1960s television Archives - Retro Reminiscing Video and Pictures

The Rat Patrol

The Rat Patrol was another one of those shows Dad loved to watch, and to a kid, it sure looked promising. Jeeps tearing across the desert, guns mounted in the back, bombs going off, aircraft overhead — it had all the ingredients that should have grabbed a young viewer right away.

But at that age, the dialogue went right over my head. I was there for the action, not the strategy. The show followed a small Allied commando unit during World War II, racing through the North African desert and taking on German forces in fast-moving missions. It was part war show, part adventure series, and part Saturday afternoon action movie squeezed into a half-hour.

The Rat Patrol aired from 1966 to 1968 and starred Christopher George as Sgt. Sam Troy. One of the more interesting cast members was Hans Gudegast, who played German Capt. Dietrich. Soap fans would later know him much better as Eric Braeden from The Young and the Restless.

The show was loosely inspired by real desert raiding units like the British SAS and the Long Range Desert Group, but Hollywood gave it a very American spin. That bothered some viewers overseas because the real North African desert raids were largely a British and Commonwealth story, while the TV version put American characters front and center. The BBC reportedly pulled the show after only a few episodes because of complaints about that Americanized version of the war.

Looking back, I can see why Dad liked it. It had action, military drama, and just enough grit to feel grown-up. For us kids, it was the jeeps and explosions that pulled us in, even if we didn’t always understand what they were talking about once the shooting stopped.

What Would the Clampetts Be Selling Today?

I remember watching this commercial as a kid, surprised that Jed smoked. I think we all knew Granny smoked, along with her moonshine.

What would Granny, Jed, Jethro, Ellie May, and Miss Jane be promoting today?

Did Miss Nancy Ever Call Your Name?

Did she ever call your name? Oh, the simple joys of Romper Room. That Magic Mirror had every kid sitting at home waiting, hoping Miss Nancy would say their name before the show ended. And if she did, you felt like you had just made national television from the living room floor.

I told you my father was a Marine, so we grew up in Virginia or North Carolina so we watched Miss Nancy on WBAL. But I never realized back then that there wasn’t just one “Miss Nancy.” Romper Room was franchised and syndicated, meaning different cities often had their own local hostesses using the same basic format.

The original Romper Room began in Baltimore in the early 1950s and was created by Bert and Nancy Claster, with Nancy Claster becoming the first well-known “Miss Nancy.” It was aimed at preschool children and felt like a TV nursery school, with songs, games, stories, manners, and those famous lessons about being a “Do Bee” instead of a “Don’t Bee.”

And then came the part we all remember: “Romper, bomper, stomper boo…” Miss Nancy would look through the Magic Mirror and start naming children she supposedly saw watching at home. We knew she probably couldn’t really see us, but at that age you weren’t taking chances. You sat there quietly, behaved like a Do Bee, and waited for your name.

That is what made the show work. She treated the camera like another child in the room, so the kids watching at home felt included too. It was simple television: a teacher, a few children, a Jack-in-the-box, a magic mirror, and lessons about being polite.

No explosions, no superheroes, no fast cuts (ok, maybe a clown in the Jack-in-the-box). Just Miss Nancy asking if we had fun at play.

And yes, I still remember waiting for my name. Did she ever call yours?

The Pruitts Of Southampton

Oh, I can hear my mother singing along with Phyllis Diller on this one! Thanks to the viewer who requested this last week, it brought back a forgotten memory!

The Pruitts of Southampton was one of those 1960s sitcoms that had a wild setup and an even wilder star. It aired on ABC during the 1966-67 season and starred Phyllis Diller as Phyllis Pruitt, a supposedly rich Southampton widow trying to keep up appearances after the IRS discovers the family is actually broke. Instead of losing everything, she has to keep living like high society while secretly cutting corners and trying to hold the whole mansion together.

