Rockin' Around the Clock

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Sixty years ago today, Bill Haley and His Comets first released "Rock Around the Clock" — their signature song.

Several versions of this song have been recorded, but Haley's version is the one that comes to mind for most folks.

It wasn't the first recording. It wasn't even the first recording for Haley, who started out as a country/western yodeler. After he made his transition to rock 'n' roll, he and his band came to be regarded by many as being as influential on the youth of their day as the Beatles and Rolling Stones were 10 years later.

In fact, the anniversary of the release of Haley's recording seems to have reignited — in some quarters — the debate over whether Haley is the father of rock 'n' roll.

That is a debate I have been hearing much of my life.

When I was growing up, I was under the impression that Elvis Presley was the father of rock 'n' roll. Presley, of course, was born and raised in Mississippi, and he made his adult home about 100 miles away — in Memphis.

I grew up in the neighboring state of Arkansas; being a good Southern boy, it wasn't hard for me to accept that premise — especially since I always believed Southern blues strongly influenced rock 'n' roll, and Presley's style was obviously influenced by the blues.

But, while Presley did make some demo recordings in 1953, they leaned toward ballads. He didn't record his first real rock 'n' roll song until July 1954 — and, by that time, Haley had already released "Rock Around the Clock."

(In fact, the top–selling recording artists of 1954 were Doris Day, Jo Stafford and Eddie Fisher.)

If Presley wasn't the father of rock 'n' roll, I figured it had to be Chuck Berry. Similarly, Berry started out singing the blues. His first rock 'n' roll single, "Maybellene," was recorded and released in 1955.

According to Margaret Moser in the Austin Chronicle, Haley died "haunted, embittered, and neglected" in 1981.

"Haley bought into the pointless argument of who invented rock & roll," Moser wrote, "believing he deserved the title. He had a legit claim, too, having recorded the genre's first bona fide anthem, 'Rock Around the Clock.' The other firsts he deserves credit for have been marginalized along with his memory."

As Moser observed, "Rock Around the Clock" has been credited with being an anthem for the youth of the '50s, but, for a song that supposedly had such an influence on that generation, Rolling Stone only ranked it #159 on its list of the top 500 songs of all time while other songs from the '50s — Elvis' "Hound Dog," "Heartbreak Hotel," "Jailhouse Rock," "Mystery Train," "Suspicious Minds" and "That's All Right" and Berry's "Johnny B. Goode," "Maybellene," "Roll Over Beethoven," and, ironically, "Rock & Roll Music" — were praised more prominently.

Those songs may be better known, but they all came along after "Rock Around the Clock."

The song got its first real exposure when it was played as part of the opening credits for "The Blackboard Jungle" starring Glenn Ford, Anne Francis and Sidney Poitier. With the help of that movie, it shot to the top of the charts, where it stayed for eight weeks.

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I think the first time I ever heard it was when it was used as the original theme music for the Happy Days TV show. Haley's recording was part of the soundtrack for the movie "American Graffiti," too, but I don't think I saw that movie until it was shown on TV years later.

(There was no special reason why I didn't see it sooner, I suppose.)

My first exposure to "Rock Around the Clock" came to me courtesy of Happy Days. Being young and naive, I thought it was an original song written for the TV show. I had no idea who Bill Haley and His Comets were.

I do now, of course.

'Happy Days' Turns 40

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Forty years ago tonight, America got its first look at Happy Days, a midseason replacement for something (like the guy who was replaced by Lou Gehrig, who remembers? OK, it was Wally Pipp who was replaced by Gehrig, but no one remembers what Happy Days replaced) — and a nostalgia wave was born.

Well, that isn't really true, I guess. That particular nostalgia wave probably began a few months earlier when "American Graffiti" hit the movie theaters. But, while "American Graffiti" did have some stars who went on to greater fame on (or by way of) Happy Days, it wasn't a natural extension of "American Graffiti."

"American Graffiti" was set in the early 1960s; in its early episodes, Happy Days was set in the mid–1950s, although, by the time it ended its run, Happy Days was set in the early 1960s, too.

Neither the film nor the TV show introduced Americans to Ron Howard, only to an older version of him. Howard, of course, played Opie on the iconic Andy Griffith Show in the real early 1960s, and Tom Bosley, who wasn't in the movie, was a familiar face to TV viewers thanks to his series and commercial appearances, but the rest of the cast were largely unknowns.

(Well, Marion Ross' face probably was familiar enough for viewers to scratch their heads and wonder, "Now, who is she? I know I've seen her in something else ...")

