When the President's Daughter Went Missing

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President Bartlet (Martin Sheen): Would you consider, instead of living in France with your boyfriend for three months, staying here, living in your room and being a candy striper or surfing?

Zoey (Elisabeth Moss): A candy striper?

President Bartlet: Or surfing. You could spend the summer working in a pet shop. We could play Yahtzee and watch movies at night.

Zoey: Dad, what fantasy is it that's going through your head right now?

President Bartlet: What daughters would do their whole lives if I had my way.

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For most families, college commencement is a great occasion — a time of pride in the accomplishment of one of their own.

It is sure to be the same for a president's family — but with the added anxiety that comes whenever someone from the first family is involved. There is always a chance, however slim it may be, that something will happen to the graduate.

I don't know how many children of sitting presidents have graduated from college in our history, but I do know that nothing has happened to mar those occasions. They have all gone off as smooth as clockwork.

Such was not the case in the episode of West Wing that first aired on this night in 2003, "Commencement." The president's youngest daughter, Zoey (Elisabeth Moss), was graduating from Georgetown University, and her father (Martin Sheen) was to deliver an address at commencement. He was still wrestling with what to say when the big day arrived.

And there were a lot of other things going on. Toby (Richard Schiff) and his ex–wife were expecting a baby at any time, and Toby wanted them to remarry. He wanted it so much he had taken the step of investing in a house that his ex had told him was her dream home.

Primarily, though, Washington Post reporter Danny Concannon (Timothy Busfield) had gotten wind of something the president really wanted to keep under wraps — the fact that, one year prior, he had ordered the assassination of the defense minister of a fictional Middle Eastern country who had been planning terrorist acts against the United States — among them destroying the Golden Gate Bridge.

At the time, the White House had manipulated news flow to bolster the impression that the United States had not been involved. That had eroded considerably, though.

Of course, there was also the matter of finding a replacement for the vice president, who had just resigned.

If that seems implausible, remember that within a decade of the passage of the 25th Amendment, which provided a procedure for filling a vacancy in the vice presidency, that procedure would be used not once but twice. It hasn't been used since, but odds are that it will one day. Nevertheless, no one thought back in 1967 that it would be used in 1973, when Gerald Ford was selected to replace Spiro Agnew, and 1974, when Nelson Rockefeller was chosen to replace Ford after Ford became president.

History is like that. When one event occurs, people know it probably will play a role in another event, but they never know how soon that will be. The Kennedy assassination in 1963 was the catalyst for the 25th Amendment. Kennedy's successor, Lyndon Johnson, served with no vice president for more than a year — until he had won the 1964 election with Hubert Humphrey as his running mate.

Humphrey, therefore, was the occupant of the vice presidency when the 25th Amendment was approved, and few people probably thought there was a need for it. After all, the nation had been through such periods before, but the 25th Amendment spelled out that procedure — along with providing a line of succession.

Back to the West Wing timeline, which dealt with the 25th Amendment in the last episode of the 2002–2003 season.

Fast forward a year. Five suspected terrorists who had been under surveillance had disappeared, and the feds were under heightened alert.

Thrown into the mix was the fact that Zoey was planning to leave for France after commencement to spend three months in the French countryside.

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But she never got there. At a party on graduation night, she was abducted and one of the Secret Service agents assigned to protect her was shot and killed.

West Wing had a reputation for being "The Left Wing" for its political slant, but the truth was that it was extraordinarily realistic. Even conservatives had to concede that.

And while it may seem unlikely that a president's child could become ensnared in a global political situation such as the one depicted 15 years ago tonight, it is really no less likely than many of the things we have witnessed in our nation's history.

Was There Life on Mars?

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Matthew Perry only made three appearances on West Wing as Joe Quincy, the new deputy counsel. His second appearance was on this night in 2003 — ostensibly his first day on the job. He interviewed for the job in the previous week's episode; while he wasn't actually hired in that episode, it was strongly implied that he would be. In November 2003 he made his final appearance on the show, approaching the chief justice, who was in poor health, about stepping down.

On this night in 2003, Perry's character did a little detective work that ended up bringing down the vice president (Tim Matheson). The whole thing got started because the veep had been having an affair with a prominent reporter who had been an anonymous source for the Washington Post's science editor that the White House was concealing a report that supposedly indicated that there may have been, at some time, life on Mars.

This report would have been under the supervision of the vice president, but classifying the report would have been the responsibility of the Department of Defense.

Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Well, that was C.J.'s (Allison Janney) initial response, too.

But, as the audience learned later in the episode, the vice president was one of those guys who like to brag to come across as more important. Seems sort of unnecessary for a man who has risen to the position of vice president. It's also a bit naive for a man who participated in two national political campaigns as well as however many races for office in his home state to be telling something like that to a reporter, even — or perhaps especially — one with whom he was intimate.

This reporter, by the way, had just been the recipient of a seven–figure book deal.

Perry started putting tidbits of information together, then discovered in the White House telephone logs records of numerous conversations between the vice president and this reporter. He brought this to C.J.'s attention, and she recognized the severity of the situation.

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That led to a visit to the vice president's office from C.J., Joe Quincy, Josh (Bradley Whitford) and Toby (Richard Schiff). In this meeting, the vice president learned what those four already knew and was advised to talk things over with his family.

Whether he actually did meet with his family was only implied in his answer to a question from the president, who asked if he had spoken with his wife. He did, however, meet with the president (Martin Sheen) and the chief of staff (John Spencer), both of whom urged him to weather the storm.

But he would have none of it. He had decided to resign because he didn't want his family to be exposed to the mudfight that would follow.

West Wing fans may have thought they had heard the last from the vice president. Not so. He would return as a candidate for the presidential nomination in a few years.

A Not-So-Quiet Evening at the White House

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"There may not be anything anymore that outpaces the hatred the right feels for the left or the tonnage of disrespect the left feels for the right."

Josh (Bradley Whitford)

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I've only been to the White House once in my whole life. I was a child, and my family took a tour of the White House.

Consequently, I can't vouch personally for the accuracy of the following statement, but I presume, at least from having watched TV's West Wing, that there is really no such thing as a quiet evening at the White House. Something is always happening, whether it makes the newscasts or not.

Nevertheless, in the episode of the series that first aired on this night in 2003, "Evidence of Things Not Seen," an uneventful evening is precisely what the staffers were trying to have. They had organized a game of poker, during which C.J. (Allison Janney) kept trying to convince her colleagues that it was possible to stand an egg vertically at the exact moment of the vernal equinox.

That assertion was repeatedly met with scorn. It was disputed by everyone (and every internet site that could be found) and was prompted by the fact that the story was taking place on the vernal equinox.

