Brooks Peterson

Monday, Apr. 19, 1999

A fond farewell to an odd couple

   Being the modest, self-effacing fellow I am, I have never made any grandiose claims for what appears in this space.
   However . . . having dispensed with the disclaimer, I will make so bold as to claim that this is probably the only column you will see this week in which the names of Boxcar Willie and Inspector Morse will appear: Together for the first and, one would suspect, last time.
   We are talking a seriously Odd Couple here, I grant you. These two cats prowl different neighborhoods.
   However, as I sit before my non-Y2K-compliant computer terminal (but help is on the way!), the names and visages of these two are vividly, if fleetingly, linked in my psyche by a common sense of loss.
   Y'see, Boxcar Willie left us last week - and Inspector Morse may follow him ere long.
   If you spend much time channel-surfing in the wee hours, you will probably be aware that Boxcar Willie is - was - the singer who assumed the persona of Depression-era hobo and over the decades became something of a showbiz phenomenon: In all of his low-key, unassuming country repertoire, there was never a hit single. But thanks to TV merchandising - "Trained Operators Are Standing By!" - he developed a huge following both here and abroad.
   Not incidentally, he was also one of the founders, and chief celebrants, of another pop culture phenomenon: Branson, Mo., the country-music shrine.
   Now, you mention Boxcar Willie in artsy-smartsy circles, and you'll get either blank looks or snickers. And in fact, when I picked up one of his LPs from a second-hand rack a while back, I did so in the expectation of getting a few yuks from the experience.
   But you know what? The guy could carry a tune. Nice, mellow voice; no artifice; no pyrotechnics; no drugstore-cowboy affections. (My apologies to all you fans of Garth Brooks - a nice enough fellow in his own right - but I'll bet nobody every caught ol' Willie wearing one of those PBX headset things at one of his concerts.)
   Boxcar Willie, dang it, did some good work. Catch him on "King of the Road" or "Wabash Cannonball" . . . unless you're scared of having your Hipster's Union card revoked. (I have no such fear - they shredded mine after that column on Spike Jones.) At any rate, Willie has left us, and I'll miss him. Make of that what you will.
   Which brings us to Inspector Morse, who of course is a very different kettle of kippers. At some point in the last few years, I became aware of the series chronicling the cases of the acerbic, overbearing Oxford police detective (portrayed with stunning virtuosity by the quintessentially British John Thaw) - and, short of "Law & Order," his adventures have become My Favorite TV Thing.
   Understand, now, it's not that the inspector's cases are all that novel in themselves. If you were to do a cold-eyed, dispassionate analysis of the scripts, they would probably turn out to be every bit as formulaic as the underpinnings that support the adventures of Lt. Colombo - albeit with one heck of a lot more literary allusions.
   And it isn't as if Morse were an inherently likable character like Colombo. Fact is, Morse, with his Oxford education and his highbrow musical tastes and his impatience with those he considers his inferiors - which is just about everyone, especially Sgt. Lewis, his infinitely patient, endlessly faithful Sancho Panza - is an arrogant and sometimes unfeeling pain in the derriere.
   But you just have to love the guy. He is so good at doing what he does, and what he does is become a three-dimensional presence driven not only by inflated self-esteem but a passion for justice.
   Alack, in an afterword to the most recent episode of the "Mystery" series, we were told Morse may be leaving us, headed into retirement . . . at least until the writer who turns out the Morse novels generates more fodder.
   It's almost too much to bear. The only thing that softened the blow a bit was the fact that it was series hostess Diana Rigg ("The Avengers"- remember?) who delivered the crushing news.
   Guess I could close this by envisioning Boxcar Willie and the inspector bumping into one another in Pop Culture Valhalla . . . Nah. Doesn't scan. But there's at least one guy on the planet who'll miss both of them.
   (Peterson can be reached by phone at 886-3772, or by e-mail at petersonb@caller.com)