My Journey Through 1970s TV: Tuesday Nights, 1975

If you’ve been keeping track on our journey through the 1970s, or if like me you’re old enough to remember when these shows were new, you’ve noticed that the first half of the decade largely belonged to CBS. The Norman Lear shows (All in the Family, Maude, Good Times), and some iconic Saturday night lineups featuring such classics as M*A*S*H, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, The Bob Newhart Show, and The Carol Burnett Show all became mainstays among the 20 top-rated series each year.

But as we approach the latter half of the decade, and look at Tuesday night in 1975, we begin to see a shifting of audience tastes and preferences toward perennial underdog ABC. The network that led the medium in one-season-and-out losers finally started homing in on a successful formula, one that relied heavily on youth, titillation, fantasy and escapism. Critics hated it, of course, but viewers welcomed a chance to forget their troubles – and the nation’s - for a little while. 

ABC

Happy Days

Welcome Back Kotter

The Rookies

Marcus Welby, MD

In its first season, Happy Days introduced the Cunningham family of Milwaukee – dad ran a hardware store, mom was a housewife, Richie went to high school, Joanie to junior high. A third sibling named Chuck was introduced and subsequently forgotten even by his closest relatives.

And then a supporting character named Arthur, unbilled in the opening credits, became the most popular television character in America. Soon The Fonz would be the focal point of nearly every episode. Some (like me) may prefer the gentler tone and quieter stories of season one, when the series was not filmed before a studio audience. But it was episodes like “R.O.T.C.” (Fonzie takes on the army) and “A Star is Bored” (Fonzie plays Hamlet) that catapulted Happy Days into one of the decade’s biggest successes. 

And if that show didn’t add enough expressions to be parroted on junior high school playgrounds, it was followed by a new catchphrase generator in Welcome Back Kotter, featuring such additions to Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations as “Up your nose with a rubber hose.”

Kotter soared into the top 20, and was then moved to Thursday nights in January so Happy Days could be followed by its spinoff, Laverne & Shirley, a series that, for a time, would surpass its predecessor in popularity. 

This would be the final season for both The Rookies and Marcus Welby, MD. Kate Jackson would not be absent from TV long, as her next project would be the pilot movie for Charlie’s Angels, which drew an extraordinary 54 share in the ratings. 

CBS

Good Times

Joe and Sons

Switch

Beacon Hill

As Fonzie began his rise to pop culture prominence, the same ascent was happening to Jimmie Walker on Good Times. J.J. and his “Dy-no-Mite!” catchphrase expanded the show’s audience but were not as welcomed by top-billed stars Esther Rolle and John Amos. 

Joe and Sons seemed like a natural pairing with Good Times, being a show about another working-class family struggling to get by. It lasted just 14 episodes, none of which I’ve seen, and I’d be tempted to dismiss it as just another short-lived failure if it were not for one name in the cast – Barry Miller, who played Joe’s oldest son. 

He's certainly not a household name, but Miller is an actor I’ve liked and remembered in everything I’ve seen him in. He made a dull Wonder Woman episode almost interesting and played a troubled (for Saturday morning) teenager in episodes of both Shazam and Isis, and outperformed everyone else in every scene. If you know him from anything it’s probably a supporting role in Saturday Night Fever. Ten years after Joe and Sons, he won the Tony Award for his performance in Neil Simon’s Biloxi Blues, proving what I already knew at 12 years old – this guy’s really good. 

I’ve been hoping for a Switch DVD release for 20 years and am still hoping, though I’ve been told it’s stuck in some legal limbo over a profit-sharing issue and may never see the light of day again. That would be a shame – the partnership between Robert Wagner as a reformed con man and Eddie Albert as a former cop had great chemistry, and they were ably assisted by an ex-con played by comedian Charlie Callas and Sharon Gless as the team’s secretary. 

The early stories were the best, in which the team set out to foil the schemes of con artists with elaborate cons of their own. It was part Mission: Impossible, part Rockford Files, and even when the plots were simplified in the latter seasons the cast made it worth watching. 