(Now, I realize that many people do not know what the vernal equinox is, but I will not devote any more space to it because that would prevent those of you who really want to know from looking it up yourselves — and it would likely bore the rest.)

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The primary events in the episode were (1) a shooting incident in which a gunman opened fire on the White House, apparently hoping to be killed by responding officers (in what is known as "suicide by cop"), and (2) Josh's (Bradley Whitford) interview with a candidate for a position in the counsel's office (Matthew Perry).

Oh, and there was also the matter of an unmanned spy plane that had crashed in a remote part of Russia. The president (Martin Sheen) tried to convince the Russians that they had not been spying on Russia but had been spying for them.

Sounds complicated, doesn't it? Well, international matters frequently are. And the Russians didn't buy it.

The shooting occurred when some staffers were in the press room trying to hit a specific row of seats with playing cards. It wasn't clear if the gunman knew where he was shooting, but it turned out that the gun was aimed at the windows of the press room. One struck a window very close to where C.J. was standing.

The president was in the Oval Office at the time, where the windows are equipped with bulletproof glass. Anyone who wants to attack the president when he is in the Oval Office, as the president observed, will have to do so from within, not from Pennsylvania Avenue.

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Evidently, the windows in the press room were not bulletproof.

That put the West Wing in lockdown — which prolonged both the poker game and the job interview.

Josh decided to recommend Perry for the job, even though he admitted to being a registered Republican who had lied on a questionnaire he had been given and consequently couldn't sign it. What was the lie? Well, the question was, "Have you ever done anything that would reflect poorly on the president?"

What had he done? He hadn't voted for the president.

Just your typical — or should that be atypical? — evening at the White House.

Hooked on Caviar

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"It's like being kissed by a lusty mermaid!"

Niles (David Hyde Pierce) after sampling caviar

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When I was growing up, I only heard the word addiction in connection with substances that weren't supposed to be good for you — and were probably (but not always) illegal to boot.

But as I got older I learned that there are all kinds of addictions to things that are not necessarily good for you but are generally not illegal, either.

At least, in most instances.

In the episode of Frasier that first aired on this night in 2003, "Roe to Perdition," the substance in question was Beluga caviar, which is the world's most expensive caviar. A couple of years before this episode aired, Beluga caviar sold for up to $4,500 a pound.

(Beluga caviar is harvested from Beluga sturgeon, which are found primarily in the Caspian Sea. Beluga sturgeon are endangered, which led the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to ban the importation of Beluga caviar in 2005. That made this episode somewhat prescient, I suppose.)

Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) and Niles (David Hyde Pierce) were planning a party and wanted something spiffy to serve. They spotted a display of Beluga caviar at their favorite gourmet foods store and concluded that was what they needed — until they discovered it was selling for $100 an ounce.

"Isn't that rather a lot to pay?" Frasier wanted to know.

"To you, yes," the shopkeeper replied in a heavy French accent. "To the fish who gave up her life so you could spread her unborn children on a cracker, it's not so much."

At that point, a somewhat unsavory–looking individual approached the Cranes and told them that the Russian mafia was in control of the caviar market. He further claimed that he could provide Beluga caviar for much lower prices; after sampling his product, the Cranes were in.

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But Frasier, who claimed to be a good judge of character, didn't want this man to know where he lived so he arranged for Roz (Peri Gilpin) to pick up the caviar and bring it to his apartment, which she did, although she insisted that caviar wasn't anything special — until she tried the Beluga caviar.

Then she was hooked. And she was happy to act as Frasier's mule if she could get a cut.

That became an impossibility when the connection informed the Cranes that he could no longer help them. Their ever–larger orders were attracting unwanted attention. This was bad news for the Cranes, who had been sprinting up the Seattle social ladder by supplying the city's elite with Beluga caviar and needed five more pounds. The supplier gave them all he could, but it was nowhere near five pounds.

It was crushing news for Roz, but Frasier assured her that he could make one more score, having recalled the name of the ship the contact had mentioned.

When Frasier and Niles got to the ship, they were able to make a deal for five pounds of Beluga caviar, but the transaction was interrupted by a raid by U.S. Customs. Frasier and Niles tried to eat the evidence, but they barely put a dent in it before a Customs officer burst on the scene. As it turned out, though, they weren't looking for caviar. They were looking for bootleg DVDs.

Frasier always had a side story — which didn't always have anything to do with the main story. In this episode, the two had nothing in common, really, but I enjoyed the side story all the same.

It seems that Martin (John Mahoney) had some trouble with the ATM at his bank. When he tried to withdraw $20, it gave him $60 instead. He was pleased with his windfall — until Daphne (Jane Leeves) insisted that he return the money to the bank.

That was when his troubles really began.

At first, he tried to call the bank's helpline, but it was automated and kept giving him the runaround. After that, he tried to go to the bank itself. The people at the bank kept acting as if he had tried to make a deposit when he was actually trying to return excess money that had been given to him by the ATM, and they kept offering him more money. It got so bad that, at one point, Martin tried to speak a bit too forcefully to a teller, was mistaken for a robber and had a gun pulled on him by the security guard.

That led to the bank president making the same false assumption that the others had made and offered Martin a settlement in exchange for taking no legal steps. The settlement included the deposit of $10,000 in Martin's account — plus the $40 from the original mistake.

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"Is there anything else we can do for you?" the bank president asked.

"Could I open an account?" Daphne wanted to know.

The Best Laid Party Plans ...

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Early in the 2002–2003 season of the Frasier series, Niles (David Hyde Pierce) and Daphne (Jane Leeves) finally tied the knot, and subsequent episodes examined their trials and tribulations as newlyweds.

But the episode that first aired on this night in 2003, "Daphne Does Dinner," was a real milestone in their relationship.

They decided to throw a dinner party.

Now, that is the kind of thing that couples, both married and unmarried, do all the time. Sometimes the parties are small, intimate, informal gatherings, and sometimes they are lavish productions. The Crane brothers, of course, leaned heavily toward the latter, and they had extensive experience, having successfully co–hosted numerous parties over the years.

But they seemed to have lost their touch. As the episode opened, guests were storming out of Frasier's apartment, and Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) and Niles were wondering why their parties were disasters.

Niles owned a painting by a reclusive Seattle artist that he was going to donate to a museum. Frasier suggested throwing a farewell dinner party for it, assuming that he and Niles would be co–hosting the event as always.

But Daphne thought it was time for her to co–host such parties with Niles.

So that is what she suggested to Niles, who acquiesced.

This represented an unusual twist for the series. Ordinarily, Niles or Frasier would be the one who was overwhelmed. In this case, it was Daphne who found herself being buried in problems.

