Written by Michael Claxton
Last week, amid the excitement over the mine rescue in Chile, the hoopla over the midterm elections and the Bisons’ historic upset over Delta State, two iconic TV parents quietly faded from the screen. Barbara Billingsley (94) and Tom Bosley (83) died within three days of each other, leaving behind one strand of pearls, a sweater vest and two lumps in the collective throat of a wistful nation.As June Cleaver, Billingsley was to 1950s motherhood what — forgive the comparison — Rosanne Barr was to mom-dom in the ’90s. As the reigning matriarch on “Leave it to Beaver” from 1957 to 1963, she set the standard for the wise, impeccably groomed full-time mom. A woman who dressed at home the way people now dress only at the Clinique counter at Dillard’s, her house was almost as immaculate as her apron or coiffure. Gentle and serene, she could instantly correct any of her children’s half-baked schemes with a fully baked plate of cookies and a dose of common sense. In one classic episode, the Beaver was miffed, “onnaccounta” his mother asking him to run some errands when he wanted to play with his friends instead. So he decided to try the silent treatment, which was his method of “giving her the business.” This strategy worked for a while — that is, until Beave was stung by a bee and ran to his mother’s ever-present and comforting arms. A soft rebuke, a hug and all was well.But a mother’s work was never done. Once, she asked her older son where he was going. He said, “I’m going over to slug Eddie.” “That’s no way to talk,” she corrected, “This is Sunday.” To which Wally answered, “You’re right. I’ll wait till tomorrow and slug him in the cafeteria.” If you remember Eddie Haskell, you’d be in line to slug him, too.Such were the crises that TV parents faced. As Howard Cunningham on “Happy Days,” the show set during the Eisenhower era but filmed in the Carter/Reagan years, Tom Bosley was the ’70s version of a ’50s dad. Not quite as unflappable as Ward Cleaver, he was just as wise and looked just as comfortable in wool. Married to a reincarnation of June Cleaver, Mr. C presided over a Milwaukee hardware store by day and a household of hormones by night.A textbook middle-class square, Mr. C read the newspaper in his easy chair, which seems to have been the principle hobby for all dads in the ’50s. He matched wits constantly with leather-jacketed ladies’ man Arthur Fonzarelli, who was a cross between James Dean and Joey from “Friends.” When he wasn’t counseling his excitable teenage children — such as the time he consoled Richie after he missed a last free throw that cost his basketball team the state championship — he was swapping affectionate banter with his wife, Marion. A reaction against the Hippie era, “Happy Days” recreated a world that never quite was, but was one viewers wished for just the same.Nostalgia for the ‘50s is itself square these days, though in our what’s-the-latest-app world, so is nostalgia for anything that happened before last Tuesday. Fortunately, the stable, old-fashioned parenting of Mrs. Cleaver and Mr. C was not just a wistful dream for me. My mother did not have a pearl necklace until I was an adult, and my father never wore a sweater vest. Otherwise, these beloved TV icons were my parents.My mother could have been the editor of Good Housekeeping. She managed to raise three kids, cook every night, keep the books for the family business, take care of her aging in-laws, teach Sunday school, buy and sell antiques, maintain a spotless house, and do it all with abundant love and a hearty sense of humor. My father has always been a gentle giant — witty and playful, but also wise and soft-spoken. He never allowed yelling in our house. My friends couldn’t believe that, but Dad set the model by combining firmness with affection. He completely supported his children, and I have never for one minute doubted that he believes in me. They are both my heroes.This is the place where I’m dutifully supposed to admit that we were not a perfect family. Yes, that’s true. But Mom and Dad have been together now for 55 years. As a smart-aleck kid I once gave them a card that said, “I couldn’t have asked for better parents.” On the inside, it said, “I tried once, but God said, ‘No.'” If I had it to do over again, I’d just give them the front side of the card. They are indeed the best. So I can’t be too sad to bid farewell to Mrs. Cleaver and Mr. C. Because for me, they’re still just a phone call away.
