You're Invited!

   
     When I was growing up in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, the highlight of the year was the gathering for the annual family reunion. Relatives arrived from everywhere and we spent the weekend reminiscing, hugging, feasting, catching up on the news, getting acquainted with new babies that had been born or an in-law that had been added since we were all last together. There were tears for those we had loved and lost, and one of the uncles might have a bit too much of the "recipe" but in the end everybody went home, happy, proud and enriched for having shared a very special event.

      The Walton Family recently celebrated such an occasion. At the invitation of the great show business magazine ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY the actors gathered at Warner Brothers Ranch in Burbank, California. Richard Thomas flew out from New York. Ralph Waite came over from his home in the desert, and the others in the cast assembled from various towns up and down the California coast. There at the replica of the house made so famous on the television series, our host filmed not only a photographic essay for the magazine, but also a television film of the gathering.

      No, there was no "recipe" served. The intoxication came from just being together, still a close and loving family who worked together forty years ago and became a family with a family’s enduring ties.

      Read the story in ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY when it hits the newsstands this coming Friday, October 18th, and also on that same day, dial up ABC’S Morning Show "GOOD MORNING AMERICA" to visit one more time with our family.

Party Time!

                                     
          As you may already know, in September we will celebrate the 40th Anniversary of the premiere of "The Waltons." When I was a boy growing up in the backwoods of Virginia during The Great Depression I could never have dreamed that　those days, those times, that little village and the events we experienced as a family, would become material for stories to be broadcast, over something we had never heard of called television, all over the world.

　　Not long ago I looked through some of the early reviews of the series when it first went on the air over CBS. I thought it might be interesting to see how we were first perceived 40 years ago.

　　In The New York Times, a writer named Anne Roiphe wrote the following:

　　"A bobwhite cry breaks the quiet of night among the firs and pines of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia "Goodnight Ma." "Goodnight John-Boy" "Goodnight Pa" and the lights of the Walton house on Walton’s Mountain somewhere in the early nineteen-thirties dim, and a million viewers turn away from their television sets, eyes wet, souls heavy with false memory and hopeless longing. C.B.S has filled another Thursday night with nostalgia, bathos, soap opera, formula plot, tear-jerking junk, and I and all those other viewers share a moment of tender shame at having been so painfully touched by such obvious commercial exploitation."

　   Commercial exploitation! Bathos! Tear-jerking junk! At this point I was so offended I was ready to cancel my subscription to The New York Times and write a scathing note to the lady. And then I read on:
      "Since every Thursday night I am reduced to ridiculous tears, I had to ask these questions and explore the program’s skill at piercing touch hides, revealing sentimental ooze that can no more be than controlled than the shift of dreams that sill wake us screaming every now and then."

　　Sentimental ooze! Come on, Miz Roiphe? 

      You keep on this away I am liable to forget that I am a　Virginia gentleman　and say something I might regret!

　　A few lines later she continues, "The Waltons" may be romantic nonsense, may bear only superficial and misleading resemblance to real life, but it is very good magic. It is a good, workable dance to scare away the evil spirits of loneliness, isolations, divorce, alcoholism, troubled children, abandoned elders, - the real companions of American family life, the real demons of the living room."

　          Romantic nonsense, Miz Roiphe?

       There was nothing the least romantic about the Great Depression of the 20’s and 30’s and we never portrayed it that way. It was a time when we were tested as a people, and we came through with courage, persistence, and faith in our country and our leaders. Poverty was just one of our challenges. It was a time when prejudice still stained many areas of the country, some racial and some religious, and we examined those issues too. The threat of Nazi Germany was becoming clear to many of us and one of our finest episodes dealt with that sport so beloved to the Nazis’ - book burning.

      But more than that, we told stories about two people who loved each other and were dedicated to raising a family. We told stories that were dedicated to the strength of the American people that brought us back from the brink of ruin.

　         Romantic nonsense! Nonsense!

　   To make matters worse the writer illustrated her piece with photographs by Walker Evans showing emaciated children, haggard women, defeated men, people in rags, filthy shacks, which prompted my sister Marion Hawks (Mary Ellen Walton) to write an outraged letter to The Times" pointing out that the photographs only added to the inaccurate portrayal of our family. I think she was even a little threatening, but you know Mary Ellen.

       After The New York Times piece it was a relief to find a review that I could relate to. It was written by critic Val Adams and his review goes as follows:

       "Circumstances surrounding the Waltons provide one of the more interesting situations of this fall’s television series. It is different from any other show on the air which does not necessarily make it good. "The Waltons" has no excitement and no glamour. It is a story about simple people – a large family of three generations living at the foot of The Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia during the Depression of the 1930."

       A little more favorable, but still it fell in the category of many other reviews which asked "Who will want to watch a series about poor people eating possum, swilling moonshine, and scratching out a living in the backwoods of Virginia during The Great Depression?"

