josc 10 (3) pp.

307–321 Intellect Limited 2019

Journal of Screenwriting
Volume 10 Number 3
© 2019 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/josc_00006_1

CARYN MURPHY
University of Wisconsin Oshkosh

Network television writers

and the ‘race problems’
of 1968

ABSTRACT KEYWORDS
This article examines the development of television scripts in the crime drama Ironside television
genre within the context of US commercial broadcasting in the network era. In series
1968, public discourse around race relations, civil rights and violence reached N.Y.P.D. television
a height following the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr and Robert series
F. Kennedy, and the release of a government study on urban uprisings by the race and 1960s
National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders. Ironside (1967–75, NBC) and television
N.Y.P.D. (1967–69, ABC) are two crime dramas that drew on recent events related television
to black militants and white supremacy in order to appeal to viewers with socially screenwriting
relevant entertainment during this time. The archival records of screenwriters Sy script development
Salkowitz and Lonne Elder make it possible to trace the development of one episode television crime drama
from each series over the course of multiple drafts. This analysis of the script
development process explores the relationship between public discourse, industrial
context, commercial agendas and creative priorities. Ironside and N.Y.P.D. are
both crime dramas, but an examination of both series yields points of divergence
which help to illustrate the norms of the network system in terms of act structure,
genre tropes, and the oversight of standards and practices.

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‘City riots laid to white racism’ read the top headline of the Los Angeles Times
on 1 March 1968, above the subheading, ‘Panel warns of trend to 2 separate,
unequal societies’ (Burke 1968). The coverage summarized the findings of the
National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, appointed by President
Johnson to study the root causes of social unrest after the ‘long, hot summer
of 1967’, in which more than 150 disturbances occurred across the United
States (McLaughlin 2014). The commission’s widely circulated Kerner report,
featured extensively in national news coverage and released as a mass market
paperback, found that racial prejudice and discrimination were centrally
responsible for the underlying conditions that fomented unrest (Hrach 2016).
The report summary that appeared on the front pages of major newspapers
explained that white flight from city centres had contributed to the develop-
ment of ghetto conditions, and it implicated five ‘ingredients’ in the resulting
uprisings. These included a lack of racial progress, violence in the civil rights
movement, distrust of the establishment system, and the rising discourse of
Black Power. The fifth and final ingredient was the role of police officers, who
for a segment of the population, ‘have come to symbolize white power, white
racism, and white repression’ (Burke 1968: 12). Television representations had
long functioned to affirm the integrity and decency of law enforcement, but
the report indicated that lived experiences in inner cities directly conflicted
with these depictions.
This article uses two case studies to examine the approaches that television
writers used to position the institution of law enforcement in relation to civil
rights issues in the aftermath of the Kerner report. Ironside (1967–75, NBC)
and N.Y.P.D. (1967–69, ABC) were two police dramas that drew inspiration
from national news stories about the civil rights movement. Both shows were
entering their second seasons in the fall of 1968, and both featured African
American cast members.
In early 1968, the television industry was under scrutiny for racial discrim-
ination. The Kerner report advised that television networks could help to
address the conditions that aggravated social unrest by increasing the quan-
tity and improving the quality of representations of African Americans in all
programming, among other recommendations. These recommendations were
not binding, but public interest groups including the NAACP used their influ-
ence to support the commission’s findings (Anon 1968b). In addition, the New
York City and State Commissions on Human Rights followed up by holding
public hearings on minorities in broadcasting. These proceedings resulted
in a request that the Federal Communications Commission take action to
address discrimination in employment and a dearth of representations (Nash
1968). The national networks responded to this scrutiny by moving to diver-
sify prime-time programming. Series that already featured black characters,
including Ironside and N.Y.P.D., found new ways to foreground these roles.
In a brief, influential opinion piece published in Television Quarterly, Cedric
Clark (1969) analysed the proliferation of African American characters on tele-
vision at this time. Clark argued that television itself is a mechanism of social
control that maintains the authority of the dominant (white) group through
multiple phases in an overall system of representation. In a phase of  ‘non-
recognition’, few if any representations of a minority group appear on televi-
sion. The  ‘ridicule’ phase positions a non-white group as comic or criminal
stereotypes. Clark argued that a third phase, ‘regulation’, was relevant to how
television was integrated in 1968. When non-white groups protested non-
recognition or ridicule, media representations shifted to depict members of

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 Network television writers and the ‘race problems’ of 1968

the group as supporters of the white Establishment. As scripted television

programming offered more stories about black characters, Clark argued, they
were inevitably portrayed as protectors of the social order.
Clark’s analysis provides a starting point in considering the roles of Mark
Sanger (Don Mitchell), a personal aide to the lead in Ironside, and Detective
Jeff Ward (Robert Hooks) in N.Y.P.D. This article uses an episode from each
series to examine how writers Sy Salkowitz and Lonne Elder drew from
events in the civil rights movement, how law enforcement was positioned in
relation to these events, and how recurring black characters were situated in
the storytelling. Each writer’s work demonstrates a different approach to the
police drama, and the script development process illuminates what was taken
into account as they used the genre to address the racial politics of the era.
Television writers were central to the creative process, working to ensure that
individual stories would interest viewers while meeting the overall goals of a
series. The choices made by Salkowitz and Elder as they developed their work
reveal the considerations involved in this balancing act.

