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5 The King of Game Shows or “Shoot Her in the Stomach” Mark Goodson, an intelligent, sophisticated, entrepreneur, mingled with the New York showbiz elite. The world of entertainment is a meritocracy. Nobody cares if you murdered your mother, if you can come up with a showbiz winner. Goodson did not murder his mother or his father. He was born of poor Russian immigrants in Sacramento, California, and his parents had been determined he pursue an important profession like doctor or lawyer. (His father, Abraham, formerly a masseur, owned a small health-food store in Berkeley.) But young Goodson, who was awarded scholarships to the University of California, Berkeley, was highly enamored of theater. He directed several campus plays, won a medal for extemporaneous debate, and worked part-time at a local fish market. He graduated from Cal in 1937 wearing a Phi Beta Kappa key. Soon he found his way into radio as a newscaster and station manager. In 1941 Goodson moved to New York and got work as a freelance announcer. He and a young radio writer, Bill Todman, teamed up and packaged quiz shows with ever increasing successes. As often 96 97 The King of Game Shows or “Shoot Her in the Stomach” happens in the world of entertainment, out of nowhere they found themselves at the top of their domain, producing hit radio shows in daytime as well as nighttime slots, and a few years later revamping the same shows into television hits. In short order GoodsonTodman Productions was king of quiz shows, and Mark Goodson was the head of Goodson-Todman. (Todman’s primary function was as salesman for the company.) Every show they agreed to produce magically turned into money, big money. The cost of producing these shows with a cast of amateurs (members of the audience) was buttons compared to the budgets of comedy, drama, or variety shows, and they often got better ratings. Their cost per thousand viewers-toadvertisers was manna from heaven, which made them the darlings of the networks. But they got little respect from the big name primetime producers, the Hollywood studios, or the movie crowd in general . A quiz show is still, after all, a quiz show, no matter how high the ratings. Goodson was proud of his shows, which were not only enormously popular but had made him a megamillionaire, on the way to becoming a billionaire. But quiz and game shows were nonetheless the clown act of television, the cotton candy, the place where exhibitionists with no discernible talent amused boobus Americanus by making fools of themselves. Like the clown who wants to play Hamlet , Mark Goodson aspired to a higher level, a grander stage. He wanted status. Big-screen Hollywood is elitist territory; it was already feeling somewhat demeaned by the very existence of the small screen, with its low-budget inanities like wrestling and mindless talking heads. Quiz and game shows were on the wrong side of the tracks, to movieland factotums. Would anyone in the motion picture studio executive suites really believe that producing What’s My Line?, Beat The Clock, Family Feud, or Match Game was a stepping-stone to producing big box-office movies? The red carpet was not out. Goodson-Todman was a New York operation. Though Goodson was born and raised in California, he seemed to avoid the West Coast as much as possible. Possibly lack of respect was one reason. In Hollywood he was not well known. He hired West Coast professional people to watch his game shows daily and report back to him, as he did one veteran Hollywood TV producer, retiree David Levy. Levy was on a weekly retainer for a number of years. He and Goodson were in touch by phone almost daily, rarely meeting in person. Levy passed along his comments and whatever Hollywood insider gossip Goodson might find of interest. I had met Mark Goodson briefly at an industry function. He was a more-than-somewhat pompous man of short stature, blond, good looking, well groomed, nattily dressed. Though gracious, in a noblesse oblige sort of way, he seemed to have something of a chip on his shoulder. He struck me as a man more than a bit too full of himself, used to giving rather than taking orders and having them obeyed promptly. He had begun his working life studying and directing college dramas. No doubt he longed to continue on that upper-echelon path. But with no firm go...

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