Putting Some Jam on the Bread

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Andy (Andy Griffith): They fired the gun, and the shot was so loud it was heard clear around the world.

Barney (Don Knotts): Oh, get out.

Andy: It's a fact. That's the way this country started. You read the book.

Barney: What book?

Opie (Ron Howard): Yeah, what book? Where'd you get that story, Pa?

Andy: Oh, your history book.

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Coming from a family of teachers as I did (and having done some teaching myself), I always appreciated the episode of the Andy Griffith Show that first aired on this night in 1963, "Andy Discovers America."

I enjoyed it for the same reason I enjoy any segment of a TV program or a movie that demonstrates the great creativity that is required to be a successful teacher.

Most teachers don't measure success the way people in other professions do. For them success is measured by how many students absorb the knowledge they have to give, not by how much money they make.

For example, I always enjoy an episode of WKRP in Cincinnati in which disc jockey Venus Flytrap, whose background was always a little murky and who was said to have been a teacher at one time in his life, offered to talk to the son of the radio station's cleaning woman. This young man, who was making a lot of money with a street gang, was thinking of quitting school, and Venus had to convince him that education was worthwhile.

Venus concluded the young man felt that school had conquered him and that he craved the feeling he got from conquest outside the classroom. Venus' challenge was to make the young man believe he could master education. They made a deal — if Venus could convince him in two minutes that he could conquer school instead of believing it had conquered him, he wouldn't quit. Venus proceeded to explain the atom to the young man in terms he could understand, and he stayed in school.

Andy's challenge in "Andy Discovers America" wasn't exactly like Venus', but it required the same kind of outside–the–box creativity.

Opie (Ron Howard) and his buddies were rebelling against their new teacher, Old Lady Crump, and her history assignments, and Andy commiserated with them, but there was a misunderstanding. Opie and the boys thought he was giving them permission to not study history, and that led to a classroom confrontation in which Miss Crump (the first of many appearances on the show by Aneta Corsaut) doubled the boys' homework.

In retaliation they pledged not to do it.

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She and Andy met for the first time when Miss Crump came to the sheriff's office to complain that his comments, however misunderstood, had set her back. When she took the job, she had found her new students to be woefully behind where they should be, and she had attempted to bring them up to speed by applying a little extra pressure. Her efforts had been showing some positive movement when this had come up.

Not long after, the boys told Andy that it appeared Miss Crump would be leaving, perhaps before the next week began.

Andy realized what he had done, and it was clear he was looking for a solution to the problem. Then it came to him. He told the boys he was glad they wouldn't have to learn "all that dull stuff about Indians and redcoats and cannons and guns and muskets and stuff."

That didn't sound like history to the boys. It sounded like adventure stories.

And Andy got the hook in them when he mentioned the gun that fired a shot heard around the world.

He got the boys back on track, to Miss Crump's great surprise when she convened what she believed would be her last class day. After the class had said the Pledge of Allegiance, she asked the boys if they ever heard those words or knew how the country began — and she was pleasantly shocked when the boys knew what to say.

And she made a return trip to the sheriff's office to express her gratitude — and to find out what he had told the boys.

Andy confessed that he didn't know what to tell them, and he didn't think what he said would hold up under scrutiny in court. He said he just told them a story and put "a little extra jam on the bread."

That, it seems to me, is the essence of great teaching — putting a little extra jam on the bread.

Those who are great teachers, like those who are great at anything, can make it look effortless. But appearances can be deceptive.

It reminds me of a story about Johnny Carson, who believed so strongly that the audience deserved fresh material each and every day that he arranged for guest hosts to take over his late–night program when he went on vacation rather than run previous programs. Few, if any, late–night hosts have had the courage to do that.

On one such occasion, Carson arranged for a new guest host to fill in for him when he was out for a day or two. During his absence, he watched the program. The new guest host had not prepared adequately, thinking it would be a breeze, and he bombed.

Afterward, Carson called the guest host and gently observed, "It ain't as easy as it looks, is it, kid?"

Teaching definitely isn't as easy as it looks, but I always thought Andy would have been a great teacher. Jam can make even stale bread taste good.

Taking It Easy

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Mr. Tucker (Robert Emhardt): You people are living in another world!

Andy (Andy Griffith): Easy, Mr. Tucker.

Mr. Tucker: This is the 20th century. Don't you realize that? The whole world is living in a desperate space age. Men are orbiting the Earth. International television has been developed. And here, a whole town is standing still because two old women's feet fall asleep!

Barney (Don Knotts): I wonder what causes that.

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It is reasonable to believe that people have the same priorities, whether they live in cities or small towns.

After all, deep down we all want the same things, right? Sure, we're all individuals, and we differ from each other in rather small ways, but, as President Kennedy said in 1963, "In the final analysis, our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this small planet, we all breathe the same air, we all cherish our children's futures, and we are all mortal."

You could add that we all have the same basic needs — food, clothing and shelter — that must be provided.

It was probably a cliche 55 years ago to speak about the fast pace of the modern world.

How long have people been saying there is too much to be done and not enough time to do it? As long as I can remember — and almost certainly well before that. Heck, the cavemen probably complained that they didn't have enough time to hunt for game to feed their families and invent the wheel.

Yet as basic as those priorities were, individual cavemen almost just as surely had their own priorities. Then as now I'm sure there were those who had no dependents and, with only themselves to support, could devote more time to invention.

Such distinctions are not confined to city and country, but sometimes it helps to narrow it down to that.

