The Ballad of the Green Berets

Sixty years ago this month, the most popular record in America was The Ballad of the Green Berets, written and sung by Sgt. Barry Sadler. It was the #1 record on Billboard’s Hot 100 for an astounding five weeks, at a time when there was still a wave of patriotism over U.S. involvement in Vietnam – the idea that the war was an immoral quicksand pit sucking up American lives had yet to hit home.

Lyndon Johnson’s approval rating was 67 percent in early ’66; it would drop steadily from there, as would the 48 percent of American college students in favor of the war.

Sadler was a Green Beret medic wounded in Vietnam, so there was a whiff of authenticity about The Ballad of the Green Berets, which he wrote during his convalescence. Performing the song on The Ed Sullivan Show launch pad, the record took off, selling nine million copies and becoming the top-selling record of the year. Sadler also recorded what amounted to a concept album, Ballads of the Green Berets, that sold a million copies during the first five weeks of its release.

The record’s success was a reminder that while the Top 40 was mostly reflective of the musical tastes of teenagers, occasionally adults flexed their wallets and had some say. Some other examples: Everybody Loves Somebody and Hello Dolly in the middle of 1964’s Beatlemania, and later in 1966, Strangers in the Night. All #1 records.

Younger kids may have helped with The Ballad of the Green Berets as well, the eight- and nine-year olds pretending to be Vic Morrow and Rick Jason in their backyards playing with toy guns.

The irony of The Ballad of the Green Berets at the top of the charts is that it created a logjam of songs in the top ten that, at least in their titles and universal themes, spoke more powerfully about the emotional churn of soldiers trapped overseas and their families: California Dreamin’, My World Is Empty Without You, Homeward Bound, Nowhere Man, Daydream.

The song didn’t sit well with on the British pop charts. Mick Jagger called it “terribly sick,” and various Beatles offered up words like “crap” and “propaganda.” Paul Jones, of Manfred Mann, said, “The main point is that the American State Department is clearly annoyed because they cannot get people to volunteer to fight in Vietnam.”

Emotionally manipulative and jingoistic, The Ballad of the Green Berets, coupled with the moronic Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C., whose run as one of the top three network shows pretty much ran parallel to the war and was filmed with the cooperation of the Marines, were a low-key recruitment effort that missed the mark badly.

After The Ballad of the Green Berets, Sadler did some television acting, wrote a series of men’s adventure paperbacks, then was found guilty of manslaughter when he shot an unarmed man in an argument over a woman. He met up with more violence after moving to Guatemala and was shot in the head while sitting in a cab. Left with brain damage and quadriplegic, he died in 1989.

On Spotify, The Ballad of the Green Berets has more than 9.7 million total plays and songs by Sadler are played more than 53,000 times a month.

Burke's Law: Who Killed Mr. X?

(This post is part of the 12th Annual Favourite TV Show Episode blogathon hosted by A Shroud of Thoughts)

Amos Burke (Gene Barry) is captain of the LAPD homicide division, and thanks to an inheritance lives in an 18-room mansion in Beverly Hills, wearing ascots around the house and tuxedos on dates with an endless string of girlfriends. He’s suave and sophisticated, although chaste (always flirting – with the occasional double entendre – never kissing), and shuns police cars for his chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud.

Nearly all of the 64 episodes of Burke’s Law (1963 – 64) followed the same outline: someone either a) wealthy or b) famous is murdered, Burke is called in to investigate, he and his detective colleagues Tim (Gary Conway) and Les (Regis Toomey) question a list of quirky suspects with the means and motives for killing before Burke solves the crime and wraps up the loose ends.

(I could have chosen just about any episode of Burke’s Law since the show seldom strayed far from formula. A nicely colorized version of Who Killed Mr. X can be found on YouTube).

Aside from the gimmick of Burke’s wealth, the weekly slate of guest stars made Burke’s Law unique, a cornucopia of casting that blended veterans of the Golden Age of Hollywood along with current stars in roles that allowed for plenty of theatricality and over-the-top performances.

The list of guest stars for the show’s two-year run totals more than 100, from A (Mary Astor) to Z (ZaSu Pitts) and includes fathers and sons (Ed and Keenan Wynn), sisters (Zsa Zsa and Eva Gabor) stars of silent films (Gloria Swanson and Buster Keaton) and beach party flicks (Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello), future Batman villains (Cesar Romero, Burgess Meredith, David Wayne, Ida Lupino, Eartha Kitt), Sherlock Holmes (Basil Rathbone) and the Bride of Frankenstein (Elsa Lanchester).

