Remembrances and a Celebration

Occasionally the classic TV era generates multiple headlines decades after its departure. Usually that mean obituaries, and there were three of note this past week.

The one that hit closest to home with me was Rick Hurst, as I knew him. Not well, but when I wrote my Dukes of Hazzard book he was the first cast member I interviewed. “Starting at the bottom,” he said, smiling, as we took our seats at a café in Los Angeles coincidentally called Dukes.

When Sonny Shroyer temporarily left the series to star in the spinoff Enos, Hurst was brought in as the new deputy, Cletus Hogg. He would remain on the show after Shroyer returned, ultimately appearing in 55 episodes.

He played cops on other shows as well, including Sanford and Son, The Partridge Family, Love, American Style and Get Christie Love. And he was a regular on two short-lived series, On the Rocks and Amanda’s. His IMDB page lists more than 70 credits.

He was a busy character actor and a good one, and more importantly he was a kind and humble man. After my book came out I met up with him at a park in L.A. where he was watching his son play in Little League. He signed my book after several other cast members had done so, and once again joked about being at the bottom of the list.

“I don't know about y'all but I believe in an afterlife,” wrote Ben Jones (Cooter), “and I can see Rick up there in Heaven with Jimmy Best and Sorrell Booke and Denver Pyle, putting on the funniest show inside those Pearly Gates.”

Newspaper headlines identified Lalo Schifrin, who died at age 93, as “composer of the Mission: Impossible theme,” and if that were all he did it would still be an impressive legacy.

One of the series’ defining qualities was how quickly its stories moved - once that fuse was lit in the opening credits and the IM force got their marching orders from Mr. Phelps (or Mr. Briggs), the pace rarely slowed as elaborate plans were executed with expert precision. Schifrin’s propulsive theme managed to capture that same feeling of intensity, setting the perfect tone for the stories that followed.

He scored other TV shows – Mannix, Medical Center, T.H.E. Cat, and movies as well, but there’s a reason Mission: Impossible is always referenced first when his name is mentioned. Whatever you think of the M:I film series with Tom Cruise, give them credit for knowing they’d never come up with better music than what Schifrin already created.

Bobby Sherman was not eulogized as a TV star, but he first came to national attention in the series Here Come the Brides (1968-1970), for which he also performed the theme song, “Seattle.” He had seven top 40 hits, more than fellow Tiger Beat teen idol David Cassidy, but not as many as Donny Osmond. Then he left show business to become a paramedic, which is pretty awesome.

The passing of Bill Moyers comes at a time when debate rages in Washington over whether a government that is trillions in debt should continue to fund PBS. Moyers was one of public television’s most respected journalists, perhaps best-remembered for his six-part interview series “Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth.”

He was a liberal but a principled one, who largely kept his personal politics out of his shows and specials – until he was driven over the edge by Donald Trump like so many on the left. He once said that Trump had “an open sore” instead of a soul.

On a happier note, June Lockhart turned 100 recently. She’s the second nicest celebrity I have ever interviewed, and I’ve had the pleasure to speak to her a few times over the years. The first time was for my book What Were They Thinking? The 100 Dumbest Events in Television History. Going into the project I wondered how many people would be willing to discuss their participation in such moments, but June was delighted to reflect on the infamous Lost in Space episode “The Great Vegetable Rebellion.” That was the one, you may recall, in which the Robinson family were menaced by a man in a carrot suit.

“The shooting of it was beyond anything you could imagine,” she told me. “We could not keep it together.” Her recollections were more entertaining than the show, and we also got to chat about her first classic TV series, Lassie, and her time on Petticoat Junction. As a General Hospital fan, I also remember her as Mariah Ramirez, Felicia’s mother.

We who celebrate the Comfort TV era do so because we think it’s worth celebrating, and find what it gave us to be preferable to what we’re being offered now. I know there will be more sad days like this as we say goodbye to those who entertained us, and occasionally a heartening milestone also worthy of observance. As Linda Ellerbee used to say, and so it goes.

The Twilight Zone, Season Two: 3 Classics and 3 Wasted Trips

I've been watching The Twilight Zone for as long as I’ve been watching television. But as I wrote here back in March, I’ve never owned the series or experienced all the episodes in order in their entirety. But as I wrote here back in March, I’ve never owned the series or experienced all the episodes in order in their entirety.