The episode of the Andy Griffith Show that premiered on this night in 1963, "Man in a Hurry," was about a big–city businessman, Mr. Tucker (Robert Emhardt), whose car broke down outside of Mayberry on a Sunday. He needed to be in Charlotte the next day so he walked to town in search of someone who could fix his car.

He soon discovered what anyone who ever spent much time in a small country town could have told him — it is almost impossible to get anything done in such a place on a Sunday. Or at least it was. Times have changed, and even small towns don't observe a day of rest anymore.

But Mayberry was always a casual town.

In Mayberry Wally's filling station was open — but just barely. Gomer (the recently deceased Jim Nabors) was there, but he only put gas in cars. Wally handled engine repairs, but he didn't make repairs on Sundays.

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In a desperate attempt to do something, Mr. Tucker stole the truck at Wally's filling station but was apprehended shortly thereafter.

Andy let it slide because he understood Mr. Tucker's predicament, but he urged the businessman to come home with him, have something to eat and wait until the next day to get something done. Mr. Tucker grudgingly agreed to go back to Andy's house, but he insisted he wasn't hungry and continued to try to summon help by phone.

Unfortunately for Mr. Tucker the local phone lines were tied up on Sunday afternoons by two elderly sisters who lived in different towns and found it difficult to get around. So they were allowed to talk for hours on Sunday. (While this sort of thing is unheard–of today, my guess is this was in the days of party lines, which were pretty common in country towns at one time. For that matter they were also in use in many college dormitories.)

Their conversation was hilarious. Mr. Tucker wanted to get a call out to someone — anyone — in the outside world, but the old ladies kept going off on tangents.

First, they spoke at length about feet falling asleep. Then, when Mr. Tucker tried to interrupt and identified himself as Mr. Tucker from Charlotte, the ladies began speaking of a Charlotte Tucker they had known. Apparently, she married a fellow who fell down a lot.

Country folks and city folks just don't see things the same.

But somewhere buried deep inside Mr. Tucker was some country sensibility, maybe some leftover from his childhood. When he stepped out on Andy's porch and found Andy and Barney (Don Knotts) singing "The Church in the Wildwood," they tapped into that hidden sensibility, and he sang softly along with them.

It was a nice change of pace for Emhardt, a character actor who was frequently cast in villainous roles. Sometimes he played corrupt businessmen. The audience never found out if he was a corrupt businessman in this episode, but we got a glimpse — incomplete though it was — into his character's background in that scene on Andy's front porch.

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Obviously somewhere in Mr. Tucker's past was a little brown church in the vale — and a more relaxed way of life — and the memory of it had a calming effect on him.

He got worked up again when Gomer showed up and announced that Wally had come to the station after all and they had towed Mr. Tucker's car in. Gomer assured Mr. Tucker they would fix it that day.

And they did.

But somewhere that deep–inside sensibility that got tapped earlier made Mr. Tucker realize that the slower pace of country life wasn't such a bad thing, either — that stopping and smelling the roses was a good thing to do from time to time. He decided he would do precisely that and opted to spend the night in Mayberry.

He would get to sleep in Opie's room. That meant Opie (Ron Howard) would sleep on the ironing board. Mr. Tucker thought that sounded awful, but Opie disagreed. He called it "adventure sleepin'."

Folks see things differently in the country than they do in the city.

That's still a pretty valuable thing to know.

A Run-In With Runaways

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Deputy Barney Fife (Don Knotts) would probably tell you that a lawman is never really off duty — even in a bump in the road like Mayberry.

I'm pretty sure that would be his conclusion concerning the episode of the Andy Griffith Show that first aired on this night in 1962 — "Convicts at Large."

Barney and Floyd (Howard McNear) had been fishing and started to return to Mayberry — only to discover that they were out of gas. So they set off on foot to see if they could find some.

They stumbled onto a cabin in the woods that was owned by a friend of theirs who was known to be out of town — but they saw smoke rising from the chimney so they knew someone was there. They thought it was their friend; they didn't realize that the occupants of the cabin were three escaped convicts — three women.

When they went to the door, the convicts welcomed them — and then took them hostage.

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The leader of the convicts was Big Maude, played by character actress Reta Shaw, who was recognized for her work on the big and small screens. She made appearances in many of the popular TV programs of her day — and returned to the Andy Griffith Show the following year in an appearance as Barney Fife's voice teacher.

In that episode Shaw played Barney's advocate. In this one she played his adversary. And when Floyd and one of the convicts went into town to pick up provisions, Big Maude warned him not to try any "funny business," or Barney would pay the price.

Well, none of the convicts called him Barney. They all called him Al because he reminded them of an old acquaintance. Before the show was over, it seemed they actually believed that Barney was Al.

During the excursion into town, Floyd bumped into Andy (Andy Griffith), and Andy gathered from what he heard and observed that there was some kind of party going on up at the cabin. But after Floyd and one of the cons drove off, the bus pulled up and Andy's friend stepped off. He was back from his trip.

And when Andy approached him and asked him a few questions, he insisted he hadn't rented his cabin to anyone while he was away and that no one should be living there.

That made Andy suspicious. He had heard a radio bulletin about the escaped cons and concluded something was amiss at the cabin so he and the friend drove up there.

Back at the cabin, the convicts played some records and wanted to dance.

They also did some cooking, but they needed some water so one went out — and was taken into custody by Andy and his colleague.

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When the first one didn't return, a second one was sent to see what the problem could be. She, too, was taken into custody.

That left Big Maude. And Barney maneuvered her into position to be handcuffed be agreeing to dance with her.