The show had a pretty impressive cast around her too, including Gypsy Rose Lee, Richard Deacon, Reginald Gardiner, and even Lisa Loring, who many of us remember as Wednesday from The Addams Family. Later in the season, the show was renamed The Phyllis Diller Show, but it still only lasted one season.

And yes, that catchy theme had a familiar name behind it: Vic Mizzy, the same composer who gave us The Addams Family theme. That probably explains why so many people remember the tune even if they barely remember the show itself. It was loud, silly, a little over-the-top, and totally Phyllis Diller. For a short-lived sitcom, it sure found a way to stick in people’s heads.

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The FBI- And Who The Heck Was Efrem Zimbalist Jr?

If you grew up in the late 1960s, chances are you remember The F.B.I.. It wasn’t flashy—it just felt real, and that’s what made it work. It was more or less my mom’s show; she watched it, and for me, it was the only decent thing on TV.

What made it stand out was Efrem Zimbalist Jr.. He brought a quiet authority to Inspector Lewis Erskine—calm, believable, and never over the top. While other actors leaned into drama, he leaned into restraint, and that made him unforgettable. Now here’s something a lot of people don’t realize. Zimbalist didn’t come from a typical Hollywood background. His father, Efrem Zimbalist Sr., was one of the most respected classical violinists of his time. Born in Russia, he became an international music star and later served as director of the prestigious Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. So while the son became a television icon, the father was already a legend in a completely different world.

The show aired on ABC from 1965 to 1974, starting on Sunday nights before moving around the schedule. Its realism was helped by cooperation with the real FBI, giving it a grounded, procedural feel.

Hootey Hoot! Gomer Pyle USMC

There are some TV moments that just stick with you, and if you grew up watching Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C., you already know exactly the kind I mean. The kind where you shake your head, chuckle, and say, “Well I’ll be… only Gomer could pull that off.”

This particular episode, first airing on Christmas Eve back in 1965, is a perfect slice of that homespun magic. The Marines are out in the field running war games, all serious business, maps and strategy and Sergeant Carter barking orders like he always does. And right in the middle of it all is Gomer Pyle… good-hearted, wide-eyed, and about as subtle as a screen door in a submarine.

Now Carter, played to perfection by Frank Sutton, figures he’s finally found a use for Gomer’s “talents”—or lack thereof. His plan is simple: send Gomer straight into the enemy camp with false information, knowing full well the poor guy will get captured in about two minutes flat. It’s a setup. A trick. A little military chess move.

But here’s the thing about Gomer, brought to life by Jim Nabors—he doesn’t play by the rules of logic or strategy. He just… exists. And somehow, the world bends around him.

Instead of getting captured, Gomer wanders into the opposing camp with that aw-shucks grin, probably leading with a friendly “Howdy,” and before anyone quite knows what happened, he’s turned the whole situation upside down. Through a mix of innocence, confusion, and pure Gomer luck, he ends up capturing not one—but two entire enemy platoons.

Two!

You can just picture Sergeant Carter’s face—somewhere between disbelief and wanting to yell himself hoarse.

And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos comes one of Gomer’s most memorable trademarks—his famous “Hootey Hoot!” That wasn’t just a goofy catchphrase. In moments like this, it became his signal, his rallying cry, the sound that said, “Well, something unexpected just happened… and somehow it worked out.”

That’s what made Gomer special. He wasn’t clever in the traditional sense. He didn’t outthink anybody. But he had a kind of simple goodness and accidental brilliance that turned every plan on its head. While everyone else was playing war games, Gomer was just being Gomer—and winning without even realizing it.

And by the end of it all, there he is, standing proud with an official commendation, probably as surprised as anyone else. Meanwhile, Sergeant Carter is left trying to figure out how in the world his worst plan turned into the biggest success.

It’s the kind of story that reminds you why folks still love that show. Not because it was flashy or complicated—but because, every once in a while, it let a good-hearted underdog stumble his way into something extraordinary.

Hootey hoot, indeed.