celebrity gossip, academic style

Note: This is the beginning of the second major section of the dissertation, dealing with the transition to celebrity and scandal in the late ’50s and 1960s. Later posts will deal with the “Love Triangle” in detail, the fixation on Jackie Kennedy, and the rise of the Chuck Laufner “Teen Mags” (Tiger Beat, etc.).

In early September, 1958, a gossip bombshell exploded in Hollywood: the “Widow Todd,” also known as Elizabeth Taylor, was photographed spending late evenings at New York night clubs with one Eddie Fisher. Fisher was not only the best friend of Taylor’s late husband, Mike Todd, but also one half of the “cutest couple in Hollywood” — the other half, of course, was the perennially pig-tailed Debbie Fisher. Over the course of the next few weeks, Taylor, Fisher, and Reynolds became players in a melodrama fit for the screen, slotted into the roles of dark temptress, weak protege, and cherubic mother. Fisher and Reynolds divorced in May 1959, allowing Taylor and Fisher to marry soon thereafter. But the months in between was filled with speculation: was Taylor blaspheming the memory of her dead husband? Would Debbie grant Eddie the divorce? Could Debbie love again? As both the popular and fan press were eager to proclaim, not since the early ‘20s, when Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks divorced their respective spouses in order to wed each other, had such a scandal rocked Hollywood.

At first, Taylor, Fisher, and Reynolds offered sporadic cooperation with the fan magazines, relying on them to tell each stars’ “side of the story” and cultivate and support. Yet the three could or would not provide enough copy to satiate what quickly became a voracious demand for scoops, exclusives, and everlasting streams of content. To feed this demand, fan magazines editors and authors resorted to conjuring stories, positing hypotheticals, and extrapolating from interviews with other, more mainstream publications. As the magazines ceased to rely on the stars and their press agents as a source of material, covers and headlines became increasingly bombastic.

The subjects of this coverage took expected umbrage. In short order, Taylor, Fisher, and Reynolds ceased to grant the fan magazines access. The result was a downward spiral: the less stars cooperated, the more the fan magazines had to conjure material; the more the magazines conjured, the less willing stars were to cooperate. By 1961, the only figures granting access to the fan magazines were young Hollywood hopefuls and a handful of television and music sensations. The symbiotic relationship between Hollywood and the gossip industry, in which the studios and the stars’ agents would exchange photos, interviews, and exclusives for free publicity, was effectively over.

In this way, the Taylor/Fisher/Reynolds triangle and its coverage precipitated profound changes in the way that the gossip industry procured and published information concerning the stars. The gossip industry had long alluded to titillation and scandal, but always in a gentile, sublimated manner. In the late ‘50s, the stars were increasingly brazen in their public activities, and cultural mores — what was and and was not acceptable do and talk about — were in flux. What’s more, appetites for scandal had been thoroughly whetted by the success of Confidential, which, in summer of 1958, was enjoying front page publicity across the nation as the defendant in the “Trial of 100 Stars.” Over the course of the three years between the Taylor/Fisher/Reynolds scandal and the inauguration of John F. Kennedy in January of 1961, it became not only acceptable to air scandal on the cover of fan magazine, but expected, even necessary. Fan and movie magazine became scandal and celebrity publications — a definitional shift that continues to shape today’s gossip landscape.

Scandal, teens, and music -- all in one!

To effect this shift, the magazines relied on several tactics refined by Confidential. Most importantly, they expanded their net of coverage: music stars, television personalities, and political figures all began to make regular appearances. They changed their aesthetics and form, as long-form profiles were traded in for short, image-heavy features and paparazzi photos took the place of posed publicity shots. Finally, the tone changed, especially in the flagrant headlines that began to dominate the covers of each publications. Instead of protecting and defending the stars, the magazines accused and decried them, employing a style characterized by florid rhetoric and ample use of exclamation points.