That’s what I’m doing now. And it’s been an interesting experience – especially in how I’ve been discovering quite a few episodes that I’ve never seen before.

After finishing the first season I wrote a piece here listing my three favorite episodes, and three I could have done without. I have now finished season two, so let’s do it again.

The Three Best

The Howling Man

A traveler seeks shelter in a remote European monastery. The monks are reluctant to let him in, and he soon discovers why: in one of its cells, they claim to be holding the Devil prisoner. His agonized howls echo through the stone walls at regular intervals. Curious, the visitor confronts the figure in the cell, who appears to be a normal man professing his innocence. Is he right? And will the traveler let him out?

This is one of the classic TZ episodes even casual fans recall, made more memorable by the gravitas brought to the role of Brother Jerome by the grandiose John Carradine.

Twenty-Two

The surreal world of dreams, and whether they have any impact on our reality, was a theme explored in more than one Twilight Zone episode. “Shadow Play,” also from this season, starred Dennis Weaver as a man trapped in the same recurring dream of being in prison awaiting execution. It’s good, but I found “Twenty-Two” to be even more unsettling.

The set-up is similar: a nightclub dancer is in a hospital seeking answers to why she keeps having the same terrifying dream. In it, she awakens from her hospital bed, takes an elevator down to the basement level, and walks down a darkened hallway until she reaches room 22 – the morgue. A severe-looking nurse swings the door open and says, “Room for one more, honey."

I really liked how this one ended as it suggests that some nightmares might be good for you. Arlene Martel, usually quite the exotic looker but not here, plays the nurse – it’s a small role but one not easily forgotten.

The Obsolete Man

In a Kafkaesque courtroom, sometime in humanity’s possible future, a man is judged to be obsolete by the all-powerful State. He is a librarian in a time when books have been banned, and he believes in God despite the State insisting there is no such entity. He is sentenced to die and is allowed to choose the method of his execution – and that’s where the condemned man sees an opportunity for reprisal.

Much of “The Obsolete Man” is a two-character piece, with Burgess Meredith as the humble librarian, and Fritz Weaver as the arrogant Chancellor, representing the State. I’m not sure if the climax owes more to Tennessee Williams or Night of the Living Dead – but either way it’s by far the most unsettling scene of the entire season.

The allusions of fascism are hardly subtle – at one point the Chancellor even says men like Hitler and Stalin had the right idea but didn’t go far enough. But that lack of subtlety is not a flaw, especially since the lesson in this episode is one that apparently needs to be taught to every generation, especially our current dumbed-down one that needs a reminder that fascism once meant something concrete, and was not merely a slur to hurl at people you don’t like.

For a more in-depth examination of this episode, I am happy to refer you to Mitchell Hadley’s analysis, from his forthcoming book Darkness in Primetime.

Which episodes almost made the list? Quite a few, starting with “Eye of the Beholder” with Donna Douglas, which may be the season’s most famous offering.

“The Invaders” with Agnes Moorehead was an ambitious experiment – telling the story of an alien invasion without any dialogue. I also liked “Nick of Time,” with William Shatner nearly throwing away a promising future after becoming obsessed with a fortune telling machine in a small-town diner.

Time travel stories were big this season, with people from the present being transported to the past (“Back There”) and people from the past being transported to the present (“A Hundred Yards Over the Rim”). My favorite was “The Odyssey of Flight 33,” through its ambiguous ending may frustrate some viewers.


The Three Worst

The Mind and the Matter

There’s a reason why “the comedy stylings of Rod Serling” is not a phrase in common parlance. The series’ lighter-side episodes rarely worked, and this is one of the worst. Comedian Shelley Berman plays a man fed up with his crowded city, who uses the power of his mind to make everyone disappear – and then he has conversations with himself about how he still feels miserable.

A Thing About Machines

Bartlett Finchley (Richard Haydn) is a fussy luddite who hates machines, so much so that they start to hate him back. In one particularly ridiculous moment, he is chased around his home by his electric razor.

