The Birth of Saturday Night Live

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[talking into the telephone] "What are you wearing right now? No bathrobe? [notices the audience, hangs up telephone] Good evening. I'm Chevy Chase!"

Chevy Chase, Oct. 11, 1975

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American television changed 40 years ago tonight. At least on Saturday nights.

In 1975, CBS ruled primetime on Saturday nights with "The Mary Tyler Moore Show," "The Bob Newhart Show" and "The Carol Burnett Show" running in a two–hour block from 9 to 11 p.m. (Eastern time), but late night was still a vast, unexplored frontier. NBC's affiliates had been running "Best of Carson" compilations from Johnny Carson's Tonight Show on weekends, but Carson announced in 1974 that he wanted the weekend programs pulled and archived so they could be used during the week when he wanted to take time off.

My memory is that Carson always invited a guest to substitute for him when he took time off, though, right up until his retirement in 1992, and I'm not sure how extensively "Best of Carson" was used, if at all, in some markets. Its weekend schedule was very flexible. Affiliates were allowed to show episodes either on Saturday or Sunday, at their discretion.

In the days leading up to that first show, inaugural host George Carlin appeared on primetime promotional ads in which he was depicted as a participant in a stage construction project. NBC was putting the finishing touches on a new show, he told the TV audience, and he invited everyone to tune in on Saturday night.

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If you were a George Carlin fan, you were already familiar with the material he used in the first–ever Saturday Night Live monologues. He didn't deliver an original and topical monologue, as hosts do now. He basically lifted jokes from several albums that had been in circulation for years and compiled them into a monologue.

But it was still a treat to see him doing those routines. And he commanded enough star power to draw audiences. So, too, I suppose did the first show's musical guests, Janis Ian and Billy Preston, both of whom had enjoyed some popularity in the early to mid–'70s.

And that is the primary objective of a new TV program — attract an audience. There certainly was a late night audience waiting to be tapped. In 1975, most of America still had only the three networks, a public broadcasting network in many (but not all) areas and maybe an independent station or two. Cable TV was a presence in only a few areas — and wasn't nearly as extensive as it is today.

Everything about the show was new and evolving. Even the name was different. It started out as just Saturday Night. When the program debuted, there already was a program called Saturday Night Live starring Howard Cosell on ABC, and it remained on the air for the first months of SNL's existence. More than a year after Cosell's program was canceled, the show now known as Saturday Night Live took that name — in March 1977.

What we now know as Saturday Night Live began simply as NBC's Saturday Night. The "live" was a description. Go back and watch Chevy Chase's intros of those early programs. "Live from New York," he always said, "it's 'Saturday Night.'"

If you remember those days, you can probably hear Chevy saying that in your head without having to look up a clip at YouTube or anyplace else. Of course, SNL has been using that inroduce each episode for 40 years now so you don't really have to search your memory bank for an audio file of Chase saying that phrase.

Chase said it that way from the first. Then, as now, the show opened with a skit. That first skit showed two people sitting in chairs facing each other. One was writer Michael O'Donoghue who played a professor giving a European immigrant (John Belushi) English lessons. That skit is remembered as the "Wolverine" sketch because the professor was always giving the immigrant sentences to say that included that word. For example ...

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Professor: Let us begin. Repeat after me. I would like ...

Immigrant: [in a thick accent] I would like ...

Professor: ... to feed your fingertips ...

Immigrant: ...to feed yur fingerteeps ...

Professor: ... to the wolverines.

Immigrant: ... to de wolver–eenes.

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The English lesson was cut short when the professor clutched his chest and collapsed on the floor.

From off–camera, Chase emerged to announce that it was Saturday Night. Ever since that time it has been a staple of the show to have someone — sometimes several people — break character to utter that familiar phrase.

The show, as I say, was evolving. My memory is that Carlin didn't participate in any skits other than his opening monologue. Today, of course, guest hosts are full participants in that week's show. I don't know when that changed. It probably developed over time. SNL always has been a work in progress.

The skits were handled by the Not–Ready–For–Prime–Time Players, which introduced America to people who became quite familiar in short order — Chase, Belushi, Dan Aykroyd, Gilda Radner, Jane Curtin, Laraine Newman and Garrett Morris.

Often, SNL has created cultural catchphrases, reaffirming its social relevance after four decades on the air. It has been resilient. In the late '70s, few people thought SNL could survive the departure of Chevy Chase, but it did. It has become a training ground and career launching pad for the stars of tomorrow.

The program's political skits have become so legendary that a compilation program of politically themed skits always airs during a presidential election campaign, and Chevy Chase's early portrayals of a clumsy Gerald Ford are sure to be included.

In countless unexpected ways, SNL has influenced the culture. Who would have thought on this night in 1975 that it would still be on the air in the 21st century?

