Triad Today

On June 19, 2009, I had the honor of producing and hosting “A Father’s Day Salute to TV Dads” at the Television Academy’s Leonard Goldenson Theatre in Los Angeles.

Aside from the Emmys and the Television Hall of Fame awards, it was the largest gathering of stars for any academy event and the highlight of my broadcasting career.

On that special evening, I gathered together nine iconic TV dads to discuss their lives and careers. Panelists included Bryan Cranston (Breaking Bad), Patrick Duffy (Dallas), Michael Gross (Family Ties), Stephen Collins (7th Heaven), Reggie Vel Johnson (Family Matters), the late great Dick Van Patten (Eight is Enough), Jon Cryer (Two and a Half Men), and my friend Bill Paxton (Big Love) who sadly would only see seven more Father’s Days. But the undisputed star of the evening was Dick Van Dyke who played a Dad on two hit series, The Dick Van Dyke Show and Diagnosis Murder, and who I introduced as being 84 years old. “I’m only 83,” he jokingly corrected me. Sixteen years later, he would publish his eighth book, 100 Rules for Living to 100, and this Saturday he will realize the milestone of which he wrote.

Dick was born Richard Wayne Van Dyke on Dec. 13, 1925, in West Plains, Mo. to Hazel, a stenographer, and Loren, who was a traveling salesman. While still in high school, Dick worked part-time at a radio station in Danville, Ill., then left before graduation to enlist in the Air Force. After the war, he formed a comedy team called the Merry Mutes, but struggled financially. He served a short stint as host of the CBS morning show in New York before working on the stage and eventually landing a starring role in Bye Bye Birdie, for which he won a Tony award. That landed him the same role in the film version as well as a string of successes on television beginning with The Dick Van Dyke Show, for which he won three Emmys. He would go on to win three more, the last of which came in 2023 at the age of 97. His role as Bert in 1964’s Mary Poppins made Dick an international film star and cemented his reputation as a bankable performer in all genres whose talents remained in constant demand throughout his life. What follows are highlights from my conversation with Dick during our TV dads event.

 

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Jim: On The Dick Van Dyke Show, Rob and Laura slept in separate beds. Did they ever fool around?

Dick: Of course. It was implied. We had a kid didn’t we? [laughs]

Jim: How did you learn about the facts of life?

Dick: Well, I didn’t know what puberty was until I was almost past it. But I learned a lot about sex from the Sears and Roebuck catalog.

Jim: I thought that was a hardware magazine.

Dick: Not in those days. Actually, though my wife taught me most of what I know.

Jim: Dick I understand that your dad’s nickname was “Cookie” because he worked for the Sunshine Biscuit company.

Dick: How’d you know that?

Jim: ’Cause I did my homework. Tell me about him.

Dick: He was a traveling salesman, so he was only home on weekends. My association was mainly with my mother because Dad was very distant. But I grew up during the Depression, and times were really tough. We were constantly in debt and worried about money. I was 4 years old when the stock market crashed, and I lost everything [audience laughs]. But my dad’s saving grace was that he had a great sense of humor about his condition in life and about himself, and I can remember laughing until I had tears in my eyes. My mother was the same way, and they could both laugh about their poverty. My brother Jerry and I have often talked about it because we didn’t know we were poor. We had a wonderful childhood, I think much better than kids today, because we weren’t micromanaged. Our summer vacation was ours, and we did what we wanted to. Those were great days.

Jim: I read somewhere that your first acting role was when you were 4 years old, and you played the baby Jesus.

Dick: That’s right, and I got laughs [laughter].

Jim: What was your first paid acting job?

Dick: I loved magic as a child, and at age 12, I was doing Kiwanis Club luncheons and things like that for $3. So, I liked performing right from the beginning. In high school, I was in all the shows, and I never really thought it was a chance to be in show business; I just loved it so much, but I got all the breaks.

Jim: I heard that when filming the pilot for The Dick Van Dyke Show, you sweated through six dress shirts because you were uptight.

Dick: Yeah, but not only that. I was doing Bye Bye Birdie on Broadway, and they gave me a week off to film the pilot and I was so nervous, and it meant so much to me that I developed five fever blisters on my mouth, and I had to kiss Mary Tyler Moore like that [he cringes].

