The good news is that they didn't actually win a single penny from the show. "I didn't actually sleep with someone but I thought about it," Lauren said, claiming that she and Frank "believe that infidelity includes the physical and emotional." Okay.
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Their supposed plan was to do what they said they thought was going to be a little-known TV show, then split whatever cash they made from it.īut it's even murkier than that, because in another interview with People, Lauren further admitted that she never physically cheated on Frank, despite answering "yes" to whether she'd "had sexual relations with someone other than" him. Except in that same interview, the Cleris admit that they talked about all of the questions beforehand, and were more taken aback at the national headlines generated by their appearance than they were at their supposed marital problems.
The biggest bombshells, according to the couple's interview with The New York Post, was that Lauren wished she'd married her ex-boyfriend instead of Frank, and that she'd been unfaithful to him.
The whole filthy affair was later dramatized in the 1994 Robert Redford movie, Quiz Show. According to, Congress even passed "an amendment to the Communications Act of 1934, making it officially illegal to fix quiz shows," but it didn't much matter, because the networks were so spooked that they abruptly cancelled many of their primetime game shows. News of the true nature of Twenty One broke in 1957 when Stempel, after blabbing to a bunch of New York newspapers, eventually testified to a grand jury, making him the first domino to fall in what eventually led to congressional hearings. Both Stempel and Van Doren walked away with a bunch of cash, and ratings were up. He was similarly coached, and after some staged episodes that ended in ties, Van Doren eventually overtook Stempel. Van Doren, a handsome English professor at Columbia University, and son of a prominent poet and academic was the perfect choice. The solution? Drum up interest with a new contestant. As with Michael Lawson, Kniess got to keep his winnings, because despite their suspicions, the show couldn't prove he and Slauson colluded, or for that matter, did anything wrong other than being extremely accurate.Īfter around six weeks of coached-winning for Stempel, the show saw a dip in ratings which was perceived to be due to the unlikable nature of the quirky New York postal clerk. Carey and show producers seemed to think that Slauson colluded with Kniess and used hand signals to tell him the perfect price, a charge both men deny. As such, Kniess observed The Price Is Right from a unique perspective, and he had actually set his sights on the show long before announcer Rich Fields told him to "come on down." Kneiss told Esquire that he and his wife recorded episodes of the popular daytime game show every day for four months, then memorized the prices of all the items used (and frequently reused) in the Showcase Showdown segment.īut host Drew Carey floated another theory: in the audience during taping was Ted Slauson, a regular Price attendee and one-time contestant, who, like Kniess, had amassed an encyclopedic memory of Showcase Showdown prices. According to Esquire's lengthy profile of Kniess, the man is an analytical genius, an award-winningly accurate former meteorologist and expert blackjack player/card counter whose natural inclination is to recognize patterns.
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