Just about everyone was involved in capturing the escapees — except Floyd, who was mostly an observer.

But, in the end, he got all the credit in the local newspaper.

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This was kind of a bittersweet episode. It was the final one before McNear suffered a stroke that rendered one side of his body virtually paralyzed.

McNear was absent from the series for awhile, then came back but was always seen in a seated position.

His character is probably one of the best loved from the series, but he never walked on screen again after this episode.

Standing Up to Bullies

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I have often mentioned that I believe Andy Griffith was the best TV dad anyone could have, and I also believe he was the best friend anyone could have. And one of the qualities that makes someone a good friend is the capacity to help somebody face difficult situations — like bullying.

It isn't a one–size–fits–all solution, of course. But it is one of those things that friends do for each other.

The episode of the Andy Griffith Show that first aired on this day in 1962, "Lawman Barney," proved that not only was he the best sheriff on TV — and the best friend — but, well, he was just the best everything.

Do people like that really exist? Or are they the creations of TV writers? Perhaps, as Forrest Gump might say, it's a little of both.

No doubt Andy Taylor had his flaws, but the ones the audience saw were comparatively minor. He possessed some kind of insight that enabled him to make all the best choices — even inspired ones — at all the right times.

It was a gift, all right — but did it come from the writers or someone/somewhere else?

Clearly there were times when he took calculated risks, and sometimes that appeared to backfire on Andy, but things usually seemed to work out. One such time was in "Lawman Barney."

When the episode began, Barney was telling a couple of street peddlers (Allan Melvin and Orville Sherman) to move their truck outside the city limits because what they were doing was against the law. But they didn't take Barney seriously, and they ran him off.

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The experience was quite a blow to Barney's ego, and it was clear when he returned to the courthouse that all was not well. Andy put two and two together and figured out what the problem was — especially after Andy encountered the peddlers and told them to pack up their stuff and move outside the town limits. The peddlers took Andy seriously, and Andy learned through them what had happened.

So he made up a story about how tough Barney really was — and how, when people didn't do as he told them, he played an "ugly game" with them. Andy told the peddlers that Barney had a lot of tough–guy nicknames — "Barney the Beast," "Fife the Fierce," "Crazy Gun Barney."

Then, after Andy had thrown a real scare into the peddlers, he went back to the courthouse and told Barney that he had heard about some street peddlers and he needed Barney to "take care of it."

That was the gamble — or at least the first one — of the episode.

When Barney reluctantly returned to the spot where the street peddlers had been selling their produce, they were still there but packing to leave and they scattered, leaving behind a now–pompous Barney, who returned to the courthouse brimming with confidence.

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On their way out of town, the peddlers stopped off at Wally's filling station for some water. Barney happened to drive by, and one thing led to another. The peddlers said they had heard that Barney was a tough guy, and the fellows who were gathered at the filling station to drink soda pop convulsed in laughter.

The peddlers left, but not before telling those guys at the filling station to tell Barney that they were back in business — and wanted him for a customer.

When that message was relayed to Andy back at the courthouse, Barney realized why the peddlers had run off when he returned, and he was, as you can imagine, deflated by that knowledge.

Andy told Barney to forget it and started to go run the peddlers off once and for all, but Barney told Andy he wanted to go with him. Andy agreed.

Then when they were a short distance from the peddlers, Barney told Andy to get out of the car. He wanted to take care of things himself. Andy agreed again.

And Barney proceeded to run off the peddlers, encouraged to stand up to his tormentors thanks to Andy's example — and without the safety net that Andy tended to provide.

That is why, even after half a century, I believe this episode should be shown to all children, especially those who have faced bullying. There were several Andy Griffith Show episodes like that. Sometimes they involved Barney, and sometimes they involved Opie (Ron Howard).

In each one, Andy showed the same sure instincts that made his character such a legendary one on TV.

By the way, if Melvin looks familiar to you, he should. He was a fixture on TV in those days, appearing on many of the most popular TV series. He made seven separate appearances on the Andy Griffith Show alone.

Never Underestimate Country Wisdom

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Mayberry had been dealing with a string of cow thefts when the Andy Griffith Show episode — "The Cow Thief" — aired on this night in 1962.

Mayberry was a rural town with several farmers in the area, and the mayor was determined to get this case solved. To that end he summoned an investigator from the state capitol to help Andy (Andy Griffith) and Barney (Don Knotts) crack the case.

The investigator had some pretty good observations to make, but let me tell you something. I grew up in a small town that was really only a slightly larger version of Mayberry. As an adult, I have lived and worked in much–larger cities. Based on their respective realities, city and country have their own ways and logic that aren't necessarily transferable to the other. Neither is wrong. It is just that neither is adequate as a one–size–fits–all kind of thing.

And so it was in this episode. Applying city logic, the investigator made some observations that even Andy admitted made "good sense." But Andy was a country boy, and this case required a country eye, not a city eye.

Andy's country eye had spotted the presence in town of a vagrant named Luke (Malcolm Atterbury), and he had let Luke know that Andy knew he was in town. Andy kept an eye on Luke, but he never mentioned what Luke had done in the past. My guess is that it had something to do with theft because Luke apparently jumped to the top of Andy's list of suspects — quickly.

The investigator, of course, had no reason to suspect Luke. If he saw him in the street, he would no doubt mentally dismiss him as one of the town's residents. Nothing more, nothing less.

He certainly wouldn't have thought about Luke based on the forensic evidence in which he placed so much faith.

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The investigator had determined, after examining footprints that had been found at the scene of one of the thefts, that there were three men involved — one who was of about average weight and two others who were much heavier. That made sense, based on the forensic evidence.

