Five Reasons "Angie" Didn't Last Longer

I watched an episode of Angie the other day on DVD, and it struck me again how this 1970s situation comedy had most of the elements that would appeal to an audience long enough to keep it on the air for at least 3-4 seasons, if not more. Instead, it was canceled after two years and just 36 episodes.

What happened? I suspect network hubris contributed to its early departure. After ranking fifth in its debut season, ABC moved the series three times into three different time slots and changed the cast, the setting and the narrative. Since the network dominated the Nielsen ratings in the late 1970s they may have figured they could do no wrong, and their audience would follow them anywhere. That didn’t work.

I’m not saying those poor decisions deprived us of more time with one of the best shows of the decade – that level of quality was beyond its reach. But not every series has to be venerated to be valued. Thirty minutes with likable characters and a welcome setting are all many of us need as accompaniment to unwind after a day’s work.

The series made a fine first impression with a mini arc that introduced us to Angie Falco (Donna Pescow), a diner waitress from the poor side of town, and Dr. Brad Benson (Robert Hays), who comes from a wealthy family but eats at the diner every day, and not because of the food.

They come to each other from different worlds, as sung in the show’s wonderful theme by Maureen McGovern. He proposes, she accepts, but both of their families have misgivings about the match. These stories unfold over the first five episodes, all of which are among the best of the run. The show’s creators – classic TV vets Garry Marshall and Dale McRaven – had a clear vision of what Angie should be about, and they were onto something.

With Doris Roberts as Angie’s outspoken mom and Sharon Spelman as Brad’s stuck-up sister Joyce also making strong contributions, Angie was a series that seemed destined for long-term success. 

Why didn’t it last? I offer these five reasons.


The Move

In episode five, “The Adjustment,” newlywed Angie moves into Brad’s home, which she is surprised to discover is more like a palatial estate. Her reaction, and those of her family and friends when they visit, get to the heart of what this series was about – moving from one world to another. Brad never looked down on the humble Falco home during his visits, but Angie hit the jackpot and couldn’t handle it. She seemed embarrassed in luxurious surroundings.

After a short first season of just 12 episodes, the series returned for its first (and last) full year, and that’s where it made what was to me its biggest mistake. In episode three, “Moving Day,” Angie insists that they move into a humbler dwelling. The house she chooses is unappealing from a set design perspective, and Brad clearly hates it but goes along to appease his wife. The show removed one of the defining characteristics of its premise, cutting off access to rich comedic material long before its freshness date.


What to Do with Tammy Lauren?

Teenage Tammy Lauren was billed third in the opening credits of the series’ first season, right behind Pescow and Hays. She played Joyce’s daughter Hillary, but if you blinked you might miss her entire contribution to that season.

Lauren was completely absent in some episodes, made one-scene appearances in others, and probably spoke no more than 15 lines for her entire duration on the show. In fact, her most memorable contribution happened in the opening credits, when she laughs as Angie wheels her around on a serving cart in the diner, until Joyce puts a stop to that. Now we’re set up to think that Hillary is the only member of Brad’s family who thinks Angie is fun, but in her early scenes she’s just as snotty as Joyce, and that transition is never made. Another missed opportunity – plus she was cute enough to get some teenage boys to watch.

Phipps

Season two introduces Emory Bass as Phipps, a butler Brad hires to help Angie, even though she’s already uncomfortable with the trappings of wealth. Having a butler made sense when they lived in a mansion but seemed silly after they moved to a middle-class residence. Phipps was no scene-stealer like Benson on Soap, and like Hillary was another character left to drift through scenes for which he seemingly had no purpose.


The Marys

The same episode that introduced Phipps (“Angie’s Old Friends”) also introduced the Marys – three childhood friends of Angie: Mary Grace the nun (Susan Duvall), pregnant Mary Katherine (Nancy Lane) and ditzy Mary Mary (Valri Bromfield).

None of them were believable as real people, and not one of the eight episodes in which they appeared was made more memorable by their presence. They were the original Larry, Daryl and Daryl, except those characters worked on Newhart because that show was in the absurdist tradition of Green Acres. Angie already had Debralee Scott as Angie’s sister Marie, who pushed the boundaries of believability by sometimes being too incompetent to function as an adult. Why add three more abstractions?


