Rob Reiner lived the life of his altruistic liberal TV character

Michael Stivic—the fictional hippie college student who marries into the Bunker family in the revolutionary blunt 1970s’ TV sitcom “All in the Family”—and the actor who portrayed him, Hollywood royalty and respected filmmaker Rob Reiner, seemed one and the same. Reiner was a lifelong unabashed liberal Democrat, carrying on the presumed future of do-gooder social worker Michael Stivic. In the TV show, Stivic always argued against the ignorant racist and bigot Archie Bunker, his father-in-law. Just a kid back then watching the “Family” every week, I assumed Stivic was right to counter blatant racist and prejudiced opinions as well as offensive rantings by Bunker. And I’m sure all these decades later, the irony was not lost on Reiner that all along, Stivic was living off Bunker’s blue-collar manual labor earnings.

Today watching “All in the Family” is a visual time capsule into the 1970s and a hotly divided America: centered on Vietnam War angst then worries about the economy, pollution, the future, and then breaking away from racial segregation, sexism, and later ageism which impacted Bunker, at 50, who had to take on a second job driving a cab to make ends meet.

Back then young Americans really felt the way Stivic did while the older generation still shared the outdated views of Archie. The nation ended up progressing socially probably because of this single show as we got to see and hear real-life family arguments about how many white people viewed the broiling political and fast-changing times—often with fights ending by Archie’s all-loving wife, Edith, tying the family back together with a bow of common sense. To paraphrase one of her classical gravelly-voiced scoldings to Archie: “God’s God, and you ain’t!”

Homosexuality came up in an earlier episode when Archie assumes Michael’s friend is gay because he doesn’t meet the masculine standard. Then Mike finds out that a former football player buddy of Archie’s is gay. The tall strapping athlete sits tall and manly at a table chatting with Archie at their neighborhood bar. The subject of the athlete’s confirmed bachelor status comes up as Archie pries. But his friend responds: “Tell me, Arch, in all the years you’ve known me, have I ever once mentioned a woman?” Archie shrugs, saying bachelors are private people. “Exactly,” the man replies with a smile.

As Archie softens through the ’70s, so does Mike. He never believes for one minute that Archie’s right to put down minorities while maintaining the white culture is supreme. But he starts to understand Archie and his generation. An episode not featuring Mike explains a lot about Archie when his brother comes to town. His younger brother was the family favorite, the one who was sent to college, the one who didn’t have to quit school and go to work during the Depression to support the family like Archie and so many young teens had to do. And then the same young men served in World War II. The brother talks to Archie about why their parents favored the younger son and not Archie, the hard worker who always provided for his family. The younger brother turns out to be an alcoholic who’s lost his wife, kids and home. He tells Archie it dawned on him why their parents favored him over the hard-working brother: They were just crazy.

Mike’s character is actually an orphan in childhood who is raised by his uncle, a contemporary of Archie. So in a sense, Archie and Mike had something in common: having to make their way best they could without their parents’ guidance … and love.

Boomer-rang

Reiner started as an actor in the 1960s, usually playing big guys who were tough but with a soft heart, guys who were judged by their size instead of what’s inside their hearts. His role on the “Family” was intended to counter—in volume and fury—Archie’s defense of the white man, that white men are getting the short end of the stick in order to give minorities and women a leg up.

And how could all that Archie spouted about during the very liberal 1970s—that a woman’s place is in the home, men are the providers and rulers of their families, white men are smarter than every other ethnic and racial group, couples should marry instead of live together, ‘queers’ are immoral, great comedy has slapstick, the only God is white and Christian and so is the USA, and English is the only language in the U.S.—make sense to tens of millions of Americans who now more than ever believe exactly the same way? Back in the ’70s, we called such beliefs ignorant, racist, prejudiced, misogynist, sexist, closed minded, and against common decency. In “All in the Family” the debate seemed between the educated and the uneducated. But there were many Americans who were changing their views and opening their minds due to just living life itself.

A lot can be said about what is known of Reiner and his son who struggled with addiction and mental illness. No doubt Reiner helped his son in every way possible. That is the generation of Reiner/Stivic: altruistic, understanding of drug use and abuse, compassionate with the mentally ill, maintaining an open mind to various therapies. All you need is love. Love is all you need.

And critics of Liberals like Reiner/Stivic (and me) would quickly point the finger and say, “See?!” The Liberal way of dealing with problems like drug addiction simply does not work. And they would be hypocrites. Everyone knows addiction lands in every home, every family, every race, every religion, every socioeconomic status, rich and poor.

No doubt like every parent of a child with addiction and coupled with mental illness—or maybe stemming from it—Reiner deeply loved his son … but couldn’t save him. Reiner stayed true to himself, a worldview molded long ago by a barrage of conflicting forces political, societal and generational. Like Stivic, Reiner ultimately strived toward love whatever the cost.

The country music of my youth: yawn

As much as I tried to hide my heritage growing up in the 1970s, my parents made sure I would know the latest country & Western music hits. Country music was the center of our lives, and that was that. In retrospect my parents’ love of progressive country music—electric steel guitar, fiddles, and a shuffle beat, not Bluegrass a’tall—is an endearing legacy, different from my peers whose parents twenty years older listened to our type of denim rock, hard rock and bubble gum pop music.