IRONSIDE: ‘ROBERT PHILLIPS VS. THE MAN’

Ironside premiered as an NBC made-for-TV movie in the spring of 1967. The
initial outing investigates the shooting of Robert Ironside (Raymond Burr),
San Francisco’s chief of detectives, who is paralysed as a result. As the prem-
ise is established, some narrative time is spent on the relationship between
Ironside and Mark Sanger, a young black man who is in trouble with the law.
Ironside offers Mark the opportunity to escape his circumstances by working
as his assistant. The two characters share a close bond out of necessity, but the
first season of the series does not maintain this emphasis on the dynamics of
their relationship. Ironside is the central character, and he is backed by two
other members of the police force as he consults on ‘special’ cases that are too
complex or involved for local authorities.
Before becoming the president of 20th Century Fox Television in the mid-
1970s, Sy Salkowitz was a prolific television writer. He scripted more than 350
episodes, in various genres. He made a significant contribution to Ironside,
writing 35 episodes of the popular series and training other writers in the
style of the show. Salkowitz completed a preliminary outline of the Season
2 episode ‘Robert Phillips vs. The Man’ in April of 1968, several days after the
assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr and the civil disturbances that followed.
This outline contains many elements that found their way into the filmed
episode, including a teaser in which law enforcement officials watch newsreel
footage of an urban uprising. Phillips (Paul Winfield), a Black Power leader
who is visible in the riot footage, believes he will be charged with inciting a
riot, and is surprised to learn that he’s actually being accused of the murder of
an appliance store owner. At the close of the teaser, Ironside is informed that
his job is to prove that Phillips is innocent. The police commissioner explains
that the goal is to prevent any further uprisings, and the only way to do that
is to prosecute Phillips ‘without a shadow of a doubt’. At the outline stage of
development, Salkowitz had titled the episode, ‘Shadow of Doubt’ (1968b).
Salkowitz’s handwritten notes indicate that this was a ‘Rap Brown’ story,
in reference to the leader of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee
(SNCC) who had been blamed for inciting riots. In the summer of 1967,
police officials in Cincinnati, Nashville, and Cambridge, Maryland attributed
the violence in their cities to fiery speeches by H. Rap Brown and Stokely

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Carmichael, another SNCC leader (Anon. 1967). These real-life events

provided inspiration, but even in the earliest outline the plot of the episode
involved a white criminal using a neighbourhood uprising as a convenient
scapegoat; Salkowitz never planned to depict a black leader as a criminal. In
his initial notes, Salkowitz described a scenario involving increasing tensions
between two white men who co-own a store:

Ted Bernard has been draining the store of funds for some time. Arthur
Stavely gets on to it – accuses him. […] Riot breaks out – anarchy and
looting – Bernard takes advantage of it – to kill Stavely – They have
insured each other, as most partners do – and Bernard can collect –
make up deficit if he so desires and have money left over – or, can tell
wife that Stavely has been taking large sums in cash – he didn’t question
it – thought she knew! Insurance covers what they lost from store as
well. If it had been anyone else, he might have got away with it.
(Salkowitz 1968a: n.pag.)

Bernard does not directly blame Phillips for the murder; instead, he claims
that he doesn’t remember the details of the attack. As Ironside investigates, he
discovers evidence of the store’s financial malfeasance, and becomes increas-
ingly convinced of Phillips’ innocence. These story elements, present from the
time the episode was conceived, remained relatively unchanged throughout
its development. The choices that were made as the episode took shape had
the impact of decreasing the exploitative elements of the story and opening
up the possibility that viewers might sympathize with the perspective of black
militants. This analysis of the episode traces the development of the script
from the April outline through a draft completed in May, a cycle of revisions
from July and August, to the episode which first aired on 10 October 1968.
In his study of the American police drama, Jonathan Nichols-Pethick notes
that,

According to most critics, [its] formula provides moral reassurance and

champions an inherently conservative social agenda by focusing on the
essential wisdom and virtue of those who enforce the law (police offic-
ers, district attorneys, etc.) and offer protection from all who threaten
the social order.
(2012: 2)