As for Beacon Hill, it was CBS’s attempt to emulate the success of the PBS series Upstairs, Downstairs, a 55-part(!) serial drama about the Bellamys, a well-to-do family in Edwardian England. While it had the sophisticated look and style of a precursor to Downton Abbey, the show was pure soap opera in its stories, a formula that could have adapted well to Boston in the 1920s, where viewers met Beacon Hill’s Lassiter family. But after a promising debut in September, the series was gone by November. 

NBC

Movin’ On

Police Story

Joe Forrester

I’m tempted to just say “Oh, and NBC put out some shows this year too,” but that would be unfair. The third season of Police Story delivered another batch of widely varied stories exploring different facets of law enforcement. One episode from the previous season, “The Return of Joe Forrester,” starred Lloyd Bridges, and was picked up as a series the following season. It didn’t last, but it provided an accurate depiction of community policing the way it ought to be. 

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)

 

Some Things Change…Others Don’t

When we watch classic TV, we may be struck by how American life, culture and attitudes are different now than they were in the era in which these shows were set - sometimes progressing to a more broadminded outlook, and often regressing, ironically in the name of progress. And sometimes we are dismayed by how we are still struggling with issues that challenged our society decades ago. 

And sometimes, it can be tough to tell the difference. 

“Lift, Thrust and Drag,” a season four episode of Room 222 that first aired in October of 1972, illustrates both perspectives. It introduces us to Eddie, an African American student who is indifferent to Pete Dixon’s classroom lectures about history. “I’ve never been able to find the key to that kid,’ Pete tells Principal Seymour Kaufman.

Eddie isn’t interested in any of his subjects, so Walt Whitman High begins the process of transferring him to another school, hoping the change will stimulate some engagement. Pete, a licensed pilot, is headed to the airport that day and on a whim invites Eddie to join him. 

Almost immediately the apathetic student finally seems enthusiastic about something. That reminds Pete of a flight-training program started at another California high school that raised the GPAs of every student that participated. 

There were and still are actual programs like this. My high school had one. But I went to a well-funded suburban school that could afford it.

When Pete proposes the class be tried at Whitman, he already knows it will be shot down by the school board over budget concerns. 

Fortunately, the flight instructor offers to volunteer his time, so for this one semester at least Eddie and other students can learn the rudiments of aviation. And it does stimulate an interest in math and science – for the first time, Eddie’s grades go up, as do those of his classmates.

Failing schools and education funding are two issues that haven’t gone away and are usually linked together in the debate over what’s wrong. It’s easy to contrast the school I was fortunate enough to attend with an inner-city high school like Whitman and conclude that the only problem is money – or the lack of it. But like other proposed solutions to complex issues that are presented as quick and easy, they don’t tell the whole story.

Fact: The United States spends more per student than the UK, Sweden, Australia, Canada, Germany, France and many other countries where better results are achieved. So perhaps it’s not just funding. Maybe it’s administrators not allocating funds toward programs that would inspire better engagement. Perhaps the wrong lessons are being taught (hold that thought). Or perhaps we no longer have enough teachers like Pete Dixon. 

A school board rep meets Pete at the airport, is impressed with the flight program, but as expected regrets that they can’t afford it. Eddie overhears the conversation and is ready to drop out, this time for good. Without the program, he asks, how am I going to learn how to fly?

“How bad do you want it?” Pete responds. “Get a job – washing planes, pumping gas, scrubbing floors, anything.” But then Eddie offers another reason to quit: “Do you think they would ever hire a black pilot?”

“Sit down,” Pete says, getting peeved in a way he rarely did with a student. “The times are over for that ‘I’m black’ cop-out. Because that’s just what it is – an excuse not to try. If you’re willing to give it everything you’ve got, you can do anything you want to.” 