She arranged for the party to be catered, but the Cornish game hens caught fire when Daphne was heating them, and Roz's daughter scrawled her name in crayon on the painting.

Daphne tiptoed deftly through that minefield. She sent Roz (Peri Gilpin) to an art restorer who could fix the painting, and she called Frasier for help with the food, and he agreed — even though, as she told Roz, Frasier's nose was still out of joint over being displaced as "lord mayor of Party Town."

Everything seemed to be under control when the guests began to arrive — and one of the guests was the artist himself. He had not been inclined to go until his gallery insisted that he attend.

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He took a shine to Daphne's mother, and the two of them went upstairs to watch a boxing match on pay–per–view while the rest of the guests mingled downstairs.

But then, on top of everything else, Niles' father (the recently deceased John Mahoney) was mistaken for the artist — so Niles had to shuffle him out quickly. Poor Martin was only there to bring some ramekins to Frasier, but the description of the artist (white hair, plaid shirt, sweater and cane) was spot on for Martin. It was an honest mistake.

Things went from bad to worse until, finally, Daphne's mother and the artist came crashing down into the living room. They had been engaging in some apparently spirited interactivity on the bed where all the guests' coats were piled — presumably between rounds.

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The party was over.

At that point, Frasier walked over to Daphne and put his arm around her. "Congratulations," he said. "You're now officially a Crane." Daphne burst into tears.

It wasn't the best Frasier episode, but it was far from the worst.

Playin' Those Mind Games

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"The key to this game is being able to read people."

Ben (Matthew McConaughey)

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When I was a boy, I had a big crush on Goldie Hawn. She was still young and beautiful in those days, had moved on from television work and had already won an Oscar in a still–nascent acting career.

Her daughter, Kate Hudson, co–starred with Matthew McConaughey in "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days," which premiered on this day in 2003. I would have regarded that title as an oxymoron if Goldie Hawn had starred in such a movie when I was a boy. I couldn't possibly understand why anyone wouldn't want to be with Goldie Hawn. I just thought she was so dang cute.

And, before I saw the movie, I found it pretty hard to comprehend about Goldie's daughter, too. Hudson looks a lot like her mother. She probably looked more like her mother a few years earlier when she was nominated for Best Supporting Actress (for "Almost Famous"). Unlike her mother, though, she did not win the Oscar — and she hasn't been nominated for one since.

It was hardly surprising that neither she nor McConaughey was nominated for "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days," considering that it had all the elements of a screwball comedy, which are audience pleasers but seldom regarded as Oscar material.

Except it couldn't pull it off.

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Hudson was a how–to writer for a women's magazine. McConaughey worked for an ad agency. They were thrown together by work–related wagers. Hudson was doing research for a how–to in reverse — all about the things that women do to drive men away. McConaughey's wager, to make a woman fall in love with him in 10 days, was tied to his pitch for a multimillion–dollar account.

Egged on by their respective bosses (Bebe Neuwirth and Robert Klein) Hudson and McConaughey pursued their hidden agendas, feeding off each other with reckless abandon — until that inevitable moment when they learned the truth — you know, the just desserts payoff that defines the screwball or romantic comedy and essentially justifies all that has come before.

From this premise, I will admit, the writers came up with some clever angles, and I do know a few young women who consider "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" the greatest romantic comedy of all time — but that's really a stretch when you consider the truly great romantic comedies of the past.

Perhaps in the realm of the modern romantic comedy (roughly, the last two decades), it might be considered the best, but that is because romantic comedies themselves have changed in that time — and not for the better, in the eyes of some. Modern romantic comedies tilt rather heavily toward stereotypes that, by their definition, exclude chunks of the audience. Classic screwball/romantic comedies relied on truly bizarre circumstances that were not exclusive.

Weird things happen. Really weird things happen in rom–coms and screwball comedies.

For instance, more people could relate to Cary Grant's conundrum in "My Favorite Wife," in which his wife, who had been missing for seven years and was presumed dead, showed up just as he was about to remarry, than to Hudson and McConaughey, two upper–class, well–paid and well–educated young people playing mind games with each other.

And when they weren't playing with each other, they were watching the NBA Finals from practically courtside seats. Sometimes they killed two birds with one stone. Pretty unrealistic.

Of course, rom–coms have always been unrealistic. It is their exaggerated circumstances that usually make them work. But there are those who believe they have taken a darker turn of late.

I have read of the unhealthy effects of modern rom–coms on real–life relationships and how they interfere with people's ability to communicate with each other. That makes sense to me.

Frankly, though, "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" wasn't good enough, by those standards, to have that kind of influence on people.

I thought it was mostly silly — and, seen in that light, it may have been a worthy successor to the Rock Hudson–Doris Day flicks. Rom–coms are nothing if not silly.

But I really didn't feel that Hudson and McConaughey had that kind of chemistry.

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Consequently, when their moments of comeuppance came, I found it hard to care. Their behavior may have justified those moments but not the two hours I invested in watching the movie.

(By the way award–winning composer Marvin Hamlisch made a cameo appearance during the comeuppance. I liked Hamlisch, and I suppose someone had to play such a role, but I lost a little of my regard for him when I saw him in this movie.)

Sometimes I wonder if that isn't expecting too much from a rom–com. The romantic/screwball comedy genre is and always has been escapism, and "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" delivered in that regard.

Mostly.

It had that light–hearted wink wink nudge nudge kind of humor that is so characteristic of such a movie, but, in this case, it struck me as almost sad the way these characters reeked of insincerity.

I guess the joke was that neither was sincere to begin with.

The Perfect Fit

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Lilith (Bebe Neuwirth): I mapped out our dominant and recessive traits on a genome square, applied Mendel's laws, allowed for anomalies and concluded that you are the best biological choice.

Frasier (Kelsey Grammer): I see. Well, as enticed as I am by your honeyed words, I'm gonna need some kissin'.

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In the episode of Frasier that first aired 15 years ago tonight, "Lilith Needs a Favor," Frasier's ex–wife Lilith (Bebe Neuwirth) made the long flight from Boston to Seattle to ask for a special favor.

She had a delightful in–flight conversation with her seatmate in which she mentioned that she was going to Seattle to ask a favor. Her seatmate was going to Seattle in pursuit of a job. Their conversation began with a discussion of how both were unusually pale.

"My ex–wife used to say she could tell when I was embarrassed," Lilith's seatmate said, "because I'd turn off–white."

Lilith was yearning to be a mother again. Their son was almost grown, and she was overcome by a wave of nostalgia for the days when he was a baby. She craved the feeling of being wanted and needed.

So she came to Frasier hoping to get him to contribute some sperm that she could take back with her. She wanted their son to have a full sibling and, being the woman of science that she was, Lilith had subjected the matter to numerous tests and concluded Frasier was the best choice to father her child.