The Beauty Salon

I can only speculate that having Angie leave the diner to buy a beauty salon was a desperation move to inject new life into a show with dwindling ratings. The network hoped a fresh setting and new supporting characters like Tim Thomerson as a skirt-chasing stylist would catch on with viewers. Instead, they likely hastened its departure.

“I don't try to understand it anymore,” said Donna Pescow after learning of the show’s cancelation. “You have to take it as a big chess game and the only person who sees the total logic is the person making the moves.” It’s sad in this case that all the moves were as appealing as Elaine Benes’s moves on the dancefloor – but at least we have a DVD release to remind us of the show’s best moments – and what might have been.  

Defending the Traditional

In a recent conversation about the new Star Trek series (Starfleet Academy) I remarked that one of the many reasons I disliked it was how it couldn’t tell the difference between depicting diversity and fetishizing it, something the original series had figured out back in 1966. One of my friends, whose politics lean left, responded that I wouldn’t have a problem if it were fetishizing something traditional.

I had to think about that for a while. And I’ve concluded he was right.

But first I had to question whether it was even possible to fetishize (have an excessive and irrational commitment) to widely shared beliefs and customs that have not changed for a very long time.

I guess so. Baseball has been played in America since 1869, and over the decades new rules were added, interleague play was adopted, and both leagues now have designated hitters. Someone who fetishized the game might object to all of that. But at its core baseball is still the same – nine players to a side, three strikes and you’re out. Fans may have different views on non-essential rules modifications, but we know where the line is that shouldn’t be crossed.

We should be able to say the same about tradition, at least in how it is manifested in our lives and our art, which includes television. Our minds seek truth, our souls seek happiness, and for many of us those things are found in the traditional. Whether it’s the classic shows of the past, our daily routines, or the beliefs found in centuries-old creeds, we come to these things because they are familiar, they are time-tested, and they just seem to work.

And in this strange era when so much of what falls under that category is not only being challenged but disparaged, it awakens in many of us a crusade to defend what is being lost. That wasn’t upmost in my mind when I started this blog in 2012, but as I’ve analyzed, celebrated and occasionally defended the Comfort TV era, that impetus was never far from the surface.

When did we lose sight of where lines should be drawn? Television used to be a purveyor for such knowledge, extolling through its shows the responsibilities of citizenship, what separates the rational from the fanatical, and the basic differences between right and wrong. Family sitcoms, dramas, westerns, police procedurals, all endorsed community over individuality, and recognized how the exaltation of the self, when we claim the right to define our own concept of existence, just leads to narcissism.

There was also, even if it was rarely stated implicitly, the conviction that there was inherent value in our nature and purpose as human beings, beyond what we ascribed to ourselves.

That is why I cling to the traditional in my television viewing. It did not dismiss the lessons of the past because they were old but valued them as the achievement of the striving of our ancestors.

Television is no longer a central figure in America’s households, which is particularly regrettable because the lessons it once imparted are also disappearing from other sources. The foundations of Western civilization are either denigrated or no longer taught, and that also diminishes the artistic works – television, literature, music, and art – which are the products of that civilization. Quotations from the Bible or Shakespeare, characters from Casablanca or I Love Lucy, the knowledge of which could be assumed across generations, are now as unfamiliar as Egyptian hieroglyphs.

To speak of “seeing through a glass darkly,” or “Here’s looking at you, kid” or “One of these days, Alice…” will not register with people who are the product of what one writer described as “four years of expensive brain deprivation, known as a bachelor’s degree.”

What is emerging to fill that vacuum? Nothing from television, I’m afraid, because not as many people are watching, much less watching the same shows as we did for decades. There are no universal messages being sent through that medium anymore, and the ones that are loudest are doing more harm than good.

We are in a period of cultural decline, not because of material or military failure, but because we’ve succumbed to destructive messages that we, in our superior wisdom, can simply dispense with God, nature, and our great spiritual and intellectual beliefs. In other words, all of what has come to be viewed as traditional.