Poking Fun at the Church

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Bethany (Linda Fiorentino): What's he like?

Metatron (Alan Rickman): God? Lonely. But funny. He's got a great sense of humor. Take sex, for example. There's nothing funnier than the ridiculous faces you people make mid–coitus.

Bethany: Sex is a joke in heaven?

Metatron: The way I understand it, it's mostly a joke down here, too.

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"Kevin Smith's 'Dogma' grows out of an irreverent modern Catholic sensibility," wrote Roger Ebert when "Dogma" premiered on this date in 1999, "a byproduct of parochial schools, where the underlying faith is taken seriously but the visible church is fair game for kidding."

When you look at it that way, it really is no surprise that George Carlin was in the cast — as a bishop who tries to modernize the church's image with a "Catholicism WOW!" campaign and a masses–friendly Buddy Christ.

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Anyone who ever heard Carlin's "Class Clown" album knew he was a natural for the church ribbing of "Dogma." Frankly, I would have been disappointed if he had not been in it. I'm sure he got a kick out of all the inside jokes that probably had many Protestants scrambling for a Catholic catechism.

"For those reared in such traditions," continued Ebert, "it's no reach at all to imagine two fallen angels finding a loophole to get back into heaven."

That was the real premise of the story. The fallen angels (Matt Damon and Ben Affleck) had been exiled to Wisconsin and thought they had found a loophole in church teaching that would allow them back into heaven — through plenary indulgences being offered to anyone who entered Carlin's cathedral.

As Ebert observed, there are times in "Dogma" when a certain amount of Catholic education — or, at least, exposure to church teaching, if one is not Catholic — is required. Ebert pointed out that "not everybody knows what a plenary indulgence is." I grew up in a Protestant household and attended public schools; if it hadn't been for the fact that my father was a religion professor, and through him I was exposed to a lot of different faiths, I probably wouldn't have known what a plenary indulgence is. But I did.

Consequently, I probably grasped where the story was going before most non–Catholics in the audience did, even those watching at home with the luxury of pausing the tape or DVD and looking up theological definitions before proceeding.

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Loki (Matt Damon): Church laws are fallible because they're created by man.

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The greater problem with the plenary indulgences was this: if the fallen angels were allowed to re–enter heaven, God would be proven infallible, and all existence on earth would end. Bethany (Linda Fiorentino) was told that, as Christ's last surviving relative, it was her duty to prevent this from happening.

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In its way, I suppose, it was a modern–day Revelation.

I agree with Ebert. It helps to know a bit about Catholic teaching to get many of the jokes. Of course, I guess you could just listen to "Class Clown" before watching "Dogma."

Remembering George Carlin

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"If you have selfish, ignorant citizens, you're going to get selfish, ignorant leaders."

George Carlin (1937–2008)

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Five years ago today, George Carlin died of heart failure at the age of 71.

He was my favorite comedian — still is — and I still laugh when I hear his recordings.

And I marvel at his wisdom. It remains relevant, be it five years after his death or 40 years after it was put on a record.

That is the special gift of artists. Perhaps they paint or sculpt or perhaps they are comedians or actors or musicians — or writers like myself. The best do things that make deep impressions on us and continue to do so — even long after they are gone.

For me, George Carlin was such an artist.

At times, it almost seems as if there has never been a time when I did not know his name, but I know that isn't true. As nearly as I can remember, I first heard of him when I was in sixth grade. Some of my friends' parents (or older siblings) had his early comedy albums, and they had memorized some of his routines. They couldn't wait to share them with me, and I couldn't stop laughing when they did.

(The only comedy album my parents had was one by Bob Newhart. It was funny, but Newhart was never as funny as Carlin.)

I laughed even more when I heard the albums. I'm listening to one as I write this, and I have to stop writing now and then because it's too hard to write when I'm laughing so hard. I know what's coming — I've listened to them so often over the years that I have the material on many of his albums memorized — but they're still funny.

I expect Carlin to keep me laughing for the rest of my life.

Like any great artist, Carlin had certain themes to which he returned, time and time again.

He often ranted about language (which, as a journalist, I appreciate — and I often wonder if his routines, in some way, served to steer me in that direction). I could appreciate it when he complained about the pomposity of language, how it was often designed to conceal things.

"You can't be afraid of words that speak the truth," he said. "I don't like words that hide the truth. I don't like words that conceal reality. I don't like euphemisms or euphemistic language. And American English is loaded with euphemisms."

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And Carlin wouldn't stop after an observation like that. He delivered with both barrels.

"Sometime during my life," he said, "toilet paper became bathroom tissue. I wasn't notified of this. No one asked me if I agreed with it. It just happened. Toilet paper became bathroom tissue.

