Feb. 9, 1971—All in the Family, the CBS sitcom demolishing taboos ever since its debut four weeks before, pioneered treatment of gay characters in an episode co-written by creator Norman Lear.
Last month, I was unable to write about the 40th anniversary of the irreverent comedy that was an institution in my house throughout the Seventies. This particular episode, "Judging Books by Covers," gave me that opportunity again.
The archetypal comedies of the 1970-71 season for the “Tiffany Network” were All in the Family (hereinafter referred to as AITF) and The Mary Tyler Moore Show (MTM). Veteran TV director John Rich (The Dick Van Dyke Show), who had the opportunity to work on the pilots of both series, chose AITF because it was an extraordinary “experiment,” particularly in its use of language--i.e., the then-extraordinary, for TV, series of racial and ethnic slurs cast in every direction by blue-collar paterfamilias Archie Bunker. This episode proved him right.
As a comedy centered on character, MTM has aged better than the more ripped-from-the-headlines AITF. Indeed, the only signs distinguishing one season of MTM from another were a) the absence of Valerie Harper and Cloris Leachman, both of whom had spinoff series of their own; and b) Mary’s changing fashions and growing professional self-confidence.
Nevertheless, for all its stylish wit and its exquisite balance between character complexity and consistent high standards throughout its run, MTM sometimes pulled its punches—or, at least, was forced to by network censors. Mary Richards, for instance, was transformed from a divorcee to a single working girl who lit out for Minneapolis after being jilted by her fiancé. It wasn’t until its third season that the show featured a homosexual character: Phyllis’ brother.
At the time of the AITF episode on homosexuality, television shied away from treating gays. There were certainly flamboyant types on the air, mind you (e.g., Paul Lynde’s “Uncle Arthur” on Bewitched). But it was impossible to see homosexuals in anything other than the stereotype of Ernie Kovacs’ lisping poet Percy Dovetonsils.
Come to think of it, Rich was only half correct when he signed on for what he believed to be an “experiment” in AITF. It was more like a revolution.
Particularly in its early seasons, AITF was centered around the assault of the modern world on Archie. He perpetually retreated to the male domain of Kelsey’s Tavern when he couldn’t take what always seemed to land on his doorstep at Hauser Street in Queens. But in this episode, even Kelsey’s was no longer a place where he could figure out, as the opening song “Those Were The Days” went, “girls were girls and men were men.”
What drives him there to begin with this time is the open-arms treatment of daughter Gloria and son-in-law Mike of their friend Roger—or, as Archie puts it, “Sweetie-Pie Roger” or “Tinkerbelle.” Roger has just returned with pictures from a vacation in England (“a fag country,” Archie tells “Meathead” Mike), and it looks like he’s raided every clothing shop on Carnaby Street. It’s all too much for Archie, who’s glad to get away to his favorite bar, filled with macho guys like his friend Steve, a former professional football player.
Bit by bit, Archie is rattled there, too. For starters, he can’t understand how Steve could not only know Roger, but act friendly toward him. But his world is really turned upside down when Steve (after beating him a couple of times arm-wrestling) confirms the secret Mike had earlier heard from the bartender: it’s not fluttery Roger who’s gay, but he-man Steve.
At the time this episode aired, it was only a year and a half after the Stonewall riot, and a full four years before former pro running back David Kopay came out of the closet. It would take a half-dozen years more before primetime TV featured an ongoing gay character: Billy Crystal’s Jodie Dallas on Soap.
This particular episode was supposed to air February 2, 1971, but it was moved back a week. One wonders if his controversial subject matter was behind the move. Lear certainly had to battle network censors countless times to get his way, and it wouldn’t surprise me if this was one of those cases.
Ironically, the censors might have relaxed if they had known that nobody would be watching the show. That’s what happened in its early weeks. Everybody associated with the sitcom, in fact, was ready for CBS’ cancellation announcement throughout the spring and early summer.
The first inkling that things might be different came to Rich, on vacation in Hawaii at the time. As he recounted in an appearance on the public-radio show Fresh Air a few years ago, a Japanese woman he met told him she had to go home to watch AITF. “That Archie Bunker, he’s my husband,” she said.
He had been hearing such comments more frequently, and in increasingly surprising cases such as this one. The universality of this character began to impress itself on him. Several weeks later, CBS network executive Fred Silverman, pleasantly surprised that summer reruns of the show were proving to be a smash hit, issued a stay of execution. The next year, AITF stormed to the top of the ratings, where it stayed through much of the rest of the decade.
(Incidentally, Anthony Geary and Phil Carey, who played, respectively, Roger and Steve, would go on to bigger roles on daytime soap operas: Geary on General Hospital and Carey on One Life to Live.
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