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Brooklyn, New York
United States
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LAST LOGIN: 06/05/2012 02:27:18

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Rod Serling was born in Syracuse, New York on December 25, 1924. On the day he graduated from high school in Binghamton, N.Y., he enlisted in the U.S Army 11th Airborne Division paratroopers. While there he began boxing, and ended up with an impressive 17-1 record. After his discharge in 1946, he enrolled at Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio. In 1948 he married Carolyn Louise Kramer.

On March 16, 1949 he was informed that his script, "To Live A Dream," had won second prize in an annual script contest given by Dr. Christian, a radio show specializing in amateur scripts. He also sold two scripts that year to Grand Central Station. The next year saw him selling his first television script, "Grady Everett For The People," to Stars Over Hollywood.

After graduating, Rod and Carol moved to Cincinatti. Rod got a job with WLW radio. In 1951 Rod decided to try freelance writing. He sold scripts to Hallmark Hall of Fame, Lux Video Theater, Kraft Television Theater, Suspense and Studio One. On March 17, 1956, Rod won an Emmy for "Patterns," a script produced by Kraft Television Theater.

On October 11, 1956, Playhouse 90 aired "Requiem For A Heavyweight." It won emmys for: best single show of the year; best teleplay; best director (Ralph Nelson); best single performance (Jack Palance); and best art direction (Albert Heschong). Rod was also awarded the Sylvania Award, the Television-Radio Writer's Annual Award for Writing Achievement and the George Foster Peabody Award.

After getting fed-up with the interference of sponsors, and the realization that live television was a dying art form, Serling decided to attempt a science fiction anthology series. So in 1957 Rod submitted "The Time Element," to CBS. After sitting on it for almost a year, "The Time Element" was aired as a Desilu Playhouse production. It was a tremendous hit, and convinced CBS to give "The Twilight Zone" a chance.

Now Serling needed a script. He had intended "The Time Element" to be the pilot episode of "The Twilight Zone", but now that was out of the question. He wrote a script called, "The Happy Place." In it, people in a future society who reach the age of sixty are sent to concentration camps, referred to as "The Happy Place," and killed. Serling was told this would never sell the series. He finally relented and wrote another script, "Where Is Everybody" that was submitted and accepted. The rest is television history.

Rod Serling died on June 28, 1975. His legacy however, lives on in The Twilight Zone!

Displaying 8 out of 27 comments
10/18/2018 19:07:18


Eyes are Watching Me

I bought a new
house in the small town of Winthrop. The house was cheap,
but the most important part was that I needed to get away from the
city. A few months ago, I had a run-in with a stalker. While I had
managed to get him arrested, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes just
constantly watching me. I felt like there were eyes everywhere, at home
and on the street, so I decided to move out into the country to
somewhere with less people, just for peace of mind.The house itself was
big and somewhat old, but otherwise very welcoming. The agent who
introduced me to the house had been required to mention that a serial
killer had lived here in the past, which was why the house was so cheap.
However, he, and later, my next door neighbor Sarah, both told me to
pay the thought no mind. Four other owners had lived in the house since
then, and all of them were very happy with it.I loved the house. Its
interior furnishings were beautiful and very comfortable. The people of
Winthrop were friendly, often bringing over freshly baked pastries or
inviting me over for dinner. "Get-togethers," they said, "were the key
to making sure everyone who lived in Winthrop loved it there."Yet after a
week, I stopped "loving it." The feeling of someone watching returned,
worse than before. I tried to ignore it, but soon I started losing
sleep. Giant bags grew under my eyes and I began yawning almost as much
as I breathed. Sarah was kind enough to let me stay in her house for a
few nights.It was during this time that I heard the legend of Forrest
Carter, the serial killer who had lived in my house. While no one knows
his exact kill count, Carter, also known as the Winthrop Peacock, was a
man with extremely severe case of narcissism. Legends say that he
couldn't fall asleep if he didn't feel like he was being watched. He was
finally arrested for putting up a scarecrow to watch him during the
night. Only it wasn't a scarecrow. Carter had murdered a 17 year old
girl, just so her corpse could stare at him.The story gave me shivers,
and after I went home, I felt like there were hundreds of pairs of eyes
just watching me no matter how I turned.Today, however, was the first
day that I acted out. I was cooking breakfast, when I felt the eyes.
Instinctively, out of fear, I threw my kitchen knife, which lodged
itself into the wall. As I pulled it out, I found myself staring at a
pair of eyes, pickling in formaldehyde.I've been watching the police
peel away the drywall of my house for hours now. So far, they've found
142 pairs of eyes in little glass jars. The scariest thing is, each and
every one was staring at me.


by with a little tale to close out the day...Have a wonderful evening
on your end dear friend...