Mr. Dingle the Strong

Burgess Meredith starred in one of the season’s best episodes but also plays the title role in one of its most forgettable. Dingle is given super-strength by perhaps the most ridiculous aliens ever seen on the series, and then they take it away. 

That’s pretty much it. Don Rickles is in it, which helps, but not enough.

While I begin exploring season 3, what were your favorite season 2 shows?  

My Journey Through 1970s TV: Monday Nights, 1976

Made-for-TV movies, like variety shows,  were a staple of network programming throughout the 1970s, as evidenced here by both NBC and ABC on Monday nights in 1976.

The reason networks scheduled weekly movies is that they were consistently popular, equaling or besting both sitcoms and drama series in the ratings. ABC’s Monday Night Movie ranked #3 for this season – a higher rating than Monday Night Football achieved in that same time slot.

Though most of the titles have been lost to the ages, the best of them are still fondly recalled by classic TV fans – Brian’s Song, Trilogy of Terror, Duel, The Night Stalker. Thankfully, YouTube and other online services have resurrected dozens from television oblivion, and they’re just as enjoyable now as they were 50 years ago.

How consistent was the quality? Here are just some of the titles ABC presented in the calendar year 1976:

Eleanor and Franklin (winner of 11 Emmy Awards)
Charlie’s Angels (the pilot movie for the series earned a remarkable 54 share)
Brenda Starr (Jill St. John as the famed reporter from the comic strip)
The New Daughters of Joshua Cabe (wonderful light-hearted western with Buddy Ebsen, Karen Valentine and Lesley Ann Warren)
The Love Boat (pilot for another hit series)
Look What Happened to Rosemary’s Baby (sequel – of sorts – to the classic horror film)
Smash-Up on Interstate Five (cheesy but fun disaster film with Robert Conrad that ranked #6 the week it aired)

What else did Monday nights in 1976 serve up? Let’s take a look.

ABC
The Captain & Tennille
ABC Monday Night Movie

All it took to get your own variety series in the ‘70s was a couple of hit records. As a television personality, Daryl Dragon was so stiff that even guest appearances by Charlie’s original Angels didn’t coax much of a smile from him. 

Still, the Captain & Tennille’s show was better than the Starland Vocal Band’s, though not as good Sonny and Cher’s. The musical performances were great, the comedy spots not so much, but there’s something about the glitzy charms of these vintage variety shows now that can still make one long for happier times.


NBC
Little House on the Prairie
NBC Monday Night Movie

Little House ranked #15 for the year in its third season, with NBC’s Monday Night Movie not far behind at #20. All in all, an impressive showing for the network that spent much of this decade behind its competitors.

CBS
Rhoda
Phyllis
Maude
All’s Fair
Executive Suite


CBS was the only network opting not to show a movie on Monday nights, which would seem like sound counter-programming strategy. But it didn’t work. All five shows in its lineup finished outside the top 30 in 1976.

This was the season in which Rhoda’s marriage fell apart, which may have depressed enough viewers who adored her that they didn’t stick around for the retooled Phyllis, canceled after this season.

Maude suffered a precipitous ratings drop, from #4 the previous year to #31. 

Part of that could be attributed to floundering lead-ins, but it has also been suggested that this was right about the time audiences were seeking out lighter, more escapist fare, instead of comedies in which issues were debated and everyone yelled at each other.

Which means All’s Fair could not have debuted at a worse time. The Washington DC-based sitcom starred Richard Crenna as a conservative political columnist in a relationship with a liberal news photographer, played by the apparently ageless Bernadette Peters. 

Episodes frequently featured current event political debates – just the kind of content that viewers seeking relief from such conflicts were trying to avoid.

Executive Suite was another early attempt at a prime time soap. I never saw it so on the “missed shows” list it goes. Not many people saw it in 1976 either apparently, as it didn’t last a full season. CBS would revisit the genre two years later with much greater success – you could even say they struck oil.

