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<UID>
0106230148
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<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
010624
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, June 24, 2001
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
COM; CHOICES
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1E
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<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 2001, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
WHY TV COULD USE ANOTHER ARCHIE BUNKER
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
Archie Bunker died. That's what people said. "Archie Bunker died." It didn't
matter that the man's real name was Carroll O'Connor, that he was a trained
actor, a veteran of Broadway and the European stage. To most Americans, he
was, and always will be, the lovable bigot from Queens.

Archie Bunker died. But to be honest, while O'Connor passed away Thursday from
a heart attack at age 76, character-wise, Archie died some time ago. Not just
his show. His concept.

Think about TV back in 1971, when "All in the Family" debuted. Until then,
lead roles in TV sitcoms were reserved for fatherly types or lovable sad
sacks. Danny Thomas. Gomer Pyle. Gilligan. The leading man was never mean.

Archie Bunker changed that. From the pilot episode, where he sits in his easy
chair, beer in hand, and attacks African-Americans, Jews, Hispanics -- and
moans: "I'm white, I'm male. I'm Protestant. Where's there a law to protect
me?" -- Archie was mean. Or at least he had a mean streak.

Of course, he also had Edith, his sweet, ditsy wife, to soften his hard edges.
And his daughter, Gloria, to show undying love. You somehow felt that if these
two good-hearted women could find something positive in Archie, then deep
down, he must not be so bad. Deep down, he had a heart.



The meanest links

That's the difference between the mean that Archie Bunker brought to the
screen and the mean that we see in today's TV. Bunker was a fool. But he was
satire. He was meant to show how ridiculous bigotry and stupidity could be.

Today -- in reality shows like "Survivor" or "Fear Factor" or in sniping
creations such as "Just Shoot Me" -- meanness is there only to entertain. What
Archie Bunker began has been warped and inflated. Today being mean gets you on
the air. Or is the sentence "You are the weakest link" now a term of
endearment?

This is sad. Because in many ways -- all of them unintentional -- "All in the
Family" opened the doors to this. It didn't just bring mean out of the closet.
It also unlocked the vault to a multitude of topics never before dealt with in
sitcom TV. Sex. Race. Urban flight. Draft dodging.

But less for shock value than for enlightenment. When I watched "All in the
Family" as a kid, I laughed at the nasty things Archie said. But I always
knew, at the end of the 30 minutes, that he was wrong, that Edith or Gloria or
Meathead were right.

Remember the famous episode in which Sammy Davis Jr. visits Archie and as they
take a picture together, Sammy kisses racist Archie on the cheek?

The look on Archie's face, frozen in confusion, ended the show. The audience
howled. I can still see that face now. It resonates with a simple lesson:
Bigotry is often hypocritical.



Those were the days

You don't have instructive moments like that in today's TV. Mean is mean.
Greed is good. Even "Seinfeld," a show as big as "All in the Family," was
about four self-absorbed people with little kindness.

Our worst traits are not skewered; they are celebrated. Backstab someone to
win a million bucks. Vote someone off a program. Somewhere along the line,
satire fell away. Oh, there are exceptions. "The Simpsons" on occasion, or
"Everybody Loves Raymond." But for the most part, in today's TV sitcoms, the
sex is for titillation, the homophobia is for laughs, the stupidity makes you
comfortable.

Few sitcoms make you think.

It occurs to me, as I write this, that I have, in a small way, become Archie
Bunker myself, sitting in a chair lamenting the state of today's world. But
what I lament is not the passing of the character Carroll O'Connor brought to
life, but the daring it took to try to show the best of us through the worst
of us. As the old man sang at the start of the show, those were the days.



Contact MITCH ALBOM at 313-223-4581 or  albom@freepress.com. Catch "Albom in
the Afternoon" 3-6 p.m. weekdays on WJR-AM (760) and simulcast on MSNBC 3-5
p.m. And hear "Monday Sports Albom" 7-8 p.m. Mondays on WJR.
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THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
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COLUMN
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