Jim: When you start any new project do you still get butterflies?

Dick: No, these days I just have a wonderful time. All the nerves stopped years ago because I did a lot of stuff that I had never done before. I auditioned for Bye Bye Birdie for Gower Champion when I couldn’t even sing and dance, so I got up and did a little soft-shoe, singing “Once in Love with Amy,” and they gave me the job. And I thought, “Oh great. Now I gotta learn how to sing and dance.” [laughs].

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As we wrapped up our discussion, I asked each panelist to name their favorite TV dad, and Bryan Cranston spoke for everyone, saying, “When I first started to work on Malcolm in the Middle, I really didn’t know where my character was going, but I knew all I had to do is look to my hero Dick Van Dyke. I adore you. You know that. You have always been my idol and every stitch of comedy that I’ve ever attained has come from you [audience applauds and they shake hands]. I also owe you a lot of commission money, by the way.”

At the end of the event, I summoned co-stars and family members to come up on stage and say a few words about the TV dads, then I pressed Dick into service to perform with his quartet, Dick Van Dyke and the Vantastix. Not surprisingly, they garnered an enthusiastic standing ovation from the capacity crowd.

A few weeks ago, Dick graced the cover of PEOPLE magazine, proclaiming, “I’m having the time of my life!” I felt the same way, being able to work with Dick on that memorable summer evening 16 years ago. Happy 100th birthday to everyone’s favorite TV dad.

 
 

Presidents are only human, so they make mistakes. No, I’m not talking about Bill Clinton hooking up with Monica Lewinsky, or George H.W. Bush not knowing what a bar code was. I’m talking about John Kennedy, and how he misread history, unintentionally insulted the Commonwealth of Virginia, and was compelled to make amends.

The story begins on Wednesday December 4, 1619. That’s the day 38 English settlers from the London Company navigated their ship down the James River and onto Berkeley Hundred (Harrison’s Landing), in what is now Charles City, Virginia, just 20 miles upstream from Jamestown, which had been settled 12 years prior. The landing party was led by Captain John Woodlief, who, as prescribed in the company charter, ordered a day of Thanksgiving to be observed upon their arrival, and every December 4th thereafter.

Over time, Berkeley became known for its historic firsts. The first bourbon whiskey was made there in 1621 (by a preacher, no less). “Taps” was played for the first time while the Union army was encamped at Berkeley in 1862. And, of course, it was the site of America’s first Thanksgiving. More on that in a moment.

In 1907 Berkeley was purchased by John Jamieson, who had served as a Union drummer boy during the army’s encampment at the plantation. Ownership later fell to his son (and my friend) Malcolm, who passed away in 1997. Mac loved Berkeley and was aggressive in marketing the historic site, including through the use of promotional videos and commercials which I helped to produce. He invited the public to tour the house and grounds, sold Berkeley boxwoods and bourbon, and held an annual Thanksgiving pageant which attracted tourists from across the country. But the celebration wasn’t always widely recognized.

One hundred years after his father beat the Yankee drums at Berkeley, Mac was upset by something another Yankee did. In the fall of 1962, President Kennedy issued his yearly Thanksgiving Proclamation in which he recognized his home state of Massachusetts as the site of America’s first Thanksgiving. And so, on November 9th of that year, Virginia state Senator John Wicker was prompted by Mac to write to the President, and point out Kennedy’s faux pas. In his telegram, Wicker referenced historical records about Berkeley’s celebration, which took place one full year before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth in 1620.

Later that year, Kennedy’s confidant, and noted historian, Arthur Schlesinger sent a reply to Wicker with a tongue-in-cheek apology from the President. According to Berkeley records, Schlesinger “attributed the error to unconquerable New England bias on the part of the White House staff.”

The following year, on November 5, 1963, President Kennedy had to eat crow during his annual Thanksgiving proclamation, saying, “Over three centuries ago, our forefathers in Virginia and Massachusetts, far from home, in a lonely wilderness, set aside a day of thanksgiving.” Kennedy’s New England bias wouldn’t allow him to disavow Plymouth entirely, but Mac was happy that Berkeley finally gained official recognition for holding the first Thanksgiving, even if it was a shared honor. Sadly, it was to be Kennedy’s last proclamation. He was assassinated seventeen days later in Dallas.