As a result of its adherence to genre conventions, it might be expected that

a traditional police drama like Ironside would use an episode about an urban
uprising to denigrate black militants as threats to white society. Instead, ‘Robert
Phillips vs. The Man’ depicts a neighbourhood disturbance in San Francisco,
and echoes the Kerner report by laying the blame on white racism. Not only
is the actual criminal a white man, but Ironside’s investigation reveals that
white business owners helped to maintain the economic distress and poor
living conditions of the neighbourhood by exploiting black residents. The bias
or discriminatory practices of police officers are not implicated in this system,
however. The respectability of law enforcement is upheld in scene after scene
in which the central figure  of law and order, Ironside, repudiates racists and
racism.
Ironside is directly juxtaposed with racists in Act 2 of the episode, in a
scene at the appliance store where the murder occurred. He and his team

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attempt to reconstruct the crime and find that it couldn’t have played out
as the surviving store owner described it. Their work is interrupted by two
white supremacists from the  ‘Law and Order Foundation’ who ask Ironside
to ensure that Phillips is convicted, even if he didn’t commit the crime. The
visual design employs harsh lighting and extremely low-angle shots of the
men to underscore that they are unsavoury characters. Ironside rebuffs them,
and his evident repulsion signals the viewer that despite the group’s name,
they are not allied with law and order. Salkowitz’s original outline imagined
this group as the local  ‘Businessman’s association’ pursuing the same goal,
and noted, ‘Ironside tells them to go to hell’ (1968b). The group became two
men, Drake and Corning, from the  ‘Law and Order Foundation’ in the first
full draft of the script. In this version, after Drake and Corning are granted a
private audience with Ironside, Drake notes of Mark, ‘[v]ery sensitive, your Ni
–’ (exact from original). A script note indicates that Ironside’s dialogue, ‘Shut
your mouth!’ should overlap (1968c). This exchange was revised for the screen
version, in which Drake says, ‘[v]ery sensitive, your boy’, instead of introduc-
ing a racial epithet. Ironside’s response,  ‘[h]e’s not my boy’, more directly
separates his perspective from that of the white supremacists. The scene
concludes as Drake warns against ‘turning your back on your own kind’ and
Ironside retorts,  ‘[y]ou’ve already shown me what kind you are, Drake – I’ll
turn my back on that’. Ironside’s moral authority is underscored by the clear
distaste that he expresses for these men.
The outline noted that Mark would be present in this scene, but offered
no details on his involvement in this tense confrontation. The first draft of the
script clarifies that Mark is a focal point. Salkowitz indicates that the introduc-
tion of Drake and Corning should be shot from an ‘angle favouring Mark’. In
this draft, Mark responds to the name of their organization with the accusa-
tion, ‘[t]he way I hear it, you represent the White Backlash!’ (1968c). A revised
script completed in July of 1968 altered this dialogue. In it, the two men
claim that they ‘would settle racial differences by using existing statutes’. The
camera is indicated to favour Mark as he responds, ‘and shipping us out of the
country’ (1968d). The new dialogue erased a generalized idea that many televi-
sion viewers may not have been familiar with (white backlash) and replaced it
with a specific invocation of racial separatism. Mark, the only black character
present, is in the scene to establish the racial prejudice of the two men, and to
enhance Ironside’s rectitude.
Salkowitz’s original outline contained two major scenes of confronta-
tion between Ironside and  ‘[m]embers of a Black Militant group […] of
which Phillips was the national secretary’ (1968b). In the first and second
acts, Ironside would attempt to explain that he was trying to prove Phillips
innocent and seek their help. Salkowitz described the militants as  ‘young
hotbloods ready for violence’ and noted that their suspicions of a ‘cop conspir-
acy’ would prevent them from helping their leader. In this version of the story,
Ironside was beset by obstacles on all sides. The white men who wanted to
see Phillips convicted had vowed to interfere with his investigation. The mili-
tants who could possibly help to furnish witnesses were so suspicious of law
enforcement that they refused to provide help. As the script was drafted and
revised, these interactions with the militant group evolved to specifically focus
on Mark. The emphasis on Mark serves to raise the question of whether Mark
is loyal to the white Establishment or to the cause of black militants.
The first of these scenes appears in the first draft of the script, at the end
of Act 1. The militants accuse Ironside of trying to frame Phillips, and they

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threaten to tear down the building. They aim significant vitriol at Mark, who
is central to this scene although he was not mentioned in the outline version.
The leader of the group calls Mark a ‘fetchin’ boy’ who ‘kisses up to Whitey’.
Mark’s racial loyalty is specifically called out by this spokesman who says that
Mark is the type who ‘paints “soul brother” all over his house when the trou-
ble starts’. The militants are alleging that Mark is a race traitor because he is
allied with law enforcement. Mark reacts to the group with anger, and when
they leave, Ironside is worried about Mark. The script reads:

IRONSIDE: (Concerned) You’re not going to let those men get to you,
are you?
Mark stops and looks at Ironside for a long moment […] dead serious.
MARK: They got to me the day I was born, Chief. […] I’m black.
(Salkowitz 1968c: n.pag.)