But Andy always thought outside the box, and he realized there was a set of footprints that was missing — the cow's. Putting two and two together, Andy guessed that Luke was putting shoes on cows to throw others off the scent.

But, without any real evidence, it was simply a guess — and not a good one as far as the mayor (Parley Baer) was concerned.

See, Andy had set Luke up, allowing him to overhear his conversation with a farmer about keeping his new cow secure — and to call him at the office if he was needed because Andy said he would be working late.

Truth is they were baiting the hook, and Luke took it.

Andy had summoned the mayor, the investigator and Barney to the farmer's home to wait and see if Luke showed up. After Andy explained his conclusion, the mayor said it was a harebrained scheme and stormed out, calling for the investigator and Barney to follow him. The investigator did so without hesitation, but Barney wasn't convinced and was slower in following.

A few minutes later Barney returned and told Andy that he'd been about to leave when he remembered another time when the mayor of Mayberry accused Andy of having a harebrained scheme.

"Do you remember?" Barney asked. "That was when you had the idea of making me your deputy."

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Andy's confidence in Barney had been justified. They made a good team — albeit one that was a bit unorthodox.

And Barney's faith in Andy was proven to be justified even if Andy's methodology was also a bit unorthodox. Luke's calls for help summoned them to the barn, where they discovered that a "nearsighted old man" had tried to put shoes on "an ornery old bull."

I guess there are a few lessons to take from this episode.

Primarily, never dismiss country wisdom as being inferior to city wisdom. Country wisdom is founded in experience and observation of the natural world. It is logical. In the words of an insurance company's advertising, "We know a thing or two because we've seen a thing or two."

Andy had seen a thing or two.

Having Faith in Somebody

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Opie (Ron Howard): I told Mr. McBeevee I'd be right back.

Andy (Andy Griffith): Who?

Opie: Mr. McBeevee. You don't know him. He's new around here. I just met him this mornin'.

Andy: Oh.

Barney (Don Knotts): Oh, a newcomer in town, eh? Where's he live at?

Opie: I met him in the woods.

Barney: What's he doin' in the woods?

Opie: Well, mostly he walks around up in the treetops.

Barney: He walks in the tree ... Mm hmm. I suppose he's invisible, too.

Opie: No. Mr. McBeevee's easy to see, especially his hat. He wears a great, big, shiny silver hat.

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Not everyone likes the episode of the Andy Griffith Show that first aired on this night in 1962, but I have always liked it because it so beautifully summarizes the father–son relationship between Andy (Andy Griffith) and Opie (Ron Howard).

The episode was called "Mr. McBeevee," which was the name of a telephone lineman (Karl Swenson) Opie had befriended in the woods.

The story began with Opie and Andy playing a game that parents undoubtedly have played with their children since time began — the game of pretend, of make–believe.

Opie had an imaginary horse he had named Blackie, and Andy was playing along with the game one morning. When Barney (Don Knotts) showed up, Andy and Opie spoke so convincingly of Blackie that Barney never doubted that Blackie was real, running out in the yard to see Opie's new horse.

Then Andy advised Barney that Blackie was "on the invisible side."

Barney was a little put off, believing himself to have been the victim of a practical joke, but he got over it — until later when Opie came to the courthouse telling of a new friend he'd made, one who walked in the treetops and wore a "great, big, shiny silver hat."

Andy and Barney believed Mr. McBeevee was make–believe, too — until Opie came home with a hatchet that definitely was not imaginary. He claimed Mr. McBeevee had given it to him.

That was something Andy couldn't understand so he instructed Opie to take the hatchet back where he found it and leave it there.

Turned out Mr. McBeevee was real — and Opie described him in the only way an 8–year–old boy could, but Andy and Barney couldn't comprehend. It was a classic failure to communicate.

Anyway, Mr. McBeevee took the hatchet back, acknowledging that Opie's father probably had been right to insist that he return it, but he wanted to give Opie something for doing some odd jobs for him so he gave him a quarter. (That may not sound like much in 2017, but it was a small fortune in 1962, at least in a boy's eyes.)

In the meantime Barney told Andy that he did believe Mr. McBeevee was real. Opie had already provided information that would be difficult for a child to make up, and Barney was going to get a more complete description using a technique of the law enforcement officer's trade — an eyewitness description.

At first it went well, but then Opie spoke of how Mr. McBeevee "jingles ... like he has rings on his fingers and bells on his toes." Barney pressed him on that point, and Opie conceded that Mr. McBeevee didn't really have rings on his fingers and bells on his toes. The jingling came from the "12 extra hands" that hung from his belt.

That was how Mr. McBeevee had described the tools he used in his work, but Andy and Barney had no way of knowing that. Opie's description of Mr. McBeevee was a source of endless amusement for Andy.

Then Opie showed them the quarter Mr. McBeevee had given him, and things changed. Andy couldn't believe the person Opie had described had given him a quarter. Opie suggested that they go to the woods and talk to Mr. McBeevee, and Andy agreed to do that. So they went to the woods.

Unfortunately for Opie, Mr. McBeevee had gone to get a colleague to help him with a task so he wasn't where Opie expected him to be, and Andy believed Opie had gotten into the habit of "stretching the truth a little out of shape."

When they returned to their home, Andy sent Opie up to his room and followed him there later, intending to punish him for lying.

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Their conversation, in my opinion, was one of the great scenes in sitcom history.