Frasier, though, was resistant and asked for time to think about it. Lilith agreed to let him think about it and give her the answer at dinner the next night.

He had some questions, too. Would he and Lilith have to sleep together? Lilith said no. She wanted to freeze his sperm.

That opened the door for jokes at Lilith's expense.

"Is that a yes or a no?" Frasier asked.

Frasier was inclined not to agree to Lilith's request — for some pretty valid reasons. But he allowed emotion to overcome reason when he had dinner with Lilith, and she evoked memories of their son when he was little.

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So off they went to the clinic, where Frasier was to provide a sperm sample that Lilith would take home with her. But Lilith kept kibitzing, offering advice on the proper mental state for making such a contribution.

Finally, Frasier had had enough. "If there is one thing I can do by myself," he insisted from behind a closed door, "this is it!"

In the end, though, they couldn't avoid the truth. Lilith was trying to recapture the past, and, as Frasier observed, "The past can be very seductive." Nevertheless, he also observed, "You can't use the past to fill what's missing in the present." In one way or another, we all do that, don't we? It's good advice to give but not so easy to follow.

Lilith resisted, however, saying that it "it feels right to me." But it wasn't right for Frasier.

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So Lilith flew back to Boston — and found herself seated next to the same seatmate she had on the flight to Seattle. It turned out both their trips had been disappointing. His job prospect wasn't a good fit.

But the seeds of a possibly productive partnership were sown on the flight home.

The Long -- and Painful -- Goodbye

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Marco (Matthew Modine): You're losing time, Mr. Cregg.

Talmidge Cregg (Donald Moffat): That, son, I am.

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Allison Janney, who played C.J. on the West Wing, was seldom the focus of episodes.

But in the episode that first aired on this night in 2003, "The Long Goodbye," Janney was the focal point as her character returned to her hometown of Dayton, Ohio, to give a speech at her high school reunion.

Because it was such a departure from the norm, it was one of the best episodes of the series — which added to its history of shedding light on the kinds of battles that people have to wage in the shadows every day.

The goodbye in the title referred not to her high school friendships but to her father (Donald Moffat), who had been living with Alzheimer's disease. That was the primary reason for C.J.'s trip home — to check on her father.

So while her White House colleagues were mentioned in the episode, most were not seen or heard. Those who were seen and/or heard were only on the screen briefly.

Most of the episode was a glimpse into C.J.'s life — which, aside from her high–profile job, was really no different from anyone else's.

High school reunions are a common enough experience, I suppose, although most of us don't get asked to give a speech at one. For the White House press secretary, it goes with the territory.

As life expectancy increases, more people find themselves in the position of caring for aging parents, as C.J. did, and Alzheimer's is a health issue for more and more of the elderly. That was probably the thing that C.J. had in common with many of those who saw this episode 15 years ago tonight.

Her challenges certainly were familiar to me. My family had to deal with my Alzheimer's–stricken grandmother, who lingered for nearly a decade before she died. She would have been appalled to know what a burden her well–being had been for my mother (who juggled her teaching career and her obligation to her mother until it was finally too much for her and she had to explore round–the–clock options), but she had no choice.

No one did. No one does when Alzheimer's is part of the equation.

It was easier for my mother than it was for C.J., though, because at least my mother lived in the same city with my grandmother. C.J. was about 400 miles away from her father. She couldn't just pop in after work to see how he was doing.

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So the reunion provided her with the ideal excuse to do just that.

Dealing with an Alzheimer's patient is a roller–coaster ride for the primary caregiver, especially when that caregiver must provide care from afar. In the early stages of my grandmother's affliction, that was how my mother had to handle things, but they lived in the same city when things got worse — as things inevitably do for Alzheimer's patients.

As difficult as it was for C.J., it was just as difficult for her stepmother, who had finally had enough and left C.J.'s father. When C.J. learned what had happened, it led to a huge quarrel between the two.

I often admired the writing on the West Wing — but perhaps never as much as I did when I saw this episode, and possibly most when C.J. argued with her stepmother. The dialogue was honest and human. Alzheimer's is frightening and frustrating for everyone — the patient and the caregiver(s) — and the script emphasized that.

I don't want to overlook some truly impressive performances. I thought Moffat gave a powerful one as C.J.'s father. His character had once been a respected educator; now he found himself careening from one extreme to the other with no notice. As long as they retain the power of speech, Alzheimer's patients also retain the ability to veer from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde without warning. Anyone who has ever been close to an Alzheimer's patient will confirm that.

My grandmother stopped speaking after a few years and spent the last six or seven years of her life unable to communicate. It probably saved all of us a lot of grief. Lord knows the situation was stressful enough as it was. Even before she stopped communicating, she no longer recognized her family. "The Long Goodbye" offered viewers a glimpse of that painful circumstance.

Nor do I want to overlook the performance of Matthew Modine. He was kind of an innocent bystander, one of C.J.'s former classmates and an ex–beau who had given up the punk rocker ways of his youth and settled into a more traditional life working with timepieces.

He and C.J. had a one–night stand before the reunion, but it was clear that was all that it was. Most of what he did was serve as C.J.'s much–needed pressure valve. Working at the White House brought with it lots of pressure, and C.J. was conditioned for that, but she was facing a different kind of pressure at home, and it provoked different kinds of responses from her at different times — anger, regret, confusion.

The relationship between Alzheimer's patient and caregiver can be volatile and unpredictable. Modine's character was the buffer that every caregiver needs at some point.

This episode was a departure from the norm for the West Wing — and may have been one of the series' best.

The Grass Is Always Greener

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Frasier (Kelsey Grammer): This is heaven, right here and now. Why do we have to think about someplace else?

Niles (David Hyde Pierce): This is only heaven for the people who can't get into the real heaven. The platinum heaven.

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In the last years of the Frasier series' run, Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) had an ongoing feud with a neighbor (Brian Stokes Mitchell) that I found tedious.

I know some people who liked those episodes, and I concede that it was an intriguing twist for the series. Cam Winston (the neighbor) was very much like Frasier in his temperament, his preferences, his mannerisms, just about everything, and the two were competitive over everything — like parking spaces and American flag displays.

In fact, the only real difference between the two was race — Frasier was white, and Cam was black — but I don't recall that angle ever being mentioned even though the rivalry was the basis of some episodes in the series' ninth season.

As I say I found those episodes tiresome for the most part, but there was one episode that I enjoyed in which Cam played a role. It was "Door Jam," which first aired on this night in 2003.

Yes, Cam did play a role in that episode — but he wasn't seen in it. In fact, he had made his last on–screen appearance in the series the year before this episode aired.