Shows Missed:
The Don Knotts Show (1970)
San Francisco International Airport (1970)
Nancy (1970)
The Headmaster (1970)
The Man and the City (1971)
Search (1972)
Assignment: Vienna (1972)
The Delphi Bureau (1972)
Jigsaw (1972)
The Little People (1972)
The Sixth Sense (1972)
Tenafly (1973)
Faraday & Company (1973)
Kodiak (1974)
The New Land (1974)
McCoy (1975)
Joe and Sons (1975)
Beacon Hill (1975)
Mobile One (1975)
Big Eddie (1975)
Executive Suite (1976)

Classic TV vs. Computers

About 30 years ago a book came out entitled War of the Worlds: Global Dispatches. It was a collection of stories by different authors, all of whom took H.G. Wells tale of Earth being attacked by Martian invaders and viewed its events through the eyes of different historic figures: Pablo Picasso paints the Martians, Emily Dickinson writes a poem about them, and the Texas Rangers fight to keep the Lone Star state from falling.

The book illuminated how the same event could be addressed multiple times and still be interesting because of the characters and how they respond to unforeseen circumstances. But to classic TV fans, this is hardly a revelation. Television in the 1960s and 1970s often reflected the shared curiosities and concerns of its viewers, with multiple shows exploring the same issues through characters with differing perspectives.

But if there was one topic on which everyone seemed to agree, it’s that computers cannot be trusted.

We’re going through a similar moment in history now, as experts debate the implications of AI, and whether its capabilities may one day pose a risk to humanity. But in the 1960s and ‘70s technology had just started taking over tasks once handled by humans, and praise for its efficiency was tempered by concerns over ceding too much authority to a machine.

One of the earliest explorations of this issue pops up in one of my favorite episodes of The Donna Reed Show. In “Tony Martin Visits,” singer Tony Martin gets a speeding ticket from a cop with a radar gun, on the same day that Donna gets a ticket for parking too long in a metered spot. Instead of paying a small fine, both insist on a jury trial. “We have too many machines telling us what to do,” Martin asserts. “Why take the word of a machine over a human?” Donna asks. The response – machines don’t make mistakes, but people do.

As the story plays out, it becomes apparent that machines are not always accurate. But the real question is whether they should always be trusted.

“What have you got against machines?” the judge asks Donna. “Would you like to give up your vacuum cleaner, your washing machine?”

“Of course not,” Donna replies. “But they don’t sit in judgment on me.”

Over on The Doris Day Show (“Doris vs. The Computer”), the electric company’s “absolutely infallible” computer refuses to acknowledge that Doris paid her bill and shuts off her power. Company rep Mr. Jarvis, played to such fussy perfection by Billy De Wolfe that he became a semi-regular on the series, personifies the arrogant company man who refuses to take Doris’s claim seriously. At least, until the computer mistakenly sends her a check for more than $200,000.

Three years later, on The Partridge Family (“Forgive Us Our Debts”), Shirley buys a cuckoo clock at Bartlet’s department store for $29, but the bill the computer mails her is for $290. Before the situation is resolved, her credit rating is destroyed, and all her furniture is repossessed. The store manager played by Alan Oppenheimer is almost as fussy as Billy De Wolfe as he proudly proclaims that Bartlet’s has “joined the computer age.”

On both this show and The Doris Day Show, the conflict results in a protest with picket signs reading “People, Yes! – Computers, No!” and “Names, Not Numbers” (shades of The Prisoner!).

These were real concerns – so much so that they were hardly limited to situation comedy nuisances. I’ve written before about “The Invasion of Kevin Ireland,” a 1971 episode of The Bold Ones: The Lawyers, in which a successful executive’s career and family are destroyed by a dossier from “Corporate Research Associates” that inaccurately demeans his character.

The era’s cynicism over computers was also not limited to the present day. Star Trek may have been set in the 23rd century, but Captain Kirk’s apprehension over ceding too much authority to machines was clearly rooted in the 1960s. In “Court Martial” Kirk faces a trial over the death of a crew member, with a computer video log seeming to prove his guilt. His attorney argues that digital records should not be accepted as indisputable:

Attorney: The most devastating witness against my client is not a human being. It’s a machine, an information system. The computer log of the Enterprise. I ask this court adjourn and reconvene aboard that vessel.

Prosecutor: I protest, Your honor!

Cogley: And I repeat, I speak of rights! A machine has none. A man must. My client has the right to face his accuser, and if you do not grant him that right, you have brought us down to the level of the machine! Indeed, you have elevated that machine above us! I ask that my motion be granted.

