Illustration by Ashley Wong
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I married Mary Richards and Ann Marie. But not really. As a child of the 1960s and ‘70s, television was more than a staple of my upbringing. Yes, it provided me with mindless, escapist entertainment, but it also played a strong role in shaping my notion of what was romantically desirable in a woman. Born in 1961 during the waning baby boomer era, there was a preponderance of goofy TV series, as well as a smattering of penetrating and thought-provoking fare (albeit with a heavy dose of cheesy special effects). Back then, for better or worse, many television shows had an unbridled optimism portrayed without cynicism, criticism or judgment.
Two series that magically intersected with my developing hormones were The Mary Tyler Moore Show (1970-1977) with Moore as Mary Richards, and That Girl (1966-1971) with Marlo Thomas as Ann Marie.
Both series featured cup-half-full, spunky, independent, smart, funny, perseverant, principled, articulate, good-hearted, vulnerable, strong-willed career women who also, happily for me, happened to be single dark-eyed beauties. I didn’t know what hit me. They were mesmerizing. Each episode spent with Mary and Ann and their intoxicating, unrelenting hopefulness made an indelible impression on my young heart and psyche. Ann was an aspiring actor and Mary an ambitious TV news producer, both characters were starting life anew. As a young boy with a new life, I loved what I saw in those two.
It didn’t hurt that Moore’s 1961-1966 run on the iconic The Dick Van Dyke Show featured her as married Laura Petrie, clad in stirring and life-affirming capri pants.
Looking back, I see now that passion unconsciously morphed into my wanting in a real-life girlfriend what they represented. They spoke to me. So, with these impossible and unrealistic expectations, my journey into life and search for true love was launched.
Sure there were other attractive single women characters on television at that time: Agent 99 in Get Smart, Elly May Clampett in The Beverly Hillbillies, Emma Peel in The Avengers, Sister Bertrille in The Flying Nun (I was a kid and testosterone doesn’t discriminate), any of Charlie’s Angels, Jennifer Marlowe in WKRP in Cincinnati, Cinnamon in Mission Impossible, Ginger and Mary Ann in Gilligan’s Island, Jeannie in I Dream of Jeannie, Catwoman in Batman, Lieutenant Uhura in Star Trek and The Bionic Woman.
But much as I might have dreamed it, I quickly woke up to the reality that life as a spy, living on a hidden tropical island or being granted three politically incorrect wishes were, to my endless chagrin, not going to happen. Not to mention that Sister Bertrille would never be available.
Only Mary in Minneapolis and Ann in New York had a semblance of normalcy and relatability. Heck, Minneapolis was only an eight-hour drive from Winnipeg (or more by bus, given I was too young to drive).
Was I set up to fail in my TV-themed real-life love search? Undoubtedly and regularly. Until the day I met my future wife in a blind date arranged through mutual friends. Serendipity to the rescue.
Fighting a brutal cold, she bravely and politely joined me in scarfing down peanut butter cheesecake that I’d brought over to her home. (In retrospect, I definitely had some odd ideas as to what constituted a romantic gesture.) After four hours of glorious conversation, I had a calming epiphany: It was time to let go of my past idea of perfect in order to take hold of my future. Sarah was pretty darn close to my TV fantasy.
The Mary Tyler Moore Show and That Girl were ground-breaking series featuring characters who would become feminist icons, and are often credited with inspiring innumerable young girls and women to realize that their independence and professional aspirations were not necessarily predetermined by others. And to a certain extent, Moore and Thomas mirrored many of their characters’ on-screen attributes as both women established or co-established companies to produce their respective shows.
But a wondrous and probably unexpected byproduct of these television series was a generation of young boys and girls and men and women who were strongly influenced by Mary and Ann to eventually choose to stand behind and beside real women partners who exemplified and embodied the best of those characters.
To this day, I can’t believe that we quickly fell in love and married nine months later and with nary a shotgun in sight.
Whenever I watch episodes of these landmark shows, I’m always reminded that my wife in a figurative and transcendental way is Mary and Ann wrapped into one but with the delightful bonus of having flesh and blood.
I realized long ago that life is not a Hallmark movie. After 24 years of marriage and three boys, now young men, I’m thrilled that though my wife is definitely not Mary or Ann, she channels each of the moving qualities of those characters that touched my young heart. I will forever remain transfixed by her razor-sharp intelligence and wit, feisty temper, goofy sense of humour, fierce independence, breezy ease with people, love of children (especially babies), stubbornness born of pride, compassionate concern for others, carefully chosen words, dedication to career and those gosh-darn piercing, dark eyes. And she does seem to turn the world on with her smile. Above everything though, it’s her goodness that always shines through. She isn’t That Girl. She’s better. She’s my girl.
The Marys and Anns of today who inhabit female characters in an even bigger media universe than I could have ever imagined as a young boy are fortunately growing in number. I quietly cherish that they are the progeny of Mary and Ann. Hopefully, impressionable viewers will be moved by them as I was eons ago.
When I consider my own sons, though I’m understandably concerned as all parents about the partners they will ultimately choose and the influence that media has on those choices, I take solace that they have had a wonderful in-house role model. Regardless of who they choose, I have to respect that it is their choice alone.
I married Mary Richards and Ann Marie. But not really. Instead of a fictional and unattainable character, I married the real deal. Unlike Mary and Ann, who were imperfect in their perfection, my wife is perfect in her imperfection.
Jeffrey Morry lives in Winnipeg.