The WGBH Alumni wish to express our deepest sympathy to the family and friends of Larry Heileman, who passed on August 17, 2011, at the age of 66.

Larry was a fundraiser for public broadcasting for over 20 years. We would like to reassure the Heileman family and all of PBS community that the work Larry has done to support and nurture WGBH and public broadcasting will not be forgotten.

Larry tirelessly gave of his time and made a substantial impact on the Public Broadcasting industry through his work at WGBH, PBS Development, and as Director of Membership at WHYY. He made major contributions as mentor in the PBS Membership Academy and as an researcher for TV Pledge Programs.

Larry was best known for his sense of humor, research approach and strong belief in the mission of public broadcasting. He made a substantial impact on public television industry through his pursuit of innovative fundraising techniques and his willingness to share his expertise and knowledge with all his colleagues through out the public broadcasting system. Larry never hesitated to test and evaluate new fundraising ideas and thoroughly enjoyed calling his colleagues about his latest fundraising results or dropping into your office to give you a new idea.

Larry can never be replaced, but his work ethic and commitment to public broadcasting he loved so much will carry on through those who worked side by side with him. Larry will always be in our heart.

Emmy Award winning TV producer and a long-time resident of Ipswich Donald B. “Don” Fouser died July 3rd after a gallant battle with melanoma. He was 83 years old.

Don’s career was varied and his interests universal and passionate. He built harpsichords and reported for three major New England newspapers but is most noted for a number of public affairs programs produced for WGBH that addressed significant emerging issues.

His programs had an edge. For example, his program on Vietnam, made in 1961 as part of a series on Foreign Aid, was the first to be critical of the growing American involvement. Another on the “New Conservatives” featured interviews with people such as Milton Friedman and others when they were still relatively unknown.

He made his most famous program, V-D Blues, for Channel 13, New York, in 1971. Don’s approach was revolutionary. The program aimed at reversing the pandemic of venereal diseases then raging. It didn’t follow the usual, dull, sex-education approach larded with interludes of heavy-handed preaching. It was mostly a comedy program with Dick Cavett serving as MC and with songs and skits around the diseases. One skit featured Zero Mostel, made up to look like a germ, enjoying the comfortable environment of the human body until hit with an antibiotic.

The program was groundbreaking in that Don had arranged with TV stations as well as federal and state health agencies to be standing by all over the country with open lines and operators prepared to provide information about all aspects of venereal diseases to callers, no questions asked. On top of that, Don had thousands of copies of the program printed in comic book format for distribution at places that young people and other vulnerable groups were apt to gather.

The response was overwhelming and demonstrated that the impact of TV programs upon behavior could be dramatically enhanced when viewers were able to quickly contact local agencies that provided follow-up services. The success of VD Blues begs the question as to why the same approach was not tried in the early days of the AIDS epidemic.

In connection with the 200th Anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, Don produced a number of programs titled “Ourstory” for use in schools. Again, Don innovated. Instead of yet another set of “audio-visual aids” that told students the story of America, the programs provided students with evidence that illuminated key episodes in our nation’s history and then asked them to create their versions of “Ourstory.”

Ever active, Don, in his later years turned his hand to building and refurbishing homes. His most notable accomplishment as a builder is what he did with his own property in Ipswich. When he purchased it in the 1960′s, it consisted of a run down Federalist period house on a piece of land that was more dumping ground than yard. Don set about restoring the house with authentic moldings and a curved veranda overlooking the garden. He then built a barn in keeping with the style of the house. A tasteful three-unit town-house complex and a sculpture garden connecting all the buildings rounded out his vision. Over the years he transformed a neglected wasteland into an island of beauty gracing the heart of town. Like everything else that Don did it exemplifies high standards and good taste.

Don often said that his work called for him to be a “nay sayer” to people who questioned his vision. When it came to living, however, he was a “yea sayer.” He had a passion for the things in life that extend and enhance our humanity and he pursued them with great gusto. He read constantly and greedily (often three or four books at a time) and amassed a library that speaks to his many and varied interests and enthusiasms. He loved music and listened to it as seriously as he read books. His extensive collection of records, tapes, and CD’s like his library, is far ranging and extends from ragtime and Cole Porter to his favorite, Johann Sebastian Bach.