As part of the settlement resolving their feud, Cam and Frasier had agreed to swap mailboxes. The taller Cam was better suited for Frasier's top–shelf mailbox while Frasier could access Cam's lower box easier.

But mail delivery didn't exactly keep up with the changes. In "Door Jam," an invitation addressed to Cam from a mysterious new exclusive business was left in Frasier's box by mistake. Frasier and Niles (David Hyde Pierce) were intrigued because, being the elitist snobs that they were, they expected to be in the loop when anything exclusive surfaced in Seattle.

And neither could recall ever hearing about this business — which made them even more curious about it.

What did it do? The Crane brothers came up with some sneaky ways to find out, ignoring their father's suggestion to call the place and ask.

But even when they wound up taking the direct approach, it didn't yield the answer they sought because they weren't on the master list — so Niles had to pose as Cam, whose name was on the list, to get them in.

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The employees of the business were discouraged from giving out information or allowing access to anyone who wasn't on The List. But, having established that as the company's policy, they were far too trusting. Not at all the kind of diligent gatekeepers one would expect. Niles was able to acquire that information and access merely by saying he was Cam. He didn't have to provide any supporting documents, like a driver's license, for example.

And their cover could easily have been blown several times during their stay as Frasier repeatedly addressed Niles by his real name within earshot of the employees.

The brothers were pleased to discover that the business was a day spa, and they were happy with the results — until they learned that there was a higher level than the one in which they had spent the afternoon, and Cam's name wasn't on that list. Consequently, the Cranes couldn't access it, and that really annoyed them.

Suddenly the pampering with which they had been so delighted was vastly inferior to what they imagined could be found at the gold level.

Then, once they had finagled their way into the gold level (with Roz's help), they immediately began lusting after what they believed to be a platinum level.

But it wasn't.

The employees urged them to stay where they were, telling them they were not allowed beyond that other door, but the Cranes ignored them. When they went through that door, they found the spa's garbage dumpster on the other side — and the orange honey–butter mask that had been applied to Niles' face was attracting bees.

It wasn't the grass that was green on the other side of that door.

A Hot War Story, a Cold Love Story

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"All this while I've been packing ice around my heart. How will I make it melt?"

Nicole Kidman

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"Cold Mountain," the Civil War drama that premiered 10 years ago today, is the kind of movie that can be frustrating.

It tries to tell a couple of stories at once. That's fine with me. I guess I was a weird kid. While most of my peers seemed to hate reading and went to sometimes extraordinary lengths to avoid it, I was the kind of kid who liked to read so much that I gravitated to lengthy books. My logic, I suppose, was that the longer the book, the more there was to enjoy.

As a teenager, I was reading books by James Michener, who was not only wordy but also tended to weave several stories into one. When it is done well, I have found it to be a rewarding reading experience. Consequently, the more the better. Same thing goes for movie plots, I guess.

But you can run into trouble trying to tell two stories at once.

As a war story, "Cold Mountain" did a good job of portraying the brutality and cruelty of war within the context of its times (as "Saving Private Ryan" did with World War II). The problem, though, is that director Anthony Minghella's movie also wanted to be a romance, and that is a tricky assignment.

It isn't impossible to achieve. It just requires a rather delicate balancing act. It was sufficiently thoughtful in its handling of war and the suffering it brought to not only the soldiers but the civilians as well.

But I didn't feel that it worked as a love story, mainly because the leads (Nicole Kidman and Jude Law) didn't really seem to have much genuine affection for each other. And that really was too bad because, above all else, I think, "Cold Mountain" was meant to be a love story. But it was aptly named because, all evidence to the contrary, Kidman and Law just didn't have much mutual chemistry.

At one point, for example, Law deserted during the war and made a beeline for home. Was he driven by a burning, insatiable desire to be with Kidman? Not so you could tell.

Near the end of the movie, Law spoke to Kidman of his desire to be with her, but the words were flat without any tangible evidence of his love for her. All the audience got was a few voiceovers by Kidman reciting the letters she sent to him. Law's character never spoke of wishing to be with Kidman, and audiences never heard his thoughts so who was to know what went through his mind?

It was only when he spoke of those thoughts near the end of the movie that viewers got a glimpse into his motivation. Even Kidman seemed bewildered. "We barely knew each other," she said.

I liked Renee Zellweger's performance as the earthy Ruby who helps Kidman's Ada run her farm, and I liked what Dana Rowader wrote about it for AllMovie.com: Zellweger's performance, Rowader wrote, "may be considered by some as hamming it up or chewing the scenery; however, her character injects life into the film where it would otherwise have fallen horribly flat."

I'm not sure I agree with the notion that the movie "would ... have fallen horribly flat." I suppose that is a matter of opinion.

Apparently, the Oscar voters liked Zellweger's performance, though. They rewarded it with the statuette for Best Supporting Actress.

Rowader suggests, though, that performances by Zellweger and others "upstage the two leads." And I'm willing to concede there may be something to that.

There really is no question that the supporting cast had a lot of interesting characters (and intriguing choices to play them).

There was Donald Sutherland as Kidman's minister father, a generally wise and upstanding man — and, on the flip side of the religious coin, there was Philip Seymour Hoffman as an amoral preacher.

There was Natalie Portman as the war widow forced to raise a child on her own who sought comfort in the arms of a stranger (Law, trying to get home).

Portman's performance may have been the best of the bunch, even in what was a relatively small role. The audience didn't need to know the details of her suffering. They could see it in her face, in her eyes, and they could hear it in her voice.

They saw an example of her suffering when Union soldiers seeking food occupied her dwelling, tied her to a post outside and left her crying infant on the cold ground. It occurred to me as I watched that Portman's character must have thought she was cursed.

Perhaps she did.

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Based on what I know of the Civil War, it seems to me that anyone who survived it must have thought he/she was cursed. As far as I could see, there really were no winners in a conflict that claimed so much blood and so much property.

As I say, as a war story, "Cold Mountain" was a strong statement.

But, as a love story, I have to admit that it left me cold.

The Final Chapter From Middle Earth

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When the first two installments of the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy were released at the movie theaters in 2001 and 2002, neither went on to win any major Oscars although both received nominations.

The general consensus among most moviegoers was that the third and final installment, which was released 10 years ago today, would be the big payoff for director Peter Jackson's achievement. Was it ever. "Return of the King" swept all 11 Oscars for which it was nominated including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Adapted Screenplay.

"Return of the King" gave audiences the chance to see Gollum (Andy Serkis) at length. He was merely a shadowy figure in the first movie, as he was in the book, and more visible in the second. People who read the original J.R.R. Tolkien books already knew of Gollum's treachery; I can only imagine what that revelation was like for people who hadn't read the books.

