The Muscular Dystrophy Telethon Draws its FInal Breaths : The Jerry Lewis Years Remembered

If you are above the age of 35, it is quite likely that you associate nothing more closely with Labor Day than Jerry Lewis and his Muscular Dystrophy telethon. For many years, starting in 1966 and continuing through 2010, the telethon aired for over 21 hours starting on the Sunday evening before Labor Monday. It was a chance to see Lewis and a rotating cast of what I would call stars of my mother’s generation (Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, etc.) come on, do their shtick, and also do a little good for MD. Actually, make that a lot of good. Because, over those gravy years, the telethon managed to raise around 2.5 billion dollars for MD. That’s a pretty staggeringly generous amount of money, especially when you consider it’s not adjusted for inflation.

When I was a kid, in the early ‘70s, the telethon was in its prime, with a loose network of roughly 200 stations across the US who broadcast the telethon in its entirety. This was in the pre-cable days, the pre-24/7 entertainment cycle, when anyone who stayed up too late would eventually be treated to the sights and sounds of the Star-Spangled Banner and a test pattern on their TV. Programmers went to sleep back then. (If you happened to find an independent station that burned the 3am oil, they would be running low cost, 10th generation prints of B-movies through to the morning). So to have one night when the TV would neither go to test pattern nor Ma and Pa Kettle at 3am was something of a feast for night owls.

Jerry and one of "his" beautiful kids

Which is not to say you had million-dollar talent through those early morning hours. By the time that sane people had gone to bed, you were very likely to see Borscht Belt entertainers that you could only imagine meant something to your parents. (In truth, your parents probably didn't know who they were, either--these were the bench-warmers of the C team). But they were still real, live, performers. And Jerry Lewis himself--props be granted--was always close at hand. He prided himself on working the entire telethon and by the end, as he started to stumble a bit, punch drunk on lack of sleep and disheveled in a you-won’t-see-a-star-like-that-today way, you knew he’d really and truly given of himself.

More than once, my friends and I had made a pact to try and stay up and watch the entire thing. Not because we couldn't bear to miss Mel Torme’s spot, but because it seemed like a fun thing to do in the dying days of summer before school imposed sleep curfews. I don’t recall if we ever made it--I don’t think we did. But the bigger truth here is that the telethon was a focal point for us, and for, it seemed, everyone. Even kids who had little idea who most of the entertainers were, and who felt most of the ones they did recognize were of the “Mom, could you PLEASE change the radio station” ilk. Kids watched it. Adults watched it. In a small way, it brought us together on those Labor Day weekends, in the way that shared entertainment did in the era where limited options meant a broader shared experience. 

Times change, and although the MD telethon had managed to continue to increase their net take in each year despite an ever-increasing number of 24/7 televised options as cable made headway starting in the ‘80s, the significance of the telethon as “the” even of the Labor Day weekend eventually began to wane. The telethons tried to skew a bit younger as times went on, but in the end they always reflected the era of their namesake host, meaning that eventually, they were a happy diversion for the geriatrics and perhaps a background distraction for those who were kids when the telethons were in their prime (tuning in now out of nostalgia and curiosity). I suspect that in the later years, even in households still devoted to the telethon, the kids probably went to their rooms and played video games, watched YouTube or Netflix, or plugged in their iPods. I know that I didn't watch more than a few minutes of any of the telethons in the past decade.

Jerry at his tote board in better days

Still, it was with significant sadness that I learned that, in 2011, Jerry Lewis had (depending on which report you read) either resigned or been fired from his own charity ball. Lewis had looked in poor health in recent years, and there were rumors of backstage tirades. It probably was time for Lewis to retire. Still, while perhaps the writing had been on the wall for some time, it definitively marked the end of an era. The MD association tried to put a brave face on things and brought in several much younger low stature “guest hosts” to do the job that Jerry had done alone in the past. 

In addition to the replacement of Lewis, the telethon was cut to 6 hours in 2011, in effect replacing a marathon with a sprint. The novelty of nearly a day of continuous programming was not so novel in 2011. Of course, this was just acknowledgment that--as an event--the telethon had become increasingly irrelevant. 

Telethon logo 2002

If 2011 marked the break, 2012, when the telecast was dropped to a total of three hours--much of it previously recorded video-- signaled that without Lewis, the whole enterprise was collapsing. The proceedings were renamed the Show of Strength, presumably to eradicate the “what’s missing” feeling one had hearing the words “Muscular Dystrophy Telethon” without Jerry Lewis attached. They even dropped the donation tote boards that showed how much had been donated, and that had been a mainstay of the telethon since almost the inception. One imagines this was done because they realized that three hours of previously recorded performances weren't likely to motivate too many people to rush to the phones.

It was recently announced that this year the telethon has further been pruned to two hours--the same amount of time as a special episode of Jersey Shore. The “marathon” is now, barely, a walk across the street. One hopes and expects that it will soon be put out of its misery. 

The dream is over.

But for all the good years, for all the relentless work, for all the people who have benefited from the efforts of the MD association using the money you helped raise, and for all the familial memories your marathons provided us: Thank you, Jerry. 

May you never walk alone.