When Character Actors Had Character

Some enterprising fellow made a compilation of every guest star on every Cannon, a detective show starring William Conrad that ran from 1971 to 1976. I salute him for his efforts. Posted on YouTube, this rather impressive undertaking pieces together announcer Hank Simm’s trademark openings—for years running—of this “Quinn Martin Production.” Honestly, there were a lot of superb character actors back in the day, like Sorrell Booke, Dana Elcar, Jacqueline Scott, John Fielder, Vera Miles, and William Windom. It’s positively unsettling to absorb the fact that most of the Cannon guest stars—a show that I watched as a kid—are deceased. So many of the men and women who were busy plying their trade during my youth—familiar faces that would pop up on TV series running far and wide—are now exclusively on that great small screen in the sky.

Harold Gould guest starred on more than one Cannon. He also played Martin Morgenstern, Rhoda’s father, first on The Mary Tyler Moore Show and then on Rhoda. Gould was, too, the original Howard Cunningham in an episode of Love, American Style entitled “Love and Happy Days.” He had a Ph.D. in theater, taught classes in Cornell University, but was never credited as “Dr. Harold Gould.” But then again, he was no Dr. Jill Biden, Ed.D.

Frank Marth likewise appeared on multiple Cannon episodes. He, though, will always be that big guy from The Honeymooners. Among many roles in the series, the tall, lanky, somber-faced Marth played one of the bank robbers who held the Kramdens and Ed Norton hostage in the Kramden apartment.

Actress Cloris Leachman died this week. She was ninety-four and known for many roles in television and movies, including landlady/neighbor Phyllis on The Mary Tyler Moore Show and then Phyllis on Phyllis (1975-1977). The latter spin-off series, as I recall, was only so-so, just like Rhoda. The Phyllis character was more tolerable in smaller doses, I guess. The show nonetheless featured some recurring characters played by notable character actors of the day: Henry Jones, Carmine Caridi, and Richard Schaal. It also made a little old lady, actress Judith Lowry, a familiar face in the role of Mother Dexter. Congenial old geezer Burt Mustin played her boyfriend, Arthur Lanson, for three episodes. The pair got married in the last one: “Mother Dexter’s Wedding,” which aired on December 13, 1976. Sadly, Judith Lowry passed away a couple of weeks before the airing. Happily, Burt Mustin got to tune in. He soldiered on for another month or so after that, but couldn’t outlive Phyllis in the prime-time lineup.

Those were the days, my friends, we thought they’d never end—when we tuned in to watch Mother Dexter marry Arthur Lanson and Rhoda marry Joe Gerard. Concerning the latter coupling, the writers quickly realized what a mistake that was vis-à-vis comedic plotlines. So, Rhoda and Joe got divorced, but Rhoda never quite recovered her quipping wit from The Mary Tyler Moore Show days. Julie Kavner and Nancy Walker got most of the laughs, playing Rhoda’s sister and mother, respectively. And, as always, it was a pleasure to watch Dr. Harold Gould…in whatever role he played.

So many thespians have passed in the wake of Judith Lowry and Burt Mustin. Television is a wholly different experience nowadays. Everyday living is a wholly different experience nowadays. But there was something to be said for a “Quinn Martin Production” and the memorable intonations of Hank Simms. There was something to be said for character actors getting their due. 

In the Year of Our Lord 1976

A month before I graduated from grammar school—in May of our bicentennial year—the entire eighth-grade class embarked on a field trip. This was the big enchilada—a reward of sorts for making it that far. And far it was in comparison with past field trips that ranged from a stroll over to the local police precinct to a subway ride downtown to Radio City Music Hall to a bus trip to a decrepit amusement park in Lake Hopatcong, New Jersey. This latest bus excursion, though, was a four-hour one to our nation’s capital, Washington, D.C.

Days before the big adventure, our principal, Sister Estelle, furnished us with the trip’s itinerary. We were poised to cram in a lot of sightseeing in a single day’s daylight minus, of course, the eight hours traveling from and back to the Bronx. Sister Estelle later remarked to a smaller group of us, which included little Mikey C, “Maybe we’ll see someone important like President Ford.” Mikey, who fancied himself a thirteen-year-old wit extraordinaire, replied, “He’s not important!” When his snarky rejoinder fell on deaf ears, he repeated it to a second resounding thud.

What I remember most about that day was assembling at the school in dawn’s early light. Down the street, the hearty staff of Bill’s Friendly Spot gathered up and assembled the new day’s various newspapers. This fortuitous set of circumstances permitted Jimmy M to have a thermos bottle filled with his drink of choice—a chocolate egg cream—for our impending long and exciting day. And, as memory serves, we didn’t see President Ford or anyone all that important, except House Speaker Carl Albert—a little known figure in those days—presiding over a rather empty chamber. We did spend an inordinate amount of time in a Capitol building gift shop with very long lines. For my grandmother and aunt, I purchased a decorative aluminum bowl that featured images of everything from the Smithsonian National Museum to the White House to the Washington Monument. Despite being a non-smoker and it having nothing to do with Washington, D.C., a skull-shaped ashtray so intrigued me that I bought it for myself. The skull sported a pair of metal glasses, which doubled as cigarette holders.

