Bobby Wheeler (played by Jeff Conaway): [Bobby helps Jim fill out his test] “Have you ever experienced loss of consciousness, hallucinations, dizzy spells, convulsive disorders, fainting, or periods of loss of memory?”“Reverend” Jim Ignatowski (played by Christopher Lloyd): “Hasn't everyone?”
Elaine O’Connor-Nardo (played by Marilu Henner): “Put no.”
Bobby (continuing to read): “Mental illness or narcotic addiction?”
Jim: “That's a tough choice.”
Elaine: “Put no!”
Bobby: “OK, that's it! You’re ready for the test.”
Jim: “I thought that was the test!”--Taxi, Season 2, Episode 3, “Reverend Jim: A Space Odyssey,” written by Les Charles and Glen Charles, directed by James Burrows, air date September 25, 1979
Longtime fans of Taxi, one of the great products of either the MTM sitcom factory or one of its laborers, have spent years howling at the above dialogue. Now, however, one line—“Mental illness or narcotics addiction?”—makes me, for one, wince. In the case of the actor who said it, Jeff Conaway (at the top of the accompanying image), it strikes too uncomfortably close to home in the wake of his death this past week following years of alcohol and drug abuse, along with more recent battles with prescription medicine addiction.
You didn’t have to read any of Conaway’s obituaries, or even see his horrifying appearances (sometimes high) on Celebrity Rehab, to know that something had gone very badly wrong in his life. It was also apparent in his declining (in terms of quality and quantity) film and TV credits, a signal that something worse than abominable career choices was at work.
It’s too easy to write Conaway off as a cautionary tale about the steep price that comes with sudden fame. But, from knowing people who’ve struggled with substance abuse and depression over the years, I think there was another, far better person beneath the battered face he presented to the world in his last years.
I prefer to think of Conaway as a vital member of a terrific ensemble cast that helped get me through my college years reasonably intact. I had books galore during that time from the ancient Greeks to Freud, but all the philosophy I needed on how to survive my daytime (and some of my nighttime) hours in New York City came from the motley crew of this quintessential workplace-as-home comedy. No matter what hour I watched, it was always sunshine for me whenever I caught the doings of the Sunshine Cab Co. of lower Manhattan.
I say that Conaway was an essential member of the cast, even though his character, Bobby Wheeler, wasn’t the most adult, talented, funny, photogenic, or unusual in the bunch. I say this even though Conaway left the show well before the end of its five-year run. (The producers “disrespected” him, he felt, and working with wild Andy Kaufman wasn’t part of his deal in signing up.)
No, I say this because Bobby epitomized what all the characters (save Alex Reiger) represented on the show. In a group full of dreamers, Bobby Wheeler was the quintessential one, the one that all the creative professionals associated with the sitcom had run into their entire professional lives: a good-looking, vain, not-always-there guy who thought of himself primarily as an actor, even though he was forced to do this stinking job to make ends meet.
But it would only be for awhile, you got that? Because that big break was waiting around the corner—Bobby just knew it. No matter how much he preened, you rooted for him to pass his next audition.
Co-stars from Taxi (Marilu Henner) and Grease (John Travolta and Conaway’s onetime sister-in-law, Olivia Newton-John) have all issued statements mourning the actor as a warm-hearted colleague. In the same spirit, let’s remember the light he gave off in his youth rather than the darkness in which he died. If a dream never dies, neither should a dreamer.
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