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Sam (Sean Astin): I heard it from his own mouth! He means to murder us!

Gollum/Smeagol (Andy Serkis): Never! Smeagol wouldn't hurt a fly!

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Sam: What are you up to? Sneaking off, are we?

Gollum: Sneaking? Sneaking? Fat Hobbit is always so polite. Smeagol shows them secret ways that nobody else could find, and they say 'sneak!' Sneak? Very nice friend. Oh, yes, my precious. Very nice, very nice.

Sam: All right, all right! You just startled me is all. What were you doing?

Gollum: Sneaking.

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The movie started with a distant flashback to when Smeagol (Gollum's original name) first came to possess the ring, and audiences got their first real glimpse of the actor who played him. In the earlier movies, only Andy Serkis' voice was heard. He performed the movements that served as the basis for the computer–generated imagery (CGI) of the Gollum character.

The opening flashback showed Smeagol killing to possess the ring, then withdrawing into exile. It was a not–so–subtle reminder to viewers who hadn't read the books (as well as those who had) that the ring would corrupt anyone who possessed it. That was why Frodo (Elijah Wood) and the other Hobbits and members of the Fellowship had embarked on the journey to Mount Doom in the first place.

In many ways, "Return of the King" was more majestic than its two predecessors. The battle of Helm's Deep in "The Two Towers" was impressive, but the action sequences in "Return of the King" were as good as, if not better than, such sequences in the first two movies.

As the climactic battle approached in "Return of the King," I felt as if I was catching a glimpse of the fruition of the biblical prophecy of Armageddon.

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Many film trilogies seem to run out of gas by the time the third and final installment hits the big screen. But Peter Jackson's "Return of the King" went into a higher gear. I suppose it had to. There were several stories that were wrapping up in it, not just the one about Frodo and Sam and Gollum, although that certainly formed the heart of the movie.

The "Lord of the Rings" trilogy was a triumph, and "Return of the King" was a worthy finale.

A High Old Time

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As a general rule, I don't usually care for Christmas episodes of TV series.

They tend to be too sugary for my taste.

But the holiday episodes of the Frasier series always fell into a different category for me, and the one that premiered 10 years ago tonight, in the final season of the Frasier series, is an excellent example.

The series was about midway through its final season, and, frankly, I thought many of the episodes that season were contrived. But, in many ways, the episode that aired 10 years ago tonight rang true for me.

It was about teenage rebellion.

The contemporary story was about Frasier's son, Frederick (Trevor Einhorn), who arrived for the holidays sporting a new look — goth — which was disappointing for Frasier because he had been discouraged by his life recently and had been looking forward to spending time with his son. Then Freddy showed up wearing clothes inspired by a goth girlfriend, and Frasier concluded that it was characteristic of teenage rebellion.

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This, in turn, inspired a dialogue among the adults about teenage rebellion and what they had done to rebel as teenagers. During the conversation, Martin (John Mahoney) observed that mild–mannered and fussy Niles (David Hyde Pierce) never rebelled — which wasn't really true. Earlier in the series, it was mentioned that Niles once "mooned" President Nixon.

But that wasn't mentioned in this episode. Instead, it was accepted by everyone — including Niles — that he had never rebelled, and that set him on a mission to finally rebel. Better late than never.

Niles decided that the way to rebel was to consume some marijuana ("reefer," as he called it), and Roz (Peri Gilpin) set him up with a pot brownie made by her neighbor. When Niles told Frasier what he was going to do, that he had decided to throw caution to the wind and indulge in "one act of utter, devil–may–care, crotch–grabbing brazenness," he added this: "And, of course, I'll have a nurse on speed–dial in case things get too hairy."

Just as Roz was delivering the brownie to Niles at the cafe, his car alarm went off and neither he nor Frasier could stay. As they left, Martin arrived and Roz gave the brownie to him to give to Niles. Martin was trying to cut down on junk food, but the sight of the brownie was just too tempting so he ate it.

Martin didn't realize, of course, that the brownie was spiked with marijuana, but he did know he had to replace the brownie before Niles returned to the cafe so he got in line to buy an ordinary brownie, purchasing it just in time to slip it into the aluminum foil in which the original had been wrapped before Niles came back to the cafe.

Martin gave the normal brownie to an unsuspecting Niles, who left the cafe under the watchful (though equally unsuspecting) eyes of two police officers.

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Niles and Martin encountered each other later. Niles had consumed the normal brownie by that time and was imagining all kinds of psychological effects he was experiencing. (Earlier, he had spoken of the things he expected to experience. "I'm especially looking forward to something called the 'munchies' stage," Niles confided to Frasier. "It's where one enjoys bizarre food combinations. ... I'm thinking of pairing this Chilean sea bass with an aggressive Zinfandel!")

His father, meanwhile, was experiencing the real thing — but didn't realize it. He was having his own munchies and told Niles he would soon be thanking his father for "turning you on to the best thing you will ever eat: barbecue pudding chips!" When Niles declined, Martin said, "They looked at me funny in the store, too, but you taste that and tell me that's not better than a woman."

Niles was despondent when he learned the truth — that he had eaten a normal brownie and hadn't really rebelled — but he was cheered somewhat when Frasier said to him, "You're a good man, Niles. In a way, isn't that rebelling against rebellion?"

Niles smiled and said, "Nice try."

"All right, look at it this way," Frasier replied. "You did get our cop father stoned tonight."

Happy holidays.

The Short, Unhappy Life of Sylvia Plath

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I was speaking with a friend about the movie "Sylvia," which made its debut on this day in 2003. My friend said he thought it was a good movie but depressing.

Well, of course, it was depressing. It was about Sylvia Plath, a writer of poems and short stories who suffered from depression and reportedly attempted to kill herself a few times before she finally succeeded in 1963.

The movie account could not help but be depressing. To tell the story of her life without being depressing would be like trying to tell the story of Richard Nixon without mentioning Watergate.

It was a knowledgeable and reverent movie. It just wasn't much fun, and it didn't have any wisdom to share about Plath's death.

Like many creative types, Plath was a disturbed person. In the movie about Plath's life, Gwyneth Paltrow, in the title role, spoke of how her life changed radically when, long before she turned 10, she lost her father.

While it is tragic for a young girl to lose a parent, it couldn't have been too much of a surprise. Otto Plath was in his 50s (and suffering from undiagnosed diabetes), a fact that wasn't mentioned in the movie.

Anyway, whether she did actually try to kill herself before she finally did in February 1963, it is pretty clear that she was unstable throughout her adult life.

All of which made for a challenging part for Paltrow to play. She never really had the chance to show any warmth — or, for that matter, humor. Nothing that would have made her seem more human.