In Who Killed Mr. X Elizabeth Montgomery, Barrie Chase and Dina Merrill play three kept women who’ve been signed to “exclusive” contracts by the late Mr. X, who has essentially locked them away in expensive homes and beach houses.

Montgomery flirts and trades snappy banter with Burke; Chase (Dick Shawn’s go-go girlfriend in It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World) guzzles martinis non-stop; Merrill (another future Batman villain) has turned to picking up strangers off the street and gets a big dramatic scene, smashing a mirror with a fireplace poker.

Barry and Montgomery: I'm sure this was unintentional positioning

The rest of the cast – suspects all – includes Ann Harding (nominated for a Best Actress Oscar in 1931 for Holiday), Soupy Sales (at the time host of a local Los Angeles kids’ program), Charles Ruggles (with a film career dating back to 1915) and Jim Backus (ubiquitous on television and movies in 1963).

Amos Burke questions Soupy 

Shades of Sunset Boulevard color Who Killed Mr. X, and the murderer turns out to be the least likely of suspects who, in a clever turn, is done in by a studio headshot of Robert Mitchum hanging on a wall.

Before Burke’s Law, Gene Barry spent four years starring in the Bat Masterson series, another debonair crime fighter. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine that in some fictional crossover universe, Amos Burke is related to Masterson, possibly even his grandson. Did Bat Masterson and Annie Oakley ever cross paths?

But watching the show today makes one think more of Batman than Bat Masterson: the often tongue-in-cheek campiness, a rich guy alter ego, Gary Conway as Tim, the boy wonder detective, and the Rolls, as much of a uncredited major character in Burke’s Law as was the Batmobile. In Who Killed Mr. X, the plot moves along in the car’s backseat as Burke takes a call on his clunky car phone, interrogates suspects and offers Elizabeth Montgomery her choice of music on tape.

Jazz or classical?

Burke’s Law died a sudden death in 1965 when it was rebranded at ABC’s insistence with a new format, titled Amos Burke, Secret Agent. The show was about as awful as the title suggests and was cancelled midway through the season. A revival in of Burke’s Law in 1994, with a 76-year-old Barry, lasted 25 episodes.

The Day New York Went Dry

Intrigued by the cover art, 59 years ago I bought a paperback copy of The Day New York Went Dry at a second-hand bookstore. Over the years it was moved from box to box with other paperbacks and, for some reason, I overlooked it until now. It’s a good thing I didn’t attempt to read it at age 13 because I wouldn’t have lasted past the first few pages.

The Day New York Went Dry, published in 1964 and written by Charles Einstein, is – despite the cool cover – not science fiction but something more along the lines of social satire. The premise is real and somewhat scary: there hasn’t been any measurable rainfall in more than a year and the reservoir levels that serve New York City are dropping.

But the story revolves around several bureaucrats and politicians who are trying to solve the problem, none of whom are very appealing or sympathetic, speaking in self-aware shorthand, quoting lines from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner in casual conversation.

The book is just 160 pages, and one gets the impression that the author was researching a comprehensive piece about the New York City water supply infrastructure, something that would have been at home in The New Yorker and, looking over his notes, decided to turn it into a novel.

Satire? There’s a senator from Alabama who suggests that black professionals migrate from New York City to Africa (less people to consume water), the notion of the disenfranchised turning on all their taps and running water as an act of civil disobedience and a professor who cites in mind-numbing detail why water shouldn’t be served with meals.

Along the way there’s also a fair amount of padding, including (for three unforgivable pages) blackjack strategies.

It isn’t until the final chapters that The Day New York Went Dry starts to feel like science fiction. An apocalyptic gloom settles on New York City as rationing takes over, travel drops off the charts, a plan is drafted to move schoolchildren out of the city and the Pennsylvania National Guard is mobilized to protect that state’s waterways.

Author Charles Einstein was a San Francisco sportswriter, serving for many years as editor of The Fireside Book of Baseball, a ubiquitous compendium found in nearly every library in America. He wrote a couple of books about Willie Mays, dabbled in fiction and wrote How to Win at Blackjack: The Einstein System.

His father was Harry Einstein, the radio comedian known as Parkyakarkus, remembered today mostly for his very public death in 1958, suffering a fatal heart attack on the dais during a Friar’s Club roast of Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz.

After Einstein delivered his monologue, he returned to his seat, ad-libbed a joke then slumped down. Everyone laughed when Milton Berle, who was seated next to Einstein, called out, "Is there a doctor in the house?" Einstein never regained consciousness.

Comedians Albert Brooks (yeah, he named his son Albert Einstein) and Super Dave Osborne were Charles Einstein’s half-brothers. Einstein died in 2007.