The Birthday Letter
Reviewed by Bruce Dettman

My mother's greatest fear during the 1950s was strangely not an atomic bomb being dropped on our modest suburban home, but rather the thought of my spilling Welch's Grape Juice on our beige wall-to-wall carpet. Even her immense terror of snakes-which caused her to bolt near hysterically from the room when I would gleefully point out shots of pythons and boa constrictors during viewings of TV's Sheena of the Jungle or Jungle Jim-paled in comparison. I will never forget the expression of abject terror that would wash tidal wave-like over her face when she spied me moving through the kitchen with a bottle of Welch's in my mitts. "Stay in that kitchen, Bruce! She would scream out. "You just can't get that stuff out!!!"
To be fair she was also afraid of polio, certainly no laughing matter. This dreadful disease had been around for years but hit its high mark of destruction in the 1940s and early 1950s. As scientists struggled to come up with a cure via vaccine there were many rumors and postulations about the cause of the disease, stagnant water and colds being related in the public's mind to the onslaught of the virus. Because of this, mothers everywhere were intent on keeping their offspring dry, not always the easiest of tasks as kids came in and out of the house, particularly in snow country. Being raised in California I was not too affected by this business, but my brother Bryan, seven years older and initially reared in the Midwest, tells tales of my mother ripping off his sweaters and jackets umpteen times a day as he went about the business of being a kid and playing outdoors. Finally, of course, doctors Salk and Sabine came up with cures, the first in the form of a series of much dreaded shots (I can still see my old family doctor nodding at his nurse-who stood ominously in back of me so I couldn't see what she was up to-to prepare the injection, and my father holding me steady while I tried to escape from his clutches and the harpoon-like syringe coming my way) and later the most welcomed sugar cubes.

Still, despite all the publicity about polio and prevention in those days I only knew of one kid who had contracted the disease. His name was Jerry and he showed up one day when I was in second grade. The years have dulled most of my memories of Jerry except that he had dark, rather greasy hair, always wore short sleeve yellow shirts with brown suspenders, and, of course, had braces on his legs.

It is one of the oddest psychological quirks of the human species that because of ignorance, discomfort or just plain unreasonable fear, the people who deserve the most compassion and understanding from their fellow men often receive the least.

This is particularly true in the world of children where a lack of experience in things, not to mention mainlining on many of the biases and prejudices of their own parents, make them acutely vulnerable to the irrational and prejudicial. Frankly, my friends and I didn't know what to do or think about poor Jerry with his braces and constant struggle to maneuver himself around. He couldn't play dodge ball, do the things we did after school and besides he had a certain unpleasant attitude. Our response therefore was to ignore him, to shut him out. It is one of those things-some call them psychic canker sores-that still cause discomfort when you chance to reflect upon them later in life. Somehow they never quite go away. And probably shouldn't.

So when I watch the first season's The Birthday Letter and watch Isa Ashdown as Cathy Williams sitting alone at home talking to her only friend, her doll, with those braces strapped to her legs, I always reflect for a moment on Jerry and our horrific treatment of him. We aren't exactly told that Cathy has polio, only that she is crippled, but it really doesn't matter. I does strike me as odd now that her mother (Virginia Carroll) leaves Cathy, a crippled child, all by herself, but I guess ya gotta put food on the table somehow.

Cathy, however, is a resilient and intelligent kid who gets fed up sitting around waiting for her mother (no dad in the picture) so when she learns that a local county fair is going to be held she writes Superman in care of the Daily Planet and asks that he take her there so she can enjoy the various rides.

Lois (Phyllis Coates) gets wind of this and with editor Perry White's (John Hamilton) support tries to set up a special party for Cathy and to somehow get the word to Superman. Clark Kent, hearing this, tells Lois not to worry. Superman has never let them down, he reminds her.

Everything would have probably proceeded hunky-dory except that a criminal named Cusak (Paul Marion), involved in a counterfeit scheme, makes a phone call to one of his confederates but dials the wrong number and gets Cathy instead. He has just imparted some vital information to her regarding an upcoming meeting when he is murdered in the phone booth. Innocent Cathy just thinks it's a wrong number and hangs up. Unknown to her, French criminals Marcel Duval (Maurice Marsac) and Marie (Nan Boardman) need to know what was relayed during the aborted phone call and when they manage to find out that it was Cathy who took the call they set out to get the information from her at any cost.

All of this sets in play the unfortunate introduction of their brainless associate Slugger played by John Doucette (why do otherwise intelligent criminals so often have moronic assistants who ultimately destroy their plans?). Doucette was a great face on early TV, one of my favorites of that period, in fact. He was versatile and effective in nearly all his roles. A great exception, however, was in this episode. I have no way of knowing whether it was part of the original script by Dennis Copper or the usually dependable director Lee Sholem, but the actor overdoes the part of a punch drunk ex fighter to such a staggering extent that it completely negates the pathos that could have been created in the concept of a brutal man gone wrong who is redeemed by a small child. Instead we have one humungous slice of ham that you could barely fit into a Jimmy Dean warehouse. Particularly painful is a scene where Slugger, pretending to be Superman (the real one is later blamed for the crime), kidnaps Cathy. It is one of the worst over-the-top performances in all of TAOS, but again I suspect it wasn't Doucette's idea or fault. Yet ironically, this show, for all the silliness of the Slugger character, is also one of the most controversial when near its conclusion a heartless Marcel and Marie remove the poor child's braces so she won't be able to go for help. This moment, coupled with the brutal murder of Cusak, was just the sort of stuff future sponsor Kellogg's wanted nothing to do with and would soon be removed from the show.

In the end the whole crime angle is connected out to some stolen counterfeit bank plates (kept at the Lambert Electric Engineering Company, if you're interested) which Superman retrieves from an acid bath after (again) almost giving himself away as Kent:

"This is a job for Superman…I mean I've got to find him!" he exclaims in a near panic as he heads for an exit.

The best part of the show for me is the conclusion when Superman-who finds her in her apartment reading a Superman comic-flies Cathy over Metropolis. He can't cure her (as he does the blind girl Ann in the later Around the World with Superman) but he takes her on the equivalent of a rollercoaster and Farris Wheel of her very own. Whether scripted or not, there is something particularly warm and spontaneous about these few minutes that never fails to get to me. The child seems absolutely thrilled by the experience and concludes with what always appears like an unrehearsed kiss on the Man of Steel's cheek with George Reeves nearly glowing in response. I have to admit that on a few low days in my life I have watched this episode until the end and then re-played those final two minutes several times.

Some fifty years later I now wonder if my old school mate Jerry ever watched this episode wishing Superman could have flown him through the skies.

December 2008
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