Don was a master cook. He spared no effort to prepare dishes the right way even if it meant sending to Canada to obtain the specified variety of oyster. But the true reason he cooked was to share his accomplishments with friends at dinner parties over which he presided. Don would nudge the discussions that ranged over the arts, politics, and public affairs but always allowed for gales of laughter that he hoped, “…would knock the paint off the ceiling.”

Having grown up on the shore of Long Island Sound, Don loved the sea and sailing. He bought a large Skipjack, the Daisy B. It was a working Chesapeake Bay oyster boat. Don sailed her to Ipswich. The next season, when the 55-foot mast broke, he went to Vermont, selected a tree, and had it cut down. After getting it to Ipswich, he handcrafted it into a perfect replica of the original mast. For a number of summers the Daisy B plied the water off Ipswich.

Don served in the Navy in World War II and upon discharge enrolled at Brown University where he graduated with honors in English in 1951. He immediately returned to the navy to serve during the Korean War. After his second navy stint, he studied for a year at Boston University Law School.

He enjoyed another university experience while working for public television in New York. He was awarded a prestigious journalism fellowship at Columbia University that gave him access to seminars and lectures, with leading national and world scholars as well as to meetings with noted figures from the worlds of politics, business and the media.

He was a man who threw himself into life with gusto, forever seeking and accepting new challenges. He was working on a novel and his memoirs at the time of his death. He was a true Renaissance man.

Don is survived by his wife, Judith; his two sons Joshua and Jason, both of Ipswich, and his daughter, Rebekah, of Florida and by eight grandchildren. Don was the son of the late George J. and Margaret Whitaker Fouser of Branford, Connecticut and is also survived by his older brother George, of Branford, his sister-in-law, Rosie and six nephews and nieces. A private memorial service will be held at his home at a later date.

From Henry Becton

Don was the exec producer of “The Nader Report” and other seminal shows in the late ’60s and early ’70s.  I believe he went on to be the exec producer of the early CBS Cable series which interviewed artists and celebs without an interviewer on camera; it received lots of critical attention while not enough audience.

From Fred Barzyk

I hooked up with Don Fouser as his director on one of the early docu shows called Dollar Diplomacy. It was a 6-part series on America’s Vietnam experience. This is when we had “advisors only” in the country. Don traveled with a 16 mil. Bolex film camera and shot all the material himself. There was no sound recordings. We later created all the sounds to cover the silent footage. The editor was Danny Williams who later went on to work with Andy Warhol. Danny took his life. A very sad story. His sister has written a book about this event.

Anyway, Don, Danny and myself would work on the series in the back film editing rooms (where the 125 Conference room existed) until the wee hours of the morning. There was a rule not allowing alcohol into the building because of an earlier instance that caused some trouble. However, since we were there so late no exec’s were around so we ate pizza and drank beers to keep us going.

What to do with the empties? Well, they had these ceilings where you could move a panel aside. And that is where the beer cans went. When the station moved the editing rooms so they could create the Cahners Conference room, the construction workers tore out the ceiling and down came crashing beer cans and all.

Don as producer declared in the docu series that the USA could not possibly win a war with the Vietnamese. This infuriated the people in Washington who had arrange for Don to travel to Vietnam. Don never stepped away from a fight.

Don’s fight with Michael Rice over the Nader show actually caused the creation of the WGBH union. Fouser would not change the show demanded by Rice. Nader refused also. The only solution was to take Don off the show. He fought a good battle but so irritated Rice that he was fired. Don wrote a letter to the staff of WGBH. They all gathered in Studio B and I read the letter. It was clear we had to protect ourselves and our programs. It was just two weeks after Don left that the union was created.

There was one night when Don had put in his money to get a sandwich from our then vending machines. The sandwich would not come out. So Don smashed the glass and took his sandwich. Unfortunately he broke his hand.

Don eventually went to work for WNET. And then on to CBS Cable, the arts-orientated experiment. He produced a show that was shot in the WGBH studio called “Calamity Jane’s Diary” starring Jane Alexander. I was the co director and was able to get CBS to pay WGBH studio costs. This was just before Jane became head of the NEA.