And unless it emanates from home, I would guess that, for many black teens in 2024, this episode would be the first time they hear that message. How terribly depressing, especially following so much of the divisive rhetoric that emerged from one side of the debate this election year. Who could blame anyone exposed to that poison to believe that we were still in the 1960s – or the 1860s. 

Racial disparity in opportunity was certainly more likely 52 years ago when “Lift, Thrust and Drag” originally aired. But there was Pete Dixon, a black teacher, telling a black student in 1972 not to buy into the vile programming emanating from media and politicians that the deck is stacked so high against him that he might as well give up now. And if you want something, it won’t always be handed to you from a school or government program – you need to work for it. I hope that lesson is still being taught in many of our schools, but I fear that too often schools and society are now sending the opposite message. 

Television once had the prominence to inspire, to educate, to advocate paths to success and fulfillment when such options were not provided elsewhere. In its current fractured landscape, I’m not sure the medium could still do so. But even if it could, are there any shows like Room 222 willing to do it? 

My Journey Through 1970s TV: Monday Nights, 1975

 

Monday blues? Not around here – it’s time for a look at another Monday night in the 1970s, with the usual mix of hits and misses. And thankfully no new shows to add to my “missed series” list – have you seen all of these as well?

 

ABC

Barbary Coast

Monday Night Football

 

In his book Star Trek Movie Memories, William Shatner reflected on the state of his life and career in the years between the cancelation of Star Trek and his return to the Enterprise in Star Trek: The Motion Picture. Part of that time was spent living out of a camper and taking whatever jobs were offered, from appearing on the game show Tattletales to promoting a frozen food sale at Loblaws, a Canadian supermarket.

 

Better times seemed imminent when he was at last offered another top-billed role on a network series. In Barbary Coast he played Jeff Cable, an undercover government agent in San Francisco, circa 1860s. Doug McClure costarred as Cash Conover, a casino owner and card sharp who (reluctantly) helps Cable in his missions. 

 

 

“I thought the show was absolutely great,” Shatner writes. “In no time, I mused, people would stop typecasting me as a starship captain and start pigeonholing me as a cowboy.”

 

During a break he visited the Star Trek soundstages on the Paramount lot and ran into Gene Roddenberry, who told him he was now working on a new project – Star Trek – The Movie. Shatner thought the very idea was ridiculous: “Didn’t he know the next big thing was going to be Barbary Coast?”

 

Well…about that. Barbary Coast was canceled after 13 episodes, while Star Trek remains a cultural phenomenon more than 50 years later. 

 

I think Barbary Coast failed because, consciously or unconsciously, it was unmistakably derivative of other – and better – shows. Cable’s reliance on elaborate disguises and makeup recalled that of Artemus Gordon in The Wild, Wild West. Cash’s card-playing cons were reminiscent of Maverick.  

 

I also didn’t really buy the relationship between Jeff and Cash as friends or frenemies or reluctant allies. There’s a connection between actors and characters that either happens or it doesn’t. It didn’t for me, but there’s a DVD release if you’re interested.

 

 

 

CBS

Rhoda

Phyllis

All in the Family

Maude

Medical Center

 

CBS easily won the night, even with Gunsmoke no longer anchoring its Monday lineup. All in the Family remained the season’s top rated series, followed by Rhoda at #6, Maude at #7, and Medical Center at #27.

 

 

Scheduling Phyllis after Rhoda seemed like an obvious decision. Viewers who watched one Mary Tyler Moor Show spinoff would likely stick around for a second one. But it didn’t work – Phyllis struggled through two underperforming seasons before being canceled. In retrospect it’s easy to see why: Rhoda always had the audience on her side as she struggled with her various insecurities. Phyllis was the pretentious, self-absorbed neighbor who almost ruined Rhoda’s wedding. That’s not a character audiences would be likely to follow into her own show – even the series’ theme song made fun of her. 

 

 

NBC

The Invisible Man

NBC Monday Night Movie

 

There have been at least a dozen films and television series inspired by the H.G. Wells story of a man who finds a formula for becoming invisible. In this version, David McCallum plays Dr. Daniel Westin, whose experiments are successful – until he discovers he can’t find a way to become visible again. 