Andy told Opie that he could avoid punishment if he admitted that Mr. McBeevee was imaginary. But Opie couldn't say that. Mr. McBeevee was real. "Don't you believe me, Paw?" he implored his father.

Andy sighed. "I believe you," he said and went downstairs, where he told Barney and Aunt Bee (Frances Bavier) that he hadn't punished Opie.

When Andy told them that he had told Opie that he believed him, Barney protested that what Opie had told him was impossible.

"Well," Andy replied, "a whole lot of times I've asked him to believe things that, to his mind, must have seemed just as impossible. ... I guess it's a time like this when you're asked to believe something that just don't seem possible, that's the moment that decides whether you got faith in somebody or not."

Barney wanted to know if Andy believed in Mr. McBeevee.

"No," he insisted, "but I do believe in Opie."

Later, of course, Andy's faith in his son was justified when he met Mr. McBeevee in the flesh.

I have said many times that I thought Andy Taylor was the best father on TV, better than any who came before or who have come along since. This episode proved it.

Playing Deputy

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Outside of Andy (Andy Griffith) and Barney (Don Knotts) — and perhaps Opie (Ron Howard) — it is hard to imagine anyone in the fictional town of Mayberry with a more intimate knowledge of the jail on the Andy Griffith Show than Otis the town drunk (Hal Smith), who was allowed to effect his own incarceration and release whenever he had too much to drink — which was just about all the time.

That knowledge came in handy in the episode that first aired on this night in 1962, "Deputy Otis."

I have written here before that Andy Griffith's character was the kind of father that everyone would like to have. I could expand that, though, to simply this. He was the kind of everything — father, son, friend, mentor — that everyone would like to have.

He was the kind of law enforcement officer we need at a time when the public's relationship with the police is so poor. Andy Taylor had compassion for the people of his community. When one had a problem, he tried to help in any way he could.

In another episode, Barney observed that a sheriff "is more than just a sheriff" in a small town. "He's a friend. And the people in this town ain't got a better friend than Andy Taylor."

On this night in 1962, Otis was the one with the problem — and Andy was there for him.

During his many stays in the jail, Otis had written several letters to his brother and sister–in–law using courthouse stationery. It was never established whether Otis' brother and sister–in–law jumped to the conclusion on their own or Otis encouraged it with his letters — probably a little of both — but they apparently had the idea that Otis worked for the sheriff.

Now they were on their way to Mayberry for a visit.

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When Andy found out about everything, Otis readily confessed that "I know I done wrong, but I figgered what's the harm? I didn't know they were coming here."

Then viewers got a rare insight into Otis' character, what made him tick. Turned out that his brother Ralph had always been held up as an example to him. "Why can't you be more like Ralph?" his parents asked him.

"I've always been the black sheep in my family," Otis told Andy, "and it just felt good changing colors."

Andy decided to help Otis out by making him a temporary deputy while his brother and sister–in–law were in town — a noble gesture although Ralph apparently didn't believe Otis was a deputy. When he went off, supposedly for a walk, after lunch, Otis assumed Ralph was going around trying to find out if Otis really was a deputy.

In fact, though, Ralph was getting drunk — because, like Otis, he was his hometown's town drunk.

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And back home, he was allowed to lock himself up in the county jail just as Otis was permitted to do. So he did as he did at home, prompting Otis to tell Ralph how ashamed he was of his brother. And a chastened Ralph pledged to "be respectable — just like you."

Andy and Barney watched in astonishment as this scene played out before them, then Andy said to Barney, "You never know how these things might work out."

That's what made Andy such a great everything. He never hesitated to give someone the benefit of the doubt.

Andy and Barney's Excellent Adventure

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Andy (Andy Griffith): Now, Barn, outside of that meetin' we got with the commissioner, we're really off duty, you know.

Barney (Don Knotts): Off duty? When is a lawman really off duty?

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If you didn't grow up in a small town, what I am about to write may not make much sense to you.

But I grew up in a small town in central Arkansas, about a 30–minute drive from Little Rock. It wasn't as small as the Mayberry of the Andy Griffith Show, but it was much smaller than it is today. We knew that we could get most of the things we needed in my hometown, but for some things we had to drive to the big city.

That was the mindset of Barney (Don Knotts) in the episode that premiered on this night in 1962, "Andy and Barney in the Big City." Andy (Andy Griffith) and Barney went to the state capitol to ask for funds for new equipment.

They weren't exactly encouraged by what the commissioner had to tell them. He said the chances of getting their request approved were slim, given that not much happened in Mayberry.

Barney, who told Andy earlier that he believed the city was where he really belonged, decided that they needed to make a felony arrest that would bring them some attention, and he made the following observation that rings so true from my own childhood experiences: "People come here to the city to shop for things they can't get back home."

But what he had to say next definitely was not a part of my childhood.

"We do the same thing. No felonies in Mayberry? We pick one up here."

Barney had his eye on a fellow who was paying particular attention to a guest at the hotel who was carrying a considerable stash of jewels. He didn't realize the fellow was the hotel detective, and he was providing protection for the guest.

A real criminal came into the hotel, and Barney struck up a friendship with him. Barney got the idea that the criminal was actually the owner of the local newspaper and sensed an opportunity to grab the kind of headlines the Mayberry sheriff's office needed to get that new equipment.

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The friendship quickly became a partnership.

As usual, Barney — in his blustery sort of way — got it all wrong and nearly allowed the thief to get away with the jewels, but Andy, in his usual way, bailed Barney out.

But there was one thing Andy couldn't change — the fact that Barney, thinking the hotel detective was the thief, had locked the detective in a closet.