I distinctly recall walking through the impressive Capitol Rotunda in awe—a kid’s kind, especially one interested in American history and American institutions. Fast-forward almost forty-five years and a ragtag band of faux insurrectionists barreled their way through the very same hallowed halls, ostensibly to interfere with and cast aside a free and fair democratic election. Egged on by the loser of the election, it was simultaneously unprecedented and unbelievable—a disturbing visual from disturbing times. The aforementioned President Ford is reputed to have said, “If Lincoln were alive today, he’d be turning over in his grave.” He certainly would!

I consider myself fortunate that I don’t have another forty-five years to witness further erosion of American democracy and the Constitution. The genie’s out of the bottle and absolute nuttiness now travels at the speed of light. Many seemingly intelligent people—and lots of really dumb ones, too—throw in nowadays with the most preposterous conspiracy theories. So, pardon me for briefly returning to 1976, when we weren’t completely obsessed with red and blue allegiances, cult worship of unsavory demagogic politicians, and insidious woke censorship—when most people voted because it was their civic duty and then got on with their lives.

Back to Washington, D.C. back in the day: As our multiple buses pulled into Arlington Cemetery—the last leg of the day’s journey—the skies opened up big time. Courtesy of Mother Nature, we couldn’t even exit the bus to lay eyes on that Eternal Flame. A footnote here: Sister Estelle, a rather large woman, was nicknamed Sister Estell-e-phant by some, which wasn’t very nice. Yes, kids can be cruel—and adults, too. Gerald Ford certainly wouldn’t have called her that, but Donald Trump would have had no such hesitation. That about says it all, I think.

Lastly, approximately a month after our field trip of all field trips, little Mikey C hosted a graduation party in his old walk-up building apartment. Most of the apartments in the neighborhood were in old walk-ups. A couple of friends and I were invited and we turned up in jeans and sneakers, only to discover that the party was “formal.” We didn’t get the memo. Oprah would have said, “Awwwwwkward!” I must say that entering a Ralph Kramden-esque apartment and encountering a group of my peers sitting on the barren floor dressed to the nines was a rather silly spectacle. I don’t remember much else about that party, except that I didn’t have a good time. Perhaps if I was wearing my Sunday best, things might have been different. I do, though, miss those more genteel, intelligent, and quieter times.

 (Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)

They Said, They Said

 

As we begin 2021, I thought I’d offer up some random thoughts concerning this, that, and the other thing. The U.S. House of Representatives is poised to go gender-neutral and replace he and she references with “they.” So, I suppose, he got up to speak would be replaced with they got up to speak. To paraphrase a senior citizen whom I worked alongside in retail a long, long time ago: “That don’t make no sense!” He was a “he,” by the way, not a “they.” At least I think they was.

In two-and-a-half weeks The Donald Trump Show will mercifully conclude its four-year run. It’ll be the stuff of history books. And speaking of them, imagine the spate of books in the offing—from weary insiders released from their bondage. In the ensuing weeks, however, this reality show’s going to get weirder still before it rides off into the night. I don’t know why I’m both astounded and ashamed that so many prominent politicians who should know better put partisanship above country and the Constitution, but I am. When I was a youth collecting autographed pictures of senators, governors, and mayors, they were very definitely a better breed. Apparently, some of these contemporary dunderheads reason that their anti-democratic antics—and being on the wrong side of history—will aid and abet their careers. I somehow doubt that.

Okay, enough of all that. It’s worth noting that while COVID-19 has—according to the numbers—reared its ugly head again, we the people don’t appeared all that fazed. I’ll not soon forget the fledgling days of the virus spread here—ground zero at the time—in New York City. It was freak-out time for sure. Toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and soap were coveted items and hard to come by. I’ve got this image seared in my mind of local deli owners festooned in hazmat suits with cases of Poland Spring bottled water barriers in front of their counters. Fast forward ten months and these very same folks wear masks around their necks but rarely over their noses and mouths. Nevertheless, the vast, vast majority of men, women, and children are masked when making their rounds. They are taking the necessary precautions and rather serenely living their lives in what has become the new normal.

Okay, it seems to me that during past holiday seasons, some person or persons in my small circle had the flu or a very bad cold. This year, though, everyone was—relatively speaking—healthy. I guess wearing masks while grocery shopping, sitting in a doctor’s waiting room, and riding mass transit has its benefits beyond preventing the spread of COVID-19. Perhaps daily mask wearing will survive this pandemic. Sporting one in the aforementioned circumstances during the flu season certainly makes sense.

Now, on to some good news: It’s Mayor Bill de Blasio’s last year in office. Most of his wannabe successors, though, appear as bad or worse than him. Murder and mayhem have returned to the Big Apple with a vengeance this year, but reducing crime is apparently a low priority with this sorry bunch. I refer you to what I previously said about the current political class. I do, however, like Andrew Yang and voted for him in last year’s Democratic presidential primary. But that was more a demeanor thing—a non-politician among a sea of pandering politicians. Time will tell what his mayoral run looks like.

A couple of final notes: I sincerely hope that 2021 brings back bi-partisanship in comedy. In the good old days, comedians were equal opportunity destroyers, as it were. In the post-Trump era, perhaps some of them will realize that Joe Biden, too, is comic gold—an inarticulate and ancient hack pol who wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier during his prime. Let’s, too, rely on science over political posturing—that means you, as well, Democrats, the party of science. Enough also of identity politics and woke insanity—less is definitely better. Honestly, I’m not holding out much hope for any of that, but it is a new year and hope is supposed to spring eternal, isn’t it—for the first week in January at least?

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)