popularity spawned a line of Ding Dong School products, including long-playing albums on the RCA label ( Fun with Instruments ), a small library of Golden Books ( Your Friend the Policeman ), and finger-painting sets. It was reported that eight hundred offers were considered to extend the branded line of merchandise.
While commercialism built and sustained the show, it ultimately also eroded its credibility. For inasmuch as Miss Frances was a persuasive teacher, she also was a shameless huckster for Ding Dong School ’s sponsors. Her live commercials for breakfast cereals, vitamins, and other consumables—along with her plugs for Ding Dong School products—were woven into the show and directed at children: “When you’re going to the store, you help [mother] find the brand-new Wheaties box. I know you will!”
Critic Jack Gould gave Dr. Horwich quite a lecture in 1955. In a blistering column in the Times , he questioned the propriety of testimonial vitamin ads, re-creating one for his readers.
“You take [vitamins] every morning like I do?” Dr. Horwich inquired. “I hope so.” Then came the demonstration. Out of the bottle she took two pills and put them on a cardboard plate. “They’re a very pretty red color,” said Dr. Horwich, later adding: “They’re small. They’re so easy to swallow.”
First and foremost, there is the simple matter of safety. . . . Secondly, it is not for television to decide if tots do or do not need pills. Whether a child has a vitamin deficiency is better determined by a parent after consultation with a physician rather than the National Broadcasting Company.
Despite such criticism, in 1953 Ding Dong School won a George Foster Peabody Award for Outstanding Children’s Program. 16 NBC nevertheless dropped the show after two years on the network in favor of a new game show called The Price Is Right . Stung by the cancellation, Dr. Horwich quit her position as NBC’s supervisor for children’s programming. “With the lack of teachers and shortage of schools, many boys and girls are attending school on a half-day basis,” she said. “ Ding Dong School filled a need.”
Dr. Horwich retained the rights to Ding Dong School , which continued in syndication until 1965.
In 1952, after a tiff with Buffalo Bob, Keeshan ended his stint as Clarabell. The former page was cut loose, Clarabell was recast, and that was that. A year later, Keeshan resurfaced as Corny the Clown on Time for Fun , a local New York lunchtime show produced at WABC. Corny, less manic and mischievous than Clarabell, wore a bowler hat, a floppy tie, and a wide-striped jacket. From a park bench on the set, he would talk sweetly into the camera to the kids at home, his panting cocker spaniel Pudgy (a Keeshan family pet) perched on his lap. In 1954, Keeshan’s character repertoire expanded again with Tinker’s Workshop , which consistently won its early time slot in the weekly ratings, beating out news and information shows on rival stations.
If the local cartoon shows of the 1950s were the video equivalent of a bowl of Sugar Crisp with a chocolate-milk chaser, Tinker’s Workshop was Irish oatmeal topped with a sensible sprinkle of cinnamon. It offered comfort, warmth, and reassurance to young viewers, some of whom were fastening their galoshes for school while younger siblings were settling in for a day with stay-at-home mom. Keeshan sensed he was on to something with his more soothing approach, one in which the host behaved as a welcomed guest might in the viewer’s home. He quietly won over concerned mommies with his low-key tone and aversion to mayhem.
In 1954, the same year Tinker’s Workshop came to local TV, WABC also launched Uncle Lumpy’s Cabin , a half-hour program built around the multiple talents of Lumpy Brannum, an affable, lantern-jawed, bass-fiddle-plunking professional musician turned children’s performer. Famed orchestra and glee-club leader Fred Waring had featured Brannum, a
While commercialism built and sustained the show, it ultimately also eroded its credibility. For inasmuch as Miss Frances was a persuasive teacher, she also was a shameless huckster for Ding Dong School ’s sponsors. Her live commercials for breakfast cereals, vitamins, and other consumables—along with her plugs for Ding Dong School products—were woven into the show and directed at children: “When you’re going to the store, you help [mother] find the brand-new Wheaties box. I know you will!”
Critic Jack Gould gave Dr. Horwich quite a lecture in 1955. In a blistering column in the Times , he questioned the propriety of testimonial vitamin ads, re-creating one for his readers.
“You take [vitamins] every morning like I do?” Dr. Horwich inquired. “I hope so.” Then came the demonstration. Out of the bottle she took two pills and put them on a cardboard plate. “They’re a very pretty red color,” said Dr. Horwich, later adding: “They’re small. They’re so easy to swallow.”
First and foremost, there is the simple matter of safety. . . . Secondly, it is not for television to decide if tots do or do not need pills. Whether a child has a vitamin deficiency is better determined by a parent after consultation with a physician rather than the National Broadcasting Company.
Despite such criticism, in 1953 Ding Dong School won a George Foster Peabody Award for Outstanding Children’s Program. 16 NBC nevertheless dropped the show after two years on the network in favor of a new game show called The Price Is Right . Stung by the cancellation, Dr. Horwich quit her position as NBC’s supervisor for children’s programming. “With the lack of teachers and shortage of schools, many boys and girls are attending school on a half-day basis,” she said. “ Ding Dong School filled a need.”
Dr. Horwich retained the rights to Ding Dong School , which continued in syndication until 1965.
In 1952, after a tiff with Buffalo Bob, Keeshan ended his stint as Clarabell. The former page was cut loose, Clarabell was recast, and that was that. A year later, Keeshan resurfaced as Corny the Clown on Time for Fun , a local New York lunchtime show produced at WABC. Corny, less manic and mischievous than Clarabell, wore a bowler hat, a floppy tie, and a wide-striped jacket. From a park bench on the set, he would talk sweetly into the camera to the kids at home, his panting cocker spaniel Pudgy (a Keeshan family pet) perched on his lap. In 1954, Keeshan’s character repertoire expanded again with Tinker’s Workshop , which consistently won its early time slot in the weekly ratings, beating out news and information shows on rival stations.
If the local cartoon shows of the 1950s were the video equivalent of a bowl of Sugar Crisp with a chocolate-milk chaser, Tinker’s Workshop was Irish oatmeal topped with a sensible sprinkle of cinnamon. It offered comfort, warmth, and reassurance to young viewers, some of whom were fastening their galoshes for school while younger siblings were settling in for a day with stay-at-home mom. Keeshan sensed he was on to something with his more soothing approach, one in which the host behaved as a welcomed guest might in the viewer’s home. He quietly won over concerned mommies with his low-key tone and aversion to mayhem.
In 1954, the same year Tinker’s Workshop came to local TV, WABC also launched Uncle Lumpy’s Cabin , a half-hour program built around the multiple talents of Lumpy Brannum, an affable, lantern-jawed, bass-fiddle-plunking professional musician turned children’s performer. Famed orchestra and glee-club leader Fred Waring had featured Brannum, a
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