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One of the delightful scenes in this episode was one of Knotts' own creations. I refer to the scene in the French restaurant when Barney pointed to items on the menu to keep the waiter from thinking Barney was a rube. Andy thought that was too much of a gamble and said he would tell the waiter what he wanted.

"Don't do that," Barney said. "He'll think you're a plain hick."

"There's worse things than being a plain hick," Andy replied, "like being a hongry one."

Andy wound up with a steak, baked potato and green beans. Barney ended up with a plate of snails and brains.

Many years later, Knotts re–created the scene in an episode of Three's Company.

Barney's Sour Notes

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"Aunt Bee, Barney's been singin' again. I don't know how he does it, but he's got a knack of hittin' a note just enough off to make your skin crawl."

Andy (Andy Griffith)

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The Andy Griffith Show is one of those shows from which I find it hard to select my absolute favorite episode. I can usually narrow it down from a set of similar episodes, such as episodes that focus on Andy's father–son relationship with Opie (Ron Howard), but picking my very favorite episode is pretty darn tough. In fact, it is virtually impossible.

However, the episode that first aired on this night in 1962, "Barney and the Choir," is a strong contender. In the interest of full disclosure, I have to acknowledge that just about any episode that focuses on Barney (Don Knotts) is a contender for my favorite Andy Griffith episode.

But the episodes that dealt with his performances with the Mayberry choir are special favorites.

There was one time when Barney was slated to solo for the choir, but he wasn't very good, and the choir director was quick to replace him with Gomer Pyle (Jim Nabors). That was kind of bewildering. I mean, that episode came along after "Barney and the Choir" aired. I've never really been sure how Barney was in a position to do a solo for the choir in that episode when, in "Barney and the Choir," Barney's very status in the choir was in doubt.

Perhaps he got in the choir director's good graces and remained in the choir — but the choir director knew by then that Barney couldn't sing so why would he make Barney a soloist for a second time? By this time in the Andy Griffith Show timeline Barney's inability to sing may have been the worst kept secret in Mayberry — and considering how quickly gossip spread in that town, that was saying something.

In fact, I can assure you of something. Having grown up in a small town, I can tell you that almost nothing remains a secret for very long in a small town.

Well, anyway ...

I suppose prior knowledge of Barney's lack of talent was regarded as a mere technicality — if it was considered at all — when the second episode was written. I mean, every TV show has its inconsistencies, right?

Anyway, back to "Barney and the Choir."

The choir director actually did choose Barney to be the soloist in this episode — but he was misled by Barney, who spoke about his voice teacher and the fact that he was a tenor, which was what the choir director needed, but he never actually auditioned for the director.

At the first choir practice, though, the choir director found out that Barney couldn't sing. He tried to work around it, but it just couldn't be done. So Andy (Andy Griffith) agreed to tell Barney that he was out of the choir. Thelma Lou (Betty Lynn) brought Barney over to Andy's house for dinner, and Andy was going to tell him when Barney suggested they get a little practice in.

Reluctantly, Andy, Thelma Lou and Aunt Bee (Frances Bavier) trudged over to the piano. Opie was with them — and may have been the only one in town besides Barney who didn't know that Barney couldn't sing. As they began to sing, Barney hit a sour note, and Opie remarked, "Somebody sounds terrible."

The singing continued, and Opie exclaimed, "It's Barney!" In one of my all–time favorite moments on the show, Andy gently put his hand over Opie's mouth.

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One of the things I always admired about Andy was the fact that he sincerely cared about the people of Mayberry, particularly those in his inner circle, and he always tried to spare them embarrassment or pain if he could. He wasn't above telling a white lie or two if he thought doing so would permit him to achieve that goal.

In this case, as the group was trying to sing, he got an idea he thought might get him off the hook with Barney. A way for both to save face, you might say.

He suggested that Barney's throat was swollen and inflamed. Barney protested that he didn't feel sick, but Aunt Bee and Thelma Lou picked up on what Andy was trying to do and went along with what he was saying — that Barney needed to take to bed to nip whatever ailment he had in the bud.

Obviously, this would mean that he couldn't perform in the upcoming concert, but he wouldn't want to expose everyone to his germs, would he?

Well ...

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They talked Barney into leaving and going straight to bed, but he double crossed them, demanding that Thelma Lou take him to see the doctor — who confirmed that Barney wasn't sick. So that plan failed.

But Andy had another brainstorm. He told Barney the choir was going to try something different. Barney would still be the soloist, but he would recite his parts instead of sing them. That didn't work, either.

But Andy had one more trick up his sleeve.

He told Barney he would be singing into a special soloist's microphone. Extremely sensitive. Consequently, he would have to sing very low. If he sang at a normal tone of voice, he would "bust every eardrum in the auditorium."

Andy convinced Barney, even though he thought he was barely making a sound, but Andy assured him it would reverberate in the auditorium the following night.

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Barney's microphone, though, was dead. Another singer would be singing into a live microphone backstage.

It worked just as Andy hoped it would. Barney believed his solo had been superb, and the concert was saved from Barney's hilarious off–key singing.

Taking Responsibility

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I often hear it said that the members of today's generation — known informally as Millennials — are a generation of narcissists. It is equally fashionable to attribute that to poor parenting.

That isn't true in every case, of course. Not all of the Millennials are self–absorbed, and not all of their parents failed in their duty to raise responsible members of society. But it is true in many cases. Those parents would have done well to study the episodes of the Andy Griffith Show whenever issues came up.

