Can you imagine how someone can be valued in front of millions of people? NBC Studios, Burbank, California. October 12th, 1967. 7:45 p.m. The studio is cold. Air conditioning running full blast. Lights ready to shine. Cameras in position. The Dean Martin Show. Thursday night, live broadcast. 20 million viewers waiting.
aud.i.ence sitting in their seats. 200 people excited, smiling, talking. Backstage, Dean Martin in his dressing room, looking in the mirror, adjusting his tie. A knock on the door. Talk, talk, talk. Come in. Producer enters. Charlie Morrison, 55 years old, looking nervous, sweating. Dean, we have a problem. Dean turns.
What problem? Charlie hesitates. Points to the board. Aud.i.ence list. Row 8, seat 14. No reservation made, but someone’s sitting there. Dean shrugs. As long as they’re sitting, no problem. But Dean, he looks different. How different? Charlie lowers his voice. In a wheelchair, no legs, his face, burn scars.
The aud.i.ence might be uncomfortable. Dean’s face changes. Goes cold. What’s his name? We don’t know. didn’t go through ticket control. Came straight in. Did you talk to him? No. But Dean, maybe maybe we could move him somewhere else. Somewhere the cameras won’t see. Dean looks at Charlie. Long look. No. But Dean, I said no.
He stays right where he’s sitting. Charlie swallows. Okay. But if he gets caught on camera, then he gets caught. Charlie leaves, closes the door. Dean looks in the mirror thinking, then prepares to get up. 8:00, red light comes on. Live broadcast starting. Stage lights turn on. Music starts. The Dean Martin show theme music.
Crowd applauding, screaming, standing up. Dean walks onto stage, smiling, waving, takes the microphone. Good evening, lad.i.es and gentlemen. Welcome to the Dean Martin show. Applause, screams, whistles. Dean waits. Crowd sits down, goes quiet. Tonight we have a great show. Our guests are Bob Hope, Vicky Carr, and the magnificent Count Baisy Orchestra.
Applause explodes again. Dean sings. Everybody loves somebody. His voice smooth, relaxed, professional. Aud.i.ence listening, smiling, some dancing in their seats. Song ends. Applause. Then a sketch. Dean and Bob Hope. Comedy. Golf scene. people laughing. But Dean’s eyes keep drifting, looking at row eight, seat 14.
A man sitting there in a wheelchair, maybe 40 years old, burned scars on his face, deep scars, old scars, no legs, pant legs empty, flat. But the man is smiling. Big smile, watching the show, looking happy. Dean refocuses. Sketch continues. First commercial break. Lights go down. Cameras stop. As Dean turns to Bob Hope, producer Charlie comes running.
Dean, you’re doing great. In the second block, Vicky Carr will come out. Wait a minute. Dean points to row 8. That man in the wheelchair. Who is he? Charlie shrugs. I don’t know. I told you. Find out. Dean, there’s 90 seconds. Find out now. Charlie leaves, running to the aud.i.ence section.
Dean waits at the edge of the stage. Bob Hope standing next to him. Dean, is everything okay? I’m fine, Bob. Charlie comes back, out of breath, note paper in his hand. His name is Robert Dawson, 42 years old, Vietnam veteran, injured there in 1965. Mine explosion. Dean looks at the paper. Family: Wife d.i.ed.
1966, cancer, no children, lives alone, released from VA hospital this morning. Special permission. Dean goes quiet, looking at the paper. Then at row eight, Robert Dawson sitting there, still smiling, unaware of everything. 30 seconds. Stage manager yelling. Dean turns to Charlie. There’s a change in the second block. What change? Vicky Carr will wait.
I’m going to do something. But Dean, the rundown is ready. Screw the rundown. Point the cameras at row 8, seat 14. Charlie freezes. What? Why? Because I say so. Do it. 15 seconds. Charlie runs, yelling to camera crew. Camera 2, row 8, seat 14. Get ready. Cameraman surprised, but gets in position. 5 4 3 2 finger signal.