The holiday season is now upon us, and that means gathering together with friends and family to share food, gifts, and goodwill. And, despite the personal and financial losses we might have endured over the past year, we will find a way to give thanks for what we have and who we’re with. Perhaps we would also do well to emulate those weary English settlers, and just be thankful for surviving another day of our long journey. So, here’s a Berkeley bourbon toast to Captain Woodlief, a little drummer boy, old Mac, and to that Yankee president who finally set the record straight.

May God bless, and happy Thanksgiving.
 
 

Hollywood built its reputation on fantasy. Studio bosses, make-up artists, and publicity departments spent tons of money and countless hours making us believe that what we saw on screen was real. We didn’t know that Clark Gable had false teeth, that Bogey wore a toupee, that Rock Hudson was gay, or that Lassie wasn’t a female. But now the tables are starting to turn. Soon, instead of issuing fake news about real actors, publicists will issue real news about fake ones. When that happens, you can blame it all on Tilly Norwood.

Tilly is an artificially generated woman created by Eline van der Velden, who is a producer for Particle6 and its UK-based  Xicoia studios. Tilly, who Xicoia describes as a digital human, had her coming out at the Zurich Film Festival earlier this year, appearing in photos and videos. The AI actress is an amalgamation of countless images and voices, and is a strikingly beautiful young woman with a (sometimes) slight British accent.

Her debut comes on the heels of a campaign by talent unions to fight against unauthorized use of human actors’ voices and likeness. But since Tilly doesn’t look or sound like any one particular actress, then van der Velden and Xicoia can’t be sued, much less stopped from selling Ms. Norwood’s services to film and television companies. Upon seeing Tilly, award-winning actress Emily Blunt told Yahoo Entertainment, “Good Lord, we’re screwed. This is really, really scary.”   

SAG-AFTRA agrees. In a statement issued last month, the organization said, “Our union is opposed to the replacement of human performers by synthetics. [Tilly] has no life experience to draw from, no emotion and, from what we’ve seen, audiences aren’t interested in watching computer-generated content untethered from the human experience…it puts actors out of work, jeopardizing performer livelihoods and devaluing human artistry.”

Hey SAG-AFTRA, you’re exactly 100 years too late to be complaining about artificially generated content. In the 1925 silent film The Lost World (as well as in its 1961 remake), actors appeared alongside stop-motion dinosaurs. By 1973, Westworld became the first film to use CGI with live action. In 1982, Tron featured CGI-created live characters and objects, and in 2009, Avatar was absent of any live actors altogether. Human actors might have complained along the way; nevertheless, they agreed to appear on screen with artificial characters and objects because they were paid well to do so.

There are, of course, advantages to studios for using AI-generated performers like Tilly. For one thing, she will work for less pay than human actors and, as Eline van der Velden said, “She will be endlessly adaptable, always available, and immune to scandal.” It is just a matter of time before Xicoia creates a male version of Tilly, and then you’ll probably hear objections from the likes of Daniel Day Lewis and Tom Cruise. But even then, it is the female artists who will feel most cheated by the AI storm because they were finally making some progress in the equal pay department. Actresses are also better protected now from sexual harassment than ever before, freeing them up to concentrate on the work instead of lodging complaints with HR. But all that progress could be moot if Tilly Norwoods start getting all of the jobs.

For now, though, established stars don’t have much to worry about because audiences aren’t going to prefer Tilly Norwood over Sydney Sweeney. However, in due time, AI-generated performers could be on the same footing with young, up-and-coming actresses, and that’s when the job market for human performers could dry up quickly. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer my film fantasies to be created by real people who act fake instead of the other way around.

 
 

There has been much debate lately about when and how federal troops should be deployed to restore order in cities with high crime rates or where violence is out of control. That’s because National Guard units showed up in Washington, D.C. earlier this year, and the administration is looking to do the same in Portland, Chicago, and other cities. That begs the question: Can we envision a time and circumstance when National Guard troops would ever be sent into the Triad? The answer is “yes,” and in fact it has already happened once before. Here’s the background.