Whether Hollywood cut the fan magazines loose or the fan magazines freed themselves of studio dependency, the salient fact remains: the rules of the relationship changed. Stars publicly decried the magazine’s tactics, while cultural critics framed the magazines as bastions of all that was wrong with the nation. As the magazines continued to shift their focus to “stars” un-affiliated with the Hollywood, the studios began to doubt their efficacy in promoting film viewership, culminating in cuts in the number of advertising dollars directed towards the magazines. The very understanding that had tied the fan magazines to Hollywood — that those who read the magazines were those that attended films — was undermined. In its place, a new paradigm: those who read fan magazines read more fan magazines. By hooking readers in scandalous melodrama, fan magazines assured repeat readership much in the same way as serial narrative and soap operas.

THE INDUSTRIAL VALUE OF STARS, 1958 - 1961

As established in previous posts, the gossip industry does not operate in a vacuum. Rather, it is always imbricated within the shifting value and definition of “star” within both Hollywood and American culture. During the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, the industry refined several practices that not only illuminated changing value of stars within the system, but predicated the transformation of the late ‘60s, when the studios underwent a massive wave of conglomeration and endured an industry-wide recession. These practices — full investment in telefilm production, the cultivation of ‘cadillac’ pictures, and the exploitation of film libraries — helped the studios counter ever-dropping audience numbers.

Telefilm Production

By 1955, studio attempts to co-opt television were at an impasse. The FCC had denied a petition for a special ‘theater band’ that would have provided a special frequency for Theater TV, which would have permitted audiences to view theater content from home for a fee. Paramount soldiered on with its fight for Pay TV — a close cousin to today’s On Demand — through the early 1960s, but was blocked at every turn. The main objection to studio investment in television technology: the studios would take over and monopolize broadcasting the same way they had film industry. In hindsight, reactionary measures to keep the studios out of television infrastructure backfired, as the studios simply moved their attention to telefilm production. Within a few short years, the studios dominated the industry, marginalizing the very entities the FCC had labored to protect.^[i]

Hollywood approached television production from several angles. In 1952, the Screen Actor’s Guild granted MCA, the most powerful talent agency in Hollywood, a special blanket waiver. The waiver, negotiated by SAG president and MCA-client Ronald Reagan, exempted MCA from prohibitions against agents entering into production. For MCA, the waiver was a tantamount to a license to print money: the agency had long encouraged its clients to incorporate themselves for tax purposes, thus becoming co-producers (and profit participants) in their own work; now MCA’s production arm, Revue, could partner with their clients’ production companies and stack shows with MCA talent. As a result, stars affiliated with MCA — Reagan included — benefited handsomely.^[ii] At the same time, Hollywood production entities negotiated long-term deals with the networks. In 1954, Disney partnered with ABC in a deal that traded investment in Disneyland for a stream of programming that would include The Mickey Mouse Club, Zorro, and Disneyland.

By the end of 1956, Hollywood supplied 70% of primetime programming. The percentage would only continue to grow, especially as a struggling NBC forged an agreement with MCA/Revue in 1957. According to apocryphal legend, NBC allowed Revue complete control over its schedule and new programming — a tale that not only emphasized the power of MCA in the late ‘50s, but the extent to which the networks had come to depend on Hollywood-based telefilm production.

But the telefilm producers lacked a clear vision of how to exploit their products — especially stars — over the long term. Here, the case of Warner Bros. is instructive. In 1956, Jack Warner appointed Christopher Orr as head of Warners’ main TV unit and allocated $1 million for a new TV building.^[iii] By investing in telefilm at a large scale, Warner hoped to garner enough profit to float the studio’s film production arm. Orr immediately instituted several policies straight from the classic studio era: he refused profit participation for any talent; he assigned producers to various shows, rather than allowing them to produce shows on their own. As Christopher Anderson explains, Orr’s strategy was a creative catastrophe: designed to cut costs and increase standardization, what it actually cut was innovation and artistry. Nevertheless, Warners received an order for eight primetime shows in 1958, making the studio the top telefilmery of the year.^[v] The goal had been achieved.