Don’s wife is a great painter. They have lived in Ipswich for most of their married life. Don was a delight to be around. Argumentative but with a great sense of humor. I will miss him greatly.

Excerpts from The Vanishing Vision: The Inside Story of Public Television by James Day (1995)

With 1972′s decline in bold-spirited shows, VD Blues qualified as the aberration of the year. From its opening moments—a funky rock band strolling the Sausalito waterfront while belting out the lyrics to “Don’t Give a Dose to the One You Love Most”—Don Fouser’s candid and forthright look at venereal disease turned the conventions of television upside down. He planned to target teenagers, who formed the center of a resurgent epidemic of venereal disease, and yet resisted the blandishments of public TV. Fouser’s strategy was to bring outrageous humor and irreverence to the discussion of a topic normally treated only in hushed tones. Its message was simple and direct: VD is detectable and curable. NET liked the idea and format and agreed to let Fouser produce it. More surprisingly, the 3M Corporation courageously agreed to underwrite the show’s production costs. But that was before they saw the script. (How they saw the script remains a mystery; corporate underwriters are ostensibly barred from becoming involved in program content.) While reading the script, the eyes of the 3M executives fell on a mildly funny sketch by Jules Feiffer in which a woman patient, infected by VD and forced by her doctor to reveal her sexual liaisons, names the doctor as her sole contact. A call came immediately from 3M’s offices in St. Paul to tell me that the sketch had to be deleted. The PR people were apparently concerned lest 3M’s name be associated with a program that implied that doctors committed indiscretions with their patients. (And doctors, I later learned, are big 3M customers.) Reluctant to allow an underwriter to have a voice in the producer’s plans, I politely declined. They just as politely declined to have 3M’s name on the show.

Once the show was completed, VD Blues was previewed for station programmers on a closed-circuit system a week prior to its scheduled airing. We were surprised to learn that 3M executives, accompanied by several doctors and a public-health official, were present for the preview in the St. Paul station. We were even more surprised when they called me to ask if the 3M name could be restored to the show. It could. Fearful, however, that “a great many reasonable viewers would feel that this program openly condones promiscuity,” 3M requested that the show open and close with an announcement that NET was “solely responsible for the content and method of presentation.”

VD Blues aired on October 9, 1972. Only two stations refused it: one in Jackson, Mississippi, and one in Little Rock, Arkansas. Most not only ran it but mounted local follow-up shows with experts responding to viewers’ inquiries. The New York station’s follow-up show, hosted by Geraldo Rivera, had to be extended from one to three-and-a-half hours to accommodate more than 15,000 telephone calls. Other cities experienced similar results. The VD Blues story had an O. Henry-style finish: 3M was presented later in the year with the American Medical Association’s 1972 Journalism Award for its courage in underwriting such a high-risk show. The story of the award, wrote Variety ‘s Bill Greeley, was “one of those marvelous ironies which only a gimp of a medium [like] public television could supply.”

Rambling Reflections on Life by a 74-year-old TV director
By Fred Barzyk

Part 1: The Early Years

You see, I was this kid growing up on the South Side of Milwaukee. The Polish South Side.

It was the 1940s and things were going just great. I mean, we had just won a War.

My Mom and Dad took me to downtown Milwaukee to celebrate. It was either VE or VJ Day.

• Image: Wikipedia

Anyway, the people were goin’ crazy, dancing, singing, jumpin’ around. One woman kissed me. That was way too much.

• Audio: Internet Archive

America in the 1940s

• Population: 132,122,000
• Unemployed in 1940: 8,120,000
• National Debt: $43 Billion
• Average Salary: $1,299. Teacher’s salary: $1,441
• Minimum Wage: $.43 per hour
• 55% of U.S. homes have indoor plumbing
• Antarctica is discovered to be a continent

• Life expectancy: 68.2 female, 60.8 male
• Auto deaths: 34,500
• Supreme Court decides blacks do have a right to vote
• World War II changed the order of world power; the United States and the USSR become super powers
• Cold War begins

Now that the War was over, my Uncle Ed would come home from Germany. My Aunt Frances was going to be so, so happy.

She had this colicky little baby, Edward, and she needed some help. He would cry and cry. You could hear it all over the neighborhood. He was my cousin and I felt sorry for the little kid. For my Aunt, too.

