A night at the Stratford

Two-lane road through
New England countryside
Waybury Inn 
Homes in the Cape Cod style
Golden Pond feel
Muted Mancini theme
Rest easy, Bob
What a hell of a dream

I didn't watch Newhart during its regular run.  Seemed like an old people show.  But at some point in my considerable bachelor years, I discovered it.  One of the local channels aired it in syndication late at night.  They would air two episodes of Cheers at 10, followed by two episodes of Newhart at 11.

Let it be stated for the historical record that these were the days before streaming services, DVR, on-demand, watch-whatever-you-want-whenever-you-want.  We had VCR's, but you had to remember to set them.  Then if your VCR clock wasn't in sync with the television station, you'd catch the last couple of minutes of The Nanny and it would cut off the ending of your show.

By and large you had to be home, awake, and in front of the TV at the exact time your show aired.  Today, my kids would claim child endangerment.

(We'll get into TV Guide during our next historical blogging exhibit.)

Back to our show.  Those opening scenes of Newhart were so peaceful, and the cozy Stratford Inn was always a place I wanted to be.  Like the bar on Cheers, the studio at WKRP, or hanging out at The Max on Saved by the Bell.

Feeling welcome in a fictional setting is very important to me.

As I began to write stories from my life on these virtual pages, I started referring to myself as Larry, and the two friends I hung out with for a large part of my thirties as the Darryls.  This obviously was from the running gag on the show where upon every entrance, Williams Sanderson's character would say, "Hi, I'm Larry.  This is my brother, Darryl.  And this is my other brother, Darryl."  And the brothers, who never spoke (until the series finale), would salute.

Seeing Bob Newhart pop up in later years would always bring a smile, a feeling of comfort.  Letterman.  NCIS.  Elf.  Hearing of his passing takes me back to those late nights in the '90s in my old 2-bedroom apartment.

Losing someone famous who has existed for most or all of my life, someone who entertained and provided so many laughs, it feels as if I have lost a part of my life.  My younger days.  And it's always an unwelcome reminder of the endless march of time.

To quote the aforementioned Mr. Newhart: "Laughter gives us distance.  It allows us to step back from an event, deal with it, and then move on... I guess I laugh to keep from crying."

So sometime late tonight I plan to pour a bit of bourbon, put some Newhart on Prime Video, raise a glass and laugh a little pain away.  

Probably right around 11:00 p.m.