Filmed 1973-1978
But it was more than a perfect fit. In 1973 when I directed THE CHICKEN THIEF (http://senensky.com/the-chicken-thief/), my first episode of THE WALTONS, I had been directing television for a dozen years. But it was still a thorny experience to direct that first episode for a successful ongoing series. Directing episodic television was like jumping on a freight train in motion. You had to jump on without breaking your legs; once you boarded, you must climb on top of the train and run across, get into the engine and take over running it. My intent when beginning a new project was to be true to the script, to respect the author’s intent. So when you were the new kid on the block, as I was, you just didn’t come onto a successful series and find fault with the script you were assigned. But I did. The first scene in THE CHICKEN THIEF was a charmer…
…but there was no further reference to that exchange in the balance of the script. I thought, wouldn’t it be interesting to have a follow-up to that scene, so I went to Earl Hamner and presented my thoughts on the matter. The following day Earl presented me with an added scene he had written.
That was my early exposure to what made THE WALTONS so special; there was no limit to their efforts, even on a television budget. Starting with the script, their dedication was to producing the finest project possible. As I was to learn, THE WALTONS was based on Earl Hamner’s life, the characters in the show were copies of his family, each of the siblings was like of one of his actual siblings. And Earl felt very protective, insuring that nothing in any episode would reflect anything negative about them.
Three months later when I reported to direct my second THE WALTONS, I considered the script they assigned me to be a gift. Ironically that was the title of the script – THE GIFT (http://senensky.com/the-gift/) It was a tragic tale about Jason’s closest teenage friend, Seth, who was diagnosed with leukemia. The drama as it unfolded was claustrophobically intense and I thought it needed space in the early sequences, staging areas that allowed for expansive movement by the characters, space visually pictorial, lighter moments in its early telling to ingratiate its future audiences before introducing and building the heartbreaking events that followed.
There were 3 of the exterior sequences to be filmed that I immediately knew needed to be filmed not on Warner Brothers backlot. I knew where I wanted to film them – Franklin Canyon, the wooded reservoir in the hills above Beverly Hills. I knew this would add to the production budget and by this time I was aware of what Earl Hamner later stated on his Archives of American Television interview — “sometimes Lorimar didn’t like to spend a great deal of money.” Hopefully I went to Neil Maffeo, the production manager, to request a day of location filming in Franklin Canyon. Neil countered with an offer. If I would film the show in 6 days rather than the 6½ scheduled, I could have my off-the-lot location day. I hastily agreed.
The first sequence filmed there, with lots of the needed visual space, was the opening for THE GIFT.
Grandpa Walton told Seth he knew the tree with the perfect wood for the recorder he was going to make for Jason, so early one morning the three boys went searching for the tree.
And then possibly the most important sequence filmed at Franklin Canyon, the scene following when John Boy and Olivia brought Seth and his mother home after the doctor’s examination when Seth now knew of his fatal disease.
The Great Depression of the 1930’s was reflected in almost every episode of THE WALTONS. But the series also covered major events of the period, national and international. They did one on Roosevelt’s death. In one episode John Boy went with some reporters to New Jersey, where he viewed the Hindenburg disaster. I didn’t direct that episode, but I did direct THE FIRE STORM (http://senensky.com/the-fire-storm/), a story involving John Boy with the backdrop of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party in Germany. My 4th assignment, THE CONFLICT, the 2-hour epic that was to open the series’ 3rd season, introduced another member of the Walton family – Martha Corinne Walton, the wife of Grandpa Walton’s deceased older brother. Martha Corinne and her family lived in the mountains and her home was threatened by a major highway that was to be built through her property. That was where I had a major reservation about the script; not a short added scene — MAJOR: In the script I received the government relented and she was going to be allowed to remain in her home until her death. Again I went to Earl. I said that wasn’t the way it would have happened and presenting it the way it most certainly would have happened would be more truthful and frankly more dramatic. Earl listened to me and then went home and rewrote the script’s ending scenes.
At one point in his interview for the Archives of American Television Earl was asked what kind of writer he thought he was. I don’t recall all of his response, but as I remember one of his self-descriptions was a “some time poet”. I’ll leave it to you, after that final ‘sweeping’ scene, to decide – was this one of those times?
A widespread phenomenon of the Great Depression years was the dance marathon or as I knew it from the one staged in the Armory building in Mason City, Iowa in 1932: walkathon. Producer Robert Jacks told me he had unsuccessfully tried to option Horace McCoy’s 1935 novel, THEY SHOOT HORSES, DON’T THEY? Regretfully he hadn’t succeeded, so these many years later he commissioned Nigel McKeand to write a Walton teleplay on the subject, THE MARATHON, and I was assigned to direct it (http://senensky.com/the-marathon/). As a 10-year old I went with my mother every Friday evening (my father was still at work every Friday evening in the clothing store) to the Armory, just 4 blocks from where we were living. I had (and still have) vivid memories of it and I remembered it a little differently from the THEY SHOOT HORSES film. I recognized in Nigel’s script all of the darker elements, but I also remembered that the evening was presented as an entertainment. I now know many of the entrants were professional marathoners; many were vaudevillians seeking a substitute for the jobs no longer available because of dying vaudeville. I wanted to bring that entertainment aspect to my marathon. My suggestion was accepted and approved and I converted one of the script’s couples into a pair of out-of-work vaudevillians. Normally a recording session for music was in postproduction after the composer had written his background score, but I was allowed a pre-shooting day with a small music combo to record the music I would need for my planned staging.
