people compared me with Marilyn Monroe. I admit the comparison was extremely flattering. I loved seeing her films. She was a fantastic woman. I was a great fan of hers.”

No star likes to be compared with another, and Kathy has proved to her public that she has a style and personality of her own — a warm, friendly one to match her talent.

She admits that the late Mario Lanza had more influence on her career than anyone else. “When I was taking opera lessons I used to love seeing all his films. I thought he was the greatest thing that ever lived. In fact, he used to make me cry. That’s the effect his voice had on me.”

Kathy is also a great Doris Day fan.

Now that she has the world at her feet what does Kathy strive for?

“Oh, to be better than I was before. I’m a perfectionist. I like to improve all the time. Who doesn’t? What do I strive for? Well, contentment as a human being — personal happiness. Not that I’m unhappy,” she laughed, “but everybody thinks they could be happier.”

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Off the screen Irene, a former vaudeville star, is quite unlike her screen character. “It’s fun being two people,” she declares.

Buddy Ebsen, who plays Jed Clampett, cuts a striking figure when he sheds his make-up, for, like Irene, he too spends a long time in the make-up chair each day. In his early days Buddy was a noted dancer. “My father used to own a dancing school, but I used to think dancing was cissy stuff.” He went to the University of Florida and Rollins College to take a pre-medical course. Then suddenly he changed his mind about dancing. He went to New York and won his first Broadway stage role in the 1928 Ziegfeld production, “Whoopee”. Hollywood later beckoned, and Buddy made a big success in several films. He has also written songs, starred in cabaret, and played straight dramatic parts. He is married and has five children.

Beautiful young Donna Douglas, as Elly May, says her screen image is very much like the girl she used to be as a kid. Very much the tomboy, Donna won several beauty contests, which opened the way to television. Famous producer Hal Wallis changed her name from Doris Smith and signed her for a film with Dean Martin called Career. It was an apt title, for Donna found herself with a movie career of her own.

She adores animals, and has as much affection for them as she shows in the series. She also likes to read books on philosophy and religion. She keeps fit by practising yoga.

Rugged Max Baer, who plays Jethro, wanted to become a professional boxer like his famous father, a former world heavyweight champion. His father, however, advised him that one fighter in the family was enough. He encouraged him instead to be a lawyer or an engineer. Max, born December 4, 1937, showed sporting prowess at school in athletics, football, baseball and basketball. He also won a Junior Open Golf Championship two years in a row. He first became interested in dramatics at school. After six months in the Air Force, he decided to make the trip to Hollywood to carve out an acting career. He worked for two weeks in a meat-packing plant before being discovered by actress Pamela Duncan. Then he appeared in many TV shows. Finally came the big break in “The Beverly Hillbillies”.

This talented foursome have made the series, with its simple, off-beat humour, a remarkable success.

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His leading characters are puppets, but so realistic are they that names like Mike Mercury, Steve Zodiac, Troy Tempest, Jeff Tracy and his sons, Scott, Virgil, Alan, Gordon and John, together with Lady Penelope, have become as famous as those of many human stars.

Anderson produces his spectacular shows on the lines of a full-length feature production, and the result is slick, polished entertainment.

From Television Stars 1966, published by Purnell

He and his wife, Sylvia, have brought stature to the TV puppet on a scale difficult to believe possible. Their films enjoy a tremendous popularity, not only on our screen but also in America.

His recent “Thunderbirds” was sold to America for over a million pounds.

In a film studio in Slough, formerly a disused factory and now a well-equipped studios, the Anderson puppet characters come to life. They play their parts on a miniature set in which the scenery is generally no higher than four feet. Everything is about one-third of normal size, which of course necessitates the making of almost everything that appears on the set—furniture and fittings, jewellery, crockery, guns, lamps, and so on.

Each episode of “Thunderbirds”, which runs for an hour on screen, takes about one month to film. The problems are of course numerous, and sometimes far more intricate than those which face makers of feature films.

As Gerry Anderson says, to produce science-fiction for television is just about the most gruelling thing he can think of. But he is a man with plenty of patience, and the rewards he has reaped have proved well worth the effort.

His company, A.P. Films Ltd., started in 1958 with the production of puppet pictures in an old mansion near the River Thames at Maidenhead. Four people were concerned: Gerry Anderson, Reg Hill, John Read (the lighting cameraman), and a fair-haired Londoner who has since become Mrs. Gerry Anderson. Sylvia Anderson also speaks many of the parts and is the voice of Lady Penelope in “Thunderbirds”.

