Welcome to the Deep Dive. Today we're looking
at a man whose image, I mean that wild electrified
hair, right? And that grin, just pure chaos.
Oh yeah. And maybe the most... Famous two -word
greeting ever in American comedy. Hello, dare.
Absolutely. We are diving deep into Marty Allen.
And look, if you only know him from, say, game
shows, maybe some old nightclub clips, well,
you're missing so much. He was definitely that
goofy wild man comedian, sure. But underneath
all that. Morton David Alpern and his story.
It's defined by this intense sense of duty, real
bravery, and just incredible professional discipline.
That's how we work for, what, nearly seven decades?
And that's really the core mission for us today,
isn't it? We want to move past just the catchphrase,
just the hair, and understand the whole professional
journey. This guy was a master of longevity in
show business. He really was. So we need to unpack
all of it, not just the comedian and actor parts,
but the decorated WWII veteran part, and we mean
real heroism here. verifiable stuff, and also
the tireless philanthropist angle. Our goal is
basically to pull together these sources and
figure out why people called him the darling
of daytime TV. It's a huge career. It really
is. Born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, March 23,
1922. And he was active from like 1950 right
up until he died in 2018. 68 years. Yes. That
stands generations of entertainment. It really
does. And the thing that strikes me is that contrast,
you know, the guy known for being totally unpredictable,
zany. Well, underneath, he might have been one
of the most reliable, most disciplined pros in
the business. OK, so let's start digging into
that. Part one. the origin story. We've got his
WWII heroism and his early comedy roots. We need
to see where that discipline came from. So where
does the story of Morton David Alpern actually
begin? Well, he came from pretty solid working
class roots there in Pittsburgh. His parents
were Jewish immigrants. His father, Louis Alpern,
came over from Romania or Russia, somewhere around
there, and ran a local restaurant and bar. His
mother was Elsie Moss Alpern. He went to Taylor
Alderdice High School, graduated in 1940. And
interestingly, much, much later, like almost
70 years later, in 2009, they inducted him into
their Alumni Hall of Fame. Wow. So, yeah, you
get a sense of those strong community roots he
had. But the moment that really flips the script
on the professional clown image is his time in
World War II. We know he served. But the sources
really emphasize he wasn't just in the service.
He was a decorated hero. Exactly. He joined the
U .S. Army Air Corps. He was stationed over in
Italy and eventually made sergeant. Now, the
metal. This is crucial to understanding him.
The soldier's medal. Right. It's specifically
given for acts of heroism that don't involve
fighting the enemy directly. It's about bravery
in other dangerous situations. You know, moments
of incredible selflessness, often under extreme
pressure, where you put others first. If it was
in combat, what happened? What was the situation
that needed that kind of, well, instant heroism?
The sources describe this incredibly dangerous
scene. A plane, right, was being refueled and
it caught fire. Yeah, just think about that.
You've got aviation fuel everywhere, highly flammable,
an aircraft that could just explode, people nearby.
I mean, it was an imminent disaster waiting to
happen, just not from enemy fire. Okay, so what
did he do? What were the actions that actually
earned him the medal? Because the description
is, well, it's... Pretty intense, physically.
It really shows amazing presence of mind. His
first move, the really smart, critical thing,
he saw the bigger picture, he got in the fuel
truck and drove it away from the burning plane.
Okay, smart. Get the extra fuel out of there.
Exactly. Eliminate the risk of a huge secondary
explosion. But then, and this is the part that
just defines him, I think, he didn't just play
it safe. He didn't just stay with the truck.
He went back. Towards the fire. He went back
on foot to the burning plane. And he didn't grab
an extinguisher or wait for the fire crew, apparently.
He took the most direct, personal, and frankly,
dangerous action possible. Which was? He basically
smothered the flames with his own body. He rolled
over the fire in his uniform to put it out. He
rolled over the flames with his body. Yeah. I
mean, the risk there, severe burns, obviously.
Yeah. But he did it to stop the fire from spreading.
It's just astounding bravery. Pure instinct to
protect. It is. Yeah, that's pure duty. Sacrifice.
You don't do that unless it's just baked into
who you are, protecting others. How did the army
recognize this? Was it just a piece of paper?