Live broadcast. Lights come on. Dean at the microphone, but not singing. Talking. Lad.i.es and gentlemen, tonight I want to tell you something. Crowd goes quiet. waiting. The Dean Martin Show has been on the air for three years. Every Thursday night, you come here. You sit at home in front of your televisions. And I I’m lucky because you give me your time.
He pauses, suddenly walks to the edge of the stage. But sometimes someone very special comes and I I feel I need to thank them. Crowd looking curiously. What’s happening? Dean looks at row 8, looking directly at Robert Dawson. Tonight we have someone special among us. His name is Robert Dawson. Camera two turns, zooms on Robert, his face on screen.
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In 20 million homes, Robert freezes, surprised. Camera on him. Dean talking about him. Dean continues. Robert, could you stand up? Oh, wait. Dean stops. His face changes because he remembers. Robert can’t stand up. Silence. Terrible silence. Studio frozen. Then Dean does something. Something nobody expected. Jumps down from the stage straight to the aud.i.ence section walking fast steps.
Reaches row eight standing in front of Robert and kneels down. Dean Martin superstar TV star kneeling in front of a man. Crowd holds its breath, nobody moving. Dean looks at Robert, eye to eye. Robert, you were in Vietnam. Robert nods, can’t speak, eyes filling. You fought there for this country. Lost your legs, lost your wife, lost everything.
Dean’s voice breaking. And I I’m here singing, joking, entertaining. He pauses, wipes his eyes. And you? You’re sitting here and smiling. still smiling. Robert crying now silently, tears flowing down his burn scars. Dean reaches out, puts his hand on Robert’s hand. Thank you on your behalf. On behalf of this country, thank you.
Robert tries to speak, mouth opening, but no sound comes, only sobbing. Dean stands up, but doesn’t turn. Turns to the crowd. Would you stand up all of you, please? Aud.i.ence stands up. All of them. 200 people at once. Dean speaks voice loud. Clear. This man is a hero. A real hero. And we we owe him applause. Applause starts slow then faster then explodes.
Crowd applauding. Crying while applauding. Screaming. Whistling. Applause doesn’t stop. 1 minute, 2 minutes, 3 minutes. Robert bows his head, hands on face, shoulders shaking, crying. Dean still there next to Robert, hand on his shoulder. Backstage, producer Charlie watching. On the monitor, crying. Assistant producer crying.
Cameramen crying. In the control room, director whispering. Point all cameras at them. All of them. Now, camera one, two, three, all on row eight. on Robert, on Dean, on that moment in America, in 20 million homes, people crying at their televisions, a mother in Kansas crying, her son in Vietnam, a father in Texas crying, his son d.i.ed last year in Saigon.
A woman in New York crying, her husband didn’t come back, never came back. Applause slowly stopping. People sitting, wiping their eyes. Dean walks back to the stage, walking slowly, head bowed, takes the microphone, tries to speak, but his voice broken. I I’m sorry, this wasn’t planned. Tries to laugh, fails, but sometimes you have to do certain things and I I had to do this. He pauses, takes a deep breath.
Vicky Carr was supposed to come out, but Vicki will wait because I’m going to sing a song now for Robert and for everyone in Vietnam and for everyone who didn’t come home. Orchestra getting ready. Dean signals music starts slow emotional. Dean sings. I’ll be seeing you. Old song, World War II song, separation song, longing song.
I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places. His voice broken, but beautiful. So beautiful. Robert listening, eyes closed, tears flowing constantly. Studio silent. Only Dean’s voice. Only music. I’ll find you in the morning sun. And when the night is new, camera slowly turning to Robert zooming on his face. That face, those scars, those tears.
America watching. 20 million people watching and understanding the cost of war, the price of heroism, the meaning of sacrifice. I’ll be seeing you in every lovely summer’s day. Dean finishes the song. Last note, long note, then silence. Nobody applauding because applause isn’t enough. Words aren’t enough. Dean bows his head.
Thank you to all of you and to Robert. Commercial break. Lights go down. Dean collapses on stage, sits on the floor, hands on face. Bob Hope comes, sits next to him, says nothing, just being there. Vicky Carr comes crying. Dean, this this was the most beautiful thing. Dean lifts his head, eyes red. I just I had to do it.