From their modest beginnings, the company has become a massive organisation. Their phenomenal success story is the result of imagination, gruelling hard work, and determination to succeed.

They started with £500, but today they are worth millions.

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From the ATV Television Show Book 1962

The television camera has done much to dispense with the need for teasing approaches of this kind. For as the weekly fare of wrestling bouts, broadcast from centres all over Britain, has become more and more a regular Saturday afternoon viewing habit, so the uninitiated spectator, sitting in the comfort of his own sitting-room, has come to learn that this is not just an exhibition of brute force, accompanied by grunts and groans, but, in fact, is a highly specialised business, where an above average degree of physical fitness, a fleetness of foot, a good eye — not forgetting a definite hint of showmanship — are essential ingredients in the making of a good wrestler.

Nothing is more revealing than the television camera. Let a wrestler fall below the standards now expected of him by the armchair enthusiast and he is quick to receive the derision of the millions who, nowadays, watch every wrestling programme which is televised.

And by far the greatest majority of these viewers are women.

Why should this be so?

ATV producers who supervise the transmission of many of these broadcasts admit to being mystified by the appeal of this type of programme to women.

One has tentatively ventured the reason as being ‘because they like seeing these great torsoes throwing each other around.’ Others lack his temerity in offering an explanation and keep quiet.

But there is no denying the appeal — as the large mail addressed to ATV when an exciting bout is cut off in mid-stream testifies. Here again, the majority of the letter writers are women.

As the sport has grown in appeal, so it has thrown up its characters — and its specialists. Commentators Kent Walton and Peter Cockburn, from their seats at the ringsides, Saturday after Saturday, must now be regarded as among the most knowledgeable of wrestling followers in this country. While they describe the action in the ring, pin-pointing by name the holds and the falls, so they also have at hand the expert assistance of such exponents from the world of wrestling itself as Ian Campbell and Tony Mancini, both of whom can provide for the viewer more technical reading of a bout as it takes place.

Campbell and Mancini know wrestling intimately from the inside. Both have been seen by television viewers in action in the ring. Mancini, with his panther-like grace and speed of striking; the bulky, bearded Campbell, using his tremendous strength and his Scottish canniness to mislead and antagonise his opponent — and, not infrequently, the spectators who are watching him!

But it is the regular, top-of-the bill names who have now moved into that select company known as ‘TV personalities’.

Befitting their emergence as popular television favourites, wrestlers of today bring a touch of colour and the suggestion of distant lands in their names, in their flamboyant dressing-gowns, in their peculiarly personal preparations in their corners as they limber up before coming out for the first time to meet an opponent.

Such colourful personalities include the Mohawk Indian, Billy Two Rivers; the West African witch doctor Massanbula; Antonio Mantoro, who hails from Valencia, in Spain; a Sheffield miner who fights under the pseudonym of Young Vulcan; Togo, a 16-stone wrestler from Japan, and Mike Narino, who brings to his wrestling the dash and fire expected of someone born in sunny Italy.

All have become firm favourites with television viewers. Some have gained their following by their sportsmanship and by the expert manner in which they handle themselves — and their opponents — in the ring. Others cut a fine figure, muscles rippling, the embodiment of supreme physical fitness, as they circle an opponent, waiting to get to grips with him.

Such a wresler is Dennis Mitchell from Bradford. With his fair hair crew-cut, and always sporting spotless white trunks, he attracts probably the greatest fan mail of any wrestler who appears regularly in televised wrestling matches.

Peculiarities of dress and style in the ring have become the wrestler’s trade mark. Big Joe Cornelius has very definite views, for instance, on the colour of the tights he wears when fighting. His choice is always black. But his real trade mark is a striking gold lame dressing-gown. He would not dream of appearing in a ring, prior to his introduction to the crowd, unless he was wearing it.

But the brilliance of Cornelius’s pre-fight apparel fades before the feathered head-dress and painted robes and regalia worn by Billy Two Rivers when he strides down the aisle towards the ring, heralded, as always, by a fanfare.

Ducking through the ropes, he performs a few shuffling steps taken from an Indian war-dance. Part of a war-dance is also to be found in one facet of his wrestling technique. And it is invariably followed by the ‘Tomahawk’, a chopping hand blow, usually adminstered as his opponent rebounds from a throw on to the ropes of the ring.

Togo brings the quiet dignity of the East to his ringcraft. This Tokyo-born exponent of Karate (the science of fighting with hands, without using weapons) has endeared himself to wrestling enthusiasts by his habit of bowing to the crowd after every fall, whether taken by him, or scored by him. He repeats the bow at the end of every fight — again irrespective of whether he has won or lost.