Yet the Orr mode of production was unsustainable, in large part due to the refusal to accept the new paradigm of star autonomy.^[vi] Frustrated with the power-hungry stars of both film and television, Warners had reactivated its studio-system reputation for being the least star-friendly of the studios.^[vii] Standard practice was to sign hungry, low-level talent at bargain basement prices. Once signed, the stars could not renegotiate their contracts, even when their careers and value took off. These “all-encompassing contracts” allowed the studio to exploit a star across both television and film as it saw fit; if a star refused, he or she was simply cut loose. When Clint Walker, star of the hit Western Cheyenne, attempted to rewrite the terms of his contract, Warner Bros. replaced him, confident that any male actor of a certain ilk could replace him.^[viii] In Walker’s case, Warner’s was right.

Yet when James Garner, star of Maverick, found himself in a similar situation, the studio was not as lucky. Garner was tremendously popular, had gained increased visibility in a handful of films, and soon demanded profit participation on top of his measly $250 weekly salary. Warners balked and cut Garner loose; Garner called their bluff and left television for good. Unlike Walker, Garner proved fundamental to the success of Maverick: following his departure, ratings plummeted. Orr’s strategy had backfired. It was too dependent on a single product (the hour-long drama) in a single market (ABC) with a single mode of production. And it neglected the new rules of stardom: once a star was made, he or she could demand, and receive, profit participation and/or salaries commiserate with their worth. The lesson of Warner Bros. under Orr was that studios certainly could make money in telefilm production – but they would need to figure out how to balance creativity, star control, and studio oversight.

United Artists (UA) was the only studio that managed to balance all three of these components. While UA was focused on producing movies, their template for producer-partnership and distribution would be emulated by those in film and telefilm production. Unlike Warners’ attempt at complete control and oversight, UA encouraged creative partnerships with various independent producers, most notably Burt Lancester’s production company. In addition to granting talent complete creative control over their product, UA also promised generous profit participation.^[ix] Such incentive encouraged talent to stake a claim in the success of their product – a “partial-ownership” strategy that motivated talent to work hard and with efficiency. Over the years, the studios would gravitate towards the United Artists model, turning more and more into financiers and distributors of film, as opposed to producers. In this way, distribution rights slowly became the fulcrum on which the success of a studio rested. Stars became less and less associated with the studio and more dependent on agents who could “package” them with a director/producer and negotiate partial ownership in the products in which they appeared.

‘Cadillac’ Pictures

Over the course of the ‘50s and early ‘60s, the studios refined a new approach to production and distribution: make ‘em big, show ‘em big, and sell ‘em big.^[x] With fewer films in production, the business risks of these high budget films, the so-called “Cadillacs” of the production line, increased exponentially. Producers attempted to insure their films’ success by packing them with effects and gimmicks — Cinemascope, Cinerama, 70 mm, surround sound, 3-D, smell-o-vision — to differentiate the cinematic experience from the televisual. Whereas classic Hollywood narrative focused on character and plot, “Cadillac” pictures centered on manufacturing sensation. The rise of “runaway production” (shooting overseas) added extra exoticism, decreased the studio’s bottom lines through tax incentives, and circumvented the demands of the Hollywood guilds.

Studios made the most of their lavish, extravagant pictures through “road-showing.” “Road-show” pictures were screened for a limited set of dates in large, urban venues, with tickets sold ahead of time at elevated prices. The practice not only rendered movie-going a special event and attracted audiences who had ceased to frequent the cinema, but provided an excuse to charge higher ticket prices and off-set skyrocketing budgets.^[xi] Within this paradigm, a star’s primary purpose was not to act, per se, but to serve as yet another special effect or beautiful backdrop to individuate and sell the film.