On Oct. 15, 1967, James Eller, an African American father of four, was seen staggering across a street. Mr. Eller made it to the front porch of his house, where several police officers caught up with him and proceeded to arrest him for alleged public drunkenness. According to police, Eller resisted arrest, and the officers tried to subdue him, first by spraying MACE into his eyes. That didn’t work, so Patrolman W.E. Owens struck Eller on the head with a blackjack. It proved to be a fatal blow. Police didn’t release details of Eller’s death until eight days later, and it was another four days after that before Owens was suspended. Eller’s widow swore out a warrant against Owens, which, according to the Winston-Salem Journal, stated that Owens, “feloniously, with premeditation, deliberation, and malice a fore thought, did kill and murder one James Eller.” Judge Leroy Sams dismissed the case, and that ruling triggered riots in downtown Winston-Salem.

Winston-Salem Journal and Twin City Sentinel reporters provided extensive coverage of the riots, which included descriptions of damage to stores along Liberty, North Trade, North Cherry, Claremont, Main, and Fourth Streets. Most of the businesses were looted, then burned. Mobs particularly targeted jewelry and liquor stores, as well as furniture and appliance stores. Fires broke out everywhere, cars were overturned, bricks were tossed, and shots were fired.

Patrolman E.W. Thorpe described the Nov. 2 sniper fire to reporter Eugene White, saying, “Guns were reporting everywhere, and you didn’t know who was shooting at who.” Thorpe’s own patrol car was struck by sniper fire at 13th and Patterson Avenues. His partner, C.E. Crosby, who fought in the Pacific during WWII, described the rioting as a “small scale war.” Said Crosby, “We didn’t know where to take cover when there was shooting. We were afraid we might try to take cover where the shooting was coming from.”

Mobs also set a fire just behind a Reynolds Tobacco factory on Chestnut Street. The fire was burning near a gas tank, and had Thorpe and Crosby not arrived in time to put it out, there probably would be no Innovation Quarter today.

Twin City police chief Cornelius Tucker told his troops to “take things easy on the mob,” but he added, “Pull out the heavy stuff. Don’t use it unless you have to, but display it. But STOP it.” Normally, local National Guardsmen are not called upon to defend their own city, but the 200-man Winston-Salem guard was put on alert.  Meanwhile, Mayor M.C. Benton and Governor Dan Moore deployed National Guardsmen from Mount Airy. Most of them patrolled the streets, while others were given rooftop duty. Two of them, Spec 4 Tommy Hennis and PFC Rodney Cooke, were positioned atop the Robert E. Lee Hotel.

I was 13 years old at the time, and I vividly remember riding to church and seeing armed National Guardsmen positioned on tops of buildings throughout downtown Winston-Salem.

After a couple of days, all that remained of the “small scale war” were charred buildings and debris in the streets. Order had been restored without loss of life.

The events of Oct. 15 and Nov. 2, 1967, taught us a lot about race relations, the criminal justice system, mobs, and the way Winston-Salem dealt with all of them. Officer Owens probably didn’t mean to kill Mr. Eller, but his unnecessary use of force triggered a firestorm nevertheless. Critics of the time said the officers on Eller’s front porch that fateful day should have used handcuffs instead of MACE and nightsticks. The police chief should have gone public within hours of Eller’s death. Judge Sams should have meted out an appropriate punishment for Officer Owens. And the rioters should have stayed home because burning and looting is never an appropriate or effective response to police brutality.

The Winston-Salem police did an admirable job during the riots of 1967, but they couldn’t have restored order without help from the National Guard, proving that there are times when a military presence is absolutely necessary.

Of course, such deployment should always be at the behest of the governor, and in this case, his decision proved to be justified. That was nearly 60 years ago, but we must be ever vigilant when it comes to dealing with the things that often divide us. As then Winston-Salem Journal editor Wallace Carroll wrote, “No city in America is immune from the passions of these days.”