And these fighters are not without their academic distinctions. If Mike Marino, with his ability to speak five languages, once thought he had the edge — linguistically — over his fellow wrestlers, he had to bow to the coloured American, Ray Apollon, who can speak seven languages and has a science degree from a Paris university to boot!

Billy Howes is a demolition expert in his home town of Bristol. His hobby is breeding bull mastiffs. But Hungarian Tibor Szakas must have thought him more like a terrier when they clashed in one of the most memorable meetings to be staged in Wembley Town Hall, the setting for some of the best afternoons of wrestling seen on television.

Wembley has the reputation of disliking someone who should, in fact, be one of her favourite wrestling sons. He is Jackie Pallo, dubbed this year ‘Mr. TV’. He is always assured of a barrage of catcalls and shouts of disapproval when he climbs in through the ropes at a Wembley Town Hall promotion.

In fairness to the fair-haired Jackie it must be recorded that in Huddersfield, over a hundred miles from home, he is very popular with the crowds.

If Pallo is the man they dislike at Wembley, then the man ‘they love to hate’ everywhere is short-cropped Mick McManus, the welterweight, who delights in infuriating his opponents and spectators alike with his feints, concealed handshakes and strutting, arrogant postures, while he shouts defiance at everyone — in the ring and outside it.

Who among those who watch television wrestling as a regular habit can forget the classic meeting of Pallo and McManus on the afternoon of this year’s F.A. Cup Final.

For weeks the two had been snapping at each other, anxious to meet in the ring, each determined to lower the others colours, once and for all.

The bout was indeed a needle match. From the first bell both wrestlers gave everything they had. No quarter was asked; none was given. Every trick of the book was produced; every hold tried and found to be wanting. When the final bell went both men were out on their feet. The result: a drawn bout — and the money side-stake went unclaimed.

This fight had everything the wrestling fan wants: excitement, thrills, technical ability, skill and showmanship. If you are a devout follower of wrestling no more need be said.

The post Wrestling appeared first on THIS IS MY 1960s from Transdiffusion.

Come with me to the headquarters of a secret organisation known as U.N.C.L.E., short for United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. Provided our credentials are found to be in order we are allowed to pass through an innocent-looking tailor’s shop in a New York street.

We find ourselves now in the midst of one of the world’s most powerful and well-organised forces, used in the fight against injustice done to individuals or countries.

The main force of evil opposed to U.N.C.L.E. is the crime syndicate called thrush whose aims stretch to world domination.

In the world of U.N.C.L.E. we find ourselves in a complex, computerised, well-guarded society headed by a friendly Englishman called Mr Waverly who is responsible for the movements of his various agents’ missions against thrush. Looking like an amiable uncle himself, Mr Waverly has at his disposal the most scientific weapons ever invented and a well-drilled team of international agents, who are called upon to infiltrate every country in the world in pursuit of justice and to protect the interests of the free world.

Two of his most respected agents are Napoleon Solo and Iliya Kuryakin.

Solo is a dashing, sophisticated figure, with an easy-going charm that hides a ruthless dedication to U.N.C.L.E. He lives in a small apartment in a new luxury building in New York—a bachelor apartment which reflects a nautical flavour, its decor stemming from Solo’s love of the sea and from his service days in the Royal Canadian Navy.

He tends to view all men as equals, unless their behaviour proves them otherwise. He is attracted to beautiful women, and this he finds to his advantage, particularly when they are agents of thrush. Solo is more than capable of taking care of himself. He is calm, quick-thinking, ingenious, coldly calculating even when the odds are heavily against him.

Olya Kuryakin, of Russian descent, is clever, physically adept, a good man to rely on. He is a lone wolf, introverted, not at all gregarious. Like other U.N.C.L.E. agents, he has worked behind the Iron Curtain, sometimes with and sometimes without the knowledge and consent of the authorities. Iliya lives in the same apartment block as Solo, and, like Solo, can be cold andcalculating in a nasty situation which may become a matter of life and death.

The world of U.N.C.L.E. is fictitious, although it may have some counterpart in real-life secret organisations. It was created for a TV series and it has proved tremendously popular on both sides of the Atlantic.

Say its makers: “It is designed for those who want to take off for sixty minutes of unadulterated adventure.”

It is a series designed to follow the trend of today, a trend sparked off by the success of the James Bond films.

