Meeting of Minds

In the office of New York County's District Attorney Frank Hogan, a tape machine whirred for 55 minutes. The unwinding spool was supposed to offer proof that Herbert Stempel, onetime Twenty One contestant, was lying when he accused Producer Dan Enright of feeding him answers in advance (TIME, Sept. 8). The tape brought no such conclusive evidence. Instead, it did something that was possibly more important. It offered a fascinating look behind the gleaming isolation booths and the golden M.C. grins into a back room of greed, craftiness and weird emotions.

All the quiz shows' share-of-audience Trendex ratings fell drastically last week ("21 Skiddoo!" chortled Variety). And to nobody's great surprise, the $64,000 Challenge joined the line-up of suspects when a Tennessee minister announced that the toughest part of a four-ply question had been slipped to him at a preshow "briefing session." But the week's real drama was played out on the tape in the D.A.'s office. Leading character: Dan Enright (real name: Daniel Ehrenreich), 41, who rose from New York City's schools via radio engineering jobs and the Signal Corps into the dazzling giveaway world.

Supporting player: Herbert Stempel, 31, brainy product of The Bronx, who seems to want nothing better than to be part of Dan Enright's world. Among the things these two men have in common is a strange reliance on the cliches of psychoanalysis--the ex-slum kid's new equalizer.

The background of the conversation (recorded, unknown to Stempel, in Enright's Madison Avenue office on March 7, 1957) remains murky. But it is plain that some time before, Stempel threatened to "expose" Enright. It is equally plain that Enright is willing to go to considerable expense and effort to calm Stempel down. Items from the sound track:

ENRIGHT (talking in the careful phrases of a man who knows that his words are being recorded): There are certain stages we are going to discuss today . . . I'm not going to disclose what the stages are, because I don't want to hold out any bait or anything like it ... I want you to write a piece of paper now to the effect that contrary to what you have said in the past, or written in the past, Dan Enright has at no time disclosed questions, answers, points, anything like it.

STEMPEL: I'll be glad to.

Stempel writes the statement. Enright explains that his lawyer recommended telling the D.A. about Stempel's alleged blackmail, but for fear that disclosure would "destroy" Herb, Enright kept quiet.

STEMPEL: May I say a few things before we continue? I'll admit I nipped, [but] even riding down in the taxicab, I said to myself just now, I says, ahhh, Dan gave me a damn good break . . . and I came off with $50,000 . . . Unfortunately, I piddled it away through my own stupidity, and my wife's influence, etc. And also the whole thing. Let me tell you the whole thing in gist.

The "whole thing" includes a few thousand Herb has lent to a deadbeat magazine writer, $25,000 he has given to a bookmaker to set up a "syndicate."

ENRIGHT: Herb, don't you realize that in backing a syndicate it's an illegal thing?

STEMPEL: Yes, yes, yes, I've already realized that . . . The guy is a real murderer . . . Frankly, I'm physically afraid of this guy ... He came up to my house. He talked to Toby [Stempel's wife]. You see, Toby is a very, very easy person to natter, for the simple reason because of her weight she feels I neglect her . . .

After an earnest lecture on the futility of trying to make a fast buck, Enright moves on.

ENRIGHT: I want to get a psychiatrist for you.

STEMPEL: I already have one.

ENRIGHT: No, sir. I want you to go to a psychiatrist five days a week, not twice, Herb, to expedite yourself . . . We will foot the cost . . .

STEMPEL: Well, my doctor seems to feel that my problem isn't serious enough for five days a week.

Still insisting on five-day-a-week treatment, Enright holds out what might well be regarded as "bait": a planned panel show featuring Stempel and Charles Van Doren. But Enright warns that the show might not sell.

ENRIGHT: If we utilize you . . . you'll appear once a show, every day on the air . . . We'll cut to your face; you'll say a few words; you'll be referred to by name when the occasion arises . . . We recognize that, Herb ... we are in part responsible for your emotional upsets ... because we opened that door for you ... If at any time, at any time, Herb, you're sitting at home in the evening and something starts to gnaw you . . .

STEMPEL: Call you up.

ENRIGHT: Call me up ... And if you need assurance, I'll give you assurance, honest assurance . . . Any time you have any gnawing feeling . . . just call me up.

All this sounds fine, but Herb owes $1,827 on his car; he owes an attorney $50; he owes his psychiatrist $160 and the diaper service $28.

ENRIGHT: Why don't you give up the car? What does it represent to you?

STEMPEL: I can't exactly explain it ... I had a beat-up old car that was hardly running, and now I've finally got myself a nice-looking car. It's not a Negro attitude or anything . . . My wife--I want to be very honest--is practically an invalid because of her weight . . .

ENRIGHT: Yeah.

STEMPEL: If she walks a block, she's panting and breathing and gasping and dying. If I have the kid out [the Stempels' son, Harvey, 3], she doesn't want me to take him in the subway . . . Let me explain the whole thing, Dan ... I felt, here was a guy [Van Doren] that had a fancy name, Ivy League education, parents all his life, and I had just the opposite, the hard way up ... Here was my sort of own mental delusion that all this should have been coming to me . . .

ENRIGHT: The world is a cruel world, and fate plays a greater part in all such things than we'd like it to ... I don't know whether I can cope with life or not. But I don't think you can at this stage, Herb. And I say we have help.

STEMPEL: I'm perfectly willing to need help.

As a final bit of help, Enright advises his future panelist to reduce.

STEMPEL: How can I? I'm down to 179 pounds ... I'm doing it in preparation . . 'cause when I go on, I want to look

like a gentleman, not like a little, short

squat guy like I looked like on Twenty

One.

On the final, practical note of Enright's refusal to advance his protege any more cash, the tape runs out.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.