Movies on Television

Finally, the studios began to sell off the rights to their back libraries of films. In the ‘50s, film libraries were divided into two categories: those produced before the divestment decrees in 1948, whose rights the studios were free to sell, and those produced after 1948, which were bound up in negotiations between producers and the trade unions.^[xii] Hollywood had hesitated to sell rights for a number of reasons: the networks’ offers were too small, and, as highlighted above, many studios spent the first part of the ‘50s attempting to work out alternate means, such as Theater and Pay TV, to exploit their libraries via television.^[xiii] In 1955, Paramount opened the “floodgates”on the sale of pre-1948 films, selling thirty of its films to an independent producer.^[xiv] In July, RKO sold the rights to its entire pre-1948 library, and the other studio vaults opened wide. Some studios sold their rights outright, while long-sighted studios retained their ownership and sold short-term rights or distributed films themselves. In 1960, the Screen Actor’s Guild reached an agreement with the studios for the release of post-1948 films, leading to second flurry of sales.^[xv]

The importance of the sale of films — classic and contemporary — was dual-fold. First, stars, even the most glamorous, became a regular fixture in the home. The integrity of the star aura had already begun to deteriorate, accelerated, as discussed in Chapter Two, by the growing appearance of film stars on television programs in the mid-‘50s. Second, library sales provided studios with an additional influx of cash, enabling the continued production of lavish films featuring well-compensated stars. In this way, investment in television facilitated the continued production of big Hollywood films and sustained the few major Hollywood stars that remained.

Stars with recognizable names were essential, if problematic, assets for the studios — one of the few semi-reliable ways to lure the elusive audience. But under the new logic and mode

of production, every time a star had a hit, he/she could leverage his/her newfound power for bloated failure. For every On the Waterfront, a Sayonora to milk the studio dry. Nevertheless, the big stars got bigger, even as the number of films, potential star vehicles, and number of mid-level stars decreased. By the end of the 1960s, Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, Clark Gable, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, and Lana Turner were all in the twilights of their careers, while the number of cooperative stars from the mid-‘50s, including Debbie Reynolds, Elizabeth Taylor, Janet Leigh, Tony Curtis, Natalie Wood, Rock Hudson, Doris Day, and Kim Novak, were either receding in popularity or breaking free from their contracts. What’s more, the crop of new, compelling actors — Marlon Brando, Joanne Woodward, Paul Newman, along as with international imports Bridgette Bardot and Sophia Loren — were not only elusive, but proved un-malleable to traditional fan mag tactics of domestication. There simply was not enough sell-able star product to go around, resulting in an economic situation in which stars with demonstrated audience appeal could leverage their scarcity as they saw fit.

Such leverage had direct effect on the gossip industry. Unless a star was under long-term contract, as few were in 1958, the studio could not force the star to cooperate with the fan magazines. Editors were forced to follow one of two tacts: construct stories without the star’s participation, or turn to the seemingly everlasting fount of star material from television and the music industry. Some readers predictably bemoaned the passing glamour of the classic system, echoing cries from the early ‘50s following the demise of the studio system and rise of television.^[xvi] Yet many, especially younger readers, praised the reorientation towards media products in which they were actually invested, both emotionally and financially. The decision to include non-film stars and scandal reporting was, at least in part, a move of necessity. Yet it also served to sustain and eventually increase readership numbers.^[xvii] It meant new life for the fan magazines, even as it entailed a dramatic reconceptualization of tone and content.

EXPANDING COVERAGE

In 1958, the fan magazines were at a crossroads. Readership numbers were steady: Photoplay’s average total paid circulation hovered around 1.3 million — an increase of around 100,000 from 1946 — with 40% of sales coming from subscriptions.^[xviii] Yet Confidential had proven that cultivating scandal, covering non-Hollywood celebrities, and neglecting studio and press agent demands could sell double, even triple that number, even with virtually no subscription base. While the magazines did not adopt all of Confidential’s tactics immediately, by 1961, all three strategies were employed throughout the industry.

Teen Idols

The magazines’ first move was to broaden the scope of their content. Before 1958, singers Elvis and Eddie Fisher were regular fixtures, but both had ties to film: Elvis began starring in films in 1956, and Fisher only appeared in conjunction with wife Debbie Reynolds. Starting in 1958, however, gossip coverage of film and television began in earnest. Part of the influx of musician-related stories can be tied to the rise of teen culture and idols in the late 1950s, when, following the phenomenal cross-media success of Elvis, dozens of rock ‘n’ roll stars flooded the market just as the first products of the baby boom were entering their teens. During this period, teen-targeted films, including B-grade exploitation, Corman horror films, music films (Rock Around the Clock) and teen melodramas (Rebel without a Cause) proved some of the most reliable box office draws.