Even with the dancing, the Great Depression made its presence felt: the nickels and dimes flung onto the stage and so hungrily picked up by the performers. There was another element to the evening at the Armory I remembered and that I also was able to include in my filming.
On my pre-recording day with the music group I had CALIFORNIA, HERE I COME recorded in increasingly fast tempos. Filming of the 4-minute sequence took almost a full day of our 6½-day schedule. I didn’t remember what the elimination dance was called in Mason City. Nigel named it a Jackrabbit Run. I felt it expressed the desperation of the Great Depression so vividly. Our marathon was limited to one-week in order for John Boy to participate during a school recess. But in reality marathons lasted for weeks, for months; and for people to subject themselves to such a horror for the small monetary prize if they won and do it with a happy face so that audiences could be entertained – I don’t need words. I’ve just shown it!
As I’ve reported elsewhere in this long existential journey, an elderly white-haired English professor at the Pasadena Playhouse School of the Theatre said, “Great art is a sublimation of limitations.” I saw that so many times in that long journey, but never more than on THE PONY CART (http://senensky.com/the-pony-cart/), a script commissioned by Earl Hamner to bring Beulah Bondi ‘s Martha Corinne Walton back for another appearance. Martha Corinne didn’t just come to visit; she took over and most of the family resented this. She involved herself helping a reluctant Ben build a pony cart. When John Boy discovered she had been having a series of heart attacks, the family’s resentment turned to concerns for her wellbeing. The unveiling of the completed pony cart, which she had painted, was a joyful family celebration, followed by her being given the first ride – the final sequence of the film, a most important setting. I had a day of location filming at Frazier Park, 90 miles north of Los Angeles, but even if we had found a place to film it there, lack of time would have prevented it. The problem then fell in the lap of art director, Ed Graves. He had to create the setting on Warner Brothers’ backlot, which unlike MGM’s backlot, where I had filmed, did not have large fields. It was all wooded areas and dirt roads. We also needed a field of daisies. Ed found a place on the backlot where there was a fork in the road; the fork that led off to the left would be the path for the pony cart; where the fork led off to the right, he created our field of daisies. Those were the limitations he sublimated.
The death of Martha Corinne was the last scene of Beulah Bondi’s film career. She won the Emmy for her performance.
In the summer of 1977 I had possibly the strangest experience of my journey in film. The script was THE WARRIOR (http://senensky.com/the-warrior/), a fascinating story about a 101-year-old Indian who returns to Walton’s Mountain, searching for the burial ground of his Cherokee tribe. He finds it is under the Walton barn. The problem? Who does the land belong to? Our problem? The script was poorly written. I didn’t have to raise any alarm; everybody agreed. Earl announced he would do the rewrite. To my surprise and great pleasure, he invited me to come to his home and participate in the rewriting. That was so unusual for directors in television. It had only happened to me once before and that too was on a Lorimar production (http://senensky.com/a-dream-for-christmas-part-i/).
So the next 3 or 4 days I went every morning to Earl’s home to work in the room where he did all of his writing. THE WARRIOR was the 2nd script I directed after Richard Thomas left the series at the end of his 5-year contract. His leaving had created a difficulty. John Boy was no longer available to be the polar center of the scripts. Earl and I agreed we would counter this loss by making Grandfather Joseph Teskigi, the Indian centenarian, an even stronger, more poetic figure than Martha Corinne had been in THE PONY CART. And I knew the actor I wanted to play him –- Eduard Franz, whom I had worked with 13 years before. There was no disagreement, so our casting director was notified and Franz was contracted even before the rewrite was completed.
Satisfied with the rewritten script, we returned to the studio to face another disturbing problem. Will Geer and Ralph Waite had announced they would not appear in the film unless a real Indian actor played the role. To be a ‘real Indian actor’ one had to have had one Indian grandparent. Our casting director immediately checked out the known Hollywood actors who would qualify. None were available, so I requested a release from my commitment. Earl and Producer Andy White reassured me that what Will and Ralph were demanding was an impossibility; that I should stay on, conduct the auditions and when we failed to find someone suitable, we would be able to continue with Eduard Franz playing the role. I did as they requested and began interviewing actors — most of them in their twenties or barely out of them. But by then the entire incident had become a cause celebre. A contingent from the Indian acting community had contacted the company, demanding an Indian be cast. There was no turning back and it was now too late for me to withdraw. A choice had to be made from the actors I had met. The only one who was old enough to assay the role of someone 101 years old was Jerado DeCordovier, a 66-year old film extra.
