TV Guide (June 18, 1955)

The Boxoffice Bleeds If You Scratch A Fan 1952 awakened in her breast the same pangs aroused in Kitty Pastore’s in 1947, and she sat right down and wrote him all about it. Almost by re¬ turn mail, Ruthie had Liberace’s of¬ ficial permission to found and conduct the Liberace Club of Westchester, to issue club membership cards in his favorite color (green), to charge 25 cents dues for a lifetime membership, and to issue three journals a year at 20 cents per copy. “Remember,” was the only caution, “the man you have chosen to honor is a gentleman in every sense of the word.” Armed with this charter, Ruthie announced her intentions in the club columns of movie and other fan mag¬ azines. Soon she was counting stacks of quarters and putting little green membership cards in the mail by the dozen. When 100 charter members ordered “The Piano Roll News,” Ruthie’s club journal, she and her mother got down to work. Those first two issues, eight inches wide and six feet long, were mailed rolled up, like player-piano rolls. They were hand printed with ball¬ point pens and carbons, four at a time. Ruthie’s club has now levelled off at 3200 members in 30 states and Canada, and “The Piano Roll News” has a circulation of 400. As a matter of fact, the fan club journal is the backbone of the whole business. Usually mimeographed and often running to 60 pages, with hand- drawn decorations in the margins, their journals are laboriously gotten together by the editor, who is usually club president. Poetry is one of the staples of this form of journalism. A hurried samp¬ ling culled this example: It seems that every Thursday night. All had things always turn out right. When Jack Wehh goes in search for crime lie gets his num ’most every time. A member of the average fan club pays dues of $1.50 a year, for which he receives a membership card, an 8x10 autographed photo of the “hon¬ orary,” or star, special bulletins about club activities and three journals a year. No mere publication, however, could possibly absorb all the energy generated by the fan club’s exciting illusion of intimacy with a star. The Rogers fans have been raising funds to benefit retarded children (Mrs. Rogers’ interest). Most of the 50-cent annual dues from 3500 mem¬ bers of the Liberace Club of Lake- wood, Cal., is given to Liberace’s fa¬ vorite charities, according to Mrs. Evelyn Young, its president. Despite all this eager-beaver hero worship and the best intentions in the world, fan clubs aren’t always wel¬ comed with open arms. Some TV stars discourage them altogether. Others treat them as a necessary evil. “Fan clubs,” says Charlie Pomer- antz, an ace Hollywood publicist, “are the world’s best form of publicity if you can control it. Word-of-mouth publicity is the most powerful form of publicity, but also the most dan¬ gerous if it gets out of hand.” In an effort to control this aspect of their public relations, some TV stars permit only one “official” club to be formed and then severely restrict its size. The Desilu fan club, for example, one of TV’s most powerful groups of boosters, has only 150 members. Ever since the membership of his fan club swelled to 1500, Jack Webb says he is living dangerously, although many members are reliable police officers. Whatever their reception, fan club presidents agree on the fact that there’s no profit in running them. The whole business is a labor of love. Who could doubt it?— Robert E. Johnson 6