The fan magazines, eager to attract a new generation of film fans, had begun covering filmic teen idols, including Marlon Brando, Pier Angeli, and Piper Laurie, throughout the ‘50s.While James Dean’s early death immortalized him, it also foreclosed the possibility of extended fan magazine coverage — beyond eulogies, there was little else to print. Yet Dean’s co-star in Rebel, Natalie Wood, was gossip gold. Wood had grown up in the studio system, and Rebel marked her transition to teen stardom at age 16. Yet Warner Bros., to whom she was contracted, failed to successfully exploit her stardom: she languished in mediocre films for most of the late ‘50s before a career revival in West Side Story (Wise 1961) and Splendor in the Grass (Kazan 1961).

Natalie Wood, Teen Queen

Despite an inability to attract audiences at the box office, Wood became a fixture of the fan magazines. Discourse focused on her fairytale romance with Robert Wagner, with whom Warner Bros. had arranged a date to commemorate her eighteenth birthday. Following a highly publicized year of courtship, they married in December of 1957. As both were under contract to studios — Wood to Warners, Wagner to Fox — the fan magazines received a tremendous amount of information concerning their relationship, including wedding and Honeymoon photos and the couple’s “private love diaries.”^[xix] Wood was a fan magazine’s dream: young enough to attract teens, yet involved in an idealized romance that appealed to all ages.

Wood was not the only teen film star of the time, but she was unique in having no background in either music or television. The majority of late ‘50s teen idols rose through their success in music, on television, or in productions that incorporated both, such as American Bandstand, hosted by the young and charismatic Dick Clark. ABC began broadcasting Bandstand nationwide in August 1957;^[xx] with an audience of 40 million, Bandstand served as the launching pad for several teen idols.^[xxi] Apart from Bandstand, young, handsome singers used television to generate broad fan bases that would then follow them to the theaters.

In April 1957, seventeen-year-old Ricky Nelson launched his career by appearing “as himself” on his parents show, The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. Over the next two years, he would regularly close the show with a musical numbers, leading to thirty Top 40 hits between 1957-1962 and film roles in Rio Bravo (Hawks 1959) and The Wackiest Ship in the Army (Murphy 1960). Over at Disney, the mini-major was already refining its skills as a star-germinator: Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello both parlayed their Mousketeer stardom into film careers, appearing in several Disney films.^[xxii]

The magazines were eager to exploit affection for these teen idols — in part because most idols were under contract and thus eager to cooperate with the magazines, but also because they attracted the highly desirable teenage audience. Modern Screen offered a “Special Youth Issue!” in August 1958, promising “12 Stories of Tenderness and Torment.” The cover, featuring an enraptured Wood and Wagner, declares “Natalie kisses her teens goodbye!”

In March 1958, Photoplay began running an “On the Record” column, along with profiles of singer Perry Cuomo and Dick Clark.^[xxiii] When Pat Boone appeared on the cover of the April 1958 magazine, he was the first non-film star to do so in Photoplay’s forty-seven year history.^[xxiv] Over the next year, Photoplay continued to bolster its music coverage, running features on “Who’ll Be the New Singin’ Idol?” and “What You Don’t Know About the Lennon Sisters”^[xxv] in addition to a regular column “penned” by Clark.^[xxvi] Motion Picture promised a “Giant Pat Boone Pin-Up - Twice as Big as This Magazine” and a “A Confidential Report on Ricky Nelson!”, while Modern Screen offered details on “Ricky Nelson’s Secret Engagement,” and the cover story, “Mariane Gaba Confesses: WHY I WALKED OUT ON RICKY NELSON!”^[xxvii] Meanwhile, fan magazines with smaller circulations changed their names to reflect an increased dedication to TV and recording stars: Movieland became Movieland and TV Time in 1958, while Screen Stories merged with TV & Record Stars to become Screen TV & Record Stars.

