Test Prep MCAT Test Exam (page: 28)
Test Prep Medical College Admission Test: Verbal Reasoning, Biological Sciences, Physical Sciences, Writing Sample
Updated on: 09-Feb-2026

...[TV Guide's] immediate concern was the television quiz show scandal, which had reached its climax two weeks earlier when Charles Van Doren, the appealing young man who'd taught viewers the value of learning while winning big on MCA's Twenty-one, stood before a House committee and admitted he was a fraud. But the issue went well beyond rigged quiz shows. The charge was that through their stranglehold on talent, MCA and William Morris monopolized the medium to the detriment of their clients, the industry, and the public at large. This was why the Justice Department had launched a secret investigation of both agencies more than two years before.
The Morris Agency had started the quiz show vogue in 1955, when it packaged The $64,000 Question for Revlon and sold it to CBS. While the show won praise for its "educational" nature, the real source of its appeal was in its crapshoot format ­ the idea that once contestants' winnings hit the $32,000 mark, they had to decide whether to go double or nothing on the final, $64,000 question, or play it safe and go home. The response was tremendous. Within weeks, the show knocked I Love Lucy out of the number-one slot in the ratings. Casinos in Vegas emptied out when it went on the air. Bookies took odds on whether the first contestant to go for the big one ­ a marine captain whose specialty was cooking ­ would get the answer right. (He did.) Revlon sold so much Living Lipstick that its factory was unable to meet the demand.
The $64,000 Question quickly inspired imitators, among them an MCA package called Twenty-one. Based on the card game, more or less, Twenty-one was a dismal failure at first. "Do whatever you have to do," the sponsor ordered angrily, so the producers put the fix in. In December 1956, when Charles Van Doren, a boyishly attractive English instructor at Columbia University, beat Herb Stempel, a short, squat, nerdy grad at City College, Van Doren became the first intellectual hero of the television age. Honors and acclaim poured in ­ the covers of Time, letters by the hundreds, offers of movie roles and tenured professorships and a regular guest spot on The Today Show. But Herb Stempel didn't like being told to lose, especially to some Ivy League snot. He went to the press. The DA's office started to investigate. The walls began to close in.
Meanwhile, the show's producers agreed to sell the rights to NBC for $2 million. One of them started to feel queasy about selling the show without letting the network know the score, so he went to Sonny Werblin, MCA's top man in New York, and asked his advice. Werblin, the man behind such hits as The Ed Sullivan Show and The Jackie Gleason Show, ran the television department as if it were a football team coached by Attila the Hun. "Dan," he asked the producer, "have I ever asked you whether the show was rigged?" No, he hadn't. "And has NBC ever asked you whether the show is rigged?" No, they hadn't either. "Well," Werblin concluded, "the reason that none of us has asked is because we don't want to know."
And with good reason. Not only was Twenty-one an MCA package and Van Doren himself an MCA client; Werblin had a special relationship with NBC's president, Robert Kintner. Kintner had been president of ABC until...ABC's chairman forced him out in his determination to move the network out of third place. MCA used its influence to place him at NBC, where he proved an extremely pliant customer. In the spring of 1957, when the networks were putting together their schedules for the next season, Werblin went to a meeting of NBC programming executives led by Kintner and his boss, RCA chairman Robert Sarnoff. "Sonny, look at the schedule for next season," Kintner said when he walked in, "here are the empty slots, you fill them."
Which of the following is neither supported nor contradicted in the passage?

