A friend of mine posted a link on his Facebook page to a clip from “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” It is a 30 second clip of a college student contestant who overconfidently blows his big moment on the very first question. His just prior affirmation that he knows all about his lifeline options is a mere formality as he sits tall in the chair waiting to get started. Meredith barely gets the question out and he is locking in his final answer. He is that sure of it. That $100 for this correct answer is what he is tipping the bellhop after he walks out of this show a Millionaire.
The rest of the story is stuff viral videos are made of. He was on and off national television in little more than a minute. Meredith was dumbfounded. The audience was dumdfounded. Most of all the contestant was dumbfounded - or just plain dumb.
That great clip stirred up memories of my own game show debacle. I was 7 and my “don’t you feel like a simple ass” moment was on the New York
Each episode of Wonderama included education, music, audience participation, games, interviews and cartoon shorts. But more importantly, each episode included opportunities for kids to go home with brand new bikes, TVs, stereos, the most sought after toys of the day, and countless other really awesome stuff kids couldn’t live without. Prizes were given out to those who answered Bob correctly or won a challenge of some sort.
Winning those prizes wasn’t as easy as the kids had hoped. Bob had a twisted side to him and his most popular contest his for the pint sized studio audience was his Snakes in the Can game. 10 cans were lined up in front of a timid child plucked from the back row. 1 of those cans contained a lovely bouquet of flowers which, if the child picked it, made him the envy of the neighborhood. However, to insure these kids would be scarred for life if they lost, Bob had each of the other 9 cans rigged with 4 spring loaded snakes which erupted in their faces as soon as they twisted off the lid.
Aside from filming in NYC year after year, Bob took all the cultish thrill of Wonderama on the road. One fine Sunday afternoon that crazy train rolled into my hometown and every kid in the tri-state area managed to cram themselves into the multipurpose room of our community center. Oh, there was magic in the air that day. There was an almost electric charge so strong among us that had anyone farted, we all would surely have been blown sky high. The room was arranged with chairs 4 or 5 rows deep in a full circle. Ringing the chairs were tables piled high with prizes galore. I had never seen so many toys in my life outside the three aisles at Two Guys. We all were stupid happy like kids get and when Bob McAllister arrived in the center of the room, we piddled the floor with uncontrollable anticipation and glee.
So much of that day is a blur anymore but I can still feel the excitement, the anxiety, and the awe of being at Wonderama. Now there may have been cartoons to watch, songs to sing, good news stories to be told and even some jumpingjacks going on there with Bob but I couldn’t attest to that. All I remember was the moment I had a chance to be a god.
Bob introduced a clown to the audience. The clown did some tricks. The clown acted silly. The clown worked the room with pranks and jokes for everyone in the front rows. When the clown was done he exited through a side door to our applause. Then Bob reappeared holding up an index card and the place erupted with screeches. He didn’t even have to say a word and we were standing on our seats crying out, “Pick me! Pick me!” (I think Oprah’s audience is comprised solely of one-time Wonderama fans). Bob announced the first prize, a 19” colored TV.
Oh, it was splendid sitting there in all of its 19” of vacuum-tubed, rabbit-eared, pre-cable ready glory. Free to one lucky child. One lucky child who would, if skilled enough to avoid the terror of slinky snakes in the face or smart enough to master Bob’s questions, be the only child on their block with a TV of their own. No more enduring the nightly news, All in the Family, Police Woman, Carl Malden with the parents on the only TV in the house. The kid who went home with that was sitting pretty watching Saturday morning cartoons without having to get outside and play before Land of the Lost was over, before missing the Robotic Stooges. Move over Steve Austin. The real Six Million Dollar Man was the kid with his own TV.
Bob kept that index card high above his head. He waved his microphone like a magic wand and we all settled down. He pulled the card down slowly and called out a number. I don’t remember the number but after a bit of confusion and some murmuring around me, it turned out the number corresponded to my seat. I was pressed forward by production assistants and found myself standing next to Bob with a microphone in my face. Still shell-shocked, I gave my name and for the benefit of the audience Bob repeated loud and clear. He then explained he was going to ask me a question and if I got it right I would get the TV. That was it. No cans of snakes, no complicated word challenges or even a game requiring excellent hand/eye coordination. Just a simple question.
“Jerry, remember the Clown we just saw?” He prompted.
“uh-huh,” I replied.
“Do like clowns, Jerry?”
“uh-huh.”
“He was funny, wasn’t he?”
“uh-huh.”
“Jerry, think if I ask you a question about the clown you could answer it? If you answer it, you win the TV. You like that TV, Jerry?”
“uh-huh.”
“Now, Jerry, I want you to think about this for a moment. OK? OK, Jerry. What color was the clown’s nose?”
I thought of it for a moment. And in that moment my mind swirled and swirled while every kid in the room yelled out the answer that my ears, ringing with adrenaline, could not decipher. “Wah! Wah! Wah!” was all I heard.
And in that moment I drew upon my mental image of the clown and the following process worked itself out in my brain: Every clown’s nose is red. His nose is red. This is easy. That TV is mine. This is so easy. Too easy. Way too easy. Is this a trick question? Of course his nose is red. Why wouldn’t it be red unless they want to trick me? His nose is red. I know his nose is red. All clowns have red noses. It’s red. I wonder how I get the TV home?
“Jerry, what color is the clown’s nose?” Bob asked again.
I smiled and stood tall. This was my moment. If I could have taken the microphone from him to answer loud and clear I would have. I took a deep breath as Bob leaned the mic in close to my mouth and prompted my answer with a knowing wink and nod.
“It’s green,” I proclaimed.
Bob’s face, halfway into a congratulatory burst of praise, contorted uncomfortably. He stuttered and paused. Then he stuttered again. “Ah, Ah, Ah, No. No, his nose is NOT green. It is red. Red, Jerry. His nose is RED.” He paused again looking dumbfounded before turning away from me quickly. I am guessing now he needed to stifle a laugh.
Somewhere off stage I thought I heard someone - probably a guy wiping off clown makeup - cry out in disbelief, “Green!?” The audience sat stunned; too stunned to react at all. My answer was like a needle to their balloon.
Sensing my stupidity was much like a giant vortex sucking all the energy out of the room, Bob began to shoo me back to my seat. He handed me a pack of playing cards featuring lesser known Hanna Barbara cartoon characters and thanked me for playing. The assistants returned and swept me away from Bob who was running in the opposite direction scrambling to improvise something, anything, to get the party started again.
Wonderama as I remember it was cancelled a year after my 15 minutes of shame. Bob is no longer with us either. And even though I have no evidence to prove it, I suspect the clown was actually John Wayne Gacey. I now have a TV in every room. I still can't watch Robotic Stooges or Land of the Lost. Then again, I haven't ever had to endure another evening with Carl Malden either. I survived that moment even if I am not yet over it.
Looking back, I probably would have been less scarred by opening a can of snakes. A lifetime of indecision stems for moments like this and I have searched in vain for a green-nosed clown and some sense of vindication ever since. I am only thankful there was no YouTube or advanced television video archiving techniques available to rocket my epic fail into cyberspace infamy.