 

 

The series made the cover of Dynamite Magazine, suggesting that hopes were high that the show would draw a younger audience, and that another generation of teenage girls would take to McCallum the way they did on The Man From U.N.C.L.E. ten years earlier. But this invisible man disappeared after 13 episodes. 

 

 

 

 

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)

Men of Action: New Book Celebrates Four TV Classics

 

The community of people still writing books about classic television is rather small, and I’ve been fortunate enough to meet and/or have some interaction with many of those who do it well. One of them is Ed Robertson, whose books about The Fugitive and The Rockford Files are in my classic TV library, as they should be in yours. 

 

 

Ed’s latest title is Men of Action: Behind the Scenes of Four Classic Television Series. What makes this book intriguing is that only one of the four series he has selected would be considered a success by the usual criteria – popularity, longevity, etc. Yet all of them contributed something memorable to the TV landscape, and still have fans 50 years later. 

 

 

The four shows covered are The Magician, The Untouchables, Harry O and Run For Your Life, all of which were (not coincidentally) covered by Robertson in articles he wrote for the magazine Television Chronicles. The book expands on those pieces, and also includes interviews with cast members and creative personnel.

 

Outside of perhaps The Untouchables, these are shows that were too obscure to have entire books devoted to them, or even to merit a detailed history, even in this internet era when nothing is obscure anymore. It’s a treat to have someone remember them and celebrate them, especially when it happens from a writer that really knows his stuff. 

 

 

Men of Action answered a lot of questions that I had about these shows but was too lazy to search out the answers myself. Like why did The Magician’s Anthony Blake (Bill Bixby, wonderful as always) stop living and working out of a private plane? Turns out the show’s producers were concerned that having one man fly everywhere by himself would make him unsympathetic, at a time when Americans were waiting in long lines at gas stations during the energy crisis.

 

And since I always preferred the early episodes of Harry O that were shot in San Diego, I wondered why the series moved to Los Angeles. Ed provides the details, and I guess I can’t blame them now. 

 

 

Run For Your Life was the series with which I was the least familiar. For several years it has been on my back burner of shows I’ll get to one of these days, maybe because, given the premise and how it ended, there would always be the disappointment of an unfinished status to its narrative. But Ed’s tribute has reinvigorated my interest, and thankfully there are still several episodes on YouTube I will soon be checking out. 

 

 

Of course I knew The Untouchables, which Ed describes as “simultaneously the most loved and most despised television show of its time.” But once again I learned more about the series that will enrich future repeat viewings.

 

If you were a fan of these shows, or just curious to know more about them. Men of Action is certainly worth picking up. You can do so here

Classic TV Shows That (Almost) Made Me Cry

 

I’ve never been a crier. I don’t say that with either pride or shame – it’s just the way I’ve always been. I feel the emotions I’m supposed to feel if the show has earned its desired response, but I’m no pushover. I’ve watched too much television to not know the difference between a well-crafted scene and one that is shameless in its attempted manipulation. 

 

 

My eyes have watered up a few times, but not for those moments depicting some sort of tragedy, such as on M*A*S*H when Radar announced that Col. Henry Blake’s plane had been shot down over the Sea of Japan. It was shocking and powerful and beautifully performed, and I felt the weight of it, but no tears.

 

But I’ll tell which type of scene is most likely to get to me, starting with the one that hit me the hardest. It’s from the Doctor Who episode “Vincent and the Doctor.” If you’ve seen the episode you already know what it is. If you haven’t please don’t read any more, as I’d rather you discovered the absolute magic of that moment without being spoiled.

 

All clear? OK.

 

This was a show that aired in 2010, but since Doctor Who dates back to 1963 we can grandfather it in as Comfort TV. It opens with The Doctor and his current companion Amy Pond visiting the Musée d'Orsay in Paris, The Doctor notices a strange alien figure in one of Vincent Van Gogh’s paintings, and travels back to the artist’s era to find out how it got there. 