 
 

Too often, we forget that large corporations are composed of individuals who work day-in and day-out to serve their customers and their community. That’s how it is with Blue Cross Blue Shield of North Carolina and people like Cheryl Parquet. Cheryl, who hails from and still lives in Mebane, is the company’s associate vice president for community engagement. She graduated from UNC Chapel Hill and holds a Certified Diversity and Inclusion Professional Credential from Cornell University. She has over 16 years of experience in community relations, marketing activation, and diversity engagement in the health insurance industry, and was named one of the top 50 women leaders in North Carolina. Cheryl was a recent guest on my Triad Today television show, and what I learned is that she is truly committed to making healthcare better for all. What follows are highlights from our conversation.

 

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Jim: Blue Cross provides healthcare for nearly 4 million North Carolina residents, so what’s your approach to addressing local health challenges?

Cheryl: About two years ago, we took our executives out to visit all 100 counties. We met with community partners, leaders, legislators, and our members, and we had conversations about the challenges that people in our state are facing. And through those conversations, we’ve taken an intentional approach to how we’re changing our products and services, and how we meet the most challenging needs in our community, such as focusing on youth mental health, improving access to healthcare, and promoting health through food.

Jim: Tell me about the Blue Cross mission here in North Carolina.

Cheryl: Our mission is to improve the health and well-being of our customers and communities. It’s a part of our DNA. Our customers are our neighbors. We live, work, and play with them, so we show up each and every day for them. 

Jim: Who or what led you to a career in healthcare?

Cheryl: It was because of my personal experience growing up. I understand about nonprofits because they were there to support me and my family when we needed it. I have an understanding of what the food bank means to so many families. I understand what it means to go to a free clinic and receive services there and how important these safety net organizations are for our community.

Jim: So, what’s most gratifying to you about the work you do for Blue Cross Blue Shield of North Carolina through community engagement?

Cheryl: What’s gratifying to me is to be able to meet with so many different people across our state, to understand their needs, and then to be able to go back and have conversations with our community partners and say, “How can we support you to do the work?” At the end of the day, our investments of time and money are there to support our customers and also our community partners, who are the ones on the ground doing the work each and every day.

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For more information, visit BlueCrossNC.com.

 
 

In St. Elsewhere, a doctor’s wife is killed in an accident, and he is left to raise his autistic son, who seldom speaks. In Dolphin’s Cove, a man’s wife dies, and his daughter is so traumatized that she cannot speak. In the original pilot for Touched by an Angel, the lead character has died in an accident and becomes an angel whose first assignment is to care for an autistic girl who won’t speak. In Dead Like Me, the Grim Reaper takes up residence in Seattle. In Providence, a plastic surgeon’s dead mother appears in every episode, and in the premier episode of HawthoRNe, a divorced nurse tries to prevent a stage four cancer patient from committing suicide. 

Over a period of about 40 years, these compelling stories about dealing with death and disability came from the heart and heartbreak of the same man, my friend John Masius, one of Hollywood’s most talented and decorated storytellers. John died on Sept. 13 at the age of 75 following a year-long battle with ALS. He is survived by a remarkable body of work, a remarkable ex-wife, and three remarkable children.

Born in the suburbs of New York City, John displayed a talent for writing early on, yet never enjoyed the process, telling me, “Writing’s very difficult for me. It’s very hard. I don’t jump at the prospect of doing it, like homework. For me, it’s like having an exam paper due.” John attended Penn, then moved west and graduated from UCLA with, of all things, an M.B.A. He waited tables at an L.A. restaurant to make ends meet, where one day he happened to serve Bruce Paltrow, then the producer of The White Shadow for MTM and CBS. Paltrow hired John to be a gopher, and years later promoted him to writer/producer on Shadow and St. Elsewhere.

I first got to know John (“Maysh” to his friends) when I was writing a series of articles about St. Elsewhere, and then when I interviewed him for the first volume of my “TV Creators” series of books. He also appeared on a panel that I moderated in 2000 on “Women in Drama” for the Television Academy, which featured the actresses and creators of several new primetime series headlined by women. I particularly wanted John to participate because it was his groundbreaking show Providence which launched a new era of TV dramas for the 21st century, starring women in the lead role.

