Bob Barker, who died Aug. 26 at 99, presided over this weekday congregation for more than three decades, taking over pastoral duties when the show was near death in 1972 and resurrecting it into the longest-running daytime game show in American history. This poor kid from the empty middle of the country (at one point his widowed mother taught at a school on a Sioux reservation) became wonderfully rich and dazzlingly famous for hosting these episodes of hope and joy. He was so successful that other treasured cultural oddities were also entrusted to his care: the Miss America pageant — tottering on high heels toward oblivion — and the Tournament of Roses Parade on New Year’s Day.
His motley flock did not include the wealthy and powerful, for they were in their skyscrapers, aboard their jetliners, reaping their harvests, supervising their production lines, trying their cases, advising their clients, performing their surgeries in the midmorning hour when Barker reigned. His audience was moms folding laundry, kids home sick from school or on summer vacation, old people awaiting lunch and hung-over college kids. Wherever warehouse workers took their breaks, wherever TVs played behind the bar as prep cooks chopped and shredded to ready the day, wherever patients of all ages tolled the hours until a new joint stopped throbbing and started working — Barker was there. Tall and regal, he welcomed us all, blessed us in our simple tastes and diverse infirmities, and gave us prizes for wild guesses and lucky stabs.
Barker was as accepting as baptismal waters. An episode of “The Price Is Right” would drive a mathematician mad in minutes, because no contestant seemed to understand the simplest basics of game theory. Indeed, few contestants played as though they had even a passing familiarity with the show. They charged ahead, uncalculating, just hoping and doing their best. Barker treated each bad choice as a possible triumph and consoled every loser no matter how foolish.
He was the perfect host for this particular gathering, which is not quite to say that he was the perfect game show host. TV game shows are not cut from the same cloth; no single host fits all — a fact I absorbed from countless hours of misspent youth. Like Gaul, the genre is divided in three parts.
One type of show puts the contestants into an authentic competition, rewarding knowledge and skills. The most beloved of these shows is, of course, “Jeopardy!,” which requires a brain full of facts, a practiced buzzer-finger and a winning strategy for placing wagers. Victory on “Jeopardy!” resembles a Wimbledon title or a starring role at the Met: It requires excellence. A particular kind of host is needed to reflect the high standards of the show. Alex Trebek was perfect for “Jeopardy!” for he exuded lofty standards. Professorial, he glided through the pronunciation of difficult words while keeping things moving at a blistering pace.
In the second type of show, the competition is merely a framework on which a grubbier, earthier entertainment is projected. Sometimes, it’s a louche gathering of minor celebrities trading quips and double-entendres. I suppose “Hollywood Squares” is the epitome. Another version, “Family Feud”alism, elicits the same brand of comedy from unknown contestants: squabbling families, newlywed couples or singles seeking dates. Such shows need hosts with a slightly oily veneer, a grown-up version of the kid who asks you to pull his finger. Think Richard Dawson, if you are old enough. Gene Rayburn, if you are even older.
Barker would not have succeeded on such shows. “The Price is Right” was as innocent as a baby’s gaze, despite the cheesecake models. At the same time, it was not a real competition. The flashing lights and wheels of chance gave it away. The prices were never right. I used to marvel at how expensive things were in Barker’s emporium — until I realized that, unlike us, Burbank studios didn’t shop at the day-old bread store or the dent-and-scratch appliance outlet. They buy their cars at dealerships, brand new, full sticker price, floor mats included.
We were never happier to be fleeced, because he never looked down his patrician nose at his sheep. Morning after morning, year after year, Bob Barker encouraged our hopes, consoled our shortcomings and called us back to the game.
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