The dialogue in the episode is essentially flipped. Mark tells the Chief, ‘[i]t’s
getting to me’ and Ironside responds, ‘[i]t got to you the day you were born’.
This reversal removes the specific reference to Mark’s racial identity, and it
positions Ironside as empathetic to his conflict. Mark is not explaining his
feelings of divided loyalty to the Chief; instead, Ironside is explaining it to him.
The second conflict with the militants appears in the first draft script as
the penultimate scene in Act 2. Ironside and Mark visit the group, renewing
their plea for help in the investigation. Salkowitz’s script notes,  ‘[t]here is a
sense of impending violence as they stare at Mark’(1968c: n.pag.). Ironside is
the law enforcement figure that the militants object to and distrust, but they
express direct feelings of disgust and antagonism at Mark. This scene remains
relatively unchanged across multiple drafts, and appears in the episode. In
the scene that follows, the commissioner visits Ironside’s office for an update.
The first draft version has Ironside frustrated with the lack of cooperation
he’s receiving on his investigation. The commissioner, presuming a riot is
near, indicates Mark and says,  ‘[a]t least we know that when the chips are
down, not everybody’s going to be against us’ (1968c: n.pag.). In the dramatic
moment that closes the act, Mark’s scripted line is, ‘[d]on’t bet on it’ (1968c).
This scene was revised before the episode was shot, and Mark’s dialogue
was changed to, ‘I hope it never comes to chips going down, Commissioner
[…] cause I would only have one hand to play […] and it’s not yours’, which
more directly expresses that his ultimate loyalty is not to the Establishment
(1968e). The final moments of Acts 1 and 2 demonstrate Salkowitz’s inten-
tion to establish a through line of suspense regarding Mark’s allegiance to law
enforcement. There is no narrative indication in the previous scene that Mark
is at all sympathetic to the black militants; in fact, he is primed to get involved
in a violent altercation with them. No other scenes in the episode develop any
motivation for Mark’s sympathy with rioters, which is part of the reason that
it has to be made overt in the dramatic scenes that conclude the first two acts
of the episode.
The issue of Mark’s loyalty becomes less relevant as the episode draws the
goals of the militants and law enforcement closer together. In the outline and
initial script drafts, Phillips is stubborn, surly and uncooperative. In meetings
with Ironside, he refuses to offer helpful information and insists that, ‘Whitey
better watch himself!’ because his supporters will riot (1968b, 1968c). In fact,
Phillips is  ‘gleeful’ at the prospect of the chaos that will result from his trial
(1968b). In the scene that Salkowitz originally scripted to close the third act,

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 Network television writers and the ‘race problems’ of 1968

Phillips expresses disappointment about Ironside’s success in clearing his

name. He wants to be tried and convicted because ‘[i]t will make my people
mad’ (1968c). This scene and all related dialogue was removed from the final
script and an earlier scene was added to establish that Phillips and Ironside
both want to avoid a possible riot situation. Salkowitz scripted at least two
versions of this scene; the one that corresponds more closely to the screen
version indicates that Ironside and Phillips share  ‘a good measure of silent
respect’ (1968e). Relations between the two men are tense throughout the
episode, and Phillips is clearly suspicious of law enforcement, but he is not
depicted as a proponent of continued violence and destruction.
The changes made to align the militant leader with law enforcement are
most evident in the evolution of the episode’s last scene. By this point in every
version of the script, the murderer has been caught. The outline describes the
last scene as follows:

Back at headquarters, Ironside tells Phillips he can go. He’s free. No

riot. No martyrdom. Phillips is sorry. He’ll find another way to start one.
There is silent angry understanding between the two men. Ironside will
find a way to stop him!
(Salkowitz 1968b: 64)

The initial script adds dialogue to this interaction. When informed that he
won’t be the cause of riots, Phillips responds,  ‘I’m not finished, you know.
They’ll be other explosions. I’ll make sure’. After he leaves, Ironside tells
the team,  ‘[w]e’ll wait […] from now on […] for the sound of that bomb’
(1968c: 64). The version scripted in July includes the commissioner respond-
ing to the threat,  ‘[s]omething’s gotta be done’. Ironside, as always, has the
last line,  ‘[w]ell it won’t be done standing in an office!’. The script directs
the camera to hold the last shot on  ‘his concerned face […] and idea for
action forming’ (1968d: 74). Each of these versions emphasizes the threat
that Phillips continues to pose, as well as the vigilance of law enforcement.
Phillips is not guilty of this murder, but he does want to serve his own political
agenda by inciting riots and encouraging chaos. Ironside, the upright author-
ity figure  who represents the nobility of law enforcement, opposes him and
his radical agenda.
The late stage changes that removed Phillips’ radical agenda from the
script and asserted his commitment to avoiding unnecessary violence also
included a new ending, which appears in the completed episode. Ironside
and his team are present with Phillips in the final scene and the last lines of
dialogue are as follows:

Phillips: We’re going to get what we want, Mr. Ironside.

