The day the running stopped, as narrated by the late William Conrad. Richard Kimble exonerated, Lt. Gerard slowing his car down with a nod of his head--he really was more of a chin pointer, though--at the man he tracked for four years. His memorable line: "It doesn't matter what I think, Kimble was found guilty in a court of law." Barry Morse died earlier this week at the age of 89. Outlived the entire main cast, the one-armed killer, David Janssen himself having died in 1980. One of my favorite shows as a kid and as an adult, I intend to have the theme music (which I have on CD) at my funeral. I'm the one-armed man typing with one finger. I'm chasing myself, an ethereal figure always nearby, moaning that it didn't matter what he believed, I was found crippled by an act of God. So my gang of three have finally all met up; Barry Morse was a great actor, underneath that fedora he haid hair like a lit match the way it stuck on his high forehead. And for years, I would send postcards from Kimble to high school buddy Paul Bervid, a D.A. in City Hall, he'd do the same as Gerard. We'd find old postcards from Wisconsin Dells or I'd mail gas station postcards from Omaha, Denver, or Dallas, when I was at the writing conventions. At least its was something to get in the mail besides flyers and applications for CapitolOne cards. I'm doing OK, I really am. But at the end of the night, when its me and the clacking of the keys and my collie at my side, I think of my funeral, my dirt nap, seeing the Grim Reaper and saying "There's my ride!" but hearing an echo in my dying brain...The Day The Running Stopped.