10/18/2018 08:19:59

10/17/2018 16:40:22



There is a story told in Troy
and Albany about a couple returning
home from a trip to New England. They were driving home in a carriage,
and were somewhere near Spiegletown when the light failed and they knew
they would have to seek shelter for the night. The husband spied a
light through the trees and turned their horse into a small lane
leading up a hill. A pleasant little house stood at the crest, and an
old man and his wife met the couple at the door. They were in
nightclothes and were obviously about to turn in, but they welcomed the
travelers and offered them a room. The old woman bustled about making
tea and offering freshly-baked cakes. Then the travelers were shown to
their room. The husband wanted to pay the old couple for their lodgings,
but the old lady shook her head and the old man refused any payment for
such a small service to their fellow New Yorkers. The travelers
awoke early and tiptoed out of the house, leaving a shiny fifty-cent
coin in the center of the kitchen table where the old couple could not
miss it. The husband hitched up the horse and they went a few miles
before they broke their fast at a little restaurant in Spiegletown. The
husband mention the nice old couple to the owner of the restaurant and
the man turned pale. "Where did you say that house was?" he asked. The
husband described the location in detail. "You
must be mistaken," said the restaurant owner. "That house was destroyed
three years ago by a fire that killed the Brown family." "I don't
believe it," the husband said flatly. "Mr. and Mrs. Brown were alive and
well last night." After
debating for a few more minutes, the couple and the restaurant owner
drove the carriage back out of town towards the old Brown place. They
turned into the lane, which was overgrown with weeds, and climbed the
hill to the crest. There they found a burned out shell of a house that
had obviously not sheltered anyone for a long time. "I must have
missed the track," said the husband. And then his wife gave a terrified
scream and fainted into his arms. As he caught her, the husband looked
into the ruin and saw a burnt table with a shiny fifty-cent piece lying
in the center.


by with a short tale to end the day...Have a wonderful evening on your
end dear friend...


10/17/2018 11:46:38



by with another great classic...Have a great day dear

10/16/2018 21:29:21



It was one a.m. and Guy
Halverson sat in his dark living room. He hadn't
moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing
over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry
and accelerated. An orange blur came from his right, and in a split
second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his
hood and fell out of sight on the pavement. Horns blared angrily and he
panicked, stepping on the gas and screeching away from the chaos into
the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he
got home.Why did you run, you idiot? He'd never committed a crime before
this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone,
his family gone, his future gone.Why not just go to the police right
now? You can afford a lawyer.Then someone tapped on the front door and
his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him. They found me. There was
nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters
worse. His body trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A
police officer stood under the porch light."Mr. Halverson?" asked the
grim officer.He let out a defeated sigh. "Yes. Let me —"I am terribly
sorry, but I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your son's bike was struck
by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I'm very
sorry for your loss.


bit of a twisted tale tonight...Be careful out there on your end


10/16/2018 15:55:09


10/15/2018 20:37:42








Good night & sweet dreams dear friend...

10/15/2018 11:08:59


no Reason to be Afraid

When my sister
Betsy and I were kids, our family lived for awhile in a
charming old farmhouse. We loved exploring its dusty corners and
climbing the apple tree in the backyard. But our favorite thing was the
ghost.We called her Mother, because she seemed so kind and nurturing.
Some mornings Betsy and I would wake up, and on each of our nightstands,
we'd find a cup that hadn't been there the night before. Mother had
left them there, worried that we'd get thirsty during the night. She
just wanted to take care of us.Among the house's original furnishings
was an antique wooden chair, which we kept against the back wall of the
living room. Whenever we were preoccupied, watching TV or playing a
game, Mother would inch that chair forward, across the room, toward us.
Sometimes she'd manage to move it all the way to the center of the room.
We always felt sad putting it back against the wall. Mother just wanted
to be near us.Years later, long after we'd moved out, I found an old
newspaper article about the farmhouse's original occupant, a widow.
She'd murdered her two children by giving them each a cup of poisoned
milk before bed. Then she'd hanged herself.The article included a photo
of the farmhouse's living room, with a woman's body hanging from a beam.
Beneath her, knocked over, was that old wooden chair, placed exactly in
the center of the room.


morning friend...Stoppin' by with a tale to start off your


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