Bob Denver and the Arc of my Life

The death of Bob "Gilligan" Denver made me think about a lot of things

It made me think about a thousand after school days, propped in front of my folks' TV, just letting the 60's inanity, even then notably ridiculous, to wash over me. Most of my friends had seen all the episodes several times. We revelled in Ginger's sexuality, Mary Ann's innocence, the bumbling of Gilligan and the Skipper's blustering. We laughed at the Howell's greed and obliviousness, and admired (but never quite understood) the Professor's vast intellect.

It was a goofy show, but it was a goofy time too, so it fit.

Denver's death also made me think about the arc of my life, and how much things had changed since "Gilligan's Island" had first premiered. The show opened in the fall of 1964 just a few short months after I was born. Think, for a moment, of how different life was in 1964. There was no Internet, no VCRs, no DVDs, no digital cameras. Russia was still evil, not just broke and craven. No one had any idea where Afghanistan or Iraq were. Terrorism was not a word that anyone used with any regularity. Blacks were still locked in a struggle for civil rights and women's lib had not yet come into the national conscience. Ronald Reagan was still an actor, no one had ever really heard of the Bush family. The Beatles were exploding onto the American scene, and Babe Ruth's record was still very much intact.

Things were very different.

Before you start cringing, this is not going to be one of those "everything old was better" essays. Some things were undoubtedly better, some unquestionably worse. My purpose in writing this is not to judge events and situations qualitatively, but merely to point out the speed with which they changed. Forty one years, the arc of my life, is not really that long a time. And yet, look at the massive changes that have occurred socially, politically, physically, and perhaps most importantly, technologically. We have had to adjust to unprecedented changes in a remarkably short amount of time. Our lives have been altered at lightning speed for decades now, and things don't show any sign of slowing down in the near future.

Again, some things MUST change. This is not an argument for stagnation. That is a sure path to extinction. But in adjusting to these rapid fire changes, we as a society have moved so far so fast it's often easy to forget where we started, where we came from. We're burning the bridges that we've crossed, and I'm pretty sure that's not a good thing. It is understandable, certainly. It's hard to look back and revere the past while you need to continually fine tune your life to accomodate cultural alterations. Gotta keep up with the Jones', after all. And the Mings, and the Rodriquez' and the Al Azari's. It's a global community now, and we're all in it together, for better or for worse.

But we need to look over our shoulder once in a while. The path you've taken can inform you about the path you are on. It's so chic to laugh at old hairstyles, old technology and conventional wisdom. But at the time, those were the best we could do, and they got us through. Twenty years (or more likely, five years) from now, all the cultural hipness we cling to now will seem just as outdated and hilarious; so in the final analysis, what good is it? Better to glean what is truly important and useful from each age than to denigrate the things that are unimportant to begin with.

So laugh at "Gilligan's Island". But laugh for the right reasons. Don't scoff at it as an example of a less mature, sheltered culture. Revel in it for the great childhood memories it releases and recognize that in its time it was exactly what it was supposed to be, and in complete lockstep wit the culture. Life does change, and it often changes so quickly we have burnt about half of it out before we realize we've been moving at all.

Try to think about that, and recognize the ultimate sadness of it. Life is oh so short,and the pace it sets will rip you to pieces if you don't learn how to moderate it. Relax with your memories, and treasure their power. They are all that protects you from being just a reed in the cultural wind.

And Mr. Denver, wherever you are right now, thanks for leaving a strong imprint on my childhood mind. No matter how much the world or I change, thanks to reruns you will remain a timeless gem we can return to and refer to, and a wonderful buffer against the frightening maw of the future.

Good night, "little buddy."