I guess I didn’t talk about television the way I usually do in this blog. I apologize for that. But if you share my affection for the classic shows of the past, you know that these musings apply to them and are one of the reasons – perhaps the most important reason – that we still enjoy them.

My Journey Through 1970s TV: Tuesday Nights, 1977

Classic TV fans still rhapsodize about the CBS prime time schedules of the early 1970s featuring Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, and Carol Burnett. Fifty years later many contend these were lineups never surpassed in quality.

But what ABC achieved on Tuesdays in 1977 is arguably more impressive. For the first time, and I would guess the only time in television history, one network aired the year’s three highest-rated shows in one programming bloc on the same night. Let’s start there.

ABC
Happy Days
Laverne & Shirley
Three’s Company
Soap
Family

Laverne & Shirley surpassed the series from which it was spun to take the #1 spot in 1977, with Happy Days finishing at #2.

I can only speak for myself, but in the ensuing years I find my appreciation for Laverne & Shirley steadily rising, as my interest in Happy Days dwindles.

Both series floundered in their later seasons from location changes and cast departures. But here in their respective heydays (and taking nothing away from the eternally iconic status of The Fonz), L&S blended the nostalgic appeal of its predecessor with elaborate physical comedy stunts not seen in prime time since the glory days of Lucy and Ethel. I don’t think we appreciated the talent and timing involved in creating those moments as much as we should have at the time – but then I can say the same for just about everything back then.

Speaking of Lucy, Three’s Company was one of Lucille Ball’s favorite shows. It was the third highest-rated series of 1977, despite (or perhaps because of) its scandalous depiction of a man cohabitating with two attractive women. No one would blink an eye at that now, but Jack masquerading as gay to fool the landlords, complete with lisping voice and limp wrist, would get the show canceled. Times do change.

How does it hold up nearly 50 years later? It’s not in my DVD collection, but as a drawing room farce with a slapstick chaser it was often better than its shallow sex comedy reputation. Plus, Norman Fell’s smirks at the camera still make me laugh.

And if we’re talking controversy, Soap made Three’s Company look like Little House on the Prairie. Thousands of letters poured into ABC demanding its cancelation before the first episode aired. Such movements tend to generate more interest in a show, and that campaign combined with strong lead-ins elevated Soap to #13 that season.

As for Family (#26) I’ve said it before in this blog and I’ll likely say it again: one of the best shows of the 1970s or any decade.


CBS
The Fitzpatricks
MASH
One Day at a Time
Lou Grant

CBS more than held its own against ABC’s powerhouse line-up, placing two shows in the top ten: MASH at #8 and One Day at a Time at #10. And scheduling Lou Grant against Family was just unfair – why make viewers choose between two such excellent shows?

I know I was watching Lou Grant, a show that had a profound impact on my teenage self. I already knew I was probably going to be a writer, but this show steered me toward journalism – and taught me how that trade was supposed to be practiced. Now how can we get more of today’s “journalists” to study the DVDs – they could use a refresher in objectivity – not to mention ethics.

The Fitzpatricks was a show I had been curious about for a long time. It sounded like CBS’s version of Eight is Enough – the joys and sorrows of a large Irish-Catholic family in the Michigan suburbs. 

I thought it was destined for the “missed shows” list but a few months ago a full episode turned up on YouTube, and that’s when my excitement turned to disappointment. Nothing about it worked for me except for Helen Hunt as the girl next door with her eye on the Fitzpatrick boys, one of whom was played by Jimmy McNichol. The series was canceled after 13 episodes, while Jimmy’s sister Kristy ascended into 1970s stardom on Family.


NBC
The Richard Pryor Show
Mulligan’s Stew
Police Woman

Once again we find NBC struggling to keep up with the competition and failing miserably. Viewers enjoyed Police Woman for a couple of years but here, in its final season, the ratings dropped into the 70s. As for The Richard Pryor Show, it was likely doomed from the start given the censorship battles between the star and the network.

Mulligan’s Stew goes on the “missed shows” list, which is unfortunate because I’m as curious about this series about a large family as I was about The Fitzpatricks. I’m sure the cast alone assures it would be better.