Oh, no, it was a big deal. His actions were seen
as so critical, so exceptionally brave that they
honored him with a full dress parade. Wow. Yeah,
this very... public military recognition. It
really sets a foundation, doesn't it? The guy
who'd later make people laugh with total chaos
was fundamentally shaped by military discipline,
quick thinking, and, well, self -sacrifice. So
let's fast forward then. It's the 1950s. This
decorated veteran, like a lot of guys back then,
pivots into show business. How did he get his
start on the comedy scene? Did that early stuff
set him up for what came later? Well, you have
to think that discipline from the service probably
helped him handle the, you know, the grind of
the club circuit. In the early 50s, he teamed
up with his first comedy partner, a guy named
Mitch D. Wood. They weren't the main event yet.
They were the opening act, you know, warming
up the crowd for the big stars. But look what
they opened for. Sarah Vaughan, A .D. Gourmet,
Nat King Cole. Whoa. Okay, so even as openers,
they were playing at the highest level. Learning
how to handle crowds waiting for musical legends.
Exactly. They were getting tested every night
in these top tier venues. A big highlight was
playing the Copacabana in New York. I mean, that
was the place for sophisticated nightclub entertainment
back then. So that partnership with D. Wood lasted
until about 1958. They split up after roughly
eight years, which paved the way for the partnership
that would really define him for the next decade.
Which brings us right to part two. Alan and Rossi,
the peak of stardom. Okay, so he parts ways with
D. Wood, teams up with Steve Rossi, and boom,
they go from being a respected club act to a
national sensation. What was the chemistry there?
Why did it click so well? That switch from D.
Wood to Rossi around 57 or 58 was just... Steve
Rossi was the perfect foil. Rossi was smooth,
handsome, often the singer. He was the classic
straight man. Impeccable. And Marty Allen was.
Pure chaos. Wonderful, magnificent anarchy. The
hair, the energy, the constant interruptions,
the physical comedy. He was the engine driving
the absurdity. So the visual contrast alone was
like a built -in comedy routine. Rossi sets it
up. Allen either lands the punchline or just
blows the whole thing up with some crazy stunt.
versatility was huge and it wasn't just on stage
it translated really well for records they had
a string of hit comedy albums and back then a
hit comedy album meant your material was everywhere
people bought it listened at home it massively
boosted their fame beyond just the clubs okay
we absolutely have to talk about the ed sullivan
show because the numbers here are just staggering
44 appearances total That's not just being a
guest. That's practically being part of the furniture.
It really is. To put it in perspective, very
few acts ever got that kind of sustained run
on what was easily the biggest variety show on
American TV ever. Elvis Presley, for comparison,
only did three appearances. So 44 times means
Allen and Rossi weren't just popular, they were
reliable. Ed Sullivan's producers knew they could
count on them to deliver laughs week after week,
basically. They were a known quantity, a guaranteed
draw. It keeps coming back to that. that reliability,
that discipline again, doesn't it? Yeah. To get
booked 44 times, you can't just be funny once.
You have to be consistent, hit your marks, probably
be easy to work with backstage. It's that duty
thing again, but in a professional context. Absolutely.
Showbiz looks like chaos, but real longevity
takes incredible structure. And maybe their biggest
test of professional survival happened on, well,
arguably the most famous night in 20th century
TV history, February 16th, 1964. Ah, yes. The
night the... The Beatles made their first appearance
on Sullivan, the cultural earthquake, where the
audience famously couldn't hear anything over
the screaming anyway, let alone care about whoever
else was on the bill. It was pure, glorious mayhem.
And our sources say Allen and Rossi had the,
let's say, challenging job of performing on that
same show. Imagine trying to do your carefully
practiced routine with that wall of sound coming
at you. Teenagers just screaming for the fab
four. Yeah, you'd need more than just good jokes.
You'd need some way to connect instantly to disarm
that specific energy. And that's exactly what
Marty Allen did. It shows his amazing quick wit
totally off script. He managed to cut through
the noise with this perfectly timed, perfectly
absurd line. He acknowledged the whole situation,
but grab the room for a second. He just yelled
out, I'm Ringo's mother. Huh. That's brilliant.