...[TV Guide's] immediate concern was the television quiz show scandal, which had reached its climax two weeks earlier when Charles Van Doren, the appealing young man who'd taught viewers the value of learning while winning big on MCA's Twenty-one, stood before a House committee and admitted he was a fraud. But the issue went well beyond rigged quiz shows. The charge was that through their stranglehold on talent, MCA and William Morris monopolized the medium to the detriment of their clients, the industry, and the public at large. This was why the Justice Department had launched a secret investigation of both agencies more than two years before.
The Morris Agency had started the quiz show vogue in 1955, when it packaged The $64,000 Question for Revlon and sold it to CBS. While the show won praise for its "educational" nature, the real source of its appeal was in its crapshoot format ­ the idea that once contestants' winnings hit the $32,000 mark, they had to decide whether to go double or nothing on the final, $64,000 question, or play it safe and go home. The response was tremendous. Within weeks, the show knocked I Love Lucy out of the number-one slot in the ratings. Casinos in Vegas emptied out when it went on the air. Bookies took odds on whether the first contestant to go for the big one ­ a marine captain whose specialty was cooking ­ would get the answer right. (He did.) Revlon sold so much Living Lipstick that its factory was unable to meet the demand.
The $64,000 Question quickly inspired imitators, among them an MCA package called Twenty-one. Based on the card game, more or less, Twenty-one was a dismal failure at first. "Do whatever you have to do," the sponsor ordered angrily, so the producers put the fix in. In December 1956, when Charles Van Doren, a boyishly attractive English instructor at Columbia University, beat Herb Stempel, a short, squat, nerdy grad at City College, Van Doren became the first intellectual hero of the television age. Honors and acclaim poured in ­ the covers of Time, letters by the hundreds, offers of movie roles and tenured professorships and a regular guest spot on The Today Show. But Herb Stempel didn't like being told to lose, especially to some Ivy League snot. He went to the press. The DA's office started to investigate. The walls began to close in.
Meanwhile, the show's producers agreed to sell the rights to NBC for $2 million. One of them started to feel queasy about selling the show without letting the network know the score, so he went to Sonny Werblin, MCA's top man in New York, and asked his advice. Werblin, the man behind such hits as The Ed Sullivan Show and The Jackie Gleason Show, ran the television department as if it were a football team coached by Attila the Hun. "Dan," he asked the producer, "have I ever asked you whether the show was rigged?" No, he hadn't. "And has NBC ever asked you whether the show is rigged?" No, they hadn't either. "Well," Werblin concluded, "the reason that none of us has asked is because we don't want to know."

And with good reason. Not only was Twenty-one an MCA package and Van Doren himself an MCA client; Werblin had a special relationship with NBC's president, Robert Kintner. Kintner had been president of ABC until...ABC's chairman forced him out in his determination to move the network out of third place. MCA used its influence to place him at NBC, where he proved an extremely pliant customer. In the spring of 1957, when the networks were putting together their schedules for the next season, Werblin went to a meeting of NBC programming executives led by Kintner and his boss, RCA chairman Robert Sarnoff. "Sonny, look at the schedule for next season," Kintner said when he walked in, "here are the empty slots, you fill them."
The information in the passage would support the following claims EXCEPT:

...[TV Guide's] immediate concern was the television quiz show scandal, which had reached its climax two weeks earlier when Charles Van Doren, the appealing young man who'd taught viewers the value of learning while winning big on MCA's Twenty-one, stood before a House committee and admitted he was a fraud. But the issue went well beyond rigged quiz shows. The charge was that through their stranglehold on talent, MCA and William Morris monopolized the medium to the detriment of their clients, the industry, and the public at large. This was why the Justice Department had launched a secret investigation of both agencies more than two years before.
The Morris Agency had started the quiz show vogue in 1955, when it packaged The $64,000 Question for Revlon and sold it to CBS. While the show won praise for its "educational" nature, the real source of its appeal was in its crapshoot format ­ the idea that once contestants' winnings hit the $32,000 mark, they had to decide whether to go double or nothing on the final, $64,000 question, or play it safe and go home. The response was tremendous. Within weeks, the show knocked I Love Lucy out of the number-one slot in the ratings. Casinos in Vegas emptied out when it went on the air. Bookies took odds on whether the first contestant to go for the big one ­ a marine captain whose specialty was cooking ­ would get the answer right. (He did.) Revlon sold so much Living Lipstick that its factory was unable to meet the demand.
The $64,000 Question quickly inspired imitators, among them an MCA package called Twenty-one. Based on the card game, more or less, Twenty-one was a dismal failure at first. "Do whatever you have to do," the sponsor ordered angrily, so the producers put the fix in. In December 1956, when Charles Van Doren, a boyishly attractive English instructor at Columbia University, beat Herb Stempel, a short, squat, nerdy grad at City College, Van Doren became the first intellectual hero of the television age. Honors and acclaim poured in ­ the covers of Time, letters by the hundreds, offers of movie roles and tenured professorships and a regular guest spot on The Today Show. But Herb Stempel didn't like being told to lose, especially to some Ivy League snot. He went to the press. The DA's office started to investigate. The walls began to close in.