      The answer? Huge number of viewers. You – the audience. You found the series, liked it enough to come back the following week, liked it enough to tell your friends, liked it enough to write letters of support to CBS, and by the end of the season the series had risen to the Number One position in the ratings.

      We went on the air in September. Most of the TV critics predicted a quick cancellation. Who, they continued to ask would watch a sprawling poverty-stricken backwoods family, swilling moonshine, feuding, and fighting, marrying each other and singing old Baptist hymns? Who would watch?

                  THE PEOPLE WATCHED!

      And by December we were the Number One show in the ratings and we stayed there for several years.

      Beginning in 1972 the series was seen on Thursday nights on CBS by an average of fifty million viewers in the United States. It was also seen in Canada and Hong Kong, Japan, Australia, Fiji and in Ecuador, to mention only a few of the countries where it became popular.

       The series was awarded six Emmy awards, six Christopher Awards, The Golden Globe Award from the Foreign Press Association, The People’s Choice Award, and the highest award given in broadcast journalism: The coveted Peabody Award from the University of Georgia. The series received commendations from the Council of Christians and Jews, The Society of Southern Baptists, The Religious Public Relations Council of the United Methodist Church, and the Church o0f Latter-Day Saints. One Sunday we went beyond my wildest expectations. In a magazine called "Twin Circle," which is the voice of the National Catholic Press, a picture of the cast of The Waltons was given equal space with a picture of the Pope. At that point I began to worry that we had gone too far

        For each of us who were involved in the series it has changed our lives. The series became the building block for a brand new production company called Lorimar which went on to produce such memorable series as Dallas, The Blue Knight, and Eight is Enough and another of my long running series, Falcon Crest. For the actors, writers, directors and crew it meant more than ten years of steady employment, dependable income in an industry where such good fortune comes to few people. And even though the series caused some of the actors to be type cast, known only for their Walton roles, it did opoen doors, bring them to prominence in the industry and made their names and faces known wherever in the world there was a television set.

        The show also provided a special kind of relationship to those of us involved. Because of kind of stories we told and because we were all portraying members of a family, we came together as "family" – a relationship that continues right down to today. We attend each other’s wedding, anniversaries, birthdays, funerals, christenings, bar mitzvahs. And so it was that we mourned as a family when we had to say goodbye to such special members of the cast, such beloved actors as Ellen Corby and Will Geer.

　   None of us had thought ahead to the effect the show would have on my family. Because the series was based on the character and structure of my own family it was important that I be true to the way my family members they were portrayed. This required my being in my office near the set all during the day attending casting sessions, network meetings, screenings, story meeting, and then at night writing or rewriting scripts to insure that they gave a honest representation of my family members. This became a burden on my own family when I realized that I was devoting more attention to a television family than my own and that I had not been home for dinner in months. It was a sober and shocking revelation. Believe me I was home for dinner from then on.

         It was a bit of a family affair. Both my daughter, Caroline and my son, Scott were extras in "The Homecoming." And then my son, Scott, a writer, came aboard as a regular contributor to the series. His script, "The Reunion," became the last scheduled episode when we finished our first run.

         To the audience The Waltons brought an hour of television each week that supplied a very personal and intimate experience to a vast number of people here at home and in every country of the world. Even today, forty years after the original first run, the series is being shown on three different cable channels, Hallmark, INSP, and GMA. I receive mountains of mail, sadly more than I can ever answer, and most of the letters say either "Your stories remind me of my own life." Or "This is how I wish my own life had been."

        Change also came to my own family back in Virginia. Because the character were based on my mother and father, my brothers and sisters, they became known by their television names - my brother Cliff as Jason, my Sister Audrey as Erin, Brother Jim became Jim-Bob and so on.

        And my hometown became a tourist destination! Fans from other countries and many other states came looking for the locations we had mentioned on the show such as Rockfish, The Dew Drop Inn, Drusilla’s Pond, the Baldwin residence and The Baptist Church and The Walton Museum.

       The Hamner home is today listed on the Register of Historic Homes in Virginia and is owned by a local family. The house was a "company house" built in the 20’s and needed repair. Pam Rutherford, the present owner, renovated it and refurnished it and today there is a tour of it for a modest fee.

       One of my favorite memories came one day after the series has become a hit. I often phoned my mother on Thursday nights right after the show to see how she felt about what she had seen, and her responses were always favorable. And then one day when I called, she spoke with me for a moment and then said, "I can’t talk long. There’s this nice young couple here. They’ve come all the way from Ireland and they just love the show!"