For as long as I can remember to the day my mother died, country music radio was the audible backdrop in our home and car. My folks enjoyed listening to songs of heartache, romance, sexual longing, downhome recollections, gospel, night life two-steppers, and the occasional Boogie Woogie honky tonker ala Jerry Lee Lewis. All those early Rock n Roll stars somehow ended up playing on country stations rather than rock.

My parents’ love of country music goes back to their roots in rural Oklahoma. I never noticed when my Dad dressed up to go to a restaurant, his shirts were always Western style. My mother’s brothers formed a Western swing band in the 1950s and played nightclubs every weekend in a four-state region spanning from Amarillo. And our summer family reunions were unique with live music: country all day and rock late at night.

Act naturally

Saturday nights were the worst growing up when my parents were set on watching country music TV showdown: beginning in the afternoon with Cowboy Weaver, then Hee Haw, the Wilburn Brothers, Grand Ole Opry and finally Porter Wagoner featuring his beautiful buxom girl singer Dolly Parton. Oh it was a hoot. As I’d pass through the living room, I’d roll my eyes, cringing from the first twangs of the guitar to the lonesome vibrations of the steel and the ridiculously upbeat Orange Blossom Special.

Can’t say I was a fan of any of it.

Yet here lately, from the black-and-white recesses of my preschool mind in the 1960s, I recall the timbre of some legendary country singers: Ray Price, Buck Owens, George Jones. Must’ve heard them from birth. My parents were not just fans of country music but knew a lot about the entertainers themselves. They knew who wrote which song, like Willie Nelson wrote Crazy, Kris Kristofferson wrote For the Good Times, Tom T. Hall wrote Harper Valley PTA. They knew obscure songwriters like David Allen Coe and Lefty Frizzell. They weren’t big fans of Hank Williams, if you can believe it, or Loretta Lynn yet loved Conway Twitty. See how hard it is to get a read on my folks? [I get it now. They really had a lot of taste when it came to country music.]

As the Grand Ole Opry is celebrating 100 years of country music entertainment, starting on radio in 1925 then naturally TV, I thought of the era which marked my knowledge and understanding of this rural genre. American country music is a direct descendent of folk songs passed from generation to generation among British, Scotch & Irish people with a little French, German and Italian—but not much. American country music that was born in Appalachia would never feature the accordion, the most European of musical instruments. The banjo, from West Africa, became a staple folk and then country music instrument over here. Those who picked and strummed it needed to wear picks on the ends of their fingers. The instrument is really loud, best played outdoors. In the early years of country music, an ensemble included string bass and acoustic guitar. Drums were not a historic part of American folk and country music. Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys were the first to include a drum set in their country swing music and at the Grand Ole Opry. The rest is country & Western music history. Country music that was rooted in the South was heard nationwide by the 1940s.

But in my youth, the brand was boring. Nasal tones and twang didn’t do much for my ears. Country had to compete with some mighty fine rock music from The Beatles (who actually covered Buck Owens’ Act Naturally sang by Ringo Star) to Pink Floyd. Then bands like The Eagles and the Allman Brothers brought country rock and blues full circle, paving the way for the refined sound and rock beat of country music today.

The big country hits when I was growing up, however, were quite influential: The Pill, King of the Road, Stand by Your Man, Ode to Billie Joe, A Boy Named Sue, Take This Job and Shove It, Rocky Top, Gentle on My Mind, Rocky Mountain High, Good Hearted Woman, Behind Closed Doors. Everybody, whether country music fan or not, knew these songs. I grew up listening to all that social commentary, tongue-in-cheek humor, Southern gothic tales, and blatant sexual overtones. But the overall message about the country songs from my youth has to do with freedom: having it, wanting it, or living without it.

Green Green Grass of Home

Talk about a country talker that traveled. It was recorded in the ’60s by Tom Jones, Porter Wagoner and Jerry Lee Lewis. The song, sad as a country song ever written, is about a man who returns to his hometown and sees the most important people in his life who’ve all gathered to greet him. Then he awakes in prison and remembers his fate as a condemned man. The people coming to greet him will be at his funeral and burial. The grass is not just green but ‘green green.’ Why is that? Perhaps in the country, the vast terrain as far as the eye can see is green and lush especially during the spring and early summer.

Years ago as a little girl riding in the back seat as Dad drove us away from the city suburbs and traffic every holiday to visit his folks in quiet Oklahoma, the song would play on the radio. It was a huge hit. Always upon entering Dad’s small country town where he grew up, he’d slow down the car to a roll, looking left and right, taking in the sights and changes if any, then pull into his parents’ simple wooden house at the end of a dirt road. In the ’60s there was still an outhouse behind it. He’d once again hug his aging parents, bring them some new appliance, like a stove, washing machine, clothes dryer or fridge, one year a pot-belly stove. He’d install them and make sure they worked properly then sit on the porch with his brothers, shoot the breeze, inhale familiar fresh country air, and later take in the sunshine while walking around the property to spot anything that needed fixing or improvement.

Through the years as I would be introduced to family funerals, music played a comforting role in the ceremonies—marking the departed relative’s final sentiments. As a kid of country music, I knew Green Green Grass of Home would be the perfect song for my Dad when he leaves this world and mine. Country music, after all, expresses the most heartbreaking and meaningful moments of our lives.