Ironside: You should. And there are people who’d like to help you.
Phillips: You can’t help me. You can’t.
Ironside: You didn’t think I could prove you were innocent, either.
(‘Robert Phillips vs The Man’ 1968)

A shot of Phillips considering this is followed by a shot of Mark, who is stand-

ing behind Ironside and looking at Phillips. The moment resolves the ques-
tion of Mark’s loyalty, not because he had to choose one side or the other, but
because the two sides are united. This is followed by a shot of Ironside and a
shot of Phillips smiling and subtly nodding, indicating that the two men share

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an understanding. This version recalls Phillips’ initial refusal to cooperate with

the police and his distrust of law enforcement, and turns it into the revelation
that the institution might be supportive of his mission. Across drafts, the scene
evolved from a depiction of Phillips as a violent threat to the social order to a
depiction of the social order as an advocate of his agenda. By presenting law
enforcement as benevolent and anti-racist, the episode ultimately functions
to align the goals of the white-dominated institution with the goals of black
militants. The closing scene suggests black radicalism should accept white
goodwill, rather than viewing the institution of law enforcement as an enemy.
The episode provides an example of Cedric Clark’s concept of a phase
of ‘regulation’ in media representations of African American identity, but this
evolved as the script developed. The episode is not a straightforward narra-
tive in which ‘good’ black people, like Mark, support the police and ‘bad’ black
people, like Robert Phillips, promote riots and looting. Instead, it argues that
the forces of law and order support racial equality, and so those seeking social
change should put their faith in the institution. Mark supports the domi-
nant order because, as it is depicted here, the dominant order supports racial
equality.

N.Y.P.D.: ‘DEADLY CIRCLE OF VIOLENCE’

Daniel Melnick, who produced N.Y.P.D. for Talent Associates, testified before
the New York City Commission on Human Rights in March 1968. He praised
the conclusions of the Kerner report as he attested to the problems of discrimi-
nation in the television industry, noting that his company had found it difficult
to obtain reliable support from sponsors for series with black cast members
(Melnick 1968). Talent Associates had produced the critically lauded East Side/
West Side (1963–64, CBS), a groundbreaking series that featured Cicely Tyson
in a supporting role. The series’ cancellation was due in part to the lack of
interested sponsors; Melnick testified that CBS lost an estimated one million
dollars due to  ‘unsold time’. Melnick believed that N.Y.P.D., which featured
the black actor Robert Hooks in a co-starring role as Detective Jeff Ward, had
been cancelled by ABC in favour of Felony Squad (1966–69), a white-cast police
drama with similar ratings that attracted more sponsorship.
Melnick’s testimony did not specify that Hooks’ presence in the cast had
been a sticking point for advertisers, but evidence suggests that it affected the
series’ development from the pilot stage. In September 1966, producer David
Susskind described the series in a memo to a potential director: ‘[i]t is a New
York Police program in which the essential relationship is that of a Negro and
white. I think it’s damn exciting’ (1966). Talent Associates shot a pilot that fall
that featured Hooks as the top-billed star (Mason 1967). ABC expressed inter-
est in the series, but required significant changes in order to secure a place
for it on the prime-time schedule. The show’s runtime, for example, was cut
from an hour to thirty minutes. Jack Warden, a white actor, was added to the
cast as the ranking police lieutenant (Haines), and he was then positioned as
the series’ star (Priall 1968: 1). Hooks may have been demoted to second bill-
ing because ABC wanted a more recognizable actor to lead the show, or the
network may specifically have requested a white lead. There were no black
actors with top billing in prime-time television in 1967, and the network may
have doubted that such a show could succeed. The producers’ intention to use
N.Y.P.D. to explore the relationship between black and white police officers
would have been affected by these negotiations with the network. Hooks’ lead

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 Network television writers and the ‘race problems’ of 1968