As the Mulligan patriarch, Lawrence Pressman has one of those faces that is instantly recognizable from Doogie Howser, MD and a hundred guest appearances on other shows. This was his first shot at series stardom, but it lasted just seven episodes. Father Know Best’s Elinor Donahue played his wife, and among their blended family brood were former Partridge Family tambourine virtuoso Suzanne Crough and future Facts of Life castoff Julie Anne Haddock. That’s got to be worth a look for any Comfort TV fan, right?


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)
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)
Ball Four (1976)
Young Dan’l Boone (1977)
Rafferty (1977)
Mulligan’s Stew (1977)

Lost '70s Show - Found! Tenafly

During my ongoing review of the 1970s prime time schedules, I've kept a list of the shows I’ve never seen. It’s always fun when I get to cross a series off that list, and I can now do so with Tenafly, thanks to a kind soul who uploaded the first episode to YouTube a few months ago.

From 1973, Tenafly was introduced as a new entry in the NBC Wednesday Mystery Movie wheel. It debuted on Oct. 10 and lasted just one season. James McEachin played Harry Tenafly, a happily married, middle class family man who gave up being a police officer to work as a private investigator for a large L.A. detective agency.

The corporate approach to this profession is one rarely covered on television – most TV private eyes are lone wolfs, operating out of rundown offices and working the streets for clues. Tenafly was one of many investigators in an upscale building in a fancy office park. He has a desk and a secretary, and a grouchy boss who hands out assignments.

In the first episode, however, the client comes directly to him. Ted Harris (Ed Nelson) is a popular but controversial radio talk show host who returns home from work to find his wife dead in their home. He calls Tenafly because Harry is one of his most frequent callers and on-air sparring partners.

Harry takes the case and quickly tracks down the man with whom the victim was having an affair – but did he really do it, or was it someone else? A coat hanger turns out to be the key to unravelling the case.

Tenafly was created by Richard Levinson and William Link, the creators of Columbo, Mannix and Murder, She Wrote. Obviously that’s a positive sign, and you can see the level of professionalism in every aspect of production. I enjoyed the episode I watched and would gladly sample more – so the question is why didn’t it last longer?

I don’t have an easy answer. I do know that the ratio of hits to misses for the Wednesday and Sunday Mystery Movie wheels is likely not as impressive as you might remember. For every McCloud and Columbo there was an Amy Prentiss and Lanigan’s Rabbi. If there wasn’t an intriguing enough hook to bring viewers back, NBC wasted no time dropping some concepts and replacing them with others.

Even outside the Mystery Movie universe, the most successful 70s detective shows all had some unique feature to separate them from the crowd. Cannon was a portly fellow, Barnaby Jones a senior citizen. McCloud was a country boy in the city. The only special feature one could associate with Tenafly was that he was black – and that was enough in 1973.

To its credit – and I’ll choose my words carefully here – while this was a show with a black leading man, it wasn’t a show about a black leading man. At least from the episode I watched race was not a factor in any aspect of the story or his character. Contrast that with Shaft, which also debuted that October with Richard Roundtree reprising his iconic film role, in which the African American experience was intrinsic to its authenticity. That series was likewise canceled after one season.

It's too easy to say audiences were not ready for a show with a black leading man – not after Greg Morris’s contributions to Mission: Impossible and Lloyd Haynes in Room 222. Maybe fans of the Shaft films found the TV version too watered-down, and Mystery Movie viewers found Tenafly too generic.

Whatever the reason, at least in the latter case, it was our loss. But happily, James McEachin remained in demand as an actor, working steadily for the next three decades. You may remember him best as Lt. Brock in the series of Perry Mason TV movies that aired throughout the 1980s. He was also a Korean War veteran who according to IMDB, earned several medals for valor including the Silver Star. He died in 2025 at the age of 94, after a life well lived.

My Visit to the Brady House

In 2019 I reviewed A Very Brady Renovation, the four-part HGTV series in which the Brady Bunch house shown in nearly every series episode was purchased and renovated into a replica of the home that is as familiar to series fans as their own.

