Lenawee Smiles: Finding respite from it all in 1970s television

Reading that Barbara Eden (“I Dream of Jeannie”) recently turned 91 was jarring.

How could that perky blond have reached that age? Had she traded in her filmy attire for compression stockings, polyester pants and orthopedic shoes? If she was that old, her sitcom must have been made during the Middle Ages of television.

The announcement of her age, the horrors of current news and today’s witless or violent programs sent me time-traveling back to the 1970s in search of old television series. Last week, I went trolling and came across “Columbo” with Peter Falk. His script writers had it pretty easy: They just had to insert these phrases after every fourth paragraph, “Oh, just one more thing,” “Well … that’s true, but you see,” and “You know, you’re right, I had not thought about that.”

There was no doubt about the outcome. You always knew who the guilty party was because he or she committed murder nine minutes after the last credit rolled by and right in front of your startled eyes.

Enter Peter Falk like a grimy genie sprung from a cloudy bottle, dropping cigar ash onto white carpets or someone’s velvet slippers. His black shoe-button eyes missing nothing. What he didn’t know, his wife did. What she didn’t know, his brother-in-law did. You were secure in the knowledge that you were surrounded by geniuses for the length of the show.

The shows I’ve seen so far have included in their casts Leslie Nielsen, Suzanne Pleshette, Eddie Albert, Ray Milland, Roddy McDowell and Blythe Danner. They and others are the satellites that circle Peter Falk as he stumbles through elegant homes (no grubby hovels allowed), mangles carefully tended flower beds and shears away the horn of a unicorn topiary.

I have to keep remembering that this show was produced in the 1970s when bell-bottoms were popular along with gaudy horizontally striped sweaters, longer hair and bad eye makeup. One actress, surely in her 50s, trips through her bedroom wearing a gold lame dress with a huge bow at the neck, a hem way above her knees and gold boots with chunky heels. Fashion police: Where were you? Was there someone in charge of costumes that day or was it a “come as you are” filming? Did we really dress like that? Please say we did not.

So far, both the male and female performers have been topped with really bad wigs or toupees. Nielsen’s appeared to be on a runway for a fast takeoff. McDowell’s was too big for his head. If he turned around quickly, I think his rug would have stayed in place above him. Was there a baldness epidemic in Hollywood in the ’70s? Did some madman shear off all the tresses of working actors as they slept in raised beds surrounded by shirred draperies? Not one of them appeared to be in possession of their natural hair.

In those distant ’70s, cars were different as well. In this television show, they appear to be about a city block long and 2 inches high. Other than Columbo’s rambling wreck, every car is shiny and factory fresh.

The major difference between “Columbo” and today’s crime shows is that his show was basically blood-free. The sound of a gun being fired is heard, a heavy object wrapped in a towel is raised in front of your eyes, the flash of a polished knife flies by … however, you never, but never, see the victim clutch his/her chest or head with that telltale scarlet river flowing wide. You are briefly shown bloodless bodies unlikely to rise again. Amazing.

Gratuitous gore on this program: not there.

Knifings are as delicate as silk lace and bloodless. Science and common sense tell us that it is impossible for a gaping wound or seven not to bleed, but in Columbo’s world, fans are treated to a serenely gentle dispatch made by a bullet or blade.

“Columbo” remains locked in its time: a placid, nonretching show. I dial back 50 odd years every night to watch it, knowing that my rare burger will stay where it belongs with its dollop of ketchup. Yawning optional.

Susan Keezer lives in Adrian. Send your good news to her at lenaweesmiles@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on The Daily Telegram: Susan Keezer: Finding respite from it all in 1970s television