And in “The Ultimate Computer,” Kirk is reluctant to allow the M-5, a new computer, to make command decisions. Spock agrees – he acknowledges that computers have advantages over humans, but says he has “no desire to serve under them.” But the question is answered when the M-5 hijacks the Enterprise and attacks other Federation vessels.

I wonder if the M-5 knew HAL 9000?

Were the fears expressed in the 1960s and ‘70s unfounded? How often has a computer ordered you to “prove that you are human” before granting access to online content? Maybe the machines have already won. That’s why, when I have a cash deposit to make at the bank, I still take it to a human teller. If I deposited $500 at an ATM, and the machine says I only put in $400, who is the bank going to believe?

Am I being paranoid? Maybe – or maybe I just watch too many old TV shows.

Terrible Shows I Like: The Charmings

I haven't done one of these pieces in a while. But in the wake of the recent crash-and-burn of Disney’s live-action remake of Snow White, it seemed like a fitting time to look back at an earlier attempt to put a contemporary spin on that classic fairy tale. It wasn’t successful either – just 21 episodes over two abbreviated seasons – but at least it didn’t cost $300 million to make.

The premise of The Charmings was explained in the opening credits: Snow White and Prince Charming (aka “Eric”) were married with two kids, but her wicked stepmother Lillian cast a spell that put them to sleep for a thousand years. The spell also affected Lillian and one dwarf the same way, and when they all woke up they found themselves living in the same house in the Los Angeles suburbs, circa 1987.

The first episode opens not long after that event, with everyone still wearing fairy tale appropriate clothes, and struggling to adjust to life in modern-day America. What follows are many of the same fish-out-of-water tropes that were delightfully portrayed in the 2007 Disney film Enchanted.

Caitlin O’Heaney played Snow White in the six episodes that comprised the show’s first season but was replaced by Carol Huston in season two. Not a good switch in my view, as O’Heaney brought more of the wide-eyed innocence that Amy Adams brought to Giselle in Enchanted.

Christopher Rich played Eric, always balancing along the fine line between worthily steadfast and blissfully clueless. In the first episode, one of his sons is sent home from school after claiming his father once dated Cinderella. When someone from the school arrives to check out the kid’s home life, Eric is tempted to lie, and tell the counselor what he expects to hear, but this would be a bad example to set for his children. Instead, he gladly recounts his dating history: “Rapunzel, she’d let her hair down for anyone. Now, Cindy, she could get a little wild at a party and forget a shoe, but…”

In an upstairs bedroom, Lillian (Judy Parfitt) schemes with occasional help from her sharp-tongued magic mirror, played by Paul Winfield, likely causing many viewers to wonder what an Academy Award nominee is doing in this series. But Winfield seems to be having a great time slumming in such a silly show.

Episodes explore how the Charmings learn about everything from Halloween to credit cards. And as expected with this premise we get the outsider’s perspective on our culture – sometimes seen as one filled with delights and miracles, and other times one hopelessly confusing and misguided. But you’ve never seen a family more excited about adding call waiting to their landline.

It's not an overlooked classic or a series that deserved a better fate. But it establishes the territory it wants to play in and makes the most of it. Snow and Eric are sweet but not too sweet, naïve but not dumb. And Lillian is mean but never really nasty, even when her mirror keeps giving different answers to her “who’s the fairest of them all” question, none of which she wants to hear (“That Christie Brinkley is looking pretty fine!”). My favorite is when he holds up a phone book to list all the women better looking than her (“These are just the ones from the greater Los Angeles area”).

If you’re interested the whole series has been uploaded to YouTube by some kindhearted soul. No, it’s never as wonderful as Enchanted, but given the choice I’d much rather watch The Charmings again than Rachel Ziegler’s girl-boss princess and her nightmare fuel dwarves.

My Journey Through 1970s TV: Sunday Nights, 1976

As we begin to look forward to celebrating America’s 250th anniversary, our journey through the 1970s has reached our bicentennial year – remember the “Bicentennial Minutes” that played between CBS programs that year? Hopefully they won’t be the only memorable programming to debut in 1976. Let’s see what Sunday nights had to offer.