        There’s even a Walton Mountain B and B directly in front of the old home place, an excellent home away from home if you are staying overnight in Schuyler. It is attractive and comfortably furnished, the food is great and an extensive collection of Walton memorabilia is available (including autographed copies of "Good Night John Boy"

　   There are two celebrations of the 40th Anniversary coming up in September. On Friday, September 28th there will be the traditional reunion of the Walton International Fan Club, hosted by President Carolyn Grinnell. As usual many cast members will be in attendance giving fan and actors an opportunity to mingle and Carolyn has promised a surprise or two. The party will be held at:

                    6:oo pm at The Holiday Inn
                       Burbank Media Center,
                    The South Pacific Ballroom
                    150 East Angeleno Avenue
                         Burbank, Ca. 91502

        The dinner is sold out, but occasionally there are cancellations. To see if any spaces do become available call Carolyn at 336-993-2752 or her e-mail at
thewaltonsinternationalfanclub@mail.com

         The following evening, Saturday September 29th there will be another celebration of our 40th Anniversary. Celebrating Family and Education, the proceeds will go to Kami Colter’s Environmental Charter School. Hosted by William Keck, Senior Editor at "TV Guide," the event will be held at The Wilshire Eubell Theater beginning at 6 o’clock.

     For ticket or further information visit the event’s website
                      www.waltons40th.com      　

      So come and join us at either or both of these celebrations. Some of you have already made arrangement to be with us. People are have already made plans to travel from Australia, Canada, Germany and England as well as many of our own states. Many cast members will appear at both parties. I will attend both of these events and look forward to seeing you.
　
Warm Walton Wishes
Earl Hamner

HARVESTING

When I was a boy growing up in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia during the Great Depression we subsisted partially on my father’s ability to hunt for game, on the plentiful bass and catfish from the Rockfish River and also on wild fruits and berries which grew in abundance in the area, but most especially on the vegetable garden which we tended and which rewarded us generously from the early spring peas to the huge pumpkins that we harvested and either carved into Jack O Lanterns or made into pies in the fall.

I was a sensitive boy, a failure as a hunter.It was painful to me to deal the coup de grace to a quail that had only partially been killed by the spreading birdshot of a twenty-two rifle. I was repelled when a deer had only been wounded and the harsh struggle that had to take place in order to subdue it. And while I continued to fish even into adulthood there came a time when I questioned if the gigantic king salmon experienced pain while I engaged in the hour of “sport” it took to drag it out of British Columbia’s legendary Rivers Inlet.

The one source of food that I took part in planting, cultivating, and harvesting and which gave me the greatest pleasure was gardening. My father’s earliest garden was a sizeable plot on the bank of the Rockfish River. We planted our crops following directions from “The Old Farmer’s Almanac” (Plants that were to be harvested above ground to be planted when the moon was full. Plants that came to fruition underground were to be planted on the dark of the moon!) And it worked!

It was my duty to take water from the Rockfish River and carry it to whatever hill or row was carrying seed. I can still remember the awe and astonishment I experienced when the first tiny leaf of tomato or a string bean or cucumber first showed its face.

I suspect that if my life had followed the pattern like that of the other boys in my village I might well have become a farmer, found a nice local girl and settled down to a life similar to that my parents knew. But due to a set of near miraculous circumstances it was not to be my destiny. Laura Horsley, the wife of our local doctor had friends on the board of directors and nominated me to receive a scholarship at the University of Richmond. The scholarship was awarded and I left the Rockfish River behind. In my sophomore year I was drafted into the Army of the United States and left Richmond, Virginia behind. As a soldier I was stationed in Paris and for a while I fell so in love with that city that I nearly left my own country behind.

I was a far different person when I returned to Schuyler Virginia after the war. While I still hated to wring a chicken’s neck or killing the deer. I could do it. And I discovered that while the Army experience had toughened me, I still felt the awe and wonder of a seed’s awakening and growth. I had visited New York City on our high school Senior Trip. We had gone there to visit the 1939 World Fair. The fair must have astonished most visitors, but coming from my background, it was a glimpse into a world I could not even have imagined. We stayed on Columbus Circle at a hotel that I believe is still there. I loved the city from the moment I first stepped out of the hotel door and breathed in something ineffable that told me that this was my spiritual home. And I promised myself on that trip that someday I would come back and live there. Soon after World War Two I kept that promise and from the moment I arrived I became a New Yorker.

The apartment I rented was described in the classified ads as “for the discerning few.” Actually it was rather special for the price. The owner was an architect and he had stripped the walls down to the original brick and painted them white. Although it was really one large room the space had been utilized adroitly. The bed conveniently disappeared under a raised stairway platform, which led down to the floor of the room. The kitchen was hidden behind a folding door and the bath was its own separate room. The most interesting feature of the apartment to me was not the interior but the exterior. All along the length of the front window was one long deep planter box in which the owner had cultivated a showy bed of geraniums.