Meanwhile, the show's producers agreed to sell the rights to NBC for $2 million. One of them started to feel queasy about selling the show without letting the network know the score, so he went to Sonny Werblin, MCA's top man in New York, and asked his advice. Werblin, the man behind such hits as The Ed Sullivan Show and The Jackie Gleason Show, ran the television department as if it were a football team coached by Attila the Hun. "Dan," he asked the producer, "have I ever asked you whether the show was rigged?" No, he hadn't. "And has NBC ever asked you whether the show is rigged?" No, they hadn't either. "Well," Werblin concluded, "the reason that none of us has asked is because we don't want to know."
And with good reason. Not only was Twenty-one an MCA package and Van Doren himself an MCA client; Werblin had a special relationship with NBC's president, Robert Kintner. Kintner had been president of ABC until...ABC's chairman forced him out in his determination to move the network out of third place. MCA used its influence to place him at NBC, where he proved an extremely pliant customer. In the spring of 1957, when the networks were putting together their schedules for the next season, Werblin went to a meeting of NBC programming executives led by Kintner and his boss, RCA chairman Robert Sarnoff. "Sonny, look at the schedule for next season," Kintner said when he walked in, "here are the empty slots, you fill them."
Based on the passage, which of the following must NOT be true?

...[TV Guide's] immediate concern was the television quiz show scandal, which had reached its climax two weeks earlier when Charles Van Doren, the appealing young man who'd taught viewers the value of learning while winning big on MCA's Twenty-one, stood before a House committee and admitted he was a fraud. But the issue went well beyond rigged quiz shows. The charge was that through their stranglehold on talent, MCA and William Morris monopolized the medium to the detriment of their clients, the industry, and the public at large. This was why the Justice Department had launched a secret investigation of both agencies more than two years before.
The Morris Agency had started the quiz show vogue in 1955, when it packaged The $64,000 Question for Revlon and sold it to CBS. While the show won praise for its "educational" nature, the real source of its appeal was in its crapshoot format ­ the idea that once contestants' winnings hit the $32,000 mark, they had to decide whether to go double or nothing on the final, $64,000 question, or play it safe and go home. The response was tremendous. Within weeks, the show knocked I Love Lucy out of the number-one slot in the ratings. Casinos in Vegas emptied out when it went on the air. Bookies took odds on whether the first contestant to go for the big one ­ a marine captain whose specialty was cooking ­ would get the answer right. (He did.) Revlon sold so much Living Lipstick that its factory was unable to meet the demand.
The $64,000 Question quickly inspired imitators, among them an MCA package called Twenty-one. Based on the card game, more or less, Twenty-one was a dismal failure at first. "Do whatever you have to do," the sponsor ordered angrily, so the producers put the fix in. In December 1956, when Charles Van Doren, a boyishly attractive English instructor at Columbia University, beat Herb Stempel, a short, squat, nerdy grad at City College, Van Doren became the first intellectual hero of the television age. Honors and acclaim poured in ­ the covers of Time, letters by the hundreds, offers of movie roles and tenured professorships and a regular guest spot on The Today Show. But Herb Stempel didn't like being told to lose, especially to some Ivy League snot. He went to the press. The DA's office started to investigate. The walls began to close in.
Meanwhile, the show's producers agreed to sell the rights to NBC for $2 million. One of them started to feel queasy about selling the show without letting the network know the score, so he went to Sonny Werblin, MCA's top man in New York, and asked his advice. Werblin, the man behind such hits as The Ed Sullivan Show and The Jackie Gleason Show, ran the television department as if it were a football team coached by Attila the Hun. "Dan," he asked the producer, "have I ever asked you whether the show was rigged?" No, he hadn't. "And has NBC ever asked you whether the show is rigged?" No, they hadn't either. "Well," Werblin concluded, "the reason that none of us has asked is because we don't want to know."
And with good reason. Not only was Twenty-one an MCA package and Van Doren himself an MCA client; Werblin had a special relationship with NBC's president, Robert Kintner. Kintner had been president of ABC until...ABC's chairman forced him out in his determination to move the network out of third place. MCA used its influence to place him at NBC, where he proved an extremely pliant customer. In the spring of 1957, when the networks were putting together their schedules for the next season, Werblin went to a meeting of NBC programming executives led by Kintner and his boss, RCA chairman Robert Sarnoff. "Sonny, look at the schedule for next season," Kintner said when he walked in, "here are the empty slots, you fill them."
The author's description of Kintner as "an extremely pliant customer" (line 64):