 

They meet the troubled Van Gogh, of course, and eventually resolve the mystery, but The Doctor decides that this tortured genius that rarely sold any paintings in his lifetime should be made aware of his legacy. So they travel in the TARDIS back to the Musée d'Orsay in present day, and Vincent enters a room entirely devoted to his work. 

 

 

These are the moments that, for me, resonate most deeply – when someone who may feel unappreciated, unloved, is shown how much he or she has meant to others, or in this case to the world at large. We’ve all had those misgivings from time to time, and to get that acknowledgement - that we haven’t been forgotten, and that someone recognizes what we do for others and that we’ve mattered in the grand scheme of things – it’s a powerful affirmation.

 

Thinking of other classic TV moments like this, I must begin with  “My Dad” from The Donna Reed Show. The episode opens with Dr. Alex Stone and his son Jeff ready to tee off at a father-son golf tournament, when Alex is paged to respond to an emergency call. As the story plays out we learn this happens often, leaving Jeff accustomed to disappointment and Alex lamenting how he has time to take care of everyone else’s children, while neglecting his own.

 

With Jeff scheduled to perform at a high school concern, Alex gets two other doctors to take his calls so he won’t miss it. But en route to the school he is pulled over by a police officer who tells him there’s been an accident with a child involved that needs immediate help. He gets to the school only after the show is over.  The scene that follows is as memorable as any this wonderful series ever produced.

 

Parental appreciation was also the focus of “Father of the Year” on The Brady Bunch. The episode aired halfway through the show’s first season, when this blended family was still coming together and adjusting to a new normal. That Marcia would already think so highly of her new dad, to nominate him for that honor, is touching in itself.

 

Of course, all does not go smoothly. Marcia realizes too late that entries must be mailed on the day hers is completed, and sneaks out of the house to mail it. That gets her grounded – but it’s all worth it when Mike Brady arrives home to find a camera crew from a local news station, and is presented with the award. The close-up on Maureen McCormick’s face, as Marcia beams with pride, is one of my favorite moments from one of my favorite shows. Robert Reed’s dissatisfaction with the quality of Brady scripts is well known, but I would bet that when he read this one, especially its final moments, he said “That’s more like it.” 

 

 

Teachers are also among our most under-appreciated public servants, as evidenced in the Fame episode “A Special Place,” in which budget cuts at the School of the Arts result in the firing of beloved acting teacher Mr. Crandall. 

 

His students and others gather for a tribute, and perform the song “Starmaker.” I think it’s one of the most popular songs to emerge from that series, though I’ve always been partial to  “Hi Fidelity” and “Mr. Cool.”

 

 

Every good teacher deserves a send-off like that one.

 

Your turn – what classic TV episodes moved you to tears?

My Journey Through 1970s TV: Sunday Nights, 1975

 

Time to start a new year in our journey through the 1970s, and to realize we’re already halfway through the decade. I hope you’ve enjoyed these pieces as much as I have – celebrating some iconic shows, remembering others long forgotten, and looking back fondly on all the other series that filled our evenings with a pleasant diversion from gas shortages and political scandals.

 

Perhaps the best news – in 1975, Sony introduced the Betamax, and for the first time we could all go out and save our favorite shows to watch later. I wonder how many of these series are still in someone’s tape collection?

 

Sunday, 1975

 

ABC

Swiss Family Robinson

The Six Million Dollar Man

ABC Sunday Night Movie

 

ABC won the night according to the Nielsen ratings, with The Six Million Dollar Man at #9, and the Sunday Night Movie at #13.

 

New to the lineup was Swiss Family Robinson, produced by famed master of disaster Irwin Allen. Martin Milner played the head of the Robinson clan, supported by future TV stars Willie Aames and Helen Hunt. 

 

 

The cast also included Cameron Mitchell, who found time from guest-starring on every other 1970s series to stick around for all 20 episodes. 