status was downgraded, and the shorter episodic runtime made it less feasible 1. Although this series
has not been released
to develop issues with depth. Each N.Y.P.D. episode tells a story in two acts; a on DVD, it did air in
crime is introduced, investigated and concluded, with little time to explore the syndication after
interactions between the city’s institutions and its inhabitants. The network’s its initial broadcast
run in the United
initial decision to cancel the series in the spring of 1968 was a result of its low States. Episodes
ratings. from the series,
In May, ABC reversed its decision and ordered a second season; Variety including ‘Deadly
Circle of Violence’
reported that this marked ‘the first time that a definitely cancelled show has are archived at the
been resuscitated’ (Friedman 1968: 219). The attention focused on prime-time Library of Congress in
Washington, DC.
representations in the wake of the Kerner report, and the assassination of
Martin Luther King, Jr may have played a role in this surprising turnaround.
Leonard Goldberg, ABC’s vice president of network programming, told affili-
ates that the show’s strong cast, and ‘in particular, Robert Hooks, and his real-
istic and timely portrayal of Detective Jeff Ward’, swayed the network (Anon.
1968c: 10). N.Y.P.D. was a show with a central black character that had already
established at least some level audience familiarity, and the calculation was
made that this was of value within the context of the concerns circulating
about race and representation. The series’ reprieve provided an opportunity for
Melnick and Talent Associates to dedicate renewed attention to their original
mission of telling difficult stories.
The series’ promotional efforts, organized by Frank Goodman & Associates,
foregrounded Robert Hooks during the summer and fall of 1968. Although he
met with interviewers to discuss his role in N.Y.P.D., Hooks typically shifted
the conversation to the theatre group that he co-founded, the Negro Ensemble
Company, or NEC (see Pack 1968; Anon. 1968a). He used his television fame
to bring this organization to the attention of a much larger audience. The
mission of the NEC was to provide a space to develop, produce and perform
the work of black playwrights. Hooks encouraged his NEC colleague, Lonne
Elder, to submit a story outline to N.Y.P.D. When Talent Associates purchased
the outline, ‘Deadly Circle of Violence’, Elder became one of only a handful of
African American writers working in prime-time television in the late 1960s.
Bob Markell, who had previously produced the social issues legal drama
The Defenders (1961–65, CBS) served as the showrunner at N.Y.P.D. Talent
Associates developed a list of experienced, potentially available writers, and
Markell interviewed them and assigned them stories. The writer would then
turn in an outline of the proposed episode, and the outline would be submit-
ted to ABC’s standards and practices and to the New York Police Department
for approval. Episodes could be cancelled at the outline stage due to objec-
tions from the network or the department, or because the network reduced
the number of episodes that had been ordered. If an episode went forward,
the first draft of the script was submitted to both the network and the police
department for approval. With the exception of the fact that Elder had never
written a script for television before, his episode followed this basic trajectory
once Markell established a contract for the outline.
Elder found inspiration for his episode in the hopelessness he experienced
when Martin Luther King, Jr was assassinated (Anon. 1968d). The original
outline of ‘Deadly Circle of Violence’, dated 16 July 1968 closely resembles the
finished episode that first aired on 12 November.1 In the episode’s teaser, a
young couple walks along a river at daybreak. Their flirtation is interrupted
when James (Al Pacino, in his screen debut) is shot by a sniper. Act 1 finds
James recovering in a hospital room, telling Lieutenant Haines and Detective
Corso (Frank Converse) that he does not know why anyone would try to hurt

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him. His open demeanour shifts when Detective Ward enters, and his racial
prejudice is clear to the authorities. They decide to look into his background,
contacting law enforcement in the southern city where James previously
resided. He fits the description of a white supremacist who bombed a church
in his small town where an integrated group of college students was work-
ing on a community initiative; one girl died. The detectives become convinced
that the college students were radicalized in the wake of the bombing, and are
seeking vigilante justice. In Act 2, James has returned to his apartment and
received new threats. The group of student-militants manages to capture him
and take him to a warehouse, where the episode’s climax unfolds. Haines and
Ward succeed in disarming Angus (William Jay), the young black man who
holds a gun on James. In the epilogue, James is remanded to the authorities
in the town where the bombing occurred, and the militants are also in police
custody. All of these story elements were represented in Elder’s initial outline
of the episode.
ABC’s broadcast standards department had the opportunity to impact
the development of the episode at several stages. In July 1968, the outline
was evaluated and accepted by the network’s reviewer (ABC Standards and
Practices 1968). The initial draft of the episode’s script was also accepted in
August, but at that point in the process, the reviewer requested some changes.
Elder’s draft included racial epithets in dialogue between white characters,
used to establish a shared bond of prejudice. Standards and practices objected
to the term ‘jigaboo’, and so the term was removed (Price 1968). The majority
of the network’s comments on the script focused on how the episode would
depict violence. In the 1968 television season, concerns about the role televi-
sion played in circulating ideas about race were only matched by concerns
about the medium’s ability to normalize and encourage violence. Following
the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr and Robert F. Kennedy, all of
the commercial broadcast networks had pledged to minimize depictions of
violence in prime-time entertainment programming. ABC’s reviewer requested
that shots of guns be eliminated or substantially altered. Scenes in which the
militants threatened James with guns could still be included, but the network
asked for the removal of shots in which weapons would be aimed directly
at his head (Price 1968). Elder’s script, in which a group of people commit-
ted to working for the common good had become diminished by a quest for
vengeance, was designed to make a statement about the pointless nature of
violent retribution. Network standards at the time required that this statement
be made through the implication of violence, rather than direct depiction.
The network’s most intriguing note regarded the victim of the bombing.
Elder’s outline and first draft referred to the  ‘little girl’ who died when her
church was bombed while a Sunday school class was in session. Elder may
have been inspired by the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing that killed four
little girls in Birmingham, Alabama in 1963. At the time that he wrote the
episode, the authorities had not identified a perpetrator. In Elder’s episode,
a group of radicalized students have identified a perpetrator who has evaded
justice, and they intend to punish him because the system will not. ABC’s
reviewer asked that the script ‘substitute […] something less specific for a little
girl being killed. Something such as “someone” was killed or “people” were
killed would be acceptable’ (Price 1968: n.pag.). Elder’s revised pages refer to
the victim as ‘the girl’ and imply that she was a young college student involved
in community activism, rather than a child. The network editor did not offer a
justification, but it’s possible that the change was requested in order to avoid

