Papa's Point: The Great White North

Old friends. That’s what they seemed to be to me. I was a citizen of that fictitious town every week; a viable member of the flock, someone who was greeted by name as he walked down Main Street. I know it seems absurd, but that’s how I felt each week that Northern Exposure was on. I felt that way even more so when I lived in Alaska.

Maybe it was my upbringing and television. My mom used that box as a babysitter and I let it take me away a half hour, an hour, or a mini-series at a time. In the beginning, it was cartoons.

For some reason I just loved them, so much so, that each fall before school started, there was a prime-time special devoted to the new cartoons coming out. I made sure to watch it so I could make my viewing list (Johhny Quest RULES).

Later on in my adolescence I became addicted to more grown-up shows. My friends and I would play out our favorite characters. Some of the most memorable ones were from S.W.A.T., Baa Baa Black Sheep,

and Rat Patrol. As I grew older, the pretend play stopped, but the interest in other’s lives—fictional character’s lives—still held fast my attention.

It was my after-school companion once my mom went back to work. Dad hated to find the TV on if he came home early, so I had to make sure I recognized the telltale sounds of his early arrivals. Luckily, (depending how you perceive it) my dad worked in construction, and the job sites were far away, and there was much drinking to do before coming home. However, he learned to feel the television set for it’s snitch-like giveaway of warmth; damn those cathode tubes.

When parents would go out Friday nights, it was like manna for me. There was going to be greasy popcorn, Dr. Pepper, Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Six-Million Dollar Man, and later on in my life Miami Vice. I never was a fan of the medical shows. Still not a fan to this day, with the exception of some of the comedic themed shows. Why didn't I go out on Friday nights? Fear. I was scared of being awkward, becoming embarassed... my fall back was to make myself believe that I was staying home so I wouldn't get into trouble with my dad. That was bullshit. I was afraid to live and enjoy life. I still have that fear... I still am afraid of taking social risks... I am stuck in an uncomfortable comfort zone.

Now mind you, I had other heroes—role models. Some were even living people! Jimmy Buffett,

Ernest Hemingway, The Jesuits, Ronald Reagan, George Patton, and Lincoln (believe it or not, I love his prose--the way he communicated) too name a few. These were men that I tried to emulate in some way during some part of my life. I know that many people say, “Jesus should be your only role-model.” Well, that may be so, but I found it easier to play the guitar and drink (Jimmy Buffett), write stories and drink

(Ernest Hemingway), and pray and drink (The Jesuits) than it was to be Christ-like. My philosophy was religion equaled guilt. The guiltier you felt, the closer you were to God, and I should have been sitting on his lap with all the guilt I feel, I mean felt. Organized religion (money) is another issue that I will delve into at another time.

In between my “home-life” and my “adult-life” (meaning, living on my own), I watched just a few shows, as I was trying to develop a “social-life”. These were Magnum P.I., Moonlighting, and Simon & Simon. In 1987, I was on the road with a new job. I was meeting my new boss in a hotel near Clearwater, Florida. I had just graduated from ASU, and moved to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I was truly alone for the first time in my life and knew no one. In this hotel room (nothing great, mind you) I sat eating pizza and drinking beer. On the tube was series finale of Magnum, P.I. It was an episode entitled “Limbo”. In this episode Magnum dies, and the end of the show does not infer that there was going to be a next season… SINCE THIS WAS THE SERIES FINALE! So, here I am… 22 year old man with tears welling up in his eyes because his hero (a person who does not exist) is “dead”. I put so much value on myself with my internal connection to Magnum P.I. Why not? He was there more than my dad was during the 8 years the show was on. (Simon and Simon’s draw was that Rick Simon was so fucking cool; end of story.) Another irrational tear jerker was the series finale of M*A*S*H as well as the episode where the character of Henry Blake died.

Hopefully, the picture I’m painting is not one of blasting television. How can I? It was the major shaper of my life. Do I wish that weren’t the case? Maybe, to some extent I do, but I dont' condone a zero-tolerance policy. I would have missed out on a lot of things that really impacted me positively . There were shows like Roots, and Shogun, and the years of 60 Minutes, as well as the Ken Burns series about the Civil War. There were NASA's accomplishments, National Geographic Specials and the Cousteau Society shows, the political and social news of the time, Saturday Night Live and Monty Python’s Flying Circus, and of course, Northern Exposure.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was lying in my bed, my wife was beside me, and we were watching the series finale of Northern Exposure. Iris Dement’s song “Our Town” was playing and we were getting our last views of Cicely, Alaska in a montage of slow pans and fade-ins. I cried like a baby whose pacifier was ripped violently from its mouth. What was going to do? There was a hole in me. A void had appeared in my soul, and nothing was making it go away. How silly is that? The show wasn’t even filmed in Alaska. It was filmed in Roslyn, WA., and I’m blubbering inconsolably like a toddler.

That’s the power of television; at least for someone like me with a personality hinging on the desperately-creative with no inner drive of his own. I opted to see the world through fictional eyes. If I had kids of my own, would I curtail the TV? Sure, but easier said than done. I have no frame of reference. I’ve never been in the situation where I just needed time to myself, where I was 110% responsible for the life and attention of another living being. I can definitely see how television is an attractive and easy “go-to”.

Today I am 42. I have no kids. I’ve had the same job for over 14 years, and my wife bears with me and my idiosyncrasies, of which there are many. In our house there is a 52-inch television in the family room, and a smaller tabletop TV in our bedroom. There is a DVD player hooked up to each, and we subscribe to Tivo. Like most homes in the US, the big TV is the focal point of our lives. It dominates the interior landscape and we have the majority of our meals around it. We are “hooked” on a couple of shows: Boston Legal and Lost. She also has a plethora of decorating shows that she records and watches daily.

So, why this diatribe about TV and Northern Exposure? Who knows. Maybe it’s because recently I have been watching old episodes of Northern Exposure (as well as the Magnum “Limbo” episode), and I have a pain in my heart like I miss something. Is it Alaska? Do I miss the Last Frontier? Yes I do! It was a fantastic place to live, and in many ways I wish we never left. But, you can never go back home again. I believe that adage. We moved back to Arizona, but it was not like before we left. In some ways, it’s worse. I feel that if we moved back to Alaska, our life would not be as I remember it, whether or not the remembering was factual. I have a tendency to romanticize life; probably a side effect of my television upbringing. Life is not resolved in 60 minutes minus 20 minutes for commercials. People don’t fall in love at first sight and live happily ever-after. You actually have to make an effort to meet someone. You have to tell people how you feel—mind reading be damned. Just because you wear a Detroit Tigers hat doesn’t mean you’re Thomas Sullivan Magnum. Just because you can play the guitar and drink a lot of beer doesn’t mean you’re James Delaney Buffett, and just because you lived in Alaska doesn’t mean you eat at The Brick, listen to KBHR with Chris in the Morning, or get your groceries from Ruth Ann.