ABC
Cos
The Six Million Dollar Man
ABC Sunday Night Movie

With The Six Million Dollar Man at #7 in the ratings and the Sunday Night Movie at #8, this would be the first of many winning nights for ABC in the latter half of the decade.

Cos – a variety show aimed at children hosted by Bill Cosby – did not fare as well. It was an interesting idea, and Cosby was no stranger to younger audiences with his work on Fat Albert and The Electric Company. 

But if kids were watching TV on Sunday evening, they preferred The Wonderful World of Disney. The show was pulled in November of 1976 after just nine episodes and replaced with The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries.


NBC
The Wonderful World of Disney
NBC Sunday Night Mystery Movie
The Big Event

While ABC placed two shows in the top 10, the highest-rated series of the night belonged to NBC, with The Big Event finishing at #6 in the Nielsens.

What was The Big Event, I hear you say, unless your memory is much better than mine? It wasn’t so much a show as a title, under which the network could present popular theatrical films like Gone With the Wind and 2001: A Space Odyssey. This was back before VCRs and video stores, so getting to see these movies on TV was still…well, a big event. These were mixed with original fare that was also well-received, such as Sybil with Sally Field and Jesus of Nazareth. The episode I remember watching was “The First Fifty Years,” a retrospective of NBC programming dating back to the days of radio.

The NBC Mystery Movies remained popular as well, with Columbo, McCloud and McMillan joined by a new installment – Quincy, M.E. starring Jack Klugman as a crusading medical examiner. After just four episodes it was spun off into its own series, which ran from 1976 to 1983.

CBS
60 Minutes
The Sonny and Cher Show
Kojak
Delvecchio

60 Minutes – back when it still had journalistic credibility and corrupt CEOs cowered at the mere mention of Mike Wallace – kicks off a solid if not highly rated evening. After Sonny and Cher divorced and headlined separate variety shows, neither of which lasted, the duo reunited and tried to recapture the magic of their earlier variety series. I thought they did a pretty good job, but not enough fans returned for the encore.

Delvecchio seemed like an ideal pairing with returning series Kojak, as it too was a show about a no-nonsense big city police detective. Those who remember Judd Hirsch best from Taxi might be surprised that he was cast in a role like this, but it works. Steven Bochco is listed as a writer and producer, and a few years later he’d call two of Hirsch’s costars, Charles Haid and Michael Conrad, to join a new police series called Hill Street Blues.

If you missed Delvecchio during its TV Land revival, many of its 21 episodes can now be enjoyed on YouTube.



Shows Missed:
The Don Knotts Show (1970)
San Francisco International Airport (1970)
Nancy (1970)
The Headmaster (1970)
The Man and the City (1971)
Search (1972)
Assignment: Vienna (1972)
The Delphi Bureau (1972)
Jigsaw (1972)
The Little People (1972)
The Sixth Sense (1972)
Tenafly (1973)
Faraday & Company (1973)
Kodiak (1974)
The New Land (1974)
McCoy (1975)
Joe and Sons (1975)
Beacon Hill (1975)
Mobile One (1975)
Big Eddie (1975)

Top TV Moments: Ruth Buzzi

As happens following the death of every classic TV star, the passing of Ruth Buzzi generated its share of online coverage. But it seemed the tributes were more frequent and heartfelt in this case, which was nice to see and frankly, a little surprising since she’s been mostly out of the public eye for more than a decade. 

Perhaps it happened because we all first met Ruthie in a series that was not just a hit but a phenomenon – one of those shows that explodes into the public consciousness seemingly overnight that everyone is talking about the next day. Typically, they fall as quickly as they rise but still leave a lasting impression. 

Remember when television could produce moments like that? The 1960s gave us a few of them – The Monkees and Batman, The Man from U.N.C.L.E, and certainly Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In would also qualify. With its rapid-fire stream of broad slapstick, music and topical humor, it turned an unknown cast of performers into household names within weeks of its first episode.

Some, like Goldie Hawn and Lily Tomlin, went on to even greater fame, but the rest – Ruth Buzzi, Arte Johnson, Henry Gibson, Jo Anne Worley – rarely seemed to ever be out of work. Whether it was guest spots in films and TV shows, game shows, regional theater, voiceover work, commercials, they were always turning up somewhere, and when we saw them again it brought back happy memories of once brighter spotlights. 