Maysh was a complex man of strong principles who didn’t suffer fools well, but sometimes his principles put him at odds with those in power. That’s what happened with Touched by an Angel. John and his wife, Ellen Bry (an actress and ensemble star in St. Elsewhere), had three children—a daughter and two sons, both of whom were diagnosed with autism. While interviewing him for my book, Maysh told me, “At that time I was pretty angry at God, and I still don’t really understand what kind of God does terrible things to small kids. The other thing I couldn’t handle was people, in their urge to comfort us, would say, ‘God doesn’t give you more than you can handle,’ which Ellen and I found incredibly disturbing.” 

Ellen’s and John’s struggle to cope was an impetus for Touched by an Angel, where in the pilot episode, angel Monica (Roma Downey), who had died in the 1920’s was now comforting her terminally ill, 80-year-old “daughter” who she had saved seven decades earlier. Monica pleads with the Angel of Death to end her daughter’s suffering, but he refuses, saying, “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle,” to which Monica replies, “That’s a lot of crap.” Executives at CBS felt that Monica’s retort was too dark and told John to remove that line of dialogue. Maysh refused, his pilot never aired, and he was fired from the series.

Several years later John resurrected his career when he created Providence for NBC, followed by HawthoRNe for TNT, both of which were well received by audiences and critics alike. And though Maysh told me, “critically acclaimed doesn’t pay the mortgage,” he was, nevertheless, richly rewarded by his peers and admirers, picking up numerous honors including two Emmys, a Peabody, the Humanitas Prize, a Writers Guild award, and several People’s Choice awards.  

Over the years Maysh and I kept in touch by email and phone, but the last time I saw him in person was on the set of HawthoRNe, where he greeted my wife Pam and me warmly and with his trademark impish smile. As I think of that day, I recall his response to a question I had asked him during our conversations for “TV Creators.”

Jim: Suppose there was no such thing as on-screen credits for TV shows. How would someone know they had just watched a John Masius show?

John: They’d get some laughs and probably be moved. They’d also be twisted up a little bit emotionally. They’d be manipulated because I would have fu#ked with their heads. [laughs]

Rest in peace, my perverse and principled friend.

 
 

My late cousin Hannah Campbell was the first accomplished writer in our extended family. In the 1960s, her articles appeared in a number of national publications, including Cosmopolitan for which she penned a monthly column titled “Why Did They Name it?” about the origins of famous brands and companies. Later, she compiled her research into a book by the same name and sent me a signed copy. I was fascinated by her stories, like the one about a young man who was working in a Virginia drug store when he fell in love with the daughter of the store owner. The young suitor was fired, traveled west, and invented an innovative soft drink which he named after the drug store owner — a medical doctor named Pepper.

Cousin Hannah sparked my interest in writing and advertising, both which would later serve me well when, in addition to producing TV shows, I also ran a small ad agency where I was occasionally called upon to create product names and slogans. Along the way, I learned a valuable lesson about branding from an unlikely source. In May 1977, Bert Lance, director of the OMB under President Jimmy Carter, told Nation’s Business magazine, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Coincidentally, that same year, Nashville designer Bill Holley created a logo for a brand new restaurant chain that would serve good old country cookin’. The logo featured an illustration of an old man sitting in a wooden chair and leaning on a large barrel. The name adjacent to the logo was Cracker Barrel. It was a welcoming sign to hungry travelers for 56 years…until late last month when company CEO Julie Masino forgot to heed Bert Lance’s advice. She and her ad agency decided to go for a more modern image, and suddenly the old timer, his chair, and the barrel all disappeared. Needless to say, the Cracker Barrel universe was collectively pissed. Social media blew up, and company stock prices tumbled. Within days, Masino reversed course and restored the old logo.

Change for change’s sake is never a good idea, yet there always seems to be some corporate marketing executive who’s willing to fiddle with success in order to justify his salary and impress the boss. For example, Master Card removed its own name from its iconic orange and yellow intersecting circles. Petco removed the dog and cat from its logo. And Eskimo Pie changed its name to Edy’s Pie as if we’d all care that the frozen treat was created by Joseph Edy.    

Remember “New Coke” from 1985? That disaster was the creation of a corporate executive who thought it would be a good idea to add more sugar to Coke’s formula in order to better compete with Pepsi. CEO Robert Goiuzeta told reporters at the time that it was “the surest move we ever made.” Loyal Coke drinkers disagreed. According to the History Channel, the company received 8,000 complaint calls per day, and shares of stock were headed in the wrong direction. Within months, New Coke was out and “Coca-Cola Classic” was born. The Coke fiasco should have served as a warning to all future beverage makers, but a few folks at Budweiser didn’t get the memo.