Nevertheless, I felt Paltrow rose to the occasion, giving a suitably haunting performance. She even resembled Plath — well, sorta.

There were similarities in their lives as well as their faces. Paltrow lost her own father around the time she was making "Sylvia." She was much older than Plath when she lost her father, but she was the same age when she made the film that Plath was when she killed herself.

Like Plath, Paltrow has two children. And her mother, Blythe Danner, played her mother in the movie. That was a nice touch.

Daniel Craig probably would not have been my first choice to play Plath's husband, Ted Hughes. But his performance did manage to restore credibility to Plath's charges when they were running low on the empathy meter.

For those who are unfamiliar with the story, Hughes' role in Plath's death remains murky at best. It is known that he was unfaithful in the year leading up to Plath's suicide, and the couple had separated months before Plath succeeded in killing herself. To my knowledge, it has never been established how much of a part those events played.

Feminists who survived Plath tended to believe Hughes was involved in or contributed to her death in some way. There were even attempts to alter Plath's grave marker by eliminating the Hughes surname.

(For his part, Hughes was said to be devastated by Plath's death. Reportedly, he wrote to a friend that Plath's death meant the end of his own life — yet he outlived her by more than 35 years.)

Most women who must confront infidelity in their marriage manage to survive it; some even thrive. With Plath's history, though, it is not inconceivable that her husband's affair would be the thing to push her over the edge.

I thought Paltrow was effective with what she was given — which was a character who was always unhappy.

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Now, back to the resemblance of Paltrow to Plath.

As I have mentioned here before, I am a big fan of historical movies, but I am kind of picky. If I know what the subject of the movie looked like in life, I expect the actor or actress portraying that person to be close to matching my mental image.

I have long thought that Paltrow was one of the most beautiful actresses of her generation; earlier this year, PEOPLE magazine apparently agreed with me when it named her the most beautiful woman of 2013.

Plath was, by no means, an ugly woman, but I don't think she was quite the beauty that Paltrow is.

The pictures I've seen of Plath are not unpleasant. I simply find her a bit plain, especially when compared to Paltrow.

(Reminds me of conversations I used to have with a co–worker. She told me that she had been told by others that she looked like Julia Roberts. I always smiled and said nothing when she said that to me. I never saw the resemblance.)

Yet Paltrow managed to look quite a bit like Plath (whose actual picture you can see to the left). Some folks have said there was a strong resemblance to begin with, and maybe there was, but I never really saw it, at least until I saw the movie. Then I did.

I don't know what Plath sounded like when she spoke, though. When I saw Oliver Stone's "Nixon," I was a bit put off at first by the fact that Anthony Hopkins neither looked nor sounded like Richard Nixon. I was young when Nixon was president, but I do have a vivid memory of how he looked and sounded.

Even so Hopkins managed to capture Nixon's personality, and I think that may be what Paltrow did with Plath. She may have looked a bit like Plath, she may even have sounded like her, too, although Plath, like many writers, seems to have shunned the spotlight, preferring to let her writing speak for itself.

The First Voyage of the Pirates of the Caribbean

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"If you were waiting for the opportune moment, that was it."

Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp)

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It seems to me that one of the best backdrops for a summer blockbuster has to be a movie that is set on or near water — or anything that one might perceive to be cooling and refreshing.

One of the big attractions of movies is the promise of escapism, right? Usually, you escape through a well–acted, intriguing story — but, no matter how intriguing the story or how top notch the acting may be, who wants to watch a movie that is set in the kind of environment you left behind when you entered the theater?

That isn't a moviegoer's only consideration, of course, but I'm sure that plays a role. "The Shining," after all, took place in a remote resort in Colorado in winter — but the movie was released in late spring. "Jaws" — if not the first summer blockbuster, certainly the first mega blockbuster — came out in late June. And "Lawrence of Arabia" — which was, of course, set in the desert — was released a couple of weeks before Christmas.

I remember, in my childhood, that the movies I usually enjoyed the most were the ones in climates that were opposite whatever prevailed outside. There were a few exceptions to that, but the best summer movies were, as I say, set on or near water or in winter — or anything else that made me feel cooler — which included, I suppose, any movie that could send a good chill down your spine.

Anyway, 10 years ago, "Pirates of the Caribbean" made its debut as a movie. One had to wonder why it took so long.

Pirates of the Caribbean was the last Disneyland attraction that Walt Disney himself helped design. It was unveiled at Disneyland in California in the late 1960s — nearly four decades before the movie version hit the theaters. In the interim, three other versions of the ride were designed and introduced at Disney theme parks around the world.

For modern moviegoers, that's the reverse of the accepted procedure. Usually, there is a hit movie first, and it is followed by an amusement park attraction.

In this case more than a couple of generations came to Disneyland and rode the ride before a movie with the same name appeared in movie theaters.

Well, that is a little misleading, I suppose. It was called "Pirates of the Caribbean" in print and general conversation, but that is really the name of the four–film franchise. The title of each was followed by a colon and the name of that particular episode in the story. "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" is the actual name of the movie that premiered 10 years ago today.

I visited Disneyland once when I was about 15. I don't specifically remember the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, but there were times when the movie seemed like an animated version of a Disneyland ride — if only because there was a certain similarity between all of the rides.

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No matter.

"Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" was swashbuckling good summer fun. Some effects almost certainly could not have been achieved when Disney helped design the original ride in the mid–'60s; others probably were possible, but they would have seemed more primitive if they had been attempted earlier than they were.

The central character of this and all subsequent "Pirates of the Caribbean" flicks was Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp), a rather flamboyant character who, although a pirate, avoided all fights unless his participation was absolutely necessary. Depp truly made the role his own. (Imagine a combination of Keith Richards — according to Depp, the inspiration for his performance — and Depp's earlier portrayal of Hunter S. Thompson.)

(The only other actor I felt could have been as over the top as the role required was Crispin Glover, the dorky father from "Back to the Future" and the title character in the remake of "Willard." Glover brought enough eccentricity to any such part that he played, but I thought Depp did quite well.)

But Depp wasn't the star of "Pirates of the Caribbean." He was entertaining enough, but I've seen several of his movie performances that were better. The real star of the movie, I felt, was its special effects — the animated skeletons and all that stuff.

Probably the greatest drawback to this movie, I thought, was its length, nearly 2¼ hours. As it lurched to its conclusion, I felt that the moviemakers had tried to do too much. I noticed at the time that some of the children in the audience got antsy even though the movie had 20, even 30 minutes remaining.

I happened to catch this movie again on cable a month or two ago, and I found myself wondering, as I watched, about the fates of child stars, one of whom was featured briefly.