It's my honor to give Buzzi one more curtain call with a look back at some of her most memorable TV moments. 

The Garry Moore Show (1964)
Buzzi made her TV debut on this popular long-running variety series that launched the careers of Carol Burnett and Durwood Kirby among others. I could not find any further details or footage. Would have been fun to see. 

Linus the Lionhearted (1964)
The first acting credit listed on IMDB has her providing the voice of Granny Goodwitch in this animated series with characters that were featured in cereal commercials. Linus’s cereal never caught on, but Sugar Bear would appear in Sugar Crisp ads for the next 20 years. 

That Girl (1967)
One year before Laugh-In debuted, Buzzi made the first of five appearances on That Girl as Ann Marie’s unlucky-in-love girlfriend, Pete Peterson. So many of Buzzi’s guest spots had her broadly playing over-the-top characters, which makes her work here as a low-key, friendly and supportive neighbor more memorable.

The Monkees (1967)
If Buzzi hadn’t been cast the following year in Laugh-In, I wonder if she would have spent more time taking roles like the one in “A Coffin Too Frequent,” as a silly little old lady going along for the ride in a barely scripted episode. Saving grace: the performance of “Daydream Believer” before the closing credits. 

Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In (1968)
Cast members came and went over the course of six seasons but Ruth Buzzi stayed for the full run – more than 130 episodes. 

She appeared in countless skits and was regularly featured in the musical “Laugh-In looks at the news” segments and the cocktail parties, but she will always be best remembered as Gladys Ormphy, the “purse-wielding spinster” whose visits to the park were always interrupted by Arte Johnson as lascivious Tyrone Horneigh:

“Do you believe in the hereafter?”
“Of course.”
“Then you know what I’m here after.”

Between this character and Gladys Kravitz on Bewitched, the name Gladys has probably been poisoned for generations. 

Here’s Lucy (1972)
In “My Fair Buzzi,” shy Annie Whipple gets a makeover from Kim (Lucie Arnaz) before their community theater musical set in the roaring 1920s. 

This episode is a great showcase for both Buzzi and Arnaz, and a reminder of how this series could mount Broadway-caliber musical numbers within the tight scheduling of a weekly series. 

ABC Afterschool Special (1974)
“The Crazy Comedy Concert” was a big departure for this series, as it wasn’t a scripted mini movie in which no teenagers were pregnant, addicted to something, or facing a family in crisis. Instead, Ruth Buzzi and Tim Conway appear as a cleaning lady and janitor tidying up the Hollywood Bowl the day after a concert. They perform some wordless pantomime skits, between performances of classical music from Mozart, Tchaikovsky and Glinka, among others. 

The Lost Saucer (1975)
It was never a favorite of mine from the Sid & Marty Krofft canon. But having recently acquired an unofficial DVD set of Kaptain Kool & the Kongs and watching some of its 16 episodes again, I found myself warming to its good-natured silliness. Jim Nabors and Ruth Buzzi play android space explorers Fi and Fum, who take a kid and his babysitter for a trip around the galaxy and then get lost and can’t find their way back to earth. 

The Dean Martin Roasts (1978)
Buzzi brought Gladys back for the roasts of Frank Sinatra, Lucille Ball and Angie Dickinson. How many performers get to clobber Sinatra without getting rubbed out and tossed into the Hudson? 

Sesame Street (1994)
I know we’re a little past our Comfort TV cutoff date of 1989, but I can’t overlook the fact that after Laugh-In, Buzzi’s best TV work was done on more than 80 episodes of this PBS staple as Ruthie, owner of the shop Finders Keepers. 

One of the more unfortunate aspects of how television evolves is that we are unlikely to ever see another series achieve the kind of phenomenon status that Laugh-In and others once did. Glee was probably the last one before the TV audience became too fractured to produce a show with the same cultural impact. 

Like most everyone I’ve got 400 channels and thousands more options from streamers, but I’d give it all back for the time when just three networks gave us all something to enjoy together. That era is long gone but our fondness for its stars, like Ruth Buzzi, still remains.