Dear Mr. Landlord

Don Knotts died last Thursday. I read about it on Saturday. I thought: well, even endearingly funny people die. I went on with what I was doing. But I soon found that I couldn't shake it off. I guess that when a great television actor passes, one that you admire -- it can seem on some level that you just lost someone you knew well. At first, I understood that it was only the death of a famous stranger -- another actor, three-time husband, father, voter, golfer, lover of prawns, of burlesque, of whatever, someone I didn't know at all, and someone who didn't know me. But, as happened when John Ritter of Three's Company died a couple years ago, it eventually struck me that this man who is gone forever was, in fact, someone who had managed to bring a lot of laughter and happiness to my life. He was someone who in the course of his work had often made me smile ear to ear; someone who I really had come to know through his great talent. It's funny -- now I'm feeling so forlorn when at first his death hadn't struck me as very momentous a departure. Now I want to thank him. I want him to come back.

I think I will never forget Mr. Furley: Don Knotts' goofy and loveable landlord from Three's Company. Like any great character in any great play, motion picture, or television series -- or any story for that matter -- Mr. Furley's every note was properly struck. He truly and completely existed for five years (and for my brother and I long after in reruns). I doubt anyone else interpreting, acting those lines could have made my brother and I laugh so hard and wish so much that he would never leave the scene. Don Knotts supplied his character with ample, wacky, and vivid humanity -- so much so, that I kind of wished he would meet a nice lady to keep him company in his golden years. Someone who would see through the absurd posturing and accidental hijinx to the real Mr. Furley.

Of course, Knotts will be remembered for many things, things having to do with his career on its various stages, and for things I cannot even imagine not knowing anything about his day to day life. To me, he's the cavalier and clumsy landlord with the secret heart of gold that confounded Jack and Janet with his sudden investigative check-ins which were really a naked search for companionship. Aw, I miss you, Don! My personal thanks for leaving so much behind to remember you by, and particularly your Mr. Furley, who was that rarest of breeds -- the groovy, good-hearted landlord.