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 Network television writers and the ‘race problems’ of 1968

similarity with the real-life case, or to lessen the possibility that viewers would
sympathize with the episode’s vengeful militants.
Robert R. Dempsey, the sergeant in charge of vetting  ‘Deadly Circle of
Violence’ over the course of its development, provided substantial feedback.
His notes on the outline explained how Lieutenant Haines should address
detectives Ward and Corso, as well as the police procedures for question-
ing witnesses and disarming a group of militants. Significantly, Dempsey
suggested that the story needed more clarity about the consequences that
James would face for the crime that he had committed in his hometown.
Elder’s outline indicated that Haines ‘orders James to be held for suspicion of
murder until the Southern police pick him up’ (1968a: 10). Dempsey’s critique
stated,  ‘[m]ake this stronger. A warrant or a police officer from the south-
ern jurisdiction with a warrant will be coming for James. Also explain that
the warrant has just been issued by the southern jurisdiction’ (1968: n.pag.).
The scene in Elder’s draft avoids the certainty that Dempsey was requesting.
During the climax in the warehouse, Haines attempts to defuse the situation
by telling the group,  ‘I have orders to arrest this man – if he’s guilty, he’ll
be punished!’ (1968b: 36). This scene was filmed as scripted; James is in the
custody of law enforcement as the episode ends, but there is no clear indi-
cation that he will face consequences for the church bombing. Dempsey, as
a representative of the police force, sought a representation of its efficacy.
Elder’s story, however, leaves room for doubt that justice will be served.
The ending of the episode was a key focal point in the development of
the script across multiple revisions. In the July outline, Haines singlehand-
edly neutralizes the standoff in the warehouse, and then offers the militants a
speech on the ‘destructive circle of violence’ back at the precinct (Elder 1968a).
Dempsey noted that Haines’ solo mission would be a violation of police proce-
dure, and this feedback led to a substantial alteration in the roles that both
Haines and Ward play in the episode’s climax. Haines’ role as a wise, paternal
figure of authority was reduced, while Ward’s role as an honest and compas-
sionate officer of the law was enhanced. In the script, there is no conversation
about who will go into the warehouse; Haines and Ward suit up in bullet-
proof vests to enter together. As Angus, who is armed, expresses his desire to
avenge the girl’s death, the script notes a ‘CLOSE ANGLE ON WARD’ who
is ‘[l]ooking Angus directly in the eye from where he stands’. Ward asks Angus
to  ‘trust we do the right thing, because you got nothing going for you now
that won’t destroy you this very day!’. The direction and dialogue make clear
that Ward is establishing a bond with Angus in order to limit the probability
of a shootout. As the script was revised, dialogue that had belonged to Haines
was given to Ward. Haines’ dialogue in the outline: ‘[y]ou can’t win son, give
it up!’ became Ward’s line, ‘[y]ou can’t win, man, give it up!’ in script revisions
dated 3 September (Elder 1968c: 35). Haines still plays an active role in the
scene that was filmed, but a significant emphasis is placed on Ward’s influ-
ence. As the climactic moments play out in the episode, James tries to run and
Haines yells his (scripted) line to Angus, ‘[d]on’t do it!’. This is followed by a
shot of Ward, reiterating in a low voice,  ‘[d]on’t do it, man’. This is the plea
that appears to affect Angus, who drops his weapon.
Haines’ position as the central moral authority in the episode was also
diminished through revisions to his  ‘circle of violence’ lecture. Elder’s script
remained ambiguous about how the justice system would deal with James,
but offered certainty regarding legal consequences for the militant group. In
every version, Haines tells the group that they will be charged, and cautions

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Caryn Murphy

them that it is the responsibility of the police to enforce the law. Multiple
drafts included a longer, more philosophical speech from Haines, effectively
spelling out the lesson of the episode:

The lesser degree of violence is my responsibility, but when it becomes a

gigantic circle it is an evil deadly thing, destroying everyone that comes
near, including those that need to redeem themselves through its use –
so the next time you see some guy tearing down something, you come
here and tell me about it, and then you go out and build something
bigger and better.
(Elder 1968b: 38)

In the final revision, this speech was reduced to,  ‘If you want to make a
commitment to something, make it something positive. If people try to stop
you, let us take care of them’ (Elder 1968d: 38). The implications of a circle of
violence remain as the militants are taken away in handcuffs, but the direct
discussion of it was excised from the script.
In the episode that aired, the final scene expresses a sense of helpless-
ness and futility with regard to what can be done to stop white suprema-
cists like James. In the closing moments, Ward and Haines have the following
exchange:

WARD: That was a good speech, Lieutenant. Only you made it to the
wrong people.
HAINES: We’re all doing the best we can, Jeff. Next time it’s going to be
a little harder to make that speech. That’s what worries me. That there’s
going to be a next time.
(‘Deadly Circle of Violence’ 1968)

This brief conversation effectively serves to replace the lengthier drafted

speech on the cyclical nature of violence and retribution, and the fact that it
occurs between Ward and Haines adds a racial dimension. Ward is certain that
there will be further violence from white supremacists, and Haines is certain
that such events will continue to radicalize advocates of social justice. Haines
has just assured a group of young people that they should rely on the insti-
tution of law enforcement to address problems, but in private he and Ward
express a lack of faith in this solution. As in Ironside, the episode makes clear
that law enforcement is sympathetic to the perspective of the militant group,
but N.Y.P.D. is less certain that the system works. Regardless of this distinc-
tion, Ward remains a figure of regulation; he is an upholder of a social order
that is ‘doing the best’ it can.
N.Y.P.D. continued to struggle with low ratings, and so Frank Goodman
& Associates took special measures to promote  ‘Deadly Circle of Violence’,
which aired during the November ‘sweeps’ period when television viewership
is measured in all markets. Goodman unsuccessfully petitioned TV Guide to
pre-screen the episode so that it could be promoted in the ‘Close-Up’ feature
of the weekly television schedule, calling it ‘truly representative of the series’
(1968). He set up advance screenings for critics from the mainstream press
and put Elder forward as a feature subject for the New York Post. He pack-
aged a story about N.Y.P.D.’s new writers, including Elder, which called his
episode  ‘one of the season’s highlights’ (Anon. 1968d: 28). Despite these

318  Journal of Screenwriting
 Network television writers and the ‘race problems’ of 1968

efforts, the series’ audience remained relatively small, and ABC cancelled
N.Y.P.D. at the end of the season.

CONCLUSION
N.Y.P.D. producer Bob Markell claimed that the series’ mission was to ‘neither
romanticize the cops nor degrade them’ (Anon. 1968d: 28). The production’s
commitment to a realist treatment of social issues set it apart from Ironside,
which was more traditional and escapist entertainment, and also far more
popular with viewers. Despite the significant differences between these two
series, as they drew inspiration from actual events in the civil rights era,
they offered similar affirmations of the dominant social order. The episodes
discussed above foreground each series’ recurring black character in rela-
tion to stories about racial tensions and violence in order to conclude that
law enforcement represents the best available solution. Mark Sanger and
Detective Jeff Ward both question the social order to some extent, but in keep-
ing with Cedric Clark’s analysis, both are significantly invested in upholding
its institutions.
‘Robert Phillips’ and ‘Deadly Circle’ were produced for different networks,
but the above case studies make clear that the end results perform similar
ideological work. Sy Salkowitz was an accomplished white screenwriter who
had a significant amount of influence over Ironside, while ‘Deadly Circle’ was
Lonne Elder’s first television script. The function of television as a mechanism
of social control is evidenced in the development process of both episodes;
each narrative aligns racially diverse allies of law enforcement with militants
who are seeking justice and equality for black people, and claims that all of
these interests are fighting on the same side.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Research for this article was supported by the Faculty Development Program
at the University of Wisconsin Oshkosh. I am also grateful for the help of
Dorinda Hartmann at the Library of Congress.

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Burke, V. (1968),  ‘City riots laid to white racism: Panel warns of trend to 2
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Clark, C. (1969), ‘Television as social control: Some observations on the portra-
yals of ethnic minorities’, Television Quarterly, 8:2, pp. 18–22.

www.intellectbooks.com  319
Caryn Murphy

‘Deadly Circle of Violence’ (1968), David Pressman (dir.), N.Y.P.D., Season 2

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 Network television writers and the ‘race problems’ of 1968

SUGGESTED CITATION
Murphy, C. (2019), ‘Network television writers and the “race problems”of 1968’,
Journal of Screenwriting, 10:3, pp. 307–321, doi: 10.1386/josc_00006_1

CONTRIBUTOR DETAILS
Caryn Murphy is a professor in the Department of Radio TV Film at the
University of Wisconsin Oshkosh. Her research on television has appeared in
the Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television, Media History, the Journal of
Popular Culture and several edited volumes.
Contact: Department of Radio TV Film, University of Wisconsin Oshkosh, 800
Algoma Boulevard, Oshkosh, WI 54901, USA.
E-mail: murphyc@uwosh.edu

https://orcid.org/0000-0001-5927-9278

Caryn Murphy has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work in the format that
was submitted to Intellect Ltd.

www.intellectbooks.com  321