BONUS CONTENT/ EXPANDED BETWEEN US
Robert Love EDITOR IN CHIEF
Screen Dreams
Watching TV isn’t just a pastime. Often, it’s a way to understand and connect
Top row, from left: Laugh-In; The Gong Show; Late Night with David Letterman. Bottom row, from left: M*A*S*H; Succession; The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air
IN THIS ISSUE, we celebrate television. TV has always been with us, it seems, a constant presence in our homes, a connection to the world and to one another. When big things happen, we turn it on and watch together—as families, as a nation. In our lives, we’ve shared images from assassinations, wars and terrorist attacks, the jubilation of a young woman marrying her Prince Charming and the sad ending of that fairy tale in a Paris tunnel. We’ve watched our presidents swear allegiance to the Constitution as they step into four years of power. We’ve seen our sports heroes fall to their knees in victorious exhaustion.
Through this medium, Americans have come to understand who we are as a people. That has happened, I’d argue, largely through the weekly series. The critically acclaimed sitcom Abbott Elementary, costarring Sheryl Lee Ralph—whom we profile in “Nothing but Class”—is just the most modern twist on this familiar format. It’s heading into its third season soon.
Our own TV critic, Tim Appelo, writes about the “10 Shows That Changed Our Lives,” spotlighting a handful of series that brought us joy and laughter and made us think too. Spoiler alert: Tim’s list includes All in the Family, the fearless sitcom that broke all the rules of propriety to shout about politics, religion and race. And Star Trek, which powered our dreams. And The Tonight Show, which has kept us from sleep for generations. With Tim’s story you’ll also find a quiz and a timeline of momentous TV events, which led me to ask our team for their own TV memories. Read below for their answers.
Our TV Memories
November 22, 1963
Neil Wertheimer, deputy editor: I must have been in nursery school, because I was 4 at the time, but I distinctly remember getting off a school bus, entering our little bungalow home, hearing the TV on in the basement, walking downstairs, and seeing my mom and oldest brother, both transfixed by the TV, tears streaming down their faces. President Kennedy had just been assassinated. To me, the first time ever seeing them cry was far more shocking and frightening than what was happening on the screen. So little did I know. That moment remains one of the few truly crisp and detailed memories of my early youth.
1965–1973
Mike Hedges, executive editor: I grew up watching the Vietnam War on my parents’ TV. The tragedy came through the screen, but I was riveted watching correspondents perform what seemed a glamorous, exciting role. The French director François Truffaut said you can’t make an anti-war movie, because elements of heroism and sacrifice inevitably come through. So it was for me, watching reports from Vietnam. By the 1990s, I was working for print news organizations in war zones in places like Bosnia and Iraq. I met a few old-timers who’d covered Vietnam and were never able to walk away. It wasn’t what I’d imagined as a boy. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get in your blood.
1968–1973
Bill Horne, executive editor: My father was a serious, quiet man and didn’t much encourage or appreciate fun or merriment around our house when we were younger kids. Enter Laugh-In. That show, viewed with the six of us scooched onto and around a couch facing our, yes, still black-and-white TV, was the first to make my dad laugh out loud, a surprisingly joyous bark that gave us all permission to do the same, both then and on into our lives. A tip of the hat to two other shows that shortly came along and likewise tickled his fancy, albeit in smarter, more sly ways, All in the Family and Monty Python’s Flying Circus—it’s no exaggeration to say those three shows helped release me to be, well, fun, and to try to inject merriment and wit into nearly everything I do.
1976–1978
George Mannes, executive editor: In my early teens, I couldn’t get enough of The Gong Show. I loved the utter silliness of it all: host Chuck Barris, the goofiest man ever to emcee a talent show; the bizarre acts that came on between performers with real skills; celebrity judges who gonged terrible contestants but weren’t mean-spirited. And, best of all, moments when the house band broke into “Jumpin’ at the Woodside” and on came the stagehand known as Gene Gene the Dancing Machine. Props flew, balloons fell, and the set descended into chaos. The show nurtured my taste for good-natured, lowbrow humor, which I’m happy to say I’ve never lost.
Mid-’80s
Jim Lenahan, executive editor: David Letterman taught me how to be creative. We often hear the conventional wisdom to “Think outside the box.” That’s bunk, as my many late nights spent watching the gap-toothed Hoosier made me realize. Letterman is credited with reinventing the talk show, yet the show was very much “inside the box”: an hour-long celebrity gabfest, traditionally structured with an opening monologue, desk bits, a house band and musical guests. But within that structure, Letterman was constantly trying new things. And so we got the Guy Under the Seats, Rupert Jee at the Hello Deli, the Dancing Waters, the meatball on the Christmas tree and all sorts of comedic gold spun from yarn. The life lesson is that creativity is not about breaking the rules; it’s what one does while working within them.
1986–1991
Barbara O’Dair, contributing editor: Pee-wee’s Playhouse has really stuck with me, because it was so imaginative and innovative. I’d never seen anything like it before. And it was innocent and knowing at the same time, much like me in my 20s in New York City.
1987–1998
Lesley Palmer, art director: Late ’80s–early ’90s TV sitcoms broadened my view as a middle-class child in a homogeneous area. Dwayne Wayne on A Different World, Steve Urkel on Family Matters and particularly The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. We watched this show on repeat, and all these shows gave me a larger perspective. There’s no child who was growing up in the ’90s who can’t sing “In West Philadelphia, born and raised …”
2003
Margaret Guroff, executive editor: Twenty years ago, I was being treated for cancer and my sleep was rotten, partly because of the chemo and partly because I was scared. I didn’t have cable TV, so at 3 a.m., I would turn on one of the local channels and watch decades-old reruns of M*A*S*H. There was something comforting about every familiar joke—and about knowing, even though the characters didn’t, that they would make it through the war OK.
May 28, 2023
Stephen Perrine, executive editor: The final, haunting, wordless scene at the finale of Succession drove home for me how the disapproval of our parents can follow us forever; it gave me a new perspective on my relationship with my parents, and I vowed to be more conscious of telling my own children how proud I am of them at every opportunity.
Stay with us. And share your own TV memories on our Facebook page, at facebook.com/aarp.