Let’s think about this.
If we could put together an event which inspired people to take part and contribute, showcased talent from the local dance troupe to international stars, and raised money for the most worthy of causes — children — what would we call it?
How about Telethon?
Because that’s what the annual event is. It is something that creates its own magic. It galvanises the community and has been doing so since it started way back in 1968.
It is now well documented that the spirit of Telethon was really born with the foundation of Channel 7 — the State’s first television station — when it went to air in 1959 with a brief to have a strong community base — to be a people’s channel.
Channel 7 watched the emergence of telethons in the United States with interest and dipped its toes in the fundraising water until the now-famous Saturday game of golf at Lake Karrinyup golf course when then TVW Channel 7 chairman and managing director Sir James Cruthers pitched to the chief executive of Princess Margaret Hospital, Jim Clarkson, the idea of a telethon with proceeds going to the children’s hospital.
The TV director for the first Telethon — in TVW7’s original studios in Tuart Hill, later called Dianella — Keith Mackenzie told The West Australian in 2022 that the show featured a great deal of ad-lib coverage, with no rehearsals.
The first Telethon got the concept off to a flying start as major stars arrived to take part, led by singer Johnny O’Keefe, comedian and host of TV show In Melbourne Tonight, Graham Kennedy, variety legend Bobby Limb, and TV and stage star Stuart Wagstaff.
The four took part in what is now considered one of the all-time highlights of Telethon — when they took off their shirts for a dare as they appeared on the panel, only to have to scurry to get dressed with the news of the imminent arrival of Premier David Brand.
A clip of the moment showcased, in particular, the wit of Kennedy, who, in the midst of the mayhem, called out, “Hang on, we are starting to panic.
“Perhaps the Premier is in the nuddy, too!”
John Crilly, who was Telethon’s executive producer for 28 years until 2012, remembers how Telethon’s humble beginnings helped create the special spirit.
“We didn’t have a lot of money to spend, but it did not cost a lot of money because 7 had their own carpentry shop and built all the sets,” Mr Crilly said.
He said the early telecasts were put together in a tiny studio in front of an audience crammed into TVW.
“You had no space to move, we had a hosting set and an interview set down one side, and centre stage area and an audience packed in in tiered seating,” he said. ”You could hardly swing a cat.”
Camera operators shooting an act on stage would sometimes “creep around the side”.
“There would be all these people standing in the background,” he said. “We had a separate studio, which was even smaller; that was where the phone room was set up.
“A lot of the telephonists used to queue up outside our studio and be in a line ready to go in and take over the next shift.
“The door would open, and they would just sneak in.”
And yet, the closeness helped create the magic. “It was compact, but it had a feeling of everybody being involved even if they were just strangers out of the audience or phone room ladies and guys,” Mr Crilly said.
“It was a nice sort of feeling.”
Early in the event’s history it became a Perth tradition that kids were allowed to stay up late to watch.
Station stars Basil Zempilas, Rick Ardon and Susannah Carr all remember the excitement Telethon created when they were growing up.
Zempilas, who has been Telethon’s main host since 2010, said that as a kid, he was one of those who got to stay up late.
“We asked mum or dad if we could make the phone call and make a donation . . . (we) would phone it through and hope to hear our name read out on TV,” Zempilas said.
“It was a great thrill and a great buzz.
“They were simpler, more innocent times in terms of television, and so the impact of hearing your name or seeing people that you knew mentioned on TV or perhaps going into the studios at Channel 7, it was quite profound.
“But the essence of Telethon hasn’t really changed because even though the totals raised are so significant now, they are significant because the event and the fundraising effort are still rooted in the community.”
Carr’s earliest Telethon memories are of staying up late with her dad watching the broadcast.
“It was in the very early, very raw days of Telethon when anything went, and it got a bit blue as the night wore on,” Carr said.
”My dad thought it was great fun, and I thought it was great to stay up late.
“It was sort of the tradition for kids then to stay up through the night.
“I think perhaps they saw a few things that their parents weren’t sure that they were seeing.
“In the early days, it was so spontaneous and so crazy.
“It was a lot smaller, it was a lot more intimate, the audience changed all the time because they could only have about 200 people at a time, so there were queues outside the building at all hours of the day and night waiting for an audience changeover.”
There has also been a steady stream of big names coming to Perth to take part in the entertainment.
Ardon said seeing Whitney Houston up close was remarkable.
“And Sammy Davis Jr too, from memory, he sang Mr Bojangles; he was a Hollywood legend, he played Vegas for years, and there he was right in front of us,” Ardon said.
Zempilas also remembered Davis Jr’s performance as special, and had quite a reason to remember Harry Connick Jr’s appearance as the special guest international artist.
That was because when the then-young Zempilas first appeared on the Telethon stage in 1994, he resembled the American star.
And so Zempilas was asked to don a wig and mime a Connick song.
“I went out and did it, and people in the audience actually thought I was Harry Connick Jr,” Zempilas said.
He was then asked to appear in the closing segment and shown on a split screen with Connick Jr., who famously said, “I gotta run that guy out of town.”
Mr Crilly said among his favourite Telethon performers were Stevie Wonder and Celine Dion.
Wonder was “just brilliant” with an “infectious smile.”
“He would just talk to anybody,” Mr Crilly said.
“On the Saturday night, I had a fairly large office . . . . he took his keyboard in there and we had about six Telethon children that year and he sat in there unbeknown to anybody . . . playing to all these kids and their parents.”
Dion, little-known in Australia when she arrived in 1992, was also a breath of fresh air, he said.
“No airs or graces about her whatsoever,” Mr Crilly said.
“We had set up upstairs so they had privacy, a separate dressing room area, and also a buffet.
“I couldn’t find her when I needed to bring her down for rehearsal. I found her in the canteen, and she was talking to a guy . . . and said ‘what’s that?’ and he said ‘that’s a meat pie love’.
“She said, ‘ I might try one of them’.
“She didn’t care who she bumped into or chatted with.
“I took her back up there and she said ‘I need to get my hair done’ and I said ‘we have hair stylists down stairs in the make up area and she said ‘oh no I like to do it myself’.
“She said ‘have you got a room I could use and it’s got a nice mirror, I don’t need anything else’, so I took her down and Fat Cat had a dressing room so I put her in there.
“She came into the rehearsal wearing hair rollers.”
Ardon said the enduring magic of Telethon was down to the generosity of West Australians.
He said Eastern States performers marvelled at WA’s spirit of giving.
Zempilas said the fact that Telethon was a “community first event” was crucial.
The big end of town was very generous but chose to donate to Telethon over other recipients because it was a community event.
“That is the great success and the great magic of Telethon,” Zempilas said.
Carr said the magic was that “everybody just pitches in because they know it’s for the greater good, and the greater good being kids is something that brings everybody together”.