Good-bye, Gilligan

Yesterday's (Tuesday September 7, 2005) news of Bob Denver's death hit me kind of hard. But what hit me even harder was hearing that he was age 70! Qualified as a "Boomer," born in the last official year of the post-World War II baby boom, I identified on a couple levels with the show for which Bob Denver was forever instantly identified, and the role which conferred upon him the status of Pop Culture Icon.

First - though I learned this long after the show had ceased production - the show and I were the same age. When I learned of its first year of production, I watched with a renewed interest for insight into the lingo, fashions, and social behaviors of the mid-1960s.

Second, I grew up on the show. Very short-lived, off the air before I was even aware that the glowing noise-box in the living room had a purpose (or does it?), it thrived in later years in synidication, as it does in places still today. When I was a small boy I used to get angry that they could be so close to rescue, but it would somehow get screwed up, and whether justified or not, Gilligan was always held to blame. And when it wasn't justified, I got even angrier. Of course, I never understood or cared that their rescue would have meant the end of the show.

When I was a little older I always wanted Gilligan to succumb to Ginger's temptation. Never mind that her intentions were never in anyone's best interest but her own! And when I was a teenager my testosterone-flooded brain was certain that, though the cameras couldn't show it, the girls and the boys were getting it on regularly! That is, except for Thurston and Lovie, whom, even in my worst nightmares, I couldn't picture doing THAT!

And yet older, knowing most, if not all, of the gags and jokes, I appreciated the show for its Hollywood humorcraft: bump, set, PUNCHLINE! Never mind that the laughter came from a can. Nevermind that, no matter how brilliant the professor's next idea, they would never get off that island. Nevermind that, no matter how alluring and willing Ginger might seem to be, Gilligan still had to wander off into the jungle and violate a papaya.

As I reached adulthood I realized I prefer Mary Ann. I actually even met her - Dawn Wells, that is - at a TV station where I worked in 1996. Six degrees of Kevin Bacon! You figure it out.

So, though Bob Denver passed with little notice in the shadows of Katrina, and of Justice Rehnquist, my heart broke a little. He was forever young in his Technicolor red shirt, pale blue jeans and sailor's hat, so it was a shock to hear his age, just as much as it was a shock to hear he was gone. He was part of my psyche. I've long since reckoned with myself that it was indeed Gilligan with whom I identified on the show. I wanted those responsible to receive his blame. When it was his fault, I felt bad for him. I wanted him to get Ginger because I wanted Ginger! Then I wanted Mary Ann! And then I wanted them BOTH! He is part of my sense of humor, that slightly slapstick, slightly dopey deadpan I lay on my friends, family and co-workers. Indeed, he is part of my life.

Willie Gilligan, I'm sad to see you go.


dassall