In 2023, Bud Light featured social media personality Dylan Mulvaney in a promotional video. The only problem was that Mulvaney is transgender. Millions of conservative Bud drinkers boycotted the parent company, stock prices fell by 26%, and Bud Light lost its top spot to Modelo after having been number one for 20 years. Alissa Heinerscheid, who had been VP of marketing for less than a year, was responsible for changing Bud Light’s gender, saying she was only trying to make the drink “more inclusive.” Not surprisingly, Heinerscheid was fired.

Of course, inclusivity can be a good thing if a name or logo has become offensive to consumers. Uncle Ben’s rice, Aunt Jemima Pancake mix, and the Washington Redskins all come to mind. But it makes no business sense to trash a name or image just for the sake of creativity. If my cousin Hannah were alive today, she would probably be writing a sequel to “Why Did They Name It?” and title it, “Why Did They Change It?” or,” WTF is Wrong with Cracker Barrel?”

 
 

There are only a handful of stand-up comedians whose approach to the genre has been transformative, among them, Richard Pryor, George Carlin, Jerry Seinfeld, Rodney Dangerfield, and more recently Nate Bargatze and Leanne Morgan. Pryor revolutionized modern-day storytelling. Carlin was a master wordsmith. Seinfeld took observation comedy to new heights. Dangerfield morphed his tag line into a career of one-liners. Bargatze and his signature pauses elevated the art of self-deprecation, and Leanne Morgan is proving that women everywhere can identify with a mom from the South. And just when we thought there was no more new comedy ground to break, Andy Huggins appears on the scene.

Huggins is the Rodney Dangerfield of geriatrics. Rodney built his entire act from one premise, and so too has Andy. For Dangerfield, it was “I get no respect.” For Huggins, it is “It’s tough getting old.” I can relate to Andy’s comedy. He is 75 years old and I’m nearly 72. But his brand of humor also makes young people laugh out loud. Just take a look at his act on YouTube and you’ll see why his universal appeal is going viral.

Andy is funny because of his material and his delivery. His pauses before the joke line are as artful as Bargatze’s, and his one-liners are not one-dimensional. They aren’t just about his age; rather, they are commentaries on current trends.

 

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“As far as social media goes, you can follow me on the bulletin board at Kroger’s.”

“I’m not on Twitter, but I will stop people on the street and tell them shit they’re not interested in.”

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Those kinds of jokes point to what happens when we age, but they also poke fun at the absurdity of our reliance on posting and sharing every thought that comes into our heads.

Andy also makes fun of phrases and trends that inhabit our politically correct world.

 

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“I have an inner child, but I don’t think it’s mine.”

“I’m woke…for about another five hours.”

“I took a quiz on Facebook called, ‘What’s your spirit animal?’ I got ‘Extinct.’”

“I’m 75 years old, and life expectancy for a man is 76. Life expectancy for a woman is 81. I figure if I transition…”

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Earlier this year, Andy signed on to do his first comedy special, which can be seen on Apple TV and Prime Video. Yet despite his meteoric rise to fame, Andy is not an overnight success. He has been performing stand-up for 40 years. Asked by NPR’s Scott Simon about developing an act around his advanced age, Huggins said, “It’s what I know better than anything at the moment. I write what I’m familiar with, and age is inescapable. Age is a fact of life.”

It’s also a fact that audiences love Andy’s brand of humor. And, thanks to the internet and a plethora of streaming services, he’s reaching more and more people every day. “It’s so deeply satisfying,” he told Simon. “So deeply reassuring that I’ve got a useful purpose while I’m still alive.”

Truth is, none of us knows how much time we have left, yet we hope that we can make the most of it and somehow make a lasting contribution. Young Andy Huggins has done that in a big way.

“A couple of Saturdays ago, before I went onstage, I asked the club manager, ‘How much time do I have?’ He said, ‘Can’t be much.’”

We all hope that club manager is wrong.