I am sure that the owner, a fastidious man, would have had an apoplectic fit if he had ever discovered that hidden in the geraniums I had reverted to my childhood passion to grow things and planted tomatoes, cucumbers, and a bed of wax beans.

My profession led me to California and in its endless sunshine, and climate so hospitable to growing things, my passion came alive again. Our house is on a hillside and what level ground there is became a rose garden which is Jane’s pride and which supplies the house with fresh roses just about all year round.

This year I had an inspiration. I realized there was a level surface! It existed on a long deck surrounding the swimming pool. Why not raise a container garden! Not exactly compatible elements with a pristine turquoise swimming pool from a decorative point of view, but what the hell! As the saying goes, “You can take the boy out of the country, etc.”

I spent hours at the nursery supply stores studying seed packets, comparing brand name pieces of equipment and the complexion of various potting mixtures. A small fortune went into planter boxes, containers the size of tubs, soil, fertilizer, watering cans, trowels, seeds, a composting system, and a hose long enough to water the entire area.

I envisioned what the Los Angeles Times recently described as an “Urban Meadow,” but once assembled the deck began to look as if the Beverly Hillbillies had moved in. But what the hell! Jane’s roses filled the house with beauty. My garden would fill it with fresh healthy produce.

The spring weather was most beneficial with cool nights and bright sunny days. All the seeds went to work enthusiastically and I would rush down to the deck each morning at first light to rejoice at the miracles taking place.

I fantasized about the rich harvest that was sure to follow. I gazed with pity on shoppers in our market as they spent good money on produce from God knows where, sure to be laden with hormones and cancer causing preservatives. I pictured myself, wearing a straw hat and overalls, going from neighbor to neighbor with gifts of hefty beefsteak tomatoes, baskets of crisp wax beans, slender succulent cucumbers, and huge purple eggplant. My visits would inspire others to follow my example. They would foster good neighbor relationships during this deplorable time when trust and good will are disappearing from our society. My garden would sew the seeds for a better world!!

But then a long wet spell set in and I did not visit my “meadow” as often, but when I did I found my infant plants began mysteriously disappearing.

When I kept watch I discovered that the very blue jays, mocking birds, sparrows and linnets that we had fed and treasured were the culprits. I started afresh but covered the next generation of seedlings with netting. The butterbeans came to vibrant life. The cucumber vines were aggressive immediately and were climbing to ambitious heights and the egg plant blossomed when it was only a few weeks old. I bought tomato plants already close to producing fruit and within a week tomatoes the size of marbles appeared. My garden was a marvel.

And then one morning my produce began to disappear. The tomatoes were the first to go, and then the beans. The mystery was solved when I kept watch one dawn and witnessed the raids by ground squirrels, rats, raccoons, skunks, mice and even a family of ravens. I fought back with traps, but the critters outwitted me. I caught one ground squirrel in a Havaheart trap, but I was too tender hearted to drown it and so I drove to Griffith Park and released it. I did harvest a tomato, but like the great fish in Hemmingway’s book “The Old Man and the Sea,” the trophy has been half eaten and was a skeleton of what it had been.

I did manage to arrive early one morning with my camera to catch the one last item the beasts had overlooked.

I harvested the wax bean and rushed in the house to show it to Jane.

“What shall I do with it?” I asked.

With her usual sweetness and generosity, she said, “Earl, it’s your bean.”

I am happy to tell you that my literary harvest has been more productive. When I came from New York to Hollywood in 1961 Rod Serling gave me my first job – an assignment on “The Twilight Zone.” That job opened the door to a lifelong career in television and film and I will always be in Rod’s debt.

During those years I kept a file of ideas for "Twilight Zone" type stories and just this month three of them are seeing the light of day.

"Dark Discoveries” is an exciting new magazine specializing in fantasy and darker type fiction. The present issue has an interview with George Clayton Johnson, an entire script by Bill Nolan and an article by novelist and poet, Christopher Conlon about work that was intended for “The Twilight Zone” but which were never telecast.

I have too a short story in the issue about an aging writer and what happens when he exchanges his sports car for a more sensible model. It is available at newsstands or by contacting the magazine at http://www.darkdiscoveries.com

The same publisher has an anthology called “The Bleeding Edge” and my contribution is a story about a boa constrictor and two brothers who strive for the affections of an exotic dancer. Available by following this link: http://www.jasunni.com/shop/

I harvested one more story from my "Twilight Zone" file. It is a mysterious tale about the revenge a bonsai enthusiast visits on a man who injures one of his valuable trees. It is in a collection called “Twilight Zone, Nineteen Original Stories on the 50th Anniversary” Edited by Carol Serling. Available from all book stores as well as Amazon.com. This “Harvest” is dedicated with gratitude, respect and admiration to the memory of Rod Serling, a fine man, a remarkable writer and a good friend.