 

 

 

I’m not sure why this one didn’t last more than one season. Perhaps audiences still had fond memories of the 1960 Disney version starring John Mills and Dorothy McGuire, which told that story about as well as it could be told, while also inspiring a popular Disneyland attraction in the Robinson’s elaborate treehouse.

 

 

CBS

Three For the Road

Cher

Kojak

Bronk

 

As with Swiss Family Robinson, Three For the Road was a perfectly pleasant show with a likable cast that just never found a big enough audience. Alex Rocco played a freelance photographer, and a widower with two sons, played by Vincent Van Patten and Leif Garrett. Together they travel the country in an RV, so Rocco’s character can take whatever assignments come his way. 

 

 

Both Van Patten and Garrett were already making the cover of Tiger Beat, but not enough teen girls tuned in to keep the show around. Maybe they were watching Willie Aames on ABC, and couldn’t yet afford a Betamax.

 

The writing could get a little wonky; lines like “Sometimes you act like you don’t know your big toe from a trombone” betray an older writer’s inability to find a teenager’s voice. But it was a gentle show that always had its heart in the right place.

Cher’s solo variety series lasted longer than ex-husband Sonny’s, which isn’t surprising, through it was also canceled after one season. But what was deemed unsuccessful in 1975 is today a wonderful time capsule of great performances by the era’s top pop stars.

 

 

 

Even with a poor lead-in, Kojak remained a top 20 series, but viewers did not stay for a second helping of cops-and-robbers action in Bronk. Jack Palance played the title character, a detective-lieutenant in Ocean City, California who worked closely with the town’s mayor (Joseph Mascolo) on special cases. Just a guess, but audiences may have expected tough-guy Palance to be a small-screen version of Dirty Harry, but were disappointed by the character’s more laid-back persona.  

 

 

 

NBC

The Wonderful World of Disney

The Family Holvak

The NBC Sunday Night Mystery Movie

 

This was not one of Disney’s more memorable seasons, though animal lovers would likely disagree, given episodes like “The Boy Who Talked to Badgers,” “The Bears and I” and “The Survival of Sam the Pelican.”

 

My last 70s piece included a short-lived series called The New Land that appeared to be similar to The Waltons. Now we have another in The Family Holvak, about a preacher and his wife and kids struggling to get by in the Great Depression. I never saw The New Land but I’m guessing this series was better – it would almost have to be with a cast headlined by Glenn Ford and Julie Harris. Those performances certainly helped but I found it slow, and caught myself glancing at the clock a few times, something I rarely did when visiting Walton’s Mountain. 

 

 

Finally, the Sunday Mystery Movie adds one new feature to its revolving lineup of returning favorites Columbo, McCloud, and McMillan and Wife. McCoy starred Tony Curtis as a gambler and con man who uses his skills to steal from crooks. Never saw it, and probably never will see it because only four episodes were made before it was dropped from the rotation. 

 

 

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)

In Memoriam: The Pie in the Face Gag

 

Serious question for anyone still watching scripted television today – when was the last time (if ever) you saw a character take a pie in the face? 

 

 

I’m guessing the answer will be zero. Like funny drunks and bosses who chase their secretaries around a desk, this once-renowned paragon of slapstick humor seems to have been phased out of polite society by our elitist betters. Try hitting someone with a pie now and your show will earn a TV-M rating for an offensive exhibition of violence, not to mention an egregious waste of pastry.

 

But in the Comfort TV era, a custard pie in the face was a guaranteed laugh generator, as well as an homage to the earliest days of silent cinema. According to what my friend Mitchell Hadley refers to as “the always reliable Wikipedia” (I sense sarcasm), its first victim was comedian Ben Turpin in the 1909 movie Mr. Flip. But from Our Miss Brooks to Night Court – a span of 40 years in network television, it was a moment that might happen at any time, on any series, to preserve a proud show business tradition.

 

The most prominent keeper of that tradition was Soupy Sales, who hosted children’s shows between 1949 and 1979. 