...[TV Guide's] immediate concern was the television quiz show scandal, which had reached its climax two weeks earlier when Charles Van Doren, the appealing young man who'd taught viewers the value of learning while winning big on MCA's Twenty-one, stood before a House committee and admitted he was a fraud. But the issue went well beyond rigged quiz shows. The charge was that through their stranglehold on talent, MCA and William Morris monopolized the medium to the detriment of their clients, the industry, and the public at large. This was why the Justice Department had launched a secret investigation of both agencies more than two years before.
The Morris Agency had started the quiz show vogue in 1955, when it packaged The $64,000 Question for Revlon and sold it to CBS. While the show won praise for its "educational" nature, the real source of its appeal was in its crapshoot format ­ the idea that once contestants' winnings hit the $32,000 mark, they had to decide whether to go double or nothing on the final, $64,000 question, or play it safe and go home. The response was tremendous. Within weeks, the show knocked I Love Lucy out of the number-one slot in the ratings. Casinos in Vegas emptied out when it went on the air. Bookies took odds on whether the first contestant to go for the big one ­ a marine captain whose specialty was cooking ­ would get the answer right. (He did.) Revlon sold so much Living Lipstick that its factory was unable to meet the demand.

The $64,000 Question quickly inspired imitators, among them an MCA package called Twenty-one. Based on the card game, more or less, Twenty-one was a dismal failure at first. "Do whatever you have to do," the sponsor ordered angrily, so the producers put the fix in. In December 1956, when Charles Van Doren, a boyishly attractive English instructor at Columbia University, beat Herb Stempel, a short, squat, nerdy grad at City College, Van Doren became the first intellectual hero of the television age. Honors and acclaim poured in ­ the covers of Time, letters by the hundreds, offers of movie roles and tenured professorships and a regular guest spot on The Today Show. But Herb Stempel didn't like being told to lose, especially to some Ivy League snot. He went to the press. The DA's office started to investigate. The walls began to close in.
Meanwhile, the show's producers agreed to sell the rights to NBC for $2 million. One of them started to feel queasy about selling the show without letting the network know the score, so he went to Sonny Werblin, MCA's top man in New York, and asked his advice. Werblin, the man behind such hits as The Ed Sullivan Show and The Jackie Gleason Show, ran the television department as if it were a football team coached by Attila the Hun. "Dan," he asked the producer, "have I ever asked you whether the show was rigged?" No, he hadn't. "And has NBC ever asked you whether the show is rigged?" No, they hadn't either. "Well," Werblin concluded, "the reason that none of us has asked is because we don't want to know."
And with good reason. Not only was Twenty-one an MCA package and Van Doren himself an MCA client; Werblin had a special relationship with NBC's president, Robert Kintner. Kintner had been president of ABC until...ABC's chairman forced him out in his determination to move the network out of third place. MCA used its influence to place him at NBC, where he proved an extremely pliant customer. In the spring of 1957, when the networks were putting together their schedules for the next season, Werblin went to a meeting of NBC programming executives led by Kintner and his boss, RCA chairman Robert Sarnoff. "Sonny, look at the schedule for next season," Kintner said when he walked in, "here are the empty slots, you fill them."
The quote by Werblin (lines 55-56) is offered primarily as support of which of following contentions?