In the spring of 1998, as I watched the cast of "Murphy Brown" take its final curtain call -- a wonderful show that I was justly proud to have been a part of -- I wondered if perhaps this was the zenith of my career in television. What lay ahead for me now?
Three days later the mailman delivered my introductory copy of AARP. Uh oh. As I stared at the cover of the former Modern Maturity periodical (Serving the Needs and Interests of the 50 and Over), I felt the way Roy Scheider felt when he saw just how big and menacing that Great White Shark really was.
I quickly recycled the old people magazine (not to be confused with an old People magazine) and poured myself a stiff drink.
Why did they send this to me? I wasn't turning 50 until ... June, and that was months away. Then I wondered if television executives and studio personal paid a fee to get a list of those who were on the AARP mailing list. How else would they know who was no longer good -- they certainly couldn't discern that on their own. Uh oh.
I dismissed this paranoid scenario and waited to hear from my agent about all the offers that would surely stream my way. I was out of work for five months, but that didn't have anything to do with me getting an old peoples’ magazine. Or did it?
I ended up taking a Consulting Producer position on a forgettable show (what was the name of that show?), and the network gratefully pulled the plug and bam, I was on another show brought in to save a troubled freshman sitcom on a lowly rated network, the skilled professional, bulging with years of experience, Miracle Man was on the job now. Four episodes later it was gone, and so was my parking spot at Warner Brothers.
Time went by and a few inquires about my availability cropped up (I was home reading my latest issue of AARP), but they never really panned out, and that is pretty much my career of late. And now, Good God, I'm way past 50. It says on my IMdb description that I was born in Hartford Connecticut in 1948. Right there on the screen, it's right there for anyone to see. It's like those surveillance cameras at banks, you can run, but you can't hide from IMdb.
The question is, Why are the men and women who toiled in the sitcom mines so quickly dispensed with once they get a multitude of candles on their birthday cakes? I have a friend, also a television writer, who, at a very early age was hired on “M*A*S*H,”, undoubtedly one of the finest half hours that ever aired on television. He took that credit off his resume a few years ago because he didn't want TV execs and studio people to think he was 100 years old.
My friend remains very funny, and I know his writing skills have not forsaken him, and yet he struggles to find employment, perhaps because IMdb ratted him out over of his association with the revered, but "ancient" show.