The sheer nerve, the self -deprecation, connecting
right to what everyone was obsessed with. It's
genius. It breaks attention and says, yeah, I
get it. This is crazy, but I'm here too. Exactly.
It showed he could handle any situation. He wasn't
trying to compete with the Beatles. He was joining
the party, making the impossible crowd laugh
with one spontaneous, perfect line. That little
anecdote. It explains so much about why they
were so successful. They could work any room.
So the partnership had a really solid run. 1957
to 1968. And they even did a movie together,
right? That 1966 spy spoof, The Last of the Secret
Agents. Colin played Marty Johnson in that one.
Yep. And here's another important detail. When
they did split in 68, the sources are clear it
was amicable, friendly, which, you know, in show
business breakups, that's pretty rare. It says
a lot about the respect they had for each other.
And it wasn't just a polite statement for the
press, apparently. They didn't become bitter
rivals. Not at all. They clearly had this lasting
professional bond. Alan and Rossi actually got
back together periodically for shows through
the 70s, the 80s, even into the 90s sometimes.
Really? Yeah. That enduring appeal decades after
their TV peak shows their act wasn't just some
flash in the pan. It was a solid, adaptable comedy
team. That longevity theme just keeps popping
up. Okay, so being part of an iconic duo is one
thing. But when the duo splits, that's the real
test for an individual performer, isn't it? How
big of a risk was it for him, really? You know,
the wild, goofy comic trying to do serious acting.
That's the perfect setup for part three. The
versatile star, from comedy to drama and daytime
ubiquity. And yeah, it's incredibly risky. When
audiences are basically trained to laugh the
second they see you with that hair and everything,
trying to sell yourself as a dramatic actor,
that's a tough sell. But he pulled it off. The
sources say he made it work. He absolutely did.
His first big serious role was in 1968, right
after the split with Rossi. He was on that classic
Western show, The Big Valley. Okay. And maybe
the character name helped ease people in. It
was dramatic. But the name was... Waldo Dieffendorfer.
Waldo Dieffendorfer. Even in drama, he's got
that Marty Allen flair in the name. Right. It
feels like maybe a bit of a nod, you know, a
character that might start series but could have
that quirky edge. But honestly, the real key
to his success and survival after Rossi was just
how much he was on TV. He saturated the airwaves,
especially daytime, which is how he got that
perfect nickname, the darling of daytime TV.
So what was it about daytime TV in the 70s and
80s that made him such a perfect fit? Why was
he everywhere? Well, he really was everywhere.
Hundreds of TV appearances across those two decades.
And think about what those shows needed, especially
game shows and variety programs back then. Quick
wit. Exactly. Quick wit, the ability to fire
off one -liners without a big script, and just
reliable, generally family -friendly humor that
worked for that broad daytime audience. His skill
set was a perfect match. He really became a game
show fixture. And back then, being a regular
on those shows meant you were culturally relevant.
Big time. Oh, absolutely. Getting a regular spot
on the Hollywood squares. That was like the ultimate
seal of approval for being funny, recognizable
and spontaneous. The whole show was built on
panelists being quick and clever off the cuff.
Alan's whole career was about fast, absurd thinking.
He was born for it. Yeah. He was also on Password
a lot. So, again, that reliability wasn't just
about showing up. It was about delivering laughs
consistently on demand, which is a real professional
skill, not just luck. Precisely. It's not like
a sitcom where writers feed you lines. Game show
panelists, the good ones, had to bring their
own comedic personality and timing. Marty Allen
just had this comfortable, familiar, genuinely
funny presence people liked having in their living
rooms. He was part of the TV landscape. And it
wasn't just game shows, right? His range on TV
was pretty wild. Totally. The sources show this
incredible spectrum. He did things like Circus
of the Stars. Right. I remember that. Yeah, which
needed physical skill, a willingness to do spectacle.
Completely different from cracking a joke on
Hollywood Squares. And then, okay, for anyone
who grew up in the 80s, the ultimate cameo. Don't
tell me. The Imperial Puga. The Imperial Puga,
yes. In 1989 on the Super Mario Bros. Super Show.
