Even Old TV Shows Stress Me Out Now

A few years ago, while powering through every episode of The Fugitive, I found myself obsessively checking the IMDB pages of actors from the program who were presented as middle-aged and elderly. The show was on in the 1960s, of course, and it felt like folks aged faster in those days. Cigarettes, I suspect, played a big part in making people prematurely haggard and scrotely. I found it fascinating.

Needless to say, some of it was also rooted in a self-consciousness about getting older. I was comparing the actors’ ages — and appearances — to my own. At first it was to gloat, and to reassure myself: at least I don’t look like that old sack. But it ultimately stressed me out. You can say ‘60 is the new 40’ all you want. But I’m smart enough to know it’s a false sense of security; you can only hold back haggard for so long.

Even more morbidly and bizarre, I’d also check to see how many additional years those guys had lived. Maybe I was on the same track as them and could get a little insight into how much sand might be left in the ol’ hourglass? And is that the proper way to enjoy a relaxing evening at home? I submit that it is not. It was straight anxiety-fuel.

It only gets worse, of course. I’m currently watching every episode of Perry Mason, and doing the exact same thing. I can’t make myself stop. And now that I’m a few years older, the end-dates are closer than ever. No good! Why can’t I just enjoy Perry outsmarting Hamilton Burger one more time, like a normal human being? Why must I use that great old show as a springboard into crippling paranoia about my own mortality? It makes no logical sense, but I’m compelled to continue.

Here’s how it goes, in case you’re wondering. I estimate the age of each actor who appears to be middle-aged or above, and check to see how accurate I was. Sometimes reality makes me feel better, and other times not. Often, I don’t really know how to feel. They hired a guy six years younger than I am to portray an eccentric old coot living in a swamp shack? Should that make me happy, or concerned? It’s confusing.

Let’s do this together, shall we? I’ll show you some photos I snapped right off my computer screen while watching “The Case of the Captain’s Coins” (Season 5, Episode 17), which originally aired on January 13, 1962. Then we’ll crunch some numbers. Some dark, dark numbers.

We’ll start with Perry Mason himself. Just looking at this photo I’d say he’s 49, 10 years younger than I am today. He’s starting to show some scrotely signs in the jaw and around the mouth, but not too bad. Actually, in 1961, he was only 44 years old, 15 years younger than I am now. Doesn’t he look older than that? Am I wrong? You can’t go by hair color, this is an actor we’re talking about. They erect scaffolding around those bastards and have a team of professionals tend to ‘em before the cameras go live. He lived another 32 years, to age 76. So, Perry offers me 17 additional years on Earth. Ugh! I only hope they go as slow as the first 17.

Next up is Hamilton Burger, the world’s least-successful district attorney; Perry kicked his ass weekly for years. In this photo I’d say he’s 54, or five years younger than I am today. The haggard is definitely taking hold, and his hairline is retreating faster than that gang of zitty nerds my friend Rocky tried to piss on from a balcony at a high school party in 1980. The actor was actually 46 here. Yikes. That’s rough. Also, he only lived another seven years, to age 53. Ham Burger would’ve taken me down six years ago! I’d be long-dead by now, reduced to an assortment of anecdotes shared by a gang of unreliable narrators. Do you see why this exercise is not advisable?

Paul Drake is Perry’s private detective. He’s gotta be 52 here, right? Or seven years younger than I am today. He’s rugged and tough, but it looks like age is starting to take its toll. He’s actually 46, same as Hamilton. Both are 13 years my junior! This guy smokes at all times, and I’m surprised he’s not sitting inside a cloud in this photograph. I mean, fifty percent of his respiration appeared to be through a filterless cigarette. Indeed, he only lived another nine years, and died of lung cancer at the age of 55. I’d already be four years gone. Sheesh.

Edward Farraday is this character’s name. I’d say he’s 62, or three years older than me. What do you think? This actor also played one of the mayors on The Andy Griffith Show, and Chester on the Gunsmoke radio program, but that’s beside the point. He’s only 47 years old here! Am I way off on my estimate? Doesn’t he look like he’s in his early 60s? These are the ones that make me feel kinda good, for some reason. This guy is 12 years YOUNGER than I am?? Hell yeah. But, should I really be happy about that? Why am I happy about it? Like I say, confusing. He lived another 41 years, until he was 88. I definitely like that part; he’s offering me another 29 years of ridiculousness.

Nickolas Trevelian must be 67, right? I mean, the wrinkles and giant bags under his eyes tell the tale. He might even be 70. Wrong! He’s 57 here, two years younger than I am today. Sweet Maria! See what I mean when I say people aged faster back then? He looks like a sun-baked salamander with a jaunty hat and mustache. Decidedly scrotely. This guy lived another 21 years, and died at age 78. That affords me 19 more summers. Also not super-comforting.

Carter Farraday who looks like he might’ve gone to school with ol’ Nicky Ballsack above, is portrayed by an actor who is only 58 years old. Look at that guy! Doesn’t he look 70? He should be running a small neighborhood grocery store somewhere, doling out homespun wisdom and horehound candies while sporting an inexplicable armband way up his right sleeve. That guy is younger than I am now?! I don’t care for that at all. Man, by the time you reached your late 50s during that era, you were undeniably old. But he did manage to live another 29 years, which helps a little. I guess.

Why do I do this to myself? Literally all of those guys are younger than I am today. Even the last two. All of it just serves to stress me out, and yet I return to it again and again. I think, “That old guy on the bench outside the filling station has GOTTA be older than me, right?” Lemme check… Nope, he was 53. Arrrgh!

The other disturbing thing about this exercise is the reminder that these were men, actual men. They’re the way I viewed adult males as a kid. They dressed the part, had an air of seriousness and authority, and were taking care of business in a rough and tumble world. I never went through that phase. I have been stalled at adolescent for decades and will soon transition straight into elderly. What happened to the wingtip and martini era? I got stuck at diarrhea jokes and Rolling Rock.

Yeah, now that I think about it, Perry Mason is not a show I’m prepared to recommend.

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