Serious Soupy

Other than they talked to the same age group, there wasn’t a lot in common between Captain Kangaroo and Soupy Sales.

The Captain was very low key. Soupy was energetic. The Captain was full of common sense. Soupy was silly.

Yet Soupy had a serious side, too, that he chose to express off the air. Here’s a story from September 29, 1962 about how Milton Supeman tried to help teenagers.

The Serious Side of Soupy Sales
By BOB THOMAS
AP Movie-Television Writer
HOLLYWOOD (AP)—It's tough on new comedians to discover that the established comics have taken up most of the known diseases for their pet projects.
The rules of show biz are such that a funnyman must also have his serious side—as spearhead for some worthy cause. Soupy Sales realized this as he started pushing into the television bigtime as slapstick favorite of the younger crowd.
He chose as his particular cause that disease afflicting thousands of teen-agers—drop out.
The youngster who drops out of high school and goes no further with his education has been getting attention from many civic-minded persons, up to and including President Kennedy. They reason that the drop out is a waste of the nation's resources. Further, education is increasingly important in today’s world, in which automation is replacing work done by unskilled labor.
"I had been doing charity work, but it wasn't being directed toward anything," said Soupy. "Jerry Lewis has muscular dystrophy and the other comedians have their own causes. I thought since I had worked with kids, I should find something that affected them.
"Combating the drop out is just as important as fighting any dreaded disease. This is a kind of disease that can blight lives, yet it can be cured by the people themselves, if given enough love, understanding and guidance."
Soupy has gone all out with special television and radio spot announcements to coincide with the return to school. He also carries on the campaign with his daily television show in Los Angeles. The local station, KABC, has put together a 25-minute short called "Drop Out Blackouts."
Last week the film was presented to Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare Anthony J. Celebrezze for use in the nation's schools. I saw the film and it is an effective piece of salesmanship, getting to the teen-agers with Soupy's unique brand of humor.
“Don’t be a drop out,” warns Soupy, and a body plunges off a high roof.
The comedian revealed he almost dropped out of high school as a lad. "I figured I was going into show business," he said. "You don't need a diploma to tell jokes, I thought.
"But I changed my mind and even graduated from Marshall College in Huntington, W. Va., getting my degree in journalism. I'm glad I did. Now I write all my own material."
Parents might find this a poor argument for his campaign, but at least the teenagers are on his side.

1962 was an interesting year for Soupy. He, rather improbably, was picked as a guest host for the Tonight show. NBC was using fill-ins of all kinds, awaiting Johnny Carson’s contract on another network to expire so he could permanently take over.

Perhaps the most sour critic in America, Harriet Van Horne, disapproved. Mind you, she seemed to disapprove of almost everything, judging by some of her other columns we’re transcribed here. This one is dated June 6, 1962. She has a low opinion of everyone who filled in for Paar, and Paar himself.

Tonight Show in Soup
Substitute MCs Keep Program In Embarrassed Suspension
By HARRIET VAN HORNE
Scripps-Howard Staff Writer
NEW YORK, June 6—Until Johnny Carson—a pro—assumes command of the Tonight show on Oct. 8, NBC is flinging substitute M.C.'s onto the screen as if they were dummy hands at bridge. From a viewer's vantage, a malign hand would seem to be dealing—and from a rather soiled and tattered old deck.
In consequence, the Tonight show is now in a state of what might be termed embarrassed suspension but live and in color.
This week the master of the revels is one Soupy Sales. I've seen Mr. Sales' name in the daytime TV log a thousand times. But until recently, I was under the impression that Soupy Sales was an animated cartoon.
Well, having viewed the Tonight show I can now report that Soupy Sales is not a cartoon, though his animation is such that it nearly qualifies him for the rank. An anxious man with blurred diction and the arrogance that probably hides a sinking heart, Mr. Sales has made a notable success of his kiddie shows. In his own field, I am advised, he is superbly at ease, with a golden arm for pie-throwing.
In truth, Soupy, if I may be so familiar, made his name and fame hurling pies. It was taken for granted that he would open his week's run on Monday by tossing an open-faced custard at some poor stooge standing there (at union minimum) braced for impact.
Ah but Soupy staged a stunning surprise. He resisted the obvious and hurled a man into an enormous pie. Versatile you might say. A man who refuses to be a dupe to his art.
To give you a full account of all that transpired on the Soupy show last night would tax your credulity. I still can't believe it myself.
First, we had Marie Wilson. While her host was busy grimacing and offering footnotes of total irrelevance, Miss Wilson told us some backstage stories. How she once borrowed Zsa Zsa's wig in Las Vegas—a lovely Blue wig—how she usually dresses for a show (a low cut bathing suit turned frontwards) and so on. For whatever it means to her, Miss Wilson had our sympathy.
Not so Gene Shepard, the disk jockey, idol of the "night people," a man of raw and un-concocted conclusions. Mr. Shepard offered what I can only describe as a skull solo. He thumped his head with his knuckles while the band played "The Sheik of Araby." Bowing modestly to the studio applause, Mr. Shepard volunteered that he keeps his head in condition by soaking it in ointment. I believe you, Mr. Shepard.
I expect there was a great deal more of this sophisticated entertainment but my little screen suddenly went dark—by arrangement.
It strikes me that all the substitutes seen so far on the Tonight show have one quality in common with Jack Paar. That is, a note of privileged vulgarity runs through every sentence. There's also a tendency toward petulance, the egomania that's almost out of bounds. Perhaps it's something the Paar "personal," as they say, left in the studio air.
While I've not watched every new face on the Tonight show, it would seem that the M. C. viewers found most at ease was Merv Griffin. A number of viewers have said so in their letters. I must beg to disagree.
Mr. Griffin is a man of over-weaning courtesy, and as such a pleasant change from some of the others. But he's a graceless, non-listening interviewer, the sort who smiles cheerily as he interrupts a good story with a senseless question.
Mr. Griffin has another habit I find annoying. He tells brittle show business stories, the sort of stories that must be told with a theatrical air, and gets them all wrong. Also, he relates these glittery yarns in the tone of a man putting a child to sleep with a bedtime story.

Soupy talked to adults later in his career when he appeared as a panelist in the ‘70s syndicated version of What’s My Line?. The show shed its Park Avenue atmosphere of the ‘50s and ‘60s and became a little more down-to-earth. Arlene Francis was still charming and got off some clever humour. Anita Gillette was bright and friendly. And Soupy, well, couldn’t help being “on” some of the time, but at the same time he made fun of himself, especially if one of his jokes didn’t go over. It was a really good mixture.

Arrogant? Hardly. Sinking heart? Give me a break. Soupy Sales was a guy who liked a little innocent, and perhaps corny, fun. There was more to him than tossing a pie or two. I guess he had that in common with the Captain, too.