Back then I wrote: “The entire project was a completely impractical thing to do, requiring thousands of hours and millions of dollars. But seeing the results, it feels like time and money well spent. I only wish that all of us who love the show would have an opportunity to visit this treasured TV Land artifact that, most improbably, now exists in our mundane real world.”

Well, it took a few years, but the home is now open, and not long ago I made my pilgrimage to this Comfort TV shrine. I’m still struggling to find the words to describe the experience.

I’ve been to TV show tapings, where the rooms that looked so expansive on television appear much smaller on a soundstage. I still remember my first look at Laverne and Shirley’s apartment, and how it was now bordered by plywood dividers and resembled a miniature replica when viewed at a distance from the studio audience. This was an entirely different experience, being immersed in this space. There were no cameras or overhead lighting grids. I was in a real home on a real street in a real community.

I could easily see how visitors may envision themselves transported into that alternate universe where Mike would announce “Honey, I’m home!” as he strode through the living room, briefcase in hand, wearing a shirt louder than a Motorhead concert. While Carol greets him, Alice is in the kitchen making dinner, and the kids are upstairs in their respective bedrooms, dealing with that week’s adolescent trauma.

Did I feel that way? Not quite. Much as I have loved this show since childhood, my imagination wouldn’t carry me that far. I’ve never been one of those people who go to Disneyland and stand in line to “meet” Ariel or Cinderella and talk with them as if they were the actual characters from the movie. I admire those with the childlike wonder to preserve that illusion, spending a few moments with someone who is, to me, a coed from Orange County who happened to be blessed with the features of a princess.

This world has made me too cynical for such flights of fancy – but I’ll admit to the occasional twinge of a surreal but soothing sensation inside the Brady residence. 

I had entered someplace special, isolated from harsh reality, much like the Bradys themselves were portrayed in the 1995 movie that gently poked fun at their out-of-step existence.

In every room there are reminders of specific episodes – clearly, someone had done their homework before opening the house to fans who have watched every episode dozens of times.

Marcia’s many ribbons and awards fill the dresser in the girl’s bedroom (along with a letter from Davy Jones), while on the desk is Jan’s essay about America, which almost won a contest. Kitty Karry-All rests on Cindy’s bed. 

In the boys’ room you’ll see the newspaper clipping proclaiming Peter a hero for saving a little girl in Driscoll’s toy store, and above Greg’s bed a copy of The Red Badge of Courage – remember when that was mentioned?

There’s a house of cards in the living room, and a silver platter engraved with the names of all six kids. 

Items on the family room table recall other memorable episodes, and in the den Mike proudly displays his “Father of the Year” plaque. Alice’s bedroom is here as well, as are the parents’ bedroom and Greg’s converted attic, complete with Raquel the goat and sheet music for “We Can Make the World a Whole Lot Brighter.”

I went through all the rooms at least three times and each time found something I missed in my previous visit. Even the backyard offers a few familiar sights.

And if you were curious, even with all the references to specific shows, I did not see any related to Cousin Oliver. I applaud that decision.

Thinking of going? Here’s what you need to know. The cost is $275 for 90 minutes, and an advance reservation is required. Don’t expect to have the house to yourself – there may be other visitors who booked the same day and time (there were when I was there) and there are two tour reps who monitor guests to make sure no one walks off with any artifacts.

Other ground rules: you must take your shoes off before entering, you’re not allowed to sit on the furniture, and for heaven’s sake don’t play ball in the house (yes, the vase featured in that episode is back in its rightful place). You are, however, allowed to open the refrigerator – and you’ll know why once you do.

Final thoughts: I’m sure that price may seem high to some, but for the moment business is brisk. One of the home’s caretakers told me that they’ve seen visitors walk in and burst into tears. I get that. Perhaps, growing up, the Brady house was the only happy home they knew.

I write about classic TV here and in my books because it means something to me. Something beyond mere escapism and entertainment. That someone thought enough to provide the time and effort required to transform the Brady Bunch house suggests that I am not alone in those sentiments. The generations that grew up with the series are, to paraphrase Bob Dylan, “so much older then,” but also “younger than that now.” Here is a place to be younger, feel younger, and believe once more in sunshine days.