The major fan magazines still hesitated to feature television stars who had not also gained famed as teen or singing idols. While Motion Picture published articles on James Garner, the stars of Peyton Place, and “TV’s Top Guns: All Your Favorite Western Stars!” but Photoplay and Modern Screen both maintained focus on film and singing idols.^[xxviii] The hesitancy was likely motivated by economics, as several publications were already devoted to television stars, from the mainstream TV Guide to fan mags TV-Radio Mirror, TV and Movie Screen, TV and Screen Life, TV and Screenworld, and TV and Movie Fan. TV-Radio Mirror was also Photoplay’s sister publication (both were owned by Macfadden Publications), and ads in Photoplay regularly invited readers to refer to TV-Radio Mirror for exclusives on television personalities. It would have been at cross-purposes for Macfadden to allow Photoplay to siphon off readers from Mirror.

In hindsight, these changes may seem slight: a few new columns, a few new faces on the cover. But the fact that movie fan magazines were now covering rock ‘n’ roll singers was tangible proof that Hollywood film stars were decreasing in number and receding in prominence. Which is not to say that the biggest stars of the period did not receive attention. They did, in equal if not greater proportion to the new generation of idols. Yet the need to embed these stars in narratives of domestic bliss in moral rectitude was in decline. In its place: inflecting a story with scandal and salaciousness, no matter the subject matter. By 1958, this tonal shift had already been set in motion, yet the maelstrom of the Taylor-Fisher-Reynolds scandal worked as a catalyst, helping to codify new industry-wide standards in aesthetics, form, and tone.

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^[i] Michele Hilmes, Hollywood and Broadcasting (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1990), 137

^[ii] In 1959, MCA arranged a deal for Reagan to star in General Electric Theater with Ronald Reagan, allowing him to reap millions through his production company’s co-ownership of the show.

^[iii] See Christopher Anderson, Hollywood TV (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1994).

^[iv] See Anderson Chapters Seven, Eight, and Nine on Warner Bros.’ television production.

^[v] Anderson 246.

^[vi] For additional ways in which the production was unsustainable, see Anderson ***.

^[vii] Warner Bros. was well-known as the least star-friendly studio in Hollywood; James Cagney, Bette Davis, and Olivia DeHavilland had all sued for over mis-treatment.

^[viii] CITATION NEEDED — Anderson.

^[ix] See Tino Balio, United Artists: The Company that Changed the Film Industry (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1987).

^[x] Balio 125.

^[xi] Balio 215.

^[xii] In 1951, SAG signed a contract with the studios that relinquished all rights to films produced before 1948; “In return for that concession, the Guild indicated that it expected to negotiate royalty and residual system for post-1948 products. Each producer who wished to distribute post-1948 fils to television was required to negotiate additional payments to the actors involved; failure to do so meant that the studio would run the risk of losing its contract with the Guild altogether, and with it further use of Guild actors” Hilmes 159; see also Janet Wasko, “Hollywood and Television in the 1950s: The Roots of Diversification,” in Peter Lev, The Fifties (University of California Press, 2006), 138.

^[xiii] Wasko 138; Hilmes 157.

^[xiv] Paramount sold thirty films to an independent studio for $1.15 million. See Hilmes 159.

^[xv] By 1961, films began to show on network television “relatively soon” after their theater releases; How to Marry a Millionaire premiered in full color in NBC in September. See Hilmes 166.

^[xvi] For example: “Please let’s have more on Lana Turner, Liz Taylor, Ava Gardner, and Rita Hayworth. These gals have real glamour and they do something exciting once in a while. Anybody can sit home at night and rock a baby, as you read about some stars doing” “Readers Inc.,” Photoplay, July 1952, 4; ”Couldn’t we have just a little less of the hum-drum family life of the stars plastered over your magazine? We’re awfully fed up looking at pictures of Gordon MacRae’s wife and children, of Alan Ladd and his wife and children, Gregory Peck’s family, etc. After all, movies still mean glamour and romance to young and old — and that’s what put them where they are, or were. Anyway, this is the opinion of an 18-year-old, a 40-year-old, and a 5-year-old and I’m sure many others. Won’t you give it a thought? Yours for more glamour and less domesticity.” “Readers Inc.,” Photoplay, Sept. 1952, 4.