Our neighborhood

They lived across the street from us. Good old South 7th Street, that was where we lived. We were renters.

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On one side of our rented house lived the Getarec’s. Their son, Lawrence, had just formed a Polka band; his friends would come over on weekends to rehearse. They were terrible. Three weeks later, they disbanded. Larry never got to do one of those weddings gigs he wanted to do so badly. Poor Larry.

On the other side of us lived the Nowicki’s. One of their clan was a hunter. Bow and arrow. He and a friend actually took down a 500 lb. Black Bear. They strung it up in their garage. The Milwaukee Journal came and took a picture. He was famous in our neighborhood.

Two young girls lived there, too. Joan and Barbara.

BARBARA  (1938-1941)

Barbara, lived next door, upstairs.
little kids, we played, making mud pies
under back porches,
digging dirt, all tiny pails and shovels.
Her sister, Joan, older by 4 years, taunted us
“Look! Boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Angrily we denied,
not understanding what it meant anyway,
but knowing nothing good
could come from being
boyfriend
girlfriend.

We played movies,
acting out all the parts
in grassy backyards
and concrete alleys
of the Polish South Side.
We had a secret hideout
dark dense bushes
one street over.
Here we could hide.
ours,
no one else allowed.

Then suddenly,
grade school.
She to Catholic, I to Public.
We saw each other
everyday,
but all was changing
We, evolving, living new adventures,
far from secret hideouts,
mud pies under back porches.
Becoming new people,
Wiser, distant.
Why do we have to grow anew?

Left then with only distant memories
Of a little girl who lived next door,
upstairs?

Show business

My Mom had this vision for me. She thought it would be wonderful if I could be in show business.

I mean, her very own cousin, Johnny Davis, had a big dance band that played all the big venues in Milwaukee. His band looked something like this.

• Image: Library of Congress on Flickr

She was very proud to be his cousin. Johnny’s band had these two young guys, Dennis Morgan and Jack Carson. They went to Hollywood and became movie stars! One of their movies was called “Two Guys from Milwaukee.” Movie critic, Leonard Maltin, gave it 2 and half stars. Not bad.

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And my Aunt Frances, well, she was very good friends with a Polish musician from the South Side of Milwaukee. He played piano at all the fancy dinner restaurants in town. His name was Liberace.

• Image: Alan Light via Flickr Creative Commons

My family was just surrounded by all these talented people.

My mother thought, “Why Not Freddy?”

Dance lessons

So, when I was seven, she signed me up for dance lessons.

I think she imagined me to be in a show, dressed in costumes, applauded by the masses.

THE LESSONS (1943)

We climbed 101 wooden steps up
Up, to the very tip top
of the 5th Street viaduct,
Mom and I, my tiny tap shoes in hand.

We paid a nickel each and rode the Hinky Dinky,
Milwaukee’s super small streetcar.
Rattling across the South Side,
past smoke stacks,
heady smells from the yeast factory,
we emerged from the rackety ride
and hurried down Wisconsin Avenue
to the School of Dance!

We climbed 31 wooden steps up
Up, to the very tip top
of the old brick building
Mom and I, my tiny tap shoes in hand.

In the hot, sweaty dance studio,
crammed tight with little kids
tap, tap, tap dancing,
steel cleats clanging wooden floors.
the tall thin dance teacher
trying to train little feet
Click, tap. tap, pat, click. click

Mom, sat, silently, secretly,
dreaming Dreams,
Dreams of Show Business,
Dreams through me.
Click, tap, pat, pat, click, click
My feet stomped, banged, kicked,
Hoping to create
rhythm grace
energy  Beauty!

Click, tap. Tap, tap, pat, click
Me, a 7 year old kid,
who bought his clothes in
the Sears husky department

Click, pat, tap, click, click, click
those tap shoes took a beating.
Me, too.
Click, pat, tap, click.

After the fourth tap dance lesson,
riding back on the
Jiggling, clankingly, Hinky Dinky,
it happened.
Breakfast, lunch, snacks
all made a nasty return.
Raining everywhere,
over the hard train seats.

Mom knew the dream was gone.
She put away the tiny tap shoes
way back, in a dark hall closet,
Never to be worn again.
No more click, clack, tap.
Not for those tiny tap shoes.
For that is how dreams die… sometimes.
Without a click or tap,
tap,
tap.