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Most moviegoers probably already were familiar with Keira Knightley, who was the lead actress. Knightley, who was appearing in TV commercials and making guest appearances on TV shows when she was a child, made her movie debut in "Star Wars Episode I" and her first extended film appearance a couple of years later.

She was already familiar, to a certain extent, to viewers, but the young version of her character was played by Lucinda Dryzek, who was not yet 12 when this movie premiered.

It was a rare movie appearance for Dryzek, who has made a career of TV roles. In her native Britain, she is mostly known in recent years for her ongoing part in a BBC series, Life of Riley.

It's good to see a child star make a successful transition to more adult roles, especially given the kinds of problems many former child stars have had.

Winning Over the West

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One of the things I have come to understand about my generation is that we are unique.

I suppose everyone feels that way about his/her generation, but I think it is particularly applicable to mine.

I don't think the people of my generation fully grasped that our time was the prime of the classic rock era. Too many of us grew up thinking that what we had was no different from what other generations had, but that wasn't true. Other generations didn't have Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones.

Led Zeppelin.

We took it for granted, you see. It was all around us all the time, and I guess we all assumed that it was normal, that it was like that for everyone.

You can listen to the studio albums that were produced in those days — and kind of get a feeling for what the excitement was like.

But to really experience what people of the time experienced, you need to hear what a band sounded like in front of a live audience. Unfortunately, there aren't that many live performances from the late '60s and early '70s that were preserved — and even fewer that are truly representative of the experience.

Led Zeppelin released a double album in the mid–'70s that was all right, but it wasn't entirely satisfying — to the fans or the band. I had that album, and I listened to it, and I liked it well enough — but only, I suppose, because I had nothing with which to compare it.

Ten years ago today, I did. And, frankly, I found the album from the '70s to be wanting.

On this day in 2003, a triple CD, "How the West Was Won," was released. It was a compilation of the best live recordings from two Led Zeppelin shows in southern California in 1972. In the liner notes, none other than Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page said the recordings were of the band at its best.

For many years, portions of those concert recordings were only available on bootleg albums.

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If you can remember any part of those early days of the '70s, you're sure to remember songs like "Stairway to Heaven." It was then — and almost certainly still is today — Led Zeppelin's most recognizable song.

And you can hear it live on "How the West Was Won" — 9½ minutes' worth. In fact, the album itself contained more than 2½ hours of classic Zeppelin being performed live.

Hard–core Zeppelin fans could complain that the CD didn't include songs like "Thank You" or "Communication Breakdown," both of which had been around longer. But "Stairway to Heaven," which had just been released a few months before, has become the band's signature song.

Failure to include a live recording of that song might have been a deal breaker. Many fans probably would not have invested in the triple CD if "Stairway" had not been included.

Truth be told, many fans probably wouldn't have invested in that live collection if it had included songs from Zeppelin's later albums like "Presence" and "In Through the Out Door." Unfortunately, though, the shows from which the tracks were taken were too early to include songs from 1973's "Houses of the Holy" or 1975's "Physical Graffiti."

In that sense, "How the West Was Won" stands as something of a time capsule, a glimpse into the not–so–distant musical past.

More than a decade after the performances on "How the West Was Won," Led Zeppelin performed in a reunion as part of the Live Aid concert in July 1985. Zeppelin performed three songs on that occasion — "Whole Lotta Love," "Rock and Roll" and "Stairway to Heaven."

Those are, arguably, Zeppelin's most popular songs, and all three were included on "How the West Was Won."

That should tell you a lot.

A Fairly Ordinary Act of Fatherhood

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"The president temporarily handing over power to his political enemy? I think it's a fairly stunning act of patriotism ... and a fairly ordinary act of fatherhood."

Will Bailey (Joshua Malina)

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One of the things that I really liked about The West Wing when it was on the air was the way the writers managed to work little history and/or civics lessons into the plots.

I never felt that it was just a TV show or just a drama. There often was, to use a word the real president likes, a teachable moment. (And Lord knows the American public can use a few history lessons.)

It was the best kind of teachable moment, really. It wasn't preachy or condescending. It was entertaining and educational at the same time.

Mind you, the series didn't always do that sort of thing, but it did it often enough, and one of the very best examples of the technique was the episode that aired 10 years ago tonight.

"Twenty Five" was the season–ending episode of the series' fourth season. A week earlier, first daughter Zooey Bartlet (Elisabeth Moss) was kidnapped while celebrating her college graduation. The president (Martin Sheen) and the first lady (Stockard Channing) were told what had happened at the beginning of the episode that aired 10 years ago tonight.

They proceeded to make the kind of mistakes that might be expected from worried parents who happen to be in the public eye 24/7. The first lady, for example, decided, after several hours, to make an appeal to the kidnappers for the release of her daughter. She was dissuaded from doing so when it was pointed out to her that it would send the message to the kidnappers that they had succeeded in creating chaos in the White House.

The president, recognizing that a distraught father is in no shape to manage the affairs of state, decided to temporarily step aside. Such a circumstance has never happened in American history, but the Constitution, with the help and clarification of the 25th Amendment, spells out the line of succession that is to be followed.

As is the tradition when a president dies in office, the immediate successor would be the vice president. But, in the West Wing universe, the vice president had resigned a few episodes earlier, and the office was vacant.

According to the Constitution, if there is no vice president, the next person in line is the speaker of the House. Just one problem there, though. In the universe of the West Wing, the president was a Democrat, and the speaker of the House (John Goodman) was a Republican.

That may have been hard for some people to imagine at the time, given the fact that, in reality, the president and both chambers of Congress were in Republican hands. If such a scenario had occurred a decade ago in the real world, it wouldn't have been a political concern for the president to temporarily hand over power to the House speaker — other than that technicality that prohibits someone from simultaneously holding positions in two branches of government.

But it was a more wrenching decision for the president and his staff in the West Wing.

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It made for undeniably dramatic television. And it set up one of the most understated lines in TV series history when Goodman said to the president's staff, "Relax, everybody. Breathe regular."

That line was delivered after it was clear that the West Wing staff had been experiencing considerable angst over the invocation of the 25th Amendment. Most of them probably hadn't been breathing regular — least of all Toby (Richard Schiff), who had just become a father in a neat, if a bit transparent, secondary story line.

If anyone could understand the president's conflict, it was Toby, and he seemed to alternate between the fiercely defensive father he had just become and the dedicated public servant he was.

"There's no one in this room," he whispered to the president moments before the House speaker took the presidential oath of office, "who wouldn't rather die than let you down."

It was quite a cliffhanger — from a series that re–defined the word.

And it was a well–written story about a scenario we can all hope no president will ever face.