Even Lana Turner decries the lack of glamour in Hollywood’s new crop — see Don Alpert, “Lana: No Dash to New Gals,” Los Angeles Times, June 11, 1961, B5.

^[xvii] In 1950, Photoplay’s average total paid circulation: 1,211,644; in 1959, it has risen to 1,295,723, by 1965, 1,328,771. Modern Screen’s average total paid circulation rose from 1,168,445 in 1950 to 1,267,420 in 1959, while Motion Picture’s climbed from 795,173 (1950) to 986,896 (1959). Further figures unavailable. See Anthony Slide, Inside the Hollywood Fan Magazine (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2010), 171; 182; see also Association of National Advertisers, Magazine Circulation and Rate Trends 1946-1976 (New York: The Association, 1978).

^[xviii] In 1946, Photoplay’s average total paid circulation: 1,253,095; in 1955, Photoplay’s average total paid circulation: 1,379,627. See Association of National Advertisers, PAGE NUMBER.

^[xix] “Nat and Bob Honeymooner’s Own Album” (Photoplay, Apr. 1958); “Natalie and Bob’s Diary: 12 Months of Love!” (Modern Screen, Mar. 1958); “Natalie’s Honeymoon!” exclusive by Louella Parsons (Modern Screen, Apr. 1958); “Love Secrets of Nat and Bob” (Photoplay, June 1958).

^[xx] By March 1958, American Bandstand aired on Saturday evenings and Monday through Friday from 3-3:30 and 4-5 p.m. — exactly when teens had monopoly over the television set. See John P. Shanley, “Dick Clark - New Rage of the Teenagers,” New York Times, Mar 16, 1958, X13.

^[xxi] Leslie Lieber, “Why Everybody Likes Dick Clark,” Los Angeles Times, Nov. 16, 1958, TW8.

^[xxii] Other examples of teen idoldom: First-season Mousketeer Johnny Crawford found fame as the fresh-faced co-star of television Western The Rifleman, while Tommy Sands, signed at age 15 to RCA by Elvis’ manager, found success playing a teen idol on an episode of Kraft Television Theatre and went on to a starring role in Sing, Boy, Sing (1958).

^[xxiii] Music-centered features in March 1958 Photoplay include: “On the Record” (Disc Jockey Tommy Reynolds asks ‘What is jazz?”, 26; Profiles of singers - “Easy Does It” (profile of Perry Cuomo), 45; “Round the Clock with Dick Clark,” Alex Joyce, 54.

^[xxiv] Eddie Fisher had appeared, but only when coupled with Debbie Reynolds.

^[xxv] “Who’ll Be the New Singin’ Idol?”, Photoplay, Apr. 1958, 54; “What You Don’t Know About the Lennon Sisters,” August 1958.

^[xxvi] ‘Dick Clark’s Special 6-Page Dance Book” — “Top of the Hops”/”Get Hep with These Real-Gone Steps”, Photoplay, Oct. 1958, 60-64. DICK CLARK CHEERS “Teams! Teams! Teams! (The top musical teams that you asked for: The Everly Brothers, The Four Lads, The Diamonds, Donny and the Juniors, Dion and the Belmonts), Photoplay, Nov. 1958, no page given; “Dick Clark’s Scrapbook for 1958,” Photoplay, Jan. 1959, 46.

^[xxvii] “Giant Pat Boone Pin-Up - Twice as Big as This Magazine” (Motion Picture, July 1958); “A Confidential Report on Ricky Nelson!” (Motion Picture, October 1958); “Ricky Nelson’s Secret Engagement” (Modern Screen, August 1958); “Mariane Gaba Confesses: WHY I WALKED OUT ON RICKY NELSON!” (Modern Screen, November 1958).

^[xxviii] “James Arness - Gunsmoke’s Giant!” (Motion Picture, May 1958); “Peyton Place Powerhouses” (Motion Picture, April 1958); “TV’s Top Guns: All Your Favorite Western Stars!” (Motion Picture, March 1958); “Dinah Shore: She’s Got a Secret!” (Photoplay, March 1958)