Bozo Has Left the Building

“The Bozo Show” is dead. Ain’t that a pie in the face?

Fifty-five years, countless cream pies, thousands of personal appearances and a gazillion giggles after he first appeared on an album reading children’s stories, the garishly coiffed cultural icon has been canned by the last TV station carrying him, Chicago’s wonderfully stubborn WGN. The final program, now taped, will air this summer.

Bozo was actually a Hollywood storytelling creation on something called phonograph records. He came in with television in the ‘40s when war-weary, newly united couples wanted good innocent fun for the baby boom’s firstborn. Bozo was a phenom, as they say today, and he did it without being arrested for drug possession or exposure. All over America local stations had their own Bozos, including (you won’t be surprised) Willard Scott. Bozo’s likeness (the horn-shaped hairdo is actually yak hair) ignited affectionate smiles. It’s no accident that Ronald McDonald (or Donald McDonald in Japan, where they have trouble with R sounds) resembles Bozo; McDonald’s sponsored him. Krusty the Clown of “The Simpsons” was also modeled after the funny fellow, whose hair looked very red even on black-and-white TV. Even the English language is richer because of the clown: He’s a real Bozo.

The original Bozo, Pinto Colvig, sounded familiar; his was also the voice of Goofy, Grumpy and Sleepy. Generations of children also recall Sandy the Tramp and Cooky the Clown, a real smarty-pants. The comfortably predictable program had obvious mischief, regular chases through the studio audience, seltzer bottles, magic, live circus music, guest police and firemen and exciting contests involving throwing balls into buckets for swell prizes like a bicycle with a bell.

Before fame became a packaging process, Bozo was refreshing entertainment despite no explosions, digital monsters or quick video cuts. Before cults were scary, Bozo had his. WGN, which like The Times is owned by the Tribune Co., stopped taking ticket requests when the wait was eight years long; parents registered to see “The Bozo Show” live before their baby was live. It was, well, another time--before real wars, genuine suicides and lying presidents appeared on TV. Ringmaster Ned never had to warn his audience that what they were about to see might be disturbing.

But just as a national McDonald’s vanquished many local hamburger joints, slick national children’s programs killed off the local Bozos one by one. WGN persisted longer than viewers and economics suggested; at the end barely 18,000 kids watched early on Sundays. Bozo will still attend charity events, where, free of embezzlement or groping charges, he has helped raise millions.

Bozo, it turns out, was no Bozo.