My Journey Through 1970s TV: Monday Nights, 1977

We're just up to day two in our journey through 1977, and I have a feeling it’s going to be an interesting year.

I saw a YouTube video about how this was one of the worst years for television, and that probably means more than a few short-lived series that I’ll have to add to my “missed” list. But quality is in the eye of the beholder, and from what I’ve watched and read about some of these quickly canceled efforts I’d bet they were a whole lot better than what their networks are serving up these days. Let’s take a closer look.


CBS
Young Dan’l Boone
The Betty White Show
Maude
Rafferty

Don’t expect to see any of these shows again when we get to Monday nights in 1978.

Daniel Boone, starring Fess Parker as the famed frontiersman, was a hit for NBC in the 1960s, running six seasons and 165 episodes. CBS gambled that audiences would return for a new series about Boone’s early years, with Rick Moses in the title role. They were wrong – only eight episodes were made, and only half of them aired before the plug was pulled.

After The Mary Tyler Moore Show ended its storied run, Betty White and Georgia Engel reteamed for The Betty White Show, with White playing Joyce Whitman, an actress who lands the starring role in a police action series called “Undercover Woman.” Engel played her best friend, and John Hillerman costarred as the show’s director – and Joyce’s ex-husband.

It was created by the same team who launched Taxi, and had some of that show’s acerbic wit, but even the outsized public affection for Betty White was no match for the popularity of Monday Night Football. A schedule change might have kept the series around longer, but CBS opted instead to cut its losses and cancel it after 14 episodes.

Maude was already on life support in its final season – an attempt to revive interest by Maude being appointed to a congressional post by the governor did little to stimulate ratings.

As for Rafferty, I have to confess that I had either never heard of it or completely forgotten about it. But from the description it was basically House before House: Patrick McGoohan starred as a gruff but brilliant doctor who was able to diagnose and treat rare medical conditions. 

McGoohan apparently called it “the most miserable job I’ve ever done in my life,” but I’ll be checking YouTube regularly in hopes of finding a full episode to watch. The clips that are there already suggest this was a series worth watching despite its star’s frustrations.



ABC
The San Pedro Beach Bums
Monday Night Football

The one-hour sitcom is a television anomaly. It’s been tried occasionally but never with lasting success, as evidenced by The San Pedro Beach Bums, which lasted all of ten episodes before being canceled.

Aaron Spelling had a magic touch in the ‘70s but this series was a rare misfire. He stacked the deck in its favor with guest spots from all three of Charlie’s Angels in the first episode – Jaclyn Smith, Kate Jackson and Cheryl Ladd. That’s one reason I still remember it – the other is the phrase “Football, you bet!” spoken repeatedly in episode two, “The Shortest Yard.” Not sure why that stuck in so many viewers’ memory banks, but for those of a certain age it’s just one more useless nugget taking up space that could be occupied by a Psalm or a Shakespeare sonnet.


NBC
Little House on the Prairie
NBC Monday Night Movie

Not as much to talk about here but let’s give the Peacock network its due, as Monday night was a rare ratings win in a decade dominated by CBS and then ABC.

Now in its fourth season, Little House finished the year at #7, followed by the Monday Night Movie at #15. Looking down the list of episodes it’s impressive how many were either written or directed (or both) by star Michael Landon, making this series as much a product of one man’s vision as Jack Webb’s Dragnet or Ozzie Nelson’s suburban adventures. The season’s final episode, the two-part “I’ll Be Waving as You Drive Away,” was ranked by TV Guide among the 100 greatest episodes of all time.


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)
Ball Four (1976)
Young Dan’l Boone (1977)
Rafferty (1977)

Saying Farewell to Luke, Buck, and Meathead

In my last piece I wrote how this was not a happy holiday season for me. The last thing I would have wanted was for so many others to share in my melancholy. But since then, the news coming out of the world of classic television has been nothing but sad.

Rob Reiner
I’ve written before of my general lack of enthusiasm for the shows created by Norman Lear. But even in that piece I acknowledged their quality, popularity, and the ways in which they broadened the television sitcom landscape. Few series in the history of the medium were as revolutionary as All in the Family. It was so game changing that CBS aired a ‘brace yourselves’ warning before the first episode:

“The program you are about to see is ‘All in the Family.’ It seeks to throw a humorous spotlight on our frailties, prejudices and concerns. By making them a source of laughter we hope to show – in a mature fashion – just how absurd they are.”