I have long thought that Andy Griffith was TV's best father. The episodes of the Andy Griffith Show that focused on the challenges he faced as a single parent were some of the best ever made — and should be required viewing for every parent with or without a partner.

Andy was a smart man, and his wisdom benefited older folks as well as his boy Opie (Ron Howard).

For example — the episode that first aired on this night in 1962, "Bailey's Bad Boy," guest–starring Bill Bixby, who went on to starring roles in My Favorite Martian, The Courtship of Eddie's Father and The Incredible Hulk.

Bixby was 27 when he made this episode, playing the spoiled 19–year–old son of an apparently wealthy man. Bixby's character sideswiped a farmer and got hauled in to the Mayberry jail by Andy (Andy Griffith) and Barney (Don Knotts).

The young man was a snob who looked down upon country folks like the ones in Mayberry — he saw them as rubes and hayseeds — and his time there was loaded with all kinds of encounters with small–town types, like the time that town drunk Otis (Hal Smith) came in and started raising hell because Bixby was in his cell.

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Otis wouldn't be a politically correct character now, but he was always good for some comic relief back in the day — and that is essentially what Otis provided in this episode, diverting attention — but only momentarily — from the serious issue at hand.

If the term affluenza had been in vogue in 1962, Bixby's character could have been its poster child. He clearly had been deprived of parental involvement in his childhood — and he was just as clearly influenced by what he observed in Andy and Opie's relationship.

It wasn't so much the things Andy said as it was the things he did to keep Opie going in the right direction that impressed Bixby. When Opie confessed that he had broken a window, Andy told him he wouldn't receive an allowance until the window had been replaced. (That struck a chord for me because I, too, broke a window when I was a child, and my father didn't give me my allowance until it had been replaced.)

"Why don't you bail the little fellow out?" Bixby asked Andy, observing that it was "just a window."

Andy replied that if he did that, Opie would come to him every time he had a problem, expecting Andy to fix it for him. He wanted Opie to be a responsible adult, to "stand on his own two legs." (Maybe that is what my father wanted as well.)

The wealthy and privileged have their own ways of doing things — and that frequently involves the use of their fortunes as substitutes for direct personal involvement. And so it was that before long Bixby's father sent his attorney to Mayberry to "bail out" Bixby. But Andy wouldn't release him. He said he would hold Bixby until the judge could be there for the trial.

So the attorney tried a different technique, bringing in the farmer who had been involved in the original offense. He had been bribed to change his story and say the accident had been his fault.

That was enough for Andy. He gave in and was about to release Bixby.

But Bixby objected. That wasn't what happened, he said. The exasperated attorney said he didn't know what he would tell Bixby's father.

Andy, who had figured out everything, answered for Bixby. "Why don't you tell Mr. Bailey the boy busted a winder," Andy said in his slow Southern drawl, "and wants to stand on his own two legs?"

It wasn't the best episode of the Andy Griffith Show, but it was a pretty good example of the positive influence Andy could be. Television — and young people — could use more examples like that today.

Shopping for a Spouse

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When most people think of Alan Hale Jr., they probably think of his role as the Skipper on Gilligan's Island. To be sure, that is the role with which he was most associated during his life. Long after Gilligan's Island went off the air, Hale was still recognized on the street as the Skipper. He embraced that role, wearing his Skipper's hat in public and responding in character when people called out to him.

But Hale had a lengthy career apart from Gilligan's Island. He appeared in several movies and made guest appearances on numerous TV shows, such as the one he made on the Andy Griffith Show on this night in 1962. It was an episode called "The Farmer Takes a Wife,"

Hale played a farmer named Jeff who came to town looking for a wife. He had everything else he needed — a farm on a plot of land in the country. He also had a country girlfriend but decided he wanted a city girl instead so he came to town looking for one. Why did he do that? Well, his country girlfriend was great as a farmhand, but Jeff believed that "for marryin', a fellah wants a ... a female type, you know, kinda soft and squishylike." His plan was to look over the single women in Mayberry, pick out a bride and take her back to his farm in a couple of days.

Clearly Jeff didn't have much experience with women, especially city women — if Mayberry could, in any way, be regarded as a city — and Andy (Andy Griffith) was skeptical that Jeff could find a wife in two days.

"I'm good–lookin', ain't I?" Jeff asked Andy.

"Well, yeah," Andy reluctantly replied.

"I'm strong enough to protect a woman, ain't I?" Jeff insisted.

"Well, sure," Andy answered.

"Got one of the best farms in the county, ain't I?" Jeff demanded.

"Well, yeah," Andy said.

"Well, then," Jeff said, "shouldn't take more'n two days."

Jeff didn't understand that you don't select a mate the way you select livestock. Well, most folks don't, and the folks in Mayberry, while few in number, were pretty particular about the traditional approach to courtship. It wasn't acceptable, for example, for Jeff to stand on a street corner and lift up each girl who walked by, then set her down and say, "Excuse me, ma'am. Just checking your weight."

Barney (Don Knotts) decided he wanted to help Jeff out (sort of streamline the process, you might say), and Barney remembered that his girlfriend, Thelma Lou (Betty Lynn), would be having a gathering of single women at her place. They could casually drop by, Barney said, and that would give Jeff an opportunity to check out many of the town's most eligible bachelorettes at once.

So that is what they did.

Unfortunately, though, Barney's plan backfired. Jeff set his sights on Thelma Lou.

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He thought Thelma Lou was "juicier'n a barrel full of corn squeezin's," and he told her so.