• Image: Retro Milwaukee

But I didn’t give up on her dream. I announced that I would become a piano player! Only problem was we didn’t have a piano.

Piano lessons

I started taking lessons practicing on a piece of fold out cardboard designed to look like piano keys. They knew eventually, I would need a real piano. I don’t think they could afford one, but somehow they managed to buy a small spinet piano. I still have it today.

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I really never could play the piano, even after years of lessons. However, it was known in my neighborhood that I had a piano. This fact alone brought me face to face with a dilemma.

I had forgotten about this incident until I started writing this personal history. I learned a lesson that day: Do not judge a book by its cover.

POEM (1948)
“I can’t even remember his name”

Like a lingering shadow in my memory bank
Hanging there in the void, frozen, pale, fragile —
Almost brushed aside by other fading images
His freckled face —
His sandy hair —
His wet hazel eyes —
His grimy glasses —
So often I ignored him, thinking nothing of him
And now, I can’t even remember his name

It was the end of summer, hot and dry
He came to my porch and knocked on the door
He had never come to my house before
My God, we hardly even talked
But there he stood —
clutching papers,
hoping
How could I have ignored him, thinking nothing of him?
And now, I can’t even remember his name

He heard that I played the piano, that I knew music
He was just a 14 year old Polish kid from the South Side
Not polished or trained in music, awkward and shy
He told me his dream and thrust the papers into my hands
Can you play it?
I wrote it myself.
I can’t play the piano, you know —
Can you play my concerto?
He stood, waiting, hoping
And I can’t even remember his name.

Where did he get the blank music paper?
How did he know about D minor?
Allegro molto?
Andante?
I stared hard at his hand written notes, bewildered —
How could this be?

But there it was
It looked real,
Musically correct
difficult,
way too difficult —
I stuttered, swallowed hard, and admitted my failings
It’s too tough,
I’ve only begun to play the piano
Maybe someone else —
He said nothing, smiled and nodded his head
took his papers back, and left
I watched as he walked away down my street

We saw each other on the playground near St. Helen’s
We played basketball and hung around a little
Summers are like that
He never mentioned our meeting
Neither did I
My piano lessons went on and on
Never mounting to much
I stopped thinking of him
until now.
I wonder if he ever heard his concerto?
I hope so.
So sad that I can’t even remember his name.
Just a lingering shadow in my memory bank

The playground

Ohio Street playground.

Concrete, stark, a battle field where kids become ensnared in the thoughts of winning and losing, fighting through fears and hoping to win, you know, throwing in the winning basket just before the final bell goes off!  It doesn’t usually work out that way.

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Coming soon: Part 2

Steve Izzi

From Tucker-Quinn Funeral Home — 5/10/2011

Stephen Richard Izzi, 63, of Spirit Lake, Idaho, passed away suddenly in his home on Tuesday, May 10, 2011.  He was the beloved husband of Terri A. (Hagelin) Izzi. Steve was born in Brookline, MA., the son of Nicolette (DeAngelis) Izzi of N. Providence and the late Dante Izzi. Besides his wife and mother, he is survived by his sister Ruth Izzi-Goode of Chepachet, RI.

Steve was a graduate of Rhode Island School of Radio and Electronics which started his career in media, broadcasting and audio.  He did live remote recordings for WGBH-FM in 60’s & 70’s and was the principal film mixer and sound engineer for WGBH-TV in Boston in the 70’s  & 80’s.

When Steve first joined WGBH he immediately became interested in sound production/engineering. He displayed a fine ability to transform live orchestral and all ensemble sound via microphone equalization and reverberation techniques that produced and created a truly transparent sound.  Later, in the 80’s & 90’s, at the Chedd-Angier Production Co. in Watertown, MA, Steve mixed many TV programs, museum interactives and most notably Scientific American Frontiers with Alan Alda documentaries.

He engineered sound for the Symphony Hall and Jordan Hall in Boston.  Steve’s masterful audio work will live on forever and be enjoyed by all.

