A hundred years ago, when I was a little boy, all there was on television were Westerns. There was a show for every taste as long as you had a taste for gun-play and horsemanship.
I think (though I’m not sure), I think the trend started with a show called Bonanza. It was a show about a man raising four sons on a very big ranch. The ranch was so big Montana was their doormat. The four sons were always getting into exciting adventures. I think their names were: Hoss, Little John, d’Artagnan, and Zeppo. Having four sons was very convenient for the writers. Anything that happened to one of the boys, eventually happened to all his brothers. I remember handsome, quiet, Little Joe Cartwright, having paralytic hemorrhoidal horse-lather blind amnesia, on three separate occasions!
And every possible Western concept had its own show. There were shows about drifters and shows about family men. And there were shows about family men who were drifting. And shows about drifters who were good family men. Indian reservations were big too. I’m not talking about television, here. I’m just saying some Indian reservations had an awful lot of acreage.
And gamblers were everywhere. If you can believe the old TV shows, gamblers were everywhere. I remember one show called, Riverboat Gambler. In one episode we see the main character, Ace Doubledown, sitting at a big table with five other gamblers. Ace has three kings and two queens. The camera comes in close, and settles on Ace’s face. “I’ll see your nine riverboats,” he says, “and raise you two tramp steamers and a Greek trireme.”
Also, eventually, every weapon had its own show. Probably foremost was the show called The Rifleman. If I need to tell you anything more about that show, you have no measurable IQ.
Some shows were very popular. Some shows had very little in the way of audience. Paradoxically, Johnny Derringer was big. Whereas The Big Valley was watched by just a few. I watched it because of Linda Evans. Linda Evans was one of the stars. I used to think the “Big Valley” in the title was a reference to her cleavage.
And there was a show about Jim Bowie. Jim Bowie was supposed to have invented a very big knife. It wasn’t a machete, which is also a very big knife. And it wasn’t a bolo knife, which is also a very big knife. Nor was it a poniard, or a skean, a snickersnee, a misericord or a kris. It wasn’t a kirpan, nor even a simple, all purpose, large, sharp-edged sword; which to some, seems to also be a very big knife. It was an actual knife, though very big. Which means when he wasn’t using it he kept it in a drawer in the kitchen. Jim Bowie had a very big knife, and a very big kitchen drawer, but Jim, (considering he was supposedly this great scientific inventor and all), Jim wasn’t so very sharp himself. Note to Mr. Bowie: Drop that knife! Everyone else has guns!”
Johnny Yuma was a show I liked a lot. The actor was Nick Carter, playing a rebel soldier wandering through New Jersey after the Civil War. Johnny Yuma was famous for carrying a rifle that was cut short at both ends. It looked very much like a pistol, but wasn’t as easy to load, or use, or get licensed.
There was even a show called Whale Oil Willey. Whale Oil Willey didn’t even carry a gun. Whale Oil Willy dressed like a Quaker and he carried a little tin bucket of whale oil. Whenever he was needed. Whenever action was called for. He would douse his adversary in whale oil and then set the man on fire. The show only ran nine episodes. It was starting to gather an audience, but the studio pulled the plug, citing the expense of building a whole new western town every week.
So like I said, for a long time, Westerns were everything. every time you turned on the TV, everywhere you turned the channel, there were men shooting at each other.
Then one night:
I had just parked the car; and was coming in from an early date. I hid the empty beer bottles, so my parents wouldn’t find them. Before I came in, I looked over the car one last time. It was a good thing too. I found Ann’s underwear in the back seat. I put them in my pocket. I would debate later, whether I was going to return them, or put them in with my other souvenirs. I went inside. My parents were sitting on the couch.
”Where’ve you been?” my dad asked.
”Out.” I said.
”You’ve got to quit using the car.” he said. “You’re only seven.”
It was a Friday evening, so the TV set was already on. I sat on the floor and started watching. I didn’t hear any gunfire coming out of the speakers. I didn’t hear a horse whining or whinnying, or snickering or nickering, or whatever it is they do. I didn’t hear any hoofprints, which, now that I think about it, are normally silent anyway. What I saw on the screen was a little guy dressed in a black suit, holding his hands together in front of him. He wasn’t carrying a rifle, or riding a horse. He was just talking with a western twang. He was just speaking softly. I tried to listen, but with my parents talking behind me, I may have heard him incorrectly. What I thought I heard was”
”There is a group called The Fifth Dimension singing notes beyond those which are known to man. We will control the vertical. We will control the horticulture. We will take you to the pit of your summit and then to the summit of the deep pothole you call your imagination. Journey with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear. That’s the signpost up ahead; your next stop: The Night Gallery.”
As you’ve probably guessed by now, the man speaking was Rod Serling. After he spoke, the program started. The episode I watched was called “To Serve Minors.”
He was very tall. About nine feet tall. His face was white. As white as paper. He wore white robes. He came from another planet. He was testifying at the United Nations.
”I came to tell you that, like France, we too are opposed to invading Iraq. Further, I have traveled many billions of miles to bring to you people of Earth, the benefits of our civilization’s advanced technology. I am communicating with you by using telepathy.” he said.
”What do you expect in return?” asked one of the delegates.
”Nothing. Maybe we could stand to see Britney Spears and Madonna do a little more than kiss, but that would be the extent of our request. We have come to your world to double your production of wheat. To see that there is adequate supply of glazed donuts. We’ve traveled billions of miles to see that everyone on this planet have his fair share of caramel apples. And all we ask is that you marinate yourselves occasionally.”
”Is there any truth to the rumor that the people of your planet eat meat, and you have come here to kidnap us and eat us?”
”Where did you hear anything so silly?”
”It’s right here on the cover of The National Inquirer.” The man held up a newspaper.
”Ha. Ha. Ha. Nothing could be fodder from the truth,” said the tall alien.
Then the scene changed and the TV was full of pictures of wheat and corn and potatoes. And the tall creatures were letting people ride in their ships. And the last scene shows this man in a prison cell inside one of the ships. An alien comes in. The alien is carrying a tray. On the tray is a selection of beers. All of them are non-alcoholic.
”NO!” he screams. And he overturns the tray.
The alien picks up the bottles and places them on a table next to the earthling. “You’ll get thirsty soon enough,” he says telepathically, “maybe then you’ll drink.”
”No. Not non-alcohol. Never!” he screams.
The last scene was the spaceship cruising past the planet Neptune.
After that I watched every week. The Twilight Zone show was wonderful. And it was gracious too. In one or two episodes it used cowboys and horses, just to show the rest of the TV world that there weren’t any hard feelings.
Copyright © 2003 by Thomas Lee Joseph Smith