Amazing. It just shows he wasn't precious about
his image at all. He'd do a serious role. He'd
do a silly cameo on a kid's show. Whatever kept
him working and connecting with audiences, that
adaptability, that's the secret to staying relevant
for so long. It really is fascinating. And he
did a lot of made -for -TV movies, too. Ten of
them, apparently, including that spoof Murder
Can Hurt You. Back in 1980. So this wasn't just
occasional guest spots. It was sustained work
in different formats. And his movie roles show
he wasn't just stuck playing the crazy hair guy
either. He took parts in things like the musical
drama The Great Waltz in 1972. He played a real
historical figure, Johann Herbeck. Wow. Then
he jumped to a sex comedy, Harrods Summer in
74. Then A Whale of a Tale in 76. That's quite
a mix. A historical figure in a musical, a 70s
sex comedy. And later he's back in big comedies
like Cannonball Run 2 in 1984. He really knew
how to pivot and just keep working. He understood
that visibility was key. Never let the audience
forget him. Never let the industry box him in.
And if we tie this back to our main idea, this
professional versatility, it's kind of the entertainment
version of his military discipline, right? Assess
the situation, adapt, execute the mission successfully
no matter what the genre. That's a really strong
connection. Okay, so if the Soldier's Medal showed
us his character, let's look at how that character
showed up in his giving. Part four, the Humanitarian
and Later Career Act. This feels like where the
two sides of his life really come together, that
sense of duty and the gift of making people laugh.
This is such a critical part of his story and
often overlooked. His commitment to charity,
especially helping the military community, was
really direct and personal. Right after he split
with Rossi in 1968, he started this annual tradition.
He named it after his catchphrase, the Hello
Day Tour. Turning the joke into something meaningful,
what did those tours actually involve? These
tours, which he did every year until 1972, were
specifically about visiting military hospitals
across the U .S. These weren't like big shows
on bases. They were visits right into the wards,
talking with and, importantly, entertaining wounded
soldiers coming back from Vietnam. Wow. That
implies a very direct, hands -on understanding
of what those soldiers were going through, probably
stemming from his own WWII service. He wasn't
just writing checks. Absolutely. Imagine the
atmosphere in those military hospitals during
the Vietnam War. These were young guys, often
badly injured, maybe feeling ignored by a divided
country back home. And here comes Marty Allen,
a decorated vet himself, bringing some laughter,
some respect right to their bedside. It feels
like a mission driven by real empathy and that
lifelong sense of duty. And his charity work
went beyond just the military, too, right? He
was involved in some serious causes. He was.
A really key example is serving on the board
of the Epilepsy Foundation. Now, being on a foundation
board isn't just showing up for a photo op. It
means real administrative work, strategic thinking,
serious fundraising. It shows his commitment
was deep and long term, not just celebrity window
dressing. OK. And he also put his energy into
the American Cancer Society, the Heart Fund,
March of Dimes, Fight for Sight, cerebral palsy,
a really wide range of causes. Now, let's talk
about his personal life for a minute, because
it really shaped the last big chapter of his
career. He faced some real tragedy earlier on.
He did. His first wife was Lorraine Tridell.
People called her Frenchie. He married her back
in 1960. She worked at the Concord Resort Hotel
in reservations or the office there. They were
married for 16 years, but sadly, she died from
cancer in 1976. That must have been incredibly
difficult. Yeah. But the sources point to this
remarkable second act starting about eight years
later. Yes. In 1983, he met Karen Kate Blackwell.
She was a singer -songwriter, very talented,
who was actually managing a restaurant in L .A.
at the time. She'd been in show business before
but had kind of stepped back. They just clicked
personally and professionally really fast. They
got married in 1984. Sidney Sheldon, the writer,
actually hosted the wedding at his home in Beverly
Hills. So this sounds like it was a real revitalization
for him, both personally and creatively, a new
partner in life and on stage. Yeah, that's exactly
how it played out. The 1980s, right through the
rest of his life, Allen and Blackwell worked
together as this successful musical comedy act.
It wasn't just Marty doing his old bits. It was
collaborative. Her music, his comedy. It gave
him this fresh way to perform all over the country.
And they worked together for a remarkably long
time, especially later in Las Vegas. Oh, yeah.