If viewers were shocked it didn’t stop them from watching. From 1971 to 1976 All in the Family was television’s #1 show, and its four leads and the characters they played became pop culture icons. I think Rob Reiner as Mike Stivic had the most challenging role.

I’m not sure if Norman Lear was prepared for the extent to which audiences embraced Archie Bunker. He was brusque and bigoted but working-class viewers struggled with the same challenges as Archie and were just as confused by changing mores and attitudes. And, as demonstrated by the election of a certain chief executive, they liked plain talk even when it was harsh, and preferred it to Ivy League philosophizing from over-educated eggheads who claimed to know everything except how to pay rent.

Mike was Archie’s sparring partner on all the political and social issues of the day.

He was right much of the time, but he was still Meathead. And yet viewers came to care about him and Gloria as much as they loved Archie and Edith. Maybe that’s why, when fans recall the show now, they may first remember the tender moments rather than the arguments.

Reiner appeared on other classic TV shows as well – in bit parts on That Girl and Gomer Pyle, in a classroom on Room 222, and as the head of a biker gang on The Partridge Family. But All in the Family would define him as an actor, and then he achieved an even more impressive second act as the director of the some of the finest films of the last 30 years.


Anthony Geary
Few actors in history had as profound an impact on an entire genre as Anthony Geary did on daytime dramas. There were soaps before Luke Spencer arrived in Port Charles on General Hospital, but the magnetism Geary brought to that character raised the game of his costars and expanded the storytelling possibilities available to writers, while elevating soaps to a level of popularity previously unattained.

We must also credit Gloria Monty here, who created the character and the pairing of Luke and Laura, whose 1981 wedding remains to this day the most-watched episode of any daytime drama. I was one of those viewers. At the time I checked in on other soaps occasionally, but GH is the one I stuck with and still watch to this day. Geary was one of the main reasons for that, along with Tristan Rogers and Jackie Zeman and so many others, many of whom are also gone as well.

Luke was the ultimate antihero, in a genre where the heroes and villains were routinely so well-defined. He raped Laura before he married her and the audience still cheered. Not many actors could pull that off, but Geary did. When the material was great he made it greater, and when it was implausible as it often is on soaps, he made us believe it.

Like Rob Reiner he was also on All in the Family and The Partridge Family, and back in the day he sold a lot of Members Only jackets.

Gil Gerard
There is a loyalty and special affection that exists between fans of science fiction and the actors who bring its adventures to life.

You see it at the conventions for Star Trek and Doctor Who, and it endures even for less celebrated series like Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, which lasted just two seasons and 37 episodes. But more than 40 years later Gil Gerard’s table at autograph shows featured a steady stream of adults who were once kids, cheering in front of their 21-inch Zenith Chromacolor TV sets as Buck fought space vampires and the war witch Zarina.

Once described as “Logan’s Run on laughing gas,” this was one of the shows that characterized American sci-fi TV in the 1970s. Despite being saddled with the cute robot (Twiki) that every sci-fi franchise required after Star Wars, Gil Gerard and Erin Gray tried to play the material straight, but always with a wink to the audience. I still have my Mego Buck Rogers figure, mint in box I might add, and I’m sorry now I never went to one of his shows to get him to sign it.

As we learned from Galaxy Quest, sci-fi actors sometimes have a love-hate relationship with the roles that made them famous and the fans that still think they’re awesome after their hairlines recede and their bellies expand. But I’ve never heard anyone say they met Gerard and were not treated with kindness and appreciation. After his wife posted the news of his death on social media, the more than 3,500 comments (and counting) serve as a testament to his legacy.

"Your time as Buck Rogers was way too short but it has stayed with me in my childhood memories for 45+ years," one man wrote. "Your hero was brave, macho, but also kind, compassionate, and fair. I feel as if that was representative of the man you truly were. Thank you for being the kind of 'make believe' hero that we should all want to be in real life."

And we who are left soldier on.