Steve recently opened an audio mastering facility in Spirit Lake, ID, specializing in ¼ inch & older analog restorations, digital remixing, mastering, and complete CD & DVD preparation, from audio to artwork. He was an accomplished graphic artist producing many CD covers.  Steve was an Air Force veteran of the Vietnam conflict.  Steve was a true Red Sox Fan.

Steve will always be remembered for his kindness and “Gentle Spirit.”

His funeral will be held Friday, May 20, 2011 at 8:30am from the  Tucker-Quinn Funeral Chapel, 643 Putnam Ave. (Rte.44) Greenville, RI, with a Funeral Service at 10am in Chepachet Union Church, 1138 Putnam Pike, Chepachet. Burial with military honors will be in Acotes Hill Cemetery, Chepachet, RI. Visitation is Thursday 4-7pm.

If you had your radio dialed to 89.7 FM most any weeknight over the past three decades, you probably heard the mellifluous baritone of Eric Jackson intone that signature phrase. This week Jackson, 61, celebrates 30 years hosting his jazz program, “Eric in the Evening” (changed a couple of years ago to “Jazz on WGBH With Eric Jackson’’), with events tomorrow and Friday at Scullers and Arlington’s Regent Theatre, respectively.

• Read the story

Rebecca Eaton has been the executive producer of Masterpiece for 25 of its 40 years. She has a passion for great drama, for great stories, beautifully told, that showcase extraordinary actors.

Under her watch, Masterpiece has brought the American public some of television’s most popular and enduring dramas, including Prime Suspect, Bleak House, Sherlock and the new Upstairs Downstairs…

As Masterpiece, still on a publicly funded network, celebrates this remarkable anniversary, we Americans are fortunate to have Rebecca at the helm: someone committed to bringing great television drama to the widest possible audience, week after week.

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Friends and former colleagues of Beth Deare gathered at WGBH over the weekend to celebrate the life of the award-winning producer who died in a fire at her home in Newton in February.

Deare was remembered at the event by more than 400 people including her friend (and former “Chronicle’’ producer ) Joyce Ferriabough, her sister Lynn DuVal Luse, City Councilor Ayanna Pressley, WGBH’s Eric Jackson and Karen Holmes Ward, and Mary Fifield, president of Bunker Hill Community College, where Deare was an instructor.

Deare’s family has set up the Beth Deare Memorial Fund to help children follow in her footsteps in the arts.

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Beth, the former producer of SAY BROTHER (now BASIC BLACK) and several award-winning documentaries, died Mon, 2/21, in a fire at her home in Newton.

“Thank you to the many ‘GBHers who have donated their time and services to make the family’s tribute to Beth possible,” says VP for Radio and Television Marita Rivero. “Beth touched so many lives during her time here at WGBH. We join with the community in mourning her loss.”

A reception in Yawkey Atrium will follow the proceedings.

Beth’s family asks that employees interested in attending RSVP to jay.collier@thecompass.com.

From the WGBH employee newsletter — 2/23/2011

Beth Deare

The WGBH community mourns the loss of A. Beth DuVal Deare, the former producer of Say Brother (now Basic Black) and several award-winning documentaries, who died Mon, 2/21, in a fire at her home in Newton.

Beth, who was battling brain cancer at the time of her death, worked on Say Brother from 1978 to 1988, and won an Emmy Award for In the Matter of Levi Heart, a documentary about a Boston Police shooting  — one of 13 Emmys and a Peabody Award she earned during her tenure at WGBH).

“WGBH is saddened by this loss. Beth was a very talented producer and someone who helped connect WGBH with others in the community,” says VP for Communications and Government Relations Jeanne Hopkins.

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Shortly after stepping up to the microphone, nearly every performer peered into the crowd, staring down at the edge of the stage. Some of them winked, others gestured with a hand or mouthed a thank-you. Jonatha Brooke expressed her gratitude quietly, as if it were a private moment.

“I love you, Dick.’’

“I love you, Jonatha,’’ came the faint response from the third row.

That would be Dick Pleasants, the beloved radio host whose 40 years on the local airwaves — first on the Cape, then at WGBH, and now at WUMB, among other stations — were being celebrated at Sanders Theatre Friday night. Seated dead center with a single crutch just in front of him (Pleasants was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2003), he was finally stepping into the spotlight that he’s shone on others for so long.

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