Before this night 40 years ago, though, few, if any, knew who Henry Winkler was. No one expected his character, Arthur Fonzarelli, to be the cultural sensation that he became. Cast members who became household names because of Happy Days included Anson Williams (Pottsie), Donny Most (Ralph) and Erin Moran (Joanie).

Cindy Williams, who did appear in "American Graffiti," was not an original star of the show, but she made a guest appearance on it that led to her long–term role on the popular spinoff show, Laverne & Shirley.

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One of my enduring questions about Happy Days, though, was whatever became of the oldest of the Cunningham children, Chuck, played by Gavan O'Herlihy, who appeared in a few episodes and then disappeared with virtually no explanation.

Rocky Jumps the Shark

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Are you familiar with the phrase "jump the shark?"

It's become a TV cliche, but it was based, as most good cliches are, in a certain amount of truth. In this case, it was based on an episode from the Happy Days TV series — which began its existence as a nice, nostalgic look at growing up in the 1950s, but it ran out of material so, when the fifth season began in 1977, the familiar characters left their homes in Milwaukee and went to the West Coast, where Fonzie literally jumped over a shark while water skiing.

Many years later, the phrase "jump the shark" was first used to describe the point when a once–popular TV series is losing viewers and resorts to ludicrous story lines in a desperate attempt to revive interest.

In the case of Happy Days, it actually may have helped the show remain on the air for several more years, but, as I say, this phrase is almost always used to describe the rapid descent of a TV show. I think it could be used to describe some movies (and their numerous sequels) as well.

I'm thinking of one in particular — the "Rocky" film series, the fourth of which made its debut today.

Like everyone else, I cheered when Rocky Balboa, a "ham 'n' egger from South Philly," got his chance to fight for the title in the original movie back in the mid–1970s. It was make or break for Sylvester Stallone, much like Rocky's title shot, and it really paid off handsomely for him. I've heard that the film cost less than $1 million to make, and it earned back more than 100 times that at the box office. Rocky didn't win that fight so there was an obvious opportunity to cash in on the movie's popularity — with a rematch.

And, so, "Rocky II" came along a few years later to satisfy the audience's craving for more. All the stars were back, and Rocky got his rematch with Apollo. Obviously, moviegoers wouldn't sit still for seeing essentially the same story — in which Rocky comes close but doesn't win — in the sequel. This time, Rocky had to win.

And he did.

And, in the eyes of most viewers, that should have been the end of that particular film franchise. But it wasn't. Not by a long shot.

Part III came along a few years later. Rocky and Apollo had joined forces after Rocky's trainer died while Rocky was preparing for his bid to reclaim the title from the thug who took it from him, Clubber Lang (played by then–popular TV star Mr. T).

The film was astonishingly successful — and impressive (by second sequel standards) — but everyone I knew said this certainly must be the last installment in the series, the third and final chapter of the Rocky "trilogy."

But Rocky wasn't finished. Thus, it was on this day 25 years ago that the "Rocky" franchise officially jumped the shark, in my view.

It was in the midst of the Reagan administration, the Cold War, the anti–Soviet hysteria, and "Rocky" promoted the kind of feel–good political propaganda that was so prevalent in those days — that America and democracy were better than Russia and communism because one American could beat one Russian in an American movie about boxing.

I refused to contribute to the "Rocky IV" propaganda fest — out of principle. I did see the movie — eventually when it came to TV. I've never seen it on the big screen. At the time, it was virtually a point of pride.

In hindsight, though, that may have been hypocritical of me. Perhaps the "Rocky" franchise always specialized in exploiting the audience's emotions. It just wasn't always blatant about it.

If "Rocky IV" came off as calculating in its exploitation of U.S.–Soviet tensions, wasn't the first film in the series equally guilty of pushing all the right (and timely) emotional buttons with its theme of a perennial underdog getting a shot at the grand prize on the nation's Bicentennial?

And didn't the second film do much the same thing by rewarding viewers with a tangible victory instead of merely a moral one in the sequel? Surely it wasn't coincidental that Rocky, in the words of Perry Seibert of AllMovie.com, "stopped being one of the common men and became an icon" in that second film — released, as it was, in a year marked by a nuclear meltdown, gas lines and, eventually, the hostage crisis in Iran.

In 1979, Americans felt battered. "Rocky II" lifted their spirits and made them feel things were possible.

Certainly the third one did — with the one–time rivals, Rocky and Apollo, working together to put down the young and roguish (and aptly named) Clubber Lang.

From there, of course, we came to this day 25 years ago, when politics was introduced into the mix.

I wish I could say the "Rocky" series ended in 1985, but it didn't. There was a "Rocky V" in 1990. I never saw it, not even on TV, but I saw ads for it.