They became absolute staples in Vegas, kind of
embodying that classic, reliable Vegas entertainer
vibe. In 2007, I remember he's well into his
80s by now. They started this long run at the
Gold Coast Hotel and Casino. Then they moved
to other big places like South Point, Palace
Station. They even did cruise ships. And this
wasn't just like one -off nostalgia gigs. How
late did they keep performing regularly? Right
up until he was in his mid -90s. It's incredible.
The sources talk about them performing to packed
houses, overflow crowds, at places like the Rampart
Casino, the Downtown Grand in Vegas, even the
Metropolitan Room in New York City as late as
2016. Wow. At 94 years old, still performing
live multiple times a week sometimes. That says
so much about his health, his drive, and just
how good that act with Karen Kate Blackwell must
have been. Absolutely. And what's also fascinating,
even in his 90s, he saw the shift in media and
embraced it. He did podcasts. Right. Adapting
one last time. He totally stayed relevant. He
was on Gilbert Gottfried's amazing, colossal
podcast in 2014. And then really notably, he
did a long, in -depth interview with Marc Maron
on WTF. That was episode 574 back in February
2015. Amazing. Still telling his story, connecting
with a whole new audience through a different
medium. Yeah, right to the end. Which brings
us to part five. Conclusion of a long career.
We're talking, what, 68 years of active work?
Just think about the changes he saw and navigated
in the industry. From those gritty post -war
clubs. Right. Through the absolute peak of TD
variety shows. Then the game show era. And finally
landing this decades -long musical residency
in Vegas that took him well into the 21st century.
It's almost unbelievable longevity. He was such
a survivor, but also an innovator, always tweaking
his act, finding new ways to connect, but keeping
that core Marty Allen -ness, that lovable chaos.
He finally passed away on February 12, 2018.
He was 95. And he was at home, right? Yeah. In
Las Vegas. Yeah. The cause was complications
from pneumonia. Passed away peacefully at home
with his wife, Karen Kate Blackwell, right there
with him. He's interred at Eden Memorial Park
Cemetery out in Mission Hills, California. Remarkably
full life, lived with incredible energy almost
to the very end. So if we pull it all together,
the full picture of Marty Allen or Morton David
Alpern, you really can't separate the comedian
from the disciplined man underneath. We found,
what, four really key takeaways from looking
at all this? Yeah, I think four stand out. First,
definitely the decorated WWII hero. Getting that
soldier's medal for that insane act of bravery
rolling on the fire. That just established his
core character, that sense of duty. Second. The
iconic comedy partner, Alan and Rossi, becoming
this huge cultural presence through those 44
Sullivan shows, proving he could connect with
anyone, even in the middle of Beatlemania. Third,
the versatile star. the ultimate professional
adapter. He really earned that title, darling
of daytime TV, mastering game shows like Hollywood
Squares, but also successfully making the jump
to drama with characters like Waldo Dieffendorfer.
Just showed incredible range and reliability.
And fourth, the dedicated philanthropist, using
his fame, his catchphrase even, for those Hello
Dare tours for the Vietnam vets, channeling his
own service into helping others, plus all that
serious board work, like with the Epilepsy Foundation.
Which brings us right back. around to where we
started, doesn't it? That deep link between his
military service and his whole life in entertainment
and charity. I mean, in Italy, he physically
threw himself onto fire to stop danger. Years
later, he's throwing himself into these hospital
tours, using laughter as his way to maybe extinguish
some of the pain and isolation those veterans
felt. So the catchphrase wasn't just a joke.
It became a tool, almost a symbol of compassion,
a way to offer some healing. I think so. It feels
like his drive to create joy and give back wasn't
just something he did on the side. It seems woven
into his very being, maybe stemming from that
instinctive duty he showed back in the war. It
makes you wonder, doesn't it? That's the final
thought for you, our listener, to chew on. When
he yelled hello to Ray on stage for the, you
know, 10 ,000th time in his late 90s, was he
just saying hi? Or was he in some way still on
that mission he started back in 1944, using every
single tool he had bravery then, laughter later,
to try and bring some light, some safety, some
relief to the people around him? How much can
one defining selfless moment shape an entire
lifetime of public service, even when that service
is making people laugh?