Crazy George

There are times when you see a name you don’t expect while going through old clippings.

Take, for example, Variety of August 30, 1950. The trade paper reviewed a musical comedy at the Las Palmas in Hollywood named High and Dry. I don’t recognise the principal actors. In the cast were character actresses Cheerio Meredith and Jesselyn Fax, who played older women on TV sitcoms. And down the list is “Policeman, George Schlatter,” who also sang and/or danced.

Wait a minute. George Schlatter. The Laugh-In George Schlatter??

As they say in the cartoons “Mmmmm....could be!”

Schlatter was definitely in Los Angeles at the time; writer/historian Hal Erickson’s book on the TV series mentions that Schlatter was producing student shows at Pepperdine University and joined talent agency MCA at age 19. A November 10, 1952 item in the Hollywood Reporter is most definitely referring to Laugh-In’s overseeing eye, as it says Schlatter had left MCA and moved into Ciro’s where he headed Herman Hover’s radio and TV department.

Laugh-In was likely my favourite TV show of 1968 and 1969. I knew Schlatter’s name from the credits and was quite delighted to see him appear one night in a cross-promotional episode of I Dream of Jeannie (both were on NBC, “The Full Color Network”). “So that’s what he looks like,” I thought.

I’ve always liked George Schlatter, despite knowing next-to-nothing about him for the longest time. I figured if he put Laugh-In on the air (and its genesis has been a bone of contention almost since the outset), he must have a good sense of humour.

He has an overwhelmingly long list of pre-Laugh-In credits you can look up elsewhere. He produced a show for Dinah Shore (including a South Pacific/Australia episode in 1960 which involved four weeks of shooting where the crew nearly froze to death in Australia, and engaged in negotiations with the British Royal Navy in Samoa to use power from a submarine). He produced five episodes of Judy Garland’s show, after which CBS told him they didn’t like his approach (by all accounts, Judy was quite happy with his producing; Schlatter told columnist Hal Humphrey at the time “I’m not sure what happened—maybe I forgot to play politics.”) There were specials. One was a Christmas show at the Radio City Music Hall, which featured composer Meredith Willson and 1,100 Marines. Another with Louis Armstrong starred Grammy winners (he did five Grammy telecasts).

Let’s jump to Laugh-In.

It began as a Schlatter-produced special in 1967. NBC liked it, and figured it would be the perfect replacement for The Man From U.N.C.L.E. On January 22, 1968, Laugh-In debuted immediately after Mel Brandt spoke underneath a familiar animated peacock. U.N.C.L.E. had inspired all kinds of parodies of spies in acronymic organisations, but Laugh-In quickly became a monster fad.

The King Features Syndicate decided to talk to the man behind the show to get his take on its instant popularity. This appeared in newspapers starting May 13, 1968.

‘Laugh-In’ Really Socked to Ol’ George
By MEL HEIMER
FOR THE last few months George Schlatter was busy, many nights until 1 a.m., producing, directing, cutting, editing and worrying over the Rowan-Martin "Laugh In" TV show—and, he says, nobody was more astonished than he, when he finally emerged into the open air, started going around the country . . . and found the program's catch phrases were the rage of the young.
"Sock it to me, George!" the high school and college kids told him, or "Very interesting, very interesting," not to mention "Here come' de judge!" Out of context, these may not seem much, but sprinkled all through "Laugh In," like the running gags in the old Pete Smith movie shorts, they bring on the belly laughs.
"I was floored," says the easy-going, hard-working Schlatter, who teethed on TV by producing the Dinah Shore and Judy Garland shows a few seasons back, "even though I spent two or three years trying to put this program together because I believed in it so much. I thought it'd be successful—but nothing like this. You know, we only had been on the air five or six weeks in ("Laugh-In” started in January), when we got eight Emmy nominations!"
George's partner, Ed Friendly, involved in the late, witty program, "TW 3," and there are overtones of that show in the Rowan-Martin one. "Except," Schlatter says, "we're less bitter. We make a little social comment here and there, but we're not a protest show; we don't shoot out venom."
From the beginning, Schlatter had the idea of a genuine crazy program—its early working titles were "Cockamamy" and then "Put On"—but he had to overcome network opposition to such an out and out nonsensical idea. "You can't carry it on comedy alone," they said. "You have to have guest stars. Remember, the viewer's mentality is twelve." And so on.
Doggedly, George stuck to his guns and today he has a great hit. "Or, sub-titled, a playpen for monkeys," he says wryly. "All our performers are nuts. It was fun working with them for the 14 shows this late in the season, but next year I may break down under a full program of tapings.
"It's a wild thing," he says, "when you come to work each day and wonder what'll happen. Everyone involved, especially the writers, is a renegade or cuckoo. Take Digby Wolfe, one of our writers." George shakes his head. "He'll be put away one day."
Rowan and Martin, who are bonkers enough to begin with, act as the liaison officers between the younger and older generations, George says. "They bridge the gap," he explains, "although sometimes I think they're just as daffy as the rest."
The performers involved in the "Laugh In" screwiness are the lively, exuberant, cockeyed kind of brash young people who used to found in bright Broadway revues. The revue is almost a dead art form now, however, and aside from this show, you only can catch up with this irreverent species by dropping into some of the sophisticated supper clubs, such as Downstairs at the Upstairs.
Mr. Schlatter looks forward a little hesitantly to next fall's new season. "Arte Johnson, our resident genius, wants to do bird calls—his specialty is cawing like, a crow—and we also have plans to pay red carpeted, brass band homage to Barbara Eden's navel, which NBC kept off the air for so long on ‘I Dream of Jeannie,’" he says. He shrugs. "If it all doesn't kill me, it should be an absorbing season."

Feature writer Heimer re-visited Schlatter’s navel pledge in his Dec. 18, 1968 column remarking "NBC “hasn’t given the go-ahead yet.”

Allan Neuwirth’s book They’ll Never Put That on the Air (2006, Allworth Press) includes a tete-a-tete with Schlatter and Dick Martin giving their views about the creation of the show—and the numerous creative differences they had before it even got on the air. James Brodhead of the Los Angeles Times went into the conflict as early as 1969. And Joyce Haber wrote an extended syndicated story in 1971 saying it wasn’t a cuckoo Laugh-In world behind the scenes.

Regardless, Schlatter carried on getting his concepts on the air. Some were hits (Real People). Some were not (Turn On, which he still champions). He’s written an autobiography and has a a web site. Still busy at almost age 95? You bet your bippy.