 

 

Sales’ pie-tossing antics were the inspiration for two classic TV moments. “When a Bowling Pin Talks, Listen,” is one of my five favorite episodes of The Dick Van Dyke Show. It starts with Rob arriving home after a day of trying unsuccessfully to generate an idea for a comedy sketch. His son Richie suggests doing something with a talking bowling pin; the next day, Rob, Buddy and Sally develop that idea into a wonderful routine for Alan Brady (the scenes in this series that illustrate the creativity of talented writers are always a delight.)

 

But unbeknownst to Rob, Richie’s idea came from watching a talking bowling pin bit on a children’s show hosted by Uncle Spunky. The joy in the writer’s room turns to panic when they realize they could be fired for stealing from another series. 

 

Alan finds a solution, and at Rob’s urging agrees to appear on Uncle Spunky’s show, unaware that every guest gets hit with a pie. Alan is ready for payback, but it doesn’t go quite as planned.

 

Also inspired by Soupy, “Captain Crocodile,” the host of a kids’ show in an early episode of The Monkees. The band appears on the series, and all four of them are hit with pies before the episode’s opening credits. 

 

 

Of course Lucille Ball would get in on this fun, and more than once. Remember “The Diner” on I Love Lucy, which ended with the kind of full-out pie fight made famous by the Three Stooges? And on The Lucy Show, when Lucy enters a pie-baking contest, I’m sure most viewers knew exactly how the episode would end – and enjoyed it anyway. 

 

 

Slapstick wasn’t as commonplace on The Brady Bunch, but this was a series in which Mike fell into his own wedding cake in the first episode. Four seasons later, Cousin Oliver was welcomed to the family in a show best remembered for that infamous event (“Welcome Aboard”), but also featured the family re-enacting a silent comedy at a movie studio, complete with pies splattering everywhere. 

 

 

Even Norman Lear’s sophisticated, topical sitcoms weren’t above a little lowbrow humor every once in a while. I recall a Maude episode about a telethon, in which Maude didn’t wait for God to get Walter and hit him with a pie instead.

 

All of these scenes are meant to be funny, yet I did feel a little sorry for two flying pie victims on two different shows, perhaps because they were both teenage girls in the process of having their dreams shattered.

 

On The Patty Duke Show, Patty cures a rare moment of low self-confidence by landing a modeling job – but the gig is for a comedic advertising campaign in which she is doused with water, dropped from a hammock and, yes, hit with a pie. 

 

 

And on The Love Boat, Vicki is thrilled when a famous child star boards to shoot scenes from a movie on the ship, and offers Vicki a chance to be her stand-in. But that means taking the abuse the star is too good to handle, including – you guessed it. Guest star Alison Arngrim, the devil child from Little House on the Prairie, is in familiar territory here.

 

Do I have a favorite? Glad you asked. It’s the Bewitched episode “Double, Double, Toil and Trouble,” in which Serena impersonates Sam and torments a confused Darrin, until he finally sees through her charade. But that’s when Samantha returns home, with a pie from the bakery. Still believing she’s Serena, he lets her have it. What makes this moment special is how Elizabeth Montgomery clearly breaks character, being unable to suppress her laughter, while the line she was supposed to say was looped in later. 

 

 

First runner-up among my favorites: “There Was a Time Ann Met a Pie Man,” an episode of That Girl built entirely around a pie hit. 

 

Ann is offered a comedy spot on a popular TV show in which she will be the target, and wonders whether it will hurt her career. 

 

 

Second runner-up: who can forget this commercial parody clip with Johnny Carson that was aired every year on The Tonight Show’s anniversary broadcast?  

 

 

 

And with Christmas TV viewing right around the corner, don’t miss “’Twas the Pie Before Christmas,” from the final season of The Bob Newhart Show. 

 

Yes, I know I missed quite a few. Be sure to add your favorites to the comments. And if pies are still being thrown somewhere on series television, let me know. I’d be delighted to learn that my eulogy was premature.