Rocky had been staggered in his fight with the Russian (a political metaphor, perhaps?) and was realizing, like many athletes, that his talents were leaving him as he aged so Rocky, reluctant to leave the sport entirely, ran a gym and promoted a young protege. He and the protege had a falling out, and Rocky disappeared from movie screens.

The series seemed to be over.

But then, in 2006 — 30 years after the original film was released — Rocky returned in "Rocky Balboa," I never saw it, but I have been told it was a pretty good movie. Maybe, but it sounded a little implausible to me.

Nevertheless, that was the fifth and supposedly final sequel.

I still think Rocky jumped the shark 25 years ago today.

And, Now, America's Dad Passes Away

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Tom Bosley died today. He was 83.

For just about anyone who was around in the 1970s, he will always be remembered fondly as Happy Days' "Mr. C," one of American TV's most beloved fathers — even though Bosley's career began about 15 years before he took on that role.

After Happy Days ended a decade later, Bosley enjoyed success on Murder, She Wrote and The Father Dowling Mysteries.

And some folks would probably resist the idea that Bosley was "America's Dad." You'll find folks who will promote Mike Brady or Cliff Huxtable or Andy Taylor or Ben Cartwright or someone else. But if you were around in the 1970s, you could probably make a strong case for Howard Cunningham.

I remember when Happy Days made its debut as a midseason replacement on the TV schedule in January 1974.

It was an interesting concept, inspired, no doubt, by the success of the film "American Graffiti" the year before — which actually was set in the early 1960s. I must admit that, at first, I didn't see what all the fuss was about. Most of the storylines struck me as mildly entertaining — but nothing extraordinary.

And, to be honest, I wasn't exactly carried away with the writing at first.

Happy Days was set in Milwaukee in the 1950s and got a lot of mileage from the stereotypes that existed, even at that time, from that decade. Most of the early humor centered around three teenagers — Richie, Potsie and Ralph — and their worldly friend, the "Fonz," Arthur Fonzarelli, as they navigated the choppy waters of youth, love and fake IDs.

Fonzie actually began as a small character, but his presence on the show grew as it became clear that, with his leather jacket, his upraised thumb and his sly "Ayyyyyyy!" he was an increasingly popular member of the cast. By the series' first full season, in 1974–75, he was a hot property, and he was the focus of episodes on a regular basis from that time on.

Richie's father, on the other hand, a hard–working hardware salesman, was always a supporting character, rarely the focus of an episode after that half–season in the spring of 1974.

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But he had some great moments, like the finale of the first season, when, in the heat of Cold War hysteria, he decided to invest in a bomb shelter to protect his family instead of using the money for a family trip. Space was limited, and that caused problems when friends asked if they could come over. Howard had to draw the line.

During a Civil Defense drill, all the friends who thought they had spots in the shelter showed up and quickly learned they could not stay in the Cunninghams' back yard — where the shelter was to be built but construction hadn't begun and its dimensions were only represented by stakes and string.

This caused considerable friction, but Howard was adamant about building the shelter, and he stood firm, alienating his family in the process.

So, during the next drill, viewers saw Howard standing by himself while the sirens were blaring. Richie sauntered out and informed his father that "We had a little family meeting of our own. We voted not to survive."

Richie explained to his father that "we'd rather live now than survive later," and Howard was convinced to give up his plan to build the shelter. As they took down the stakes and string, Howard asked Richie, "What do you think of a man who gets so carried away by his own fears that he forgets about other people?"

Richie replied, "I'd say he's human."

Now, that is good writing.

Then there was a truly memorable moment a few years later, when Richie enjoyed short–lived success as a local basketball hero. His star fell to earth almost as rapidly as it ascended into the heavens, and Howard and Richie were walking out of the gym after a heart–breaking loss. In a take–off of a famous commercial of the time, Howard offered his dejected son a Life Saver.

"Here, have a Life Saver," Howard deadpanned. "It'll make you feel better."

There are many ironies surrounding Bosley's death.

For one, it comes only a few days after Barbara Billingsley, the iconic mother from Leave It To Beaver, passed away.

It also comes one day after the 50th birthday of Erin Moran, who played Bosley's daughter on Happy Days.

Bosley himself celebrated his birthday at the beginning of this month.

Bosley, it appears, was the first member of the cast to die. His wife on Happy Days, played by Marion Ross, is still alive, as are the other members of the original cast. Even Al Molinaro, who played the owner of Arnold's, is still alive and kicking at the age of 91.

But time, in its relentless fashion, will start to take them, one by one.

Rest in peace, Mr. C. And thanks.