"Sneakers became running shoes. False teeth became dental appliances. Medicine became medication. Information became directory assistance. The dump became the landfill. Car crashes became automobile accidents. Partly cloudy became partly sunny. Motels became motor lodges. House trailers became mobile homes. Used cars became previously owned transportation. Room service became guest room dining. Constipation became occasional irregularity."

See what I mean?

Carlin had some choice words to say about things like religion, politics and several subjects that usually aren't mentioned in polite company. But it was his routines on language that I liked the best.

Like his most famous routine — "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television." In recent years, I have heard a few of those words on television, which is something I think would have amused Carlin. Perhaps it did. A word or two from that list had already gained a certain amount of TV acceptance by the time of his death.

Nevertheless, I think he was spot on about some of those words. I doubt that they will ever be permissible on network television (cable is another matter) — at least, not in my lifetime.

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The movies, of course, are another matter, and Carlin did appear in a couple of movies. I saw one — "Dogma" — which came out in 1999. Carlin (who was brought up a Catholic) played a Catholic cardinal who was busy promoting a new pro–Catholicism campaign — Catholicism Wow! — with a more modern version of Jesus (Buddy Christ) as its representative.

I can only imagine how Carlin responded when the part was offered to him.

Carlin always seemed to be busy with something. On Oct. 11, 1975, he was the very first host of Saturday Night Live.

I know it is hard for a lot of people in the 21st century to believe, but, for about a decade before the debut of Saturday Night Live, NBC aired reruns of Johnny Carson late on weekend nights. But Carson decided he didn't want to do that. He wanted to hold the taped shows to run during the week whenever he took time off.

That alone was kind of a stunning development. Originally, Carson preferred to have guest hosts (of which Carlin was one) to fill in for him when he took his vacations. He wanted the show to be fresh in those days.

NBC ran promotions for the new show, featuring Carlin, for weeks — and, when the show made its debut, it was an immediate smash hit. Part of that was undoubtedly due to the talented ensemble cast (the Not–Ready–for–Prime–Time Players), but I always felt that at least part of it was because of Carlin's popularity.

In October 1975, I don't think anyone knew the names of those who would become regulars on the show — but darn near everyone knew who Carlin was, and I believed that a lot of people who tuned in that night did so because Carlin was the host. I know that is the reason why I tuned in.

I don't recall if Carlin ever hosted SNL again. But he lent the show his fame in its first program, which gave it instant credibility. And, once people watched it and began to become familiar with people who would soon be household names (i.e., John Belushi, Chevy Chase, Dan Aykroyd), they became regular viewers.

SNL has now been on the air for nearly 40 years. It is conceivable it would not have lasted past its first night if Carlin had not been the host.

His influence truly knew no restrictions.

The Class Clown's 75th Birthday

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I first became aware of George Carlin when I was about 12 years old, and I heard the "Class Clown" album for the first time.

Most people will probably tell you that the thing they remember most from that album is Carlin's brilliant routine on language, "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television."

There was great humor to be found in that routine — on many levels. I have often mused about how Carlin would respond if he could come back sometime in the (near?) future and discover that the seven words he was prohibited from saying on television were so commonplace that they evoked no response at all.

He might find that the brilliance of his routine had no relevance, anymore. If that routine, which evoked such outrage in some corners and such amusement in others during Carlin's life, had been reduced to quaint, I think Carlin would be pleased.

And make no mistake. It was brilliant — and timeless, even if, at some point in the future, it is regarded as quaint.

But so was the stuff he said about children and the class show–offs they encounter in school. Sometimes, I was the class clown in my small–town Southern school. Other times, it was someone else. We must have had some sort of unspoken agreement. We each had our special talents, and we each shared them with our classmates at different times.

Most of the time, I guess it really was as simple as Carlin said it was: "You'd be bored and, you'd figure, well, why not deprive someone else of their education? And you would set about disrupting the class by ATTRACTING ATTENTION TO YOURSELF! That is the name of this job, you know? It's called, DIG ME!"

So I could relate to the things he said about classmates who could "belch at will" or turn their upper eyelids inside out. (Frankly, I didn't really get most of the rest of the humor on the album until I was older.)

George Carlin provided me with lots of laughs over the years. It's hard to believe, but, if he was still with us, the Class Clown would be 75 years old today. I've missed him since he died nearly four years ago. I had grown accustomed to a new album every other year or so and fresh, new nuggets of Carlin's humor to enjoy.

The old stuff is still good, but, regrettably, it is all we have now.

Paying the Fiddler

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"This would be a great world to dance in if we didn't have to pay the fiddler."

Will Rogers

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It was three–quarters of a century ago today that America lost one of its most beloved humorists, Will Rogers.

Deaths are often described as tragic. That seems like a bit of an exaggeration to me. Most deaths are regrettable. And some rise to the level of tragic.

Rogers' death really was tragic. He and pilot Wiley Post died when their plane crashed in Alaska. Rogers was 55 years old.

