The passing of Wilford Brimley this weekend at the age of 85 is yet another blow for those of us reaching that certain age where an increasing number of people we watched in movies, on television, saw in concert, or otherwise had an impact on our world are dying.
 
I’m sure that is just a natural fact of life for every generation, but I’ve become more aware of it lately. Sure, we had our Kurt Cobains and River Phoenixes along the way, but there is a certain immortality about the stars, celebrities and the like.
 
No doubt, as we grow older, the passing of these icons is a reminder to us that there is no such thing as immortality, save the ghosts we see on screen.
 
At first glance, Brimley would seem to be an odd inclusion in the canon of Generation X icons. For many of us, he first appeared on our radar as manager Pop Fisher in “The Natural,” or as one of the stars of “Cocoon,” the Ron Howard sci-fi about rejuvenated geriatrics. The gruff actor, barely 50 at the time of filming, was cast as an old man with the likes of Don Ameche and Hume Cronyn.
 
Others may remember him for a reoccurring role on “The Waltons,” or as the grandfather on “Our House.” Those unaware of his acting career most certainly know him as the pitchman for Quaker Oats and his Liberty Medical campaign for diabetes awareness that has since become one of the biggest memes of all time.
 
It would be an understatement to describe him as gruff, but it came naturally and was what made him truly unique. He dropped out of school at a young age and worked as a cowboy. He enlisted with the Marine Corps. Work as a ranch hand, wrangler and blacksmith eventually led him to Hollywood, shoeing horses for television.
 
A friendship with Robert Duvall found him cast in 1983’s “Tender Mercies.” It was on that set where one of the greatest Brimley legends was born. Bucking a director telling him what his character “Harry” was feeling, he replied “Now, look, let me tell you something — I’m Harry. Harry’s not over there, Harry’s not over here. Until you fire me or get another actor, I’m Harry, and whatever I do is fine ‘cause I’m Harry.”
 
So, while some may have been surprised to see the lovable TV grandfather show up as Bill DeVasher, the security man for “The Firm,” it wasn’t a reach when he delivered lines like “What do you think I am around here, the f______ night watchman?” or “I get paid to be suspicious when I’ve got nothing to be suspicious about.” 
 
Not to mention putting fear into Tom Cruise at his off-site “debriefing” in perhaps the most memorable scenes of his career. It was a turn he later deadpan parodied with equal skill on “Seinfeld” as Postmaster General Harry Atkins.
 
Imagine how surprised some of those same people might be if they heard him sing standards with the Jeff Hamilton Trio? Yet, he did just that, releasing an album in 2013.
 
He was never big on Hollywood, yet produced an amazing amount of work, and always was aware of his role, once telling the Dallas Morning News “I’m never the leading man. I never get the girl. And I never get to take my shirt off. I started by playing fathers to guys who were 25 years older than I was.”
 
He did it his way, and more than one Gen-Xer eats that oatmeal because it’s the right thing to do, and the tasty way to do it. 
 
If you don’t, Brimley might just show up and whip ya. Just like that dia-beet-us.

 I’ll admit it — I have a guilty pleasure.
 
While everyone put their lockdown to good use binging TV shows, reading and learning the piano, I managed to waste a great deal of time watching game shows. Not the slick productions on prime time these days, but the classics you find on the free channels like Buzzr.
 
“Hollywood Squares,” “Tattletales” or the king of them all: “Match Game.” Lately, my poison has been “Password Plus.” I’m obsessed with C-list celebrities and the legends that hosted those programs. Gene Rayburn. Bert Convy (Did you know Bert spent a couple of years in the Phillies’ minor league system?).
 
I’ve learned a few things. For one, as good as it sounds, combining Hollywood Squares and Match Game into some sort of Frankenstein’s monster does not do justice to either game, Jon Bauman or no — sorry Bowzer, I still love ya.
 
Also, why did it take 40 years for me to figure out the “Hollywood Squares” set was tiered? As a kid I just thought it was really tall, and you had to climb a long ladder climb if you were in one of those top squares. I'll blame SCTV (see above).
  
Yes, in the absence of live sports, I’ve spent a lot of time absorbing these treasures of the 70s and 80s. I’ve tested my trivial knowledge of pop culture and the prices of everyday objects 30-40 years ago, and I’ve come to a conclusion.
 
I think I missed my calling. 
 
If I wasn’t meant to be a game show host in the 70s, I was at least meant to be a regular panelist. Maybe, just maybe, I could have even achieved the best of both worlds like the immortal Richard Dawson: Iconic panelist who went on to be an iconic host. Oh yeah, and he was on some TV show in the late 60s, too. I was just born 40 years too late.
 
So today, in some misguided hope of travelling back in time to the heady days of the mid-70s, I’ve work on my Allen Ludden gestures in the mirror. Call it my own twisted version of Quentin Tarantino’s “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” retro-nostalgia or Will Ferrell’s Anchorman dreams sans the movie-making ability.
 
Let’s face it, today’s game shows miss a certain… what the French call “I don’t know what.” “Wheel” and “Jeopardy!” are too laid-back. The old titles in prime time are too big, too glitzy, too Alec Baldwin. Give me the old favorites any day.
 
Of the modern incarnations, “The Price is Right” and “Let’s Make a Deal” come closest to the originals. I was never much of a “Price” guy — sorry Plinko fans — but I would love to have a turn as “TV’s Big Dealer.” 
 
I’d never wish ill on current host Wayne Brady, but he has a long-established entertainment career to fall back on, how about throwing a bone to a poor columnist/freelance journalist? I could be a modern-day Monty Hall. I could knock that out of the park.
 
I tell you, I was born to hold the spindly microphone, hide my lit cigarette out of camera view, , sport my outrageous sideburns, wide ties and smooch my way through the 70s hawking microwave ovens, dining room sets and import cars. 
 
Anything else seems a waste of material.