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Barnaby Jones

Created by Edward Hume
(1936–)

Mmmmm doggies…

Folksy to a fault, soft-speaking, slow-walking, elderly Los Angeles private detective BARNABY JONES, who seemed to be on television forever, was an easy mark. Even decades after it lasted aired, people still take potshots at it on shows like The Simpsons and Family Guy.

And, in fact, it wasn’t just your imagination–even discounting endless repeats, the show did run for an awful long time. Eight seasons, and 178 or so episodes, making it the second-longest running private eye television series of all time (only Joe Mannix lasted longer).

As one TV executive put it, “You couldn’t kill that thing with a stick!”

The very first episode of Barnaby Jones featured a guest appearance by Frank Cannon, the private eye hero of another popular Quinn Martin detective show of the time, and the new show was very much cast in the same mold as other QM productions, with each episode sliced up into into five clearly labeled and numbered “acts” (conveniently marked by commercial breaks) and deliberately paced. In fact, that first episode was originally shot as a second season episode of Cannon, although it never aired.

That episode, “Requiem for a Son,” followed Barnaby as he came out of retirement to find his son Hal’s killer. He succeeded (with a little help from Cannon, of course, and decided retirement was for the birds. He resumed control of the family detective agency, and teamed up with Hal’s widow (Betty, played by former Miss America Lee Meriwether), who had been working as the agency’s secretary and office manager.

The rest was television history. The show went on to a long and successful run on CBS. As well, Barnaby was the probably first credible senior citizen P.I., setting the standard for all the superannuated eyes that followed. Even The Golden Girls liked it.

Actor Buddy Ebsen, best known as the plain-talking backwoods patriarch of The Beverly Hillbillies, was already a respectable 65 when he stepped into the gumshoes of Barnaby Jones, and 72 when CBS finally pulled the plug.

So go ahead… Hoot all you want about Jed Clampett, P.I., and make all the cracks you want about the office bottle containing Geritol.

That was certainly the reaction when the show made its debut in 1973. But for anyone who gave this much-misunderstood show a chance, they were rewarded with some great entertainment. It was never hip. It was never cool. But in retrospect, it was pretty good.

To its credit, the producers didn’t downplay Barnaby’s age, nor did they get cute about it. They simply treated him with respect and dignity, made us aware of his limitations but focussed on his strengths. He was a master chemist, a qualified criminalogist and, after a long career in the shamus game, nobody’s fool. Not for Barnaby, then, the then-standard P.I. TV fare of fisticuffs and commercial-linking car chases. Rather he relied on his keen intellect, his home crime lab and good old detective work (a real rarity on the tube at the time — and even now) to get the goods on the bad guys.

And what bad guys they were!

Barnaby’s villains turned out to be some of the nastiest sickos ever presented on network television–much to the chagrin of straight-arrow Barnaby. There was true evil here, and it was made all the nastier by the fact it often wore the bland, bovine face of middle-class, suburban banality. The bad guys were not just the usual gangsters and thugs – often, they were bank managers, neighbourhood kids, shop owners, and the like. Their motives, if you could call them that, often turned out to be nothing more than just plain boredom or the quest for “kicks.”

Yet, week after week, the mild-mannered, grandfatherly Barnaby, who sometimes looked like a strong wind would blow him away–and he didn’t get any younger as the series progressed–proved to be more than a match for all of them. Every week, in his slow, methodical way, he took on clients, analyzed the evidence, knocked on doors, took down names, and brought the bad guys to justice, even as they raced around like chickens with their heads cut off, growing increasingly frantic. All to no avail. As TV critic Ric Meyers once put it, “Barnaby Jones was the Droopy Dog of the TV private eye.”

And just like that perpetually persistent cartoon pooch, the show itself just kept on rolling along. Of course, as with any long-running TV series, certain plot lines and even guest stars were recycled. Actor Gary Lockwood showed up as a villian at least a half-dozen times. “And he was a low-down skunk in everyone of them!” Ebsen later recalled. “Every time I saw him, I’d say, “Didn’t I put you in jail once?’ ”

So, sure, the pacing may have been a bit slow occasionally, and the action, such as it was, mostly consisted of Barnaby pulling out a gun near the show’s conclusion and telling some varmint to stick ’em up, while they waited for the cops to arrive. But the plots were pleasantly complex, and generally solid, and the solutions based on actual detective work. Barnaby’s methodical DIY forensics still ring true to form, in a way that most of today’s far flashier, whiz-bang CSI rub-a-dub rarely does.

And Barnaby’s sense of family loyalty was beyond admirable, verging into parody. Simply put, his secretary/widowed daughter-in-law Betty had to be the stupidest and most danger-prone woman who ever walked the face of the earth. She was kidnapped, threatened and attacked so often she made Mannix’s secretary Peggy look like a good insurance risk.

In the fifth season, they brought in another relative for Barnaby to fret over: his cousin J.R. (Jedidiah Romano) Jones (played by Mark Shera), an earnest young law student hired to help Barnaby out, doing more of the leg work. True to form, J.R.’s inexperience and impulsiveness often landed him in trouble, and it was up to Barnaby to pull him out.

So, yeah, J.R. was a bit of a pill, but for those of us who “got’ the show, the mere mention of it brings back a heapin’ helpin’ of fond memories. And when CBS finally decided to pull the plug in 1980, it wasn’t because the show had lost its audience. Nope, the problem was that it was attracting the wrong audience. The demographics were just skewing way too old.

Networks be damned,  Barnaby remained a likeable old coot right ’til the end; a milk-drinking gentleman whose gentle ways concealed a razor-sharp mind. So likeable, in fact, that Ebsen was called back into action, appearing in the 1984-85 season of Matt Houston as Matt’s Uncle Roy, a retired CIA op and sometime private eye.

But the biggest treat of all was his last appearance as Barnaby years after the show had faded away, in the 1993 Beverly Hillbillies feature film. At one point in the film, Granny turns up missing and Miss Jane hires Barnaby Jones, amazingly still private eying at eighty-five, to look for her. A class act, that–having the original Jed pop up.

ABOUT THE CREATOR

The show’s creator, Edward Hume, is an American film and television writer, best known for creating and developing several crime and detective shows in the seventies , as well as for writing the highly acclaimed 1983 TV movie The Day After. During the week of April 21, 1974, four shows he had created (Cannon, Barnaby Jones, The Streets of San Francisco and Toma) all appeared together in the Nielsen top twenty ratings.

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Respectfully submitted by Kevin Burton Smith. Thanks to Alberta Bond for the Hillbillies lead, and to Lee Golberg for filling in a few details.

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