I made a painful phone call to Eduard Franz to explain and apologize for the situation, and filming on this strange journey began. I now had to stage and shoot the film as visually effective as I would have if Franz was playing the Indian Grandfather, while directing an actor who, although conscientious and dedicated, didn’t have the training or experience to portray the complex, beautiful role Earl had written. I couldn’t work on dramatic interpretation. His approach to acting was that of a high school drama student portraying Shakespeare with pretentious orating. My job was to tone him down so he would simply talk to the other actors. The company allowed me to film all of his scenes with 2 cameras, thus getting wider shots and close-ups at the same time and I was allowed to print more than one take of a set-up. The usual length of dailies to be viewed was 25-30 minutes. I was printing up to 90 minutes of dailies a day. Film editor Marge Fowler did a masterful job of piecing together his performance, finding the best take for each and every line he spoke. Earl had brilliantly brought young Kami Cotler’s Elizabeth into the personal scenes with the Grandfather that John Boy would have played. In only one scene between Elizabeth and the old Indian, filmed on the final day of shooting, was the Teskigi performance as I envisioned it in Earl’s script.
That was the haunting Teskigi performance I had envisioned throughout the film. It is disappointing when you direct any script that doesn’t end up as good as you intended. It was more than painful to experience what happened to Earl’s exceptional script
Ellen Corby’s Grandma did not appear in THE WARRIOR. Ellen had suffered a serious stroke sometime after we had worked together on THE PONY CART and was away from the series for over a year. Sometime after the first of the year (1978) I received a phone call from Producer Andy White. He told me a script was being written for Grandma’s return and would I direct it? As I remember, I said, “Yes” before Andy could finish asking.
When I received the script, I had some reservations. But unlike the 3 times earlier when I had gone to Earl regarding script changes and he had responded by doing the rewriting himself, this time a script conference meeting was held with Earl Hamner, producer Andy White, authors Rod and Claire Peterson and me. I expressed my concerns. I thought the first act was static and uneventful, that the story didn’t get under way until Grandma’s arrival at the end of Act I. I met with resistance, mostly from Rod, for every cut that I suggested. By the time I reached the scene where Grandma finally arrived, without having any success, I blurted out, “Well we’d better find something to cut because the first thirteen pages are just (expletive) dull.” Claire, with an amused smile said, “Well that’s pretty definite.” The fairly stormy story conference finally provided some script cuts, and later in the editing room further tightening occurred. I admit now that I was wrong to want to start the show with Grandma’s arrival. Her return was an event; it was a theatrical entrance that needed to be set up. And it was a double event. Not only was Grandma returning to Walton’s Mountain, Ellen Corby was returning to THE WALTONS.
Work for Ellen was scheduled very carefully. She worked early in the day; her work was spread out over the span of the shooting schedule so she would not be overtired on any one day; and the show was given a 7- day shooting schedule. They also allowed me to have two cameras whenever I felt I could use them to advantage, thus cutting down the number of times Ellen would have to play a scene.
Ellen had very little dialogue in her early scenes. Grandma was just reacting to the overprotective actions of everyone in the family. In the first printing of the script Grandma finally conveyed her feelings about this to Grandpa, John and Olivia by spreading salt on the kitchen table and with her finger she scratched out ‘needs me’. Soon a revised page was issued of that action, but in a scene on the porch between Grandma and Olivia. I knew immediately how I wanted that scene to play, but I couldn’t do it with the scene as written.
Directing Ellen was different than directing anyone I had ever directed. I can give the best example of that by comparing it to when I directed Harry Guardino in HASTINGS’ FAREWELL on DR. KILDARE. Harry too was playing an aphasiac; but Harry wasn’t a victim of aphasia and my directing focused on Dr. Kildare’s efforts to teach Hastings one single word. Harry knew what he had to do in the scene and acted the aphasiac. Ellen was an aphasiac so directing her was only what she had to do.
If I had reservations about the early scenes in Rod and Claire Peterson’s fine script and even greater problems with the ‘green bean scene’, I had complete respect and admired the way they resolved the problems inherent in Grandma’s coming home. They were so discerning about the psychological aspects, stunning in their theatricality and just plain smart in their use of comedy.
Grandma kept a journal in which she wrote daily. No one in the family read any part of it until Grandpa took the journal and spent a night reading. John and Olivia found him in the kitchen the next morning.
As a pair of English writers wrote in a book a long time ago, I seemed to have an affinity for dealing with people with problems. That was the lure for me with involving myself with THE WALTONS. I also liked confronting the problems of the times and liked to do dramas that reflected them. I found all of that in THE WALTONS. Also on THE WALTONS they never asked me “to be less imaginative,” as 2 producers had in my past. The sad thing is that in the mid 1980’s, when I had to prepare a dvd of scenes I had directed for my agents to submit to producers when seeking employment for me, and that dvd included some of the scenes you have just viewed, my agents asked me to redo the dvd and eliminate the scenes from THE WALTONS. The scenes were considered ‘soft entertainment’, not acceptable on television.
Earl Hamner, in the 9 years THE WALTONS aired, always had the last word with his closing narration before the goodnights. I’m now going to give Earl, in his 2003 interview with the Archives of American Television, the last word.
…and so
Good Night John Boy, Good Night Grandpa, Goodnight Grandma
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