(I guess it is both ironic and tragic that former Sen. Ted Stevens perished in a plane crash in Alaska earlier this week. Stevens was in his 80s — and, while it is seldom a shock when someone in that age group dies, the circumstances must be seen as tragic. The ironic part, I suppose, is the fact that a well–known person died in a plane crash in Alaska only a few days before the 75th anniversary of Rogers' death.

(It is of little or no consolation to those who lost loved ones on Tuesday, but this is a reminder that technological advancements have not conquered all things.

(To put this into perspective, I suppose, Stevens would have been 11 years old when Rogers' plane went down. But he wasn't living in Alaska at that time in his life. He was born in Indiana, where he lived until sometime in his teens. He did not come to Alaska until he was an adult.)

Along with Mark Twain, I guess Rogers is my favorite humorist of all time.

And let me be clear about something here. I differentiate between humorists and comedians.

When I think of a humorist, I think of a writer, first and foremost — and it ought to be clear to anyone who reads my blogs that I have a special reverence for writers. Twain was a writer, noted for his newspaper and novel writing. Rogers was a writer, too. He did other things, among them entertaining people in vaudeville and in the movies, but he was a writer. In fact, he wrote his newspaper column while he and Post were flying across Alaska in the summer of 1935.

I like a good comedian, too, but I think of comedians as people who tell jokes on a stage. They can be more than that — my absolute favorite comedian of all time, George Carlin, was more than just a joke teller. He was also an author in his later years.

But Carlin made his reputation with his stage comedy. His "Seven Words You Can't Say on Television" shtick will still be a classic decades from now — even if, as seems likely, it becomes routine for all seven words to be uttered on television (which, undoubtedly, will render that once–scandalous routine quaint, and wouldn't that amuse Carlin?).

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In the summer of 1994, the year before my mother died,
my parents paid a visit to the Will Rogers Memorial
in Claremore, Okla., where the humorist is entombed.

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Will Rogers was a humorist, perhaps the last true humorist this country has had (well, maybe that's an exaggeration in a country that has produced the likes of Mike Royko and Erma Bombeck since Rogers' death). And, no matter which side of the political fence his readers occupied, they all loved him. Maybe that is why he said, "I never met a man I didn't like."

(To give you an idea of just how open–minded Rogers was, he said that about Leon Trotsky.)

Maybe it was a mutual admiration thing. Everyone liked him so he liked everybody.

I can't help feeling that there is a certain amount of harmony at work here on the 75th anniversary of Rogers' untimely death. It kind of appeals to my sense of order.

In my hometown tomorrow, a memorial service will be held for my friend Phyllis, who died on August 5 (which happens to be the anniversary of Marilyn Monroe's death — an ironic note, given that Phyllis was an old movie buff). I've been writing a lot about Phyllis at my Freedom Writing blog since she died, and I expect to write about her from time to time in the future. She had that kind of influence on me.

She brought a lot of love and a lot of laughter into the lives of everyone who knew her. I think just about all her friends would agree that she, like Rogers, never met anyone she didn't like.

And just about everyone liked her, too.

She was human, of course, and, therefore, must have rubbed a few people the wrong way in her life, but their number must be few.

As I think about my friendship with Phyllis, I remember many laughs, and I recall that we spoke about many things. But I don't remember talking much about humorists and comedians.

Oh, we talked about funny performers we both enjoyed watching in movies, like Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon and Peter Sellers, and we talked about the TV sitcoms we liked. But I don't remember talking about Will Rogers, and I do regret that.

Especially now that she, like Rogers, has paid the fiddler.

My time for that will come as well. And, if the afterlife exists, I am sure I will see her again.

But I will always be sorry that we never discussed Rogers and Twain in this life.

I really doubt the subject will come up in the next world.

Remembering George Carlin

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It was one year ago today that George Carlin died of heart failure. He was 71.

I mentioned that to my brother during our Father's Day lunch with our father yesterday. He, too, was a Carlin fan, but I could tell from how he looked at me that he was wondering how I knew today was the anniversary, even though he never said so.

I don't really know. I've always had a good memory for dates, but how does one explain things like remembering the dates that famous people died? I remember when Princess Di was killed, too. I also remember what I was doing when I heard that Pope John Paul II had died or when Ronald Reagan died.

And I remember when John Lennon was killed.

In my mind, Carlin was the equal of each of them when it came to his public stature.

There have been many times in the last year when I have wished Carlin was still around.

We've had an economic meltdown, terrorist attacks in India, voting irregularities in Iran, the nomination of a Republican woman for vice president and the election of a black president, not to mention countless other things — hurricanes, earthquakes, bailouts, philandering politicians, an airplane making an emergency landing in the Hudson River — that would have provided considerable grist for Carlin's mental mill.

I've enjoyed many comedians over the years, but, for my money, Carlin was the best.

His insights are missed.