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Franco is still dead; Pardo now immortal
I don’t know if we were supposed to appreciate Don Pardo’s announcing on SNL for itself, or some ironic take on the cliches of network programming. Ever since Firesign Theater had repositioned the cheery voice of the game-show announcer as just another bright and hollow example of American commercial falsehoods, the professional announcer was regarded as suspect among the Boomers; the polished delivery, the perfect tones, the assumption of authority – these were the tools of the Man, man. It was all phony. Tell him what he’s won, Don! He’s won a momentary sense of importance that blinds him to the system that keeps us all down, Art.
Connecting that tradition with Saturday Night Live was a way of poking a finger in the eye of prime-time, and winking at the audience: you think he’s in on the joke? The fact that the audience probably grew up hearing Don Pardo use the same cadences and on-cue enthusiasm for board-game versions and luggage only added to the fun. Typical Boomers: handed the keys to a magnificent car, they snickered that the radio was probably tuned to Lawrence Welk.
I listen to a lot of old radio, and have heard many announcers of all styles and skills. There was a prestige attached to the job, and a responsibility: the announcer framed the show. Most are forgotten. Marvin Miller announced “The Whistler” for many years, and had one job: to punch the sponsor name with cheer and brio and bring down the tone to mention the show’s name with wary reverence, all in the course of a single short sentence. Harlowe Wilcox, by contrast, barged into shows with great beaming cheer, only to display his monomaniacal devotion to the sponsor by turning the conversation to Autolite batteries or Johnson’s Wax at the earliest possible opportunity. That’s what the audience expected, and in a nice pre-post-modern twist, the other people in the ads often sighed with exasperation. You bring up the weather, and Harlowe’s off about car batteries, for heaven’s sake.
At best they got side-kick status: Ed McMahon was an announcer, but earned a spot on the couch. George Fenneman, Groucho’s pitchman on “You Bet Your Life,” tried to keep out of the line of fire as best as he could, but he got camera time, and his attempts to steer the show through Groucho’s sniper shots made him a character, not just an interloper. Johnny Olson’s exhortation for “Price is Right” contestants to “come on down” gave him almost godlike powers to invoke the action; Jay Stewart didn’t just flawlessly reel off the litany of product descriptions on “Let’s Make a Deal, ” he played along with Monty Hall’s rattling patter on the set.
None of them reached the level of Don Wilson, the announcer for Jack Benny’s show. Wrap your brain around this: “The Jack Benny Show” was about Jack Benny, famous radio comedian, and his interactions with his show’s cast and other friends. You couldn’t always tell when it was The Show, and when it wasn’t. Don announced to applause and the theme song; Don showed up later in the kitchen looking for a sandwich.)
That was as good as it got for an announcer. Mostly they got a few seconds of camera time. They didn’t look like TV stars. They weren’t handsome. But you could put a piece of paper in their hands, point GO, and they’d cold-read something without a stumble for 20 million people, and make you feel as if you were hearing an old friend. A good announcer could do nothing but read the script for 20 years, and people would write letters to the network by the millions if his voice wasn’t there on Monday at 8 PM. Is he okay? It’s just not the same.
Pardo may have been regarded as an anachronism at first, an old-style bucket of cheer splashed on the audience’s smirking face, but in the end it wasn’t an SNL without his introduction, and there was no thought of parody when he named the stars and the guests. That’s how it was done, and that’s how it was done well. Everyone wants to be a host today. It takes a certain kind of man to be proud to be an announcer, and content to step back from the mike as the applause swells and the stars step forward. Can you remember who was in the SNL cast for a season 14 years ago? Eight? No. Can you remember who read their name? Of course.
Published in General
Thanks for the entertainment.
Worthy praise indeed, from a guy who knows …
Pardo’s style was musical. He spoke words like Sinatra sang lyrics. He was worth the praise indeed.
Thank you, Mr. Lileks, for such a wonderful meditation on Mr. Pardo and announcing. I’m not clear why, for me, this ranks higher than the passing of a fair number of more known and impactful people. Maybe it’s the fact I remember SNL from the beginning, when I was…12. Or maybe it’s that voices seem to have an unusually powerful effect on me. Oh yeah, I remember even further back to Jeopardy with Art Fleming.
We can assume that Pardo was in on the joke, the jokes he was used for on SNL. We can also assume he was in on the joke of the Weird Al Yankovic parody song.
Certain people just seem to be time-travelers in that they have a presence for so long, as so many things change. It’s just awesome that someone can work, be known, and bring enjoyment, in such a sinple way, for that many years.
He will be sorely missed, and I am sad.
I hope when Don strolls through the Gates he’s clapped on the back by the guys who read the morning news in the Roman Forum. It’s all of a piece.
Good catch, KC – you’re on to something. Harold Peary, who played the “Great Gildersleeve” character on old radio, once said that he sang his character’s lines. He was right, and he wasn’t alone – the most enduring voices of the medium had an innate musicality, or at least had a musical analogue. Maybe the reason I’ve never flipped for Fred Allen was because his voice was like being jabbed in the ear with an oboe playing D minor two octaves above middle C.
Good piece. Kind of reminds me of your famous segues on the podcasts James.
Angling for a new job?
Marvin Miller forgotten? Who could ever forget millionaire John Beresford Tipton’s assistant, Michael Anthony?
I never realized how much a young Don looks like Gale Boetticher from “Breaking Bad.”
“Thank you, Don Pardo.”
James, Pardo recorded a message for you.
Radio was an advertisers medium. They didn’t buy :30 here and a minute there – it was purchased in half-hours and hours. The shows were theirs – lock, stock and barrel. And the ad agencies were the creative force behind them.
There were two types of announcers in the “Golden Age” of radio – there were staff guys and those that were elevated to cast member. The latter could, and did, follow the star of the show to any and all of the networks.
James mentioned Don Wilson and Harlow Wilcox – but there were others. Ken Carpenter hitched his wagon to Bing Crosby and hawked cheese, radios and cigarettes. Kenny Delmar did the same for Fred Allen.
Pardo was unusual, though. He never had that kind of fame in the medium. He’s not even mentioned in Dunning’s Encyclopedia of Old Time Radio. He became famous in television. Until the invention of computer editing TV production was more leisurely and borrowed heavily from it’s older sibling.
Pardo became famous because guys like Art Fleming and Bill Cullen elevated him. Other distinctive voices like Hank Simms (A Quinn Martin Production!) passed from us with little notice.
A fine role, but not his most enduring.
EJ’s right, and I knew he’d weigh in. Ctlaw: that videographic disquisition contains a multitudinous quantity of perspicaciousness.
Firesign Theatre may have done it first – I’m hazy on the details – but one of the great developers of this theme for general consumption was Gary Owens on Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In. After watching Owens speaking mellifluous nonsense into the big microphone while holding one hand up to his ear, one was never sure where the bounds of commercial reality lay.