The NBC Radio City building in Los Angeles was born out of a moment when radio was not just entertainment, but the beating heart of American culture. Constructed between 1936 and 1938 at the famous intersection of Sunset Boulevard and Vine Street, it became the West Coast headquarters of the National Broadcasting Company at a time when Hollywood itself was rapidly transforming into the global capital of media. The move from San Francisco to Los Angeles reflected a deeper shift: radio was merging with film, celebrity culture, and eventually television, all converging in Southern California. 

 There is something truly magical about holding a piece of television history in your hands. I’ve just added a stunning vintage press photo to my collection, and it’s a real gem from the set of I Dream of Jeannie. This isn't just a publicity shot; it’s a window into the golden age of sitcoms, captured on a Saturday back in June 1966.

The back of the photo carries that classic NBC typewriter text, detailing a hilarious mix-up from the episode "My Master, the Doctor." In the scene, Tony (the incomparable Larry Hagman) idly wishes he were a great violinist and then a surgeon. Jeannie (the radiant Barbara Eden), ever the devoted—if literal—genie, obliges him by blinking him right into an operating room! Seeing the two of them in their surgical scrubs, with Jeannie as the world’s most glamorous assisting nurse, perfectly captures the whimsical chaos that made the show a household staple.

What always strikes me about this series is the fascinating tie to the U.S. Space Program. Set in Cocoa Beach, Florida, just a stone's throw from Cape Kennedy, the show aired during the height of the Space Race. Tony Nelson wasn’t just a "master"—he was a high-level NASA astronaut. This created a brilliant tension: Tony was a man of science and military discipline, constantly trying to hide a 2,000-year-old magical entity from his straight-laced colleagues. NASA was actually quite supportive of the show, and the production often used stock footage of actual rocket launches to add a layer of 1960s realism to the fantasy.

Looking at this photo, you can practically feel the chemistry between the leads. Larry Hagman was a comedic force of nature long before his "J.R. Ewing" days. His physical comedy—the frantic double-takes and the "oh-no-not-again" expressions—was the perfect foil to the magic. And then there is Barbara Eden. To say she was gorgeous is an understatement; she was luminous. But more than her beauty, she brought a sense of innocent mischief to Jeannie that made the character iconic. Whether she was popping Tony into a tuxedo or an operating gown, she did it with a "blink" and a smile that captured the heart of the world.

I recently came across and purchased a fascinating piece of television history: an original 1962 press photo from the classic game show Password. While the image itself is a charming look at the "Golden Age" of game shows, the markings on the front and a curious typo on the back tell a much larger story about how news was made before the digital age.

The Scene: August 5, 1962

The photo captures a tense moment during a CBS Sunday night broadcast. In the shot, we see:

• Allen Ludden: The legendary "Password Master" himself.

• Kitty Carlisle & Tom Poston: Two giants of the 1960s panel-show circuit.

• The Guest: A civilian player chosen from the audience, clearly feeling the pressure of the national spotlight.

The "Smoking Gun" Typo

The most human part of this artifact is found on the back. The typed caption (known in the industry as a "snipe") describes Kitty Carlisle trying to "deciper" a clue.

In 1962, there was no spellcheck. A publicist at CBS or for syndicated columnist Ed Misurell likely banged this out on a manual typewriter. Once that master copy was made, the "deciper" error was duplicated via mimeograph and sent to newspapers across the country. It’s a permanent record of a split-second finger slip from over 60 years ago.

Behind the Scenes: The "Editorial Marks"

What makes this specific physical copy special is that it was a "working draft" for a newspaper editor. You can see the history written directly on the image:

• The White Paint: Those thick borders aren't damage—they are "crop marks." An editor painted over the edges to tell the printer exactly where to cut the image to fit a specific layout.

• "3 COL": This handwritten note was a directive to the layout team: “This photo needs to span three columns of the newspaper.”

• The "PREDATE" Stamp: This is the ultimate newspaper insider term. It proves the photo was prepared for an early edition of the Sunday paper, likely the "TV Highlights" section that had to be printed days before the show actually aired.

The "Kill" That Saved the Photo

Interestingly, this photo is in remarkably good condition. Usually, if a photo was actually used to create a metal printing plate, it ended up stained or scratched. Because this one is so clean, it was likely "killed"—slated for the paper but cut at the last minute to make room for more text or an advertisement.

It was filed away in a newspaper "morgue" (archive) under file #665, where it sat for decades until it found its way into the light again.

