June 14, 2009
Not that Gene. Today is Gene Barry's 90th birthday. Who's Gene Barry? Most babyboomer's remember him as Amos Burke of BURKE'S LAW. He played a millionaire/playboy detective livried about in a Rolls Royce by wise-cracking chauffeur with a Brooklyn accent (apparently more common in LA than Brooklyn, given its ubiquity on 1960s/1970s TV shows). He wore Brooks Brothers suits, always with a vest. With an expensive cut that Randall Kennedy or Rev. James Wright would envy. (Please see book jacket covers.)
Mr. Barry was last seen in Steve Spielberg's remake of WAR OF THE WORLDS. That's him waving from the porch of a Boston brownstone in the final scene. A nonspeaking role that links the film to its 1950s predecessor starring Gene Barry. He plays the hero's father-in-law. Overall, not as much fun as the original, but entertaining in its own way -- I still don't understand the trashing it took from movie reviewers, I mean "cinema critics." If the film aroused memories of September 11th, so be it.
But I remember Gene Barry from the opening of a Sealtest plant (milk, ice cream -- does the brand even exist now?) in Louisville, Kentucky. Probably around 1958-59. I was in first grade and was no doubt the only member of a family of girls who actually wanted to be there.
Mr. Barry was then the star of BAT MASTERTON. A western loosely based on an historic wild west character. Bat Masterton carried an elegant black cane with a silver crown (hence the name, Bat, I guess). I remember looking up at him but never attaining eye level. I only recall the silver buttons of his vest. (Now that I remember it, his characters always seemed to wear vests -- it must have been in his contract. That is, look like you actually give a damn how you look.) That day he wore his trademark black western suit and tie with that silver-buttoned vest (similar to another elegant black-attired gunslinger, Paladin in HAVE GUN, WILL TRAVEL -- that was printed on his business cards!).
I also seem to remember taking home a toy version of his famous cane. Back in those days, of course, plants and shopping centers opened almost every day and TV personalities were in great demand to preside over a golden era of robust commerce when we actually made stuff, here, in America, sometimes in the very town you called home.
At home, I had toy six-gun that shot "greenie-stickum-cap" plastic bullets (those caps simulated the sound of lethality). The belt buckle held a small toy derringer that I used to take to school. (No metal detectors at the schoolhouse door or political activists on the faculty back then.) Some days I was Bat, some days Paladin. I liked a well-dressed gunslinger. In the 70s, the tradition of shaven, clean-cut hero with the well-cut suit continued with James West in WILD, WILD WEST.
These days, like most Americans, I go to work looking like that poor kid from Nirvana. But on Sunday mornings, when I go to mass, I wear a coat and tie -- and not with jeans either. I explain to friends and staring parishoners that Catholics have their sackcloth and hairshirts; Anglicans the jacket and tie. (I'm a recent convert to the Church.) Either they think I'm a Episcopalian snob or a great sinner. These days, discomfort achieves parity with suffering and devoutness. Given some of the looks, I wonder if I'm in for a lecture on scrupulosity the next time I go to confession. Only ushers and lectors wear ties. I suspect on orders from monsignor.
So, happy birthday Mr. Barry. You gave me a lot of entertainment value and another blue-collar aspiration. Look like you actually give a damn. We could have done worse. Given the universality of transgressive pop-culture slouchwear, we now do.
Sam Macomb
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