In the key roles of Solo and Kuryakin, Robert Vaughn and David McCallum have stepped into parts which have made them two of the most exciting personalities on television.

First, take a closer look at Robert Vaughn, the invincible Napoleon Solo, who says, “In some ways Solo is very much like myself, except that I’m no hero. I sometimes think he is just out to get himself killed. Not me! I have too much to live for. But like Solo I enjoy the good things of life—good clothes, fast cars, gourmet cooking, and wines.”

Before U.N.C.L.E. came into his life, Robert Vaughn had already proved himself a first-rate actor and had once been nominated for an Academy Award.

He was born in New York into a show-business family. His mother, Marcella Gaudel, was an established star on Broadway; Walter Vaughn, his father, was a prominent radio actor.

Raised in Minneapolis by his grandparents, Robert at first did not want to follow in his parents’ footsteps by entering show-business himself. Instead, he enrolled with the University of Minnesota’s School of Journalism. But it soon became evident that he was, after all, going to be a “chip off the old block” when he became more

interested in the university’s drama department. Acting took a hold on him and he starred in productions of “Hamlet”, “Death Takes a Holiday” and “Knickerbocker Holiday”, among others. Any thoughts of a career in journalism were finally forgotten when he was awarded a prize in a radio acting contest in 1951. The following year he entered the Los Angeles City College as a drama student and starred in “Mister Roberts”. During his summer holidays he worked as a resident director and leading actor with a theatre company in Albuquerque.

After graduating, in 1956, with a B.A. in drama, he became a professional actor and appeared in a production of “End As a Man” in Los Angeles. Soon after, he was signed to a film contract, which unfortunately proved short-lived. Then he went into the Army. After his military service was completed he returned to his acting career by signing with Columbia Pictures and appearing in No Time to be Young, followed by an important part in The Young Philadelphians for Warner.

His performance in this gained him his Oscar nomination. His career then started to go up in leaps and bounds as offer followed offer. He made countless TV appearances in dramas and did several films, including The Magnificent Seven with Yul Brynner, a film which first brought him fan mail from England.

It was as Napoleon Solo that he hit the popularity jackpot.

Off the screen he leads a life comparatively quiet for a star in his position. He expresses a keen interest in the American political scene and once said that he would love to take an active part in it.

About his role of Solo he says, “I enjoy being U.N.C.L.E.’s agent number one. It’s a fine series to work on, but pretty strenuous. Those guys who write the scripts certainly make us work for our money by getting us into all kinds of bizarre situations. I’m playing Solo with tongue in cheek. The situations might seem madcap and dangerous at times—perhaps even outlandish—but it’s all quite plausible. We use normal persons in the stories, so that the average fan can imagine himself being caught up in international intrigue.”

The success of David McCallum in the part of Iliya Kuryakin has been quite phenomenal. His weekly fan mail, which arrives at the M.G.M. studios in Hollywood, bears this out. It comes in lorry-loads.

He was born in Glasgow, September 19, 1934, the son of a leading violinist, David McCallum. His mother Dorothy was a concert cellist. His parents had expressed a wish that he would take up the oboe, but David sought a career in the theatre and went about it by getting a job when he was 14 as an electrician’s assistant in a theatre.

He studied at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art between 1949 and 1951, and after leaving he found himself with the job of property-master with the Glyndebourne Opera Company. Then he was called up for National Service and served in Ghana for ten months as a lieutenant. In 1953 he resumed his theatrical career by acting with various repertory companies. In 1956 he was placed under contract to the Rank Organisation and appeared in such films as The Secret Place, and A Night To Remember. In Robbery Under Arms he found himself working with actress Jill Ireland, a young actress he had wanted to meet since seeing her picture in the paper.

She became his wife soon after they first met.

After making several other British films, he finally went to Hollywood to appear in the role of Judas in The Greatest Story Ever Told. While he was in the States he received several TV offers and made appearances on “Perry Mason” and “The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters”. Then along came “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” offer.

It was some weeks before the show really caught on with American viewers, but since then it has become one of the top attractions on TV.

Away from the cameras, David spends all his free time with his wife and three sons, Paul, Jason and Valentine, in a house built into the side of a hill with a magnificent view of the valley and the sea.

There appears to be no professional rivalry between David and Robert when they are working on the set together.

“I’ve never seen two guys so dedicated,” commented one of the technicians.

“It’s a happy show,” said another. “If it were otherwise it would not be successful.”

That just about completes our dossier on two U.N.C.L.E. agents. Let’s hope too much has not been revealed to any thrush agent who may be reading this.

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