Why It Matters Today

In an era of high-definition digital archives, holding a physical "working" photo like this reminds us that history was once hand-painted, manually typed, and physically filed. It’s not just a photo of Allen Ludden; it’s a physical piece of the 1962 news cycle.

From now on, "a night at the opera," concert or theater is more apt to mean a seat in your own living room than in the Grand Tier. Television has worked this change. Since you are now responsible for the setting of your theater at home, it behooves you to see that it has something of the glam- you will want our you associate with theater-going. To achieve a gala mood harmonious colors, comfortable chairs (possibly the excellent ones which swivel), a cushioned carpet, a galaxy of small tables for ash trays and drinks. conveniently placed. For its part, television is creating increasingly good programs to inspire your decorative efforts. To us, it seems that opera is the field of music which opens the most exciting new vistas for this medium. 

During the past year both CBS and NBC have experimented with opera, tailoring it to meet the requirements of the home screen. For example CBS presented Carmen and La Traviata; NBC has sponsored Madame Butterfly and The Tales of Hoffman. Response to these productions was so enthusiastic that they can be definitely counted as harbingers of a larger operatic future for television. It is interesting to note that though audiences in auditoriums are still debating the question of opera-in-English, the television audience is. solidly in favor of opera-in-English. This would seem to prove that in the friendly, familiar confines of our own living rooms, we like to know what is going on. Having established itself as a favorite guest and an accomplished one, we expect this delightful newcomer, television, to speak our language.

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source: House and Garden Magazine | July 1950

It's not at all surprising that spring-or the Vernal Equinox, as it is known in less romantic, more erudite circles-arrived right on schedule (March 21) this year. Nor is it so surprising that three of TV's loveliest singers were on hand to hail the season with the lilting lyrics of "Spring Is Here"- a standby since 1938, when Rodgers and Hart wrote it for the musical comedy, "I Married An Angel."

The words, music and occasion facing the three singers might have been the same, but look at the results!

Dinah Shore and Bob Banner, producer-director of her show, chose a greenhouse and the planting of flow-to interpret her mood. "Once you start planting," says says Dinah, "spring is really here." For good measure, they included gentle rain. For Jo Stafford, who felt that the song was plaintive, producers Berni Gould and Paul Harrison chose a setting that "evoked the mood of the song, in a way that was faithful to the simple sincerity of Jo's own singing." Result: an abstract garden, pure of line, suggesting spring. Jane Froman, who said all she ever wanted to do on the first day of spring was "to look," sat before a little stone wall effect and sang as though she were soaking up the wonders of na- ture.

"Even if you're 100 years old," said producer-director Byron Paul, "you must be awed by the first beautiful spring day. That word 'beautiful' is visual-you just want to look. That's why we staged the number as we did."

 Stunt-tester Kit Merri- man tries to ring doughnut-shaped pie on rod balanced over James Mack's face. At right, Bud Collyer watches Roxanne snap results.

The producers of Beat the Clock might just as well have used the tag of another show, Chance of a Life- time, because that's what they give the ladies when it comes to throwing things. Alas for the men who play target; the better the woman's aim (with whipped-cream pies), the bet- ter the prizes.

Glamor girl Roxanne, decorative aid to emcee Bud Collyer, is sure of this: there's nothing a woman likes better than throwing things at her husband-unless it's watching another woman throwing things at another husband. Roxanne remembers one woman who shouted gleefully, just as she hurled a custard pie at her spouse: "I've been waiting 10 years to do this!"

The show's stunts are suggested by two professional pranksters, who furnish 20 ideas a week. Seven of these must prove workable. Before a stunt is used, it is tested four times by four sets of stand-in contestants. During the tryouts, two cases of canned whipped cream are used regularly.

As the funniest stunt, Jean Hollander, co-producer of the show, nominates this gem: "Mother and children bandaged Daddy right up to his eyes, leaving him just room to breathe. Then everyone squirted Daddy with cream.'

Five years and 1900-plus gags ago, the show used "intellectual-type stunts," which required "some thinking." But no more.

Toughest stunt, which defied solution for 32 weeks while the jack- pot increased $100 per week: trying to put two toupees, suspended by strings just a little too far apart, into an open-crowned stovepipe hat worn contestant, without using by the hands.

How was it done? Just as Roxanne and Bud demonstrated. You merely had to set one toupee in motion by blowing at it, after getting the first toupee in the hat.