Charlie comes running. Dean, phone lines are burning. NBC is calling. Thousands of people calling. Everyone’s crying. Dean shakes his head. Doesn’t care. Where’s Robert? Still sitting. Row eight. Dean stands up. Bring him here. Backstage now. But Dean, there’s 2 minutes. Screw the 2 minutes. Bring him. Charlie leaves running. 5 minutes later.
Wheelchair backstage. Robert there. Dean kneels in front again. Robert, can you talk to me? Robert nods. Tries to speak. voice horse. I I watch you every week in the hospital. My only entertainment. Dean holds his hand. Robert, where are you staying? VA Hospital, Los Angeles. Do you need family? Anything? Robert shakes his head.
No, I have no family, just me. Dean goes quiet, thinking, Robert, I’m going to ask you something, and you can say no. What? Will you come every week here to my show? Every Thursday, VIP seat for you. Robert freezes. What? 1 hour a week. You come here. I see you. You see me. We look at each other’s faces and we remember. Remember what? Dean wipes his eyes.
You remind me why I’m here. I remind you why you fought. Robert crying. You You would do this for me? No. Dean says, “I do this for myself because without people like you, I wouldn’t be here.” Robert hugs Dean, reaching from the wheelchair. Tight hug. Dean hugs back. The two there backstage crying, crew watching, everyone crying, cameramen, producers, orchestra, everyone.
After that night, everything changed. Robert Dawson came every Thursday for seven years from 1967 to 1974 until the Dean Martin show ended. Every week sat in the VIP seat. Every week met with Dean backstage before he went on stage. And every week Dean told him, “You’re still here, still fighting. Thank you.” The Dean Martin Show.
Final episode, May 24th. Dean sings his last song. Everybody loves somebody. Finishes. Applause. Final applause. Then raises the microphone. Tonight I want to thank someone special. He points. Row one. Robert there in wheelchair. 7 years later. Still there. Robert Dawson. You’ve come every week for seven years. And what you taught me made me who I am.
What courage is. What sacrifice means. The true face of heroism. Dean raises his voice. Would you stand up one last time for Robert? Aud.i.ence stands. Standing ovation. Last time. Robert crying. Still crying. 7 years later. Still crying. Dean looks at the stage. This show is ending, but something isn’t ending. Remembering isn’t ending.
Thanking isn’t ending. Robert, I thank you for life. Show ends. Lights go down. But the story doesn’t end. Robert Dawson d.i.es. Heart attack. 60 years old. At the funeral, Dean Martin is there, front row, crying, giving a speech at the microphone. Robert was my friend for 17 years. And he taught me something.
True heroism is this. Getting back up when you fall, smiling when you’ve lost everything, and never ever giving up. Robert, I owe you. We all owe you. Dean sits crying because Robert’s gone. The Great Warrior is gone. Today, nobody remembers that night, October 12th, 1967, the Dean Martin Show. But that night’s recording exists in NBC archives.
And sometimes, very rarely, they show it. And every time they show it, people cry. Still crying 50 years later. Because that night, Dean Martin did something, something never done on television. He stopped the live broadcast, broke the rundown, changed the plans, and the reason he stopped the broadcast was to honor a person.
He honored a hero and 20 million people saw and remembered again the cost of war, the meaning of sacrifice. And maybe, just maybe, some of them changed. Dean Martin didn’t put on a show that night. He gave a lesson. His purpose was to show what true heroism is and honor his friend. And maybe this world needs more Dean Martins.
We need to see, to honor, to thank because heroes are everywhere, sitting quietly, waiting, and all we need to do is look at them, see them, and thank them, just like Dean Martin did. October 12th, 1967. That night, that moment, a television show changed forever and 20 million hearts never forgot that night. If you see a veteran today, thank them.
It doesn’t have to be on live TV. It doesn’t have to be in front of 20 million people, just like Dean did to Robert. Just look them in the eyes and say, “Thank you.” That’s all they need. That’s all we need to be seen, to be remembered, to know that we matter. And to learn more stories like this and support us, you can subscribe to the channel and like the video.
