I’ll never forget the time I went to a taping of The Jerry Springer Show with two of my closest high school pals. This was back in the 1990s, when Chicago was the center of the talkshow universe and Springer and Oprah were the hottest tickets in town. My parents, bless, wouldn’t have batted an eye if I said I was going to see the queen of daytime. But the king of sleaze? Up to now they wonder how I ever got their permission.
Somewhere in my childhood bedroom, the ticket is sitting in a drawer with the actual episode title – not that the show headings stopped TV Guide from calling it “the worst show in the history of television”. Despite producers’ yeoman efforts to class up the spectacle for censors, it was the same show every day: somebody cheated, somebody didn’t know and we’re all about to find out. This one was no different – and still some of the most fun I’ve ever had.
