Andy Griffith died today. I heard the news in the elevator returning from lunch. I thought my co-worker was putting me on when he said "Andy Griffith died." I was sort of stunned; I didn't believe him. But he was right.
In my mind, this is the analogy. Ravens at the Tower of London : England :: Andy Griffith : America.
NO one--and no show--typified America like The Andy Griffith Show did. I challenge any reader to find a single television show that more coherently or comprehensively represents American thought, culture, philosophy, or sensibility than AGS. Every "food group" of person we meet is encountered in the show: not only are they portrayed to a tee--they exhibit exactly those qualities (both tragic and comedic) that we expect--but they also are encountered almost as often as we'd encounter them in real life. Otis the town drunk, Floyd the barber, Gomer Pyle the gas station attendant, Goober Pyle . . . it's too good. They all play those traits exactly that we find everyday.
And that is why the show was America. It wasn't a kid's show, it wasn't a comedy, it wasn't a drama, it wasn't a satire. It was life. Varnished somewhat, but life. In America.
I--as a child born when it was being re-run in 1982--love it because of its humor, realism, and its downright Americana. And, of course, I love its morals. It doesn't beat its viewer over the head with preaching. It espouses common sense. You watch it, and you think that Andy spouts wisdom. Who wouldn't believe that? "OF COURSE, that's the right outcome! I'm glad it turned out that way," you say when the plot resolves itself. And you should. Because no better show was better at capturing human nature than AGS.
And I thank you, Andy Griffith, for portraying that.
The Last Meeting
"For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it's still not yet two oclock on that July afternoon in 1863, the brigades are in position behind the rail fence, the guns are laid and ready in the woods and the furled flags are already loosened to break out and Pickett himself with his long oiled ringlets and his hat in one hand probably and his sword in the other looking up the hill waiting for Longstreet to give the word and it's all in the balance, it hasn't happened yet, it hasn't even begun yet, it not only hasn't begun yet but there is stll time for it not to begin against that position and those circumstances which made more men than Garnett and Kemper and Armstead and Wilcox look grave yet it's going to begin, we all know that, we have come too far with too much at stake and that moment doesn't need even a fourteen-year-old boy to think This time. Maybe this time with all this much to lose and all this much to gain: Pennsylvania, Maryland, the world, the golden dome of Washington itself to crown with desperate and unbelievable victory the desperate gamble, the cast made two years ago...." ~ Wm. Faulkner
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