Barney thought he had laid down the law for Jeff, but then he saw Jeff and Thelma Lou walking on the street together, and Andy took it upon himself to work up a plan to discourage Jeff. He told Jeff he would need to meet Thelma Lou's requirements for a husband, which included moving into town and getting a job in a store. He also needed to wear a suit.

It was all too much for Jeff, who stormed out of Thelma Lou's house after trying to jump through the hoops Andy and Thelma Lou had set for him. I don't believe Jeff was ever seen in Mayberry again.

A couple of years later, Hale became the Skipper. But there was an element of the Andy Griffith Show episode that aired on this night in 1962 that foreshadowed Gilligan's Island. Hale kept calling Barney his "little buddy," which was, of course, what the Skipper called Gilligan.

In a Pickle in Mayberry

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"What's small potatoes to some folks can be mighty important to others."

Andy (Andy Griffith)

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In the TV town of Mayberry, which was modeled after Andy Griffith's North Carolina hometown, it was generally accepted by all that Aunt Bee (Frances Bavier) was a remarkable cook.

Now, I grew up in a small Southern town, and I can tell you one thing with absolutely no fear of contradiction. When folks in a small Southern town agree that someone is a great cook, you can take it to the bank.

Southerners take food very seriously. It is around food that everything else in our lives revolves.

But as audiences discovered in the episode of the Andy Griffith Show that aired on this night in 1961 — "The Pickle Story" — Aunt Bee did have an Achilles' heel.

Her pickles were awful. Barney (Don Knotts) called them "kerosene cucumbers."

Things got started when Aunt Bee brought lunch to the courthouse one day and told Andy and Barney that she had a surprise for them. The surprise was that she had been making pickles — not one of her tasty pies or delicious Southern entrees. She had made eight quarts of pickles, and she had brought pickles for Andy and Barney that day.

Barney tried to get out of eating his pickle by telling Aunt Bee that he had had a big breakfast. "I hate to eat it when I'm so full up like this," he told her. "I'll just wait and smoke — er, eat — it later."

She didn't know they didn't like her pickles. I guess she thought everyone liked everything she made. That's the problem with being good at something. People expect you to be good at it all the time.

And I suppose if you are told repeatedly that you are good at something, you become inclined to believe that everything you do in that area is good. You may reach a point where you simply do not comprehend the idea that you are not good at something. Perhaps that was how it was with Aunt Bee.

Aunt Bee's reputation as a cook was established in the very first episode and reinforced throughout the series so the viewers knew she was a great cook, but she did have a couple of weak spots. She couldn't make pickles or marmalade (but her marmalade is a topic for another time).

When Andy and Barney learned she had been putting up pickles, they decided that, since they were duty–bound to consume the pickles, they would swap them with store pickles and dispose of the homemade pickles. That way they could eat them, and Aunt Bee would be pleased (and none the wiser).

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But things didn't go quite as smoothly as that.

When Aunt Bee tried one of the pickles, she decided she was going to enter the pickle contest at the county fair after all. Previously she had decided not to enter; it was, after all, a competition that had been won for 11 straight years by her friend Clara (Hope Summers), but now Aunt Bee was convinced that she had hit upon the right recipe.

At first, Andy and Barney treated the possibility of Aunt Bee winning the competition with professionally made pickles as a joke, but then Clara paid a visit to the courthouse with some of her homemade pickles and got into a conversation with Andy, revealing how much it meant to her to know that she had a talent for something.

And fair–minded Andy realized that he and Barney had been wrong about the competition. It wouldn't be a joke if Aunt Bee won the blue ribbon with pickles she hadn't made — at the expense of someone who played by the rules and deserved to win.

So he decided that the best thing to do would be for Andy, Barney and Opie (Ron Howard) to eat up all the pickles, forcing Aunt Bee to make another batch of her kerosene cucumbers to enter at the fair.

And that's what they did.

When Aunt Bee observed that all the pickles were gone and she didn't have any to enter in the contest — after telling everyone that she would enter — Andy said, in an offhand way, "I guess there's nothing else to do except make another batch."

"I suppose not," Aunt Bee replied.

That was all Andy needed to light a spark under Aunt Bee, and she went scurrying off to get the things she would need for her pickling.

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The new batch was just as bad as the others. And Aunt Bee lost — but she did so with her own pickles.

She lost to Clara, who had a 12th blue ribbon to add to her treasured scrapbook.

And Andy and Barney had 16 quarts of kerosene cucumbers that they would have to consume.

"There's only one thing to do," Andy told Barney. "It's what we should have done in the first place. Learn to love 'em."

And the episode concluded with the two munching joylessly on Aunt Bee's pickles.

A Taste of Money

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Karma, they say, is a bitch.

On this day in 1961, the city council of the fictional TV village of Mayberry held a meeting in the episode "Mayberry Goes Bankrupt" of the Andy Griffith Show.

Mayberry, as everyone should know, was a very small town, so small that its entire city council could meet in the mayor's office.

And it did. I suppose that is where the council always met. Viewers wouldn't know that because the city council meetings were seldom seen on the Andy Griffith Show. Having been a reporter and having covered my share of city council meetings, I can understand why. No one in his/her right mind would deliberately watch a city council meeting on TV. With rare exceptions, small–town city councils tend to discuss things like stoplights and sidewalks and zoning ordinances. The agenda is distributed a day or two before the meeting, and usually the only people who attend are those who are directly affected by something. Once their matter has been addressed, they leave.

You would think that such a modest group wouldn't get too carried away with itself. But in the episode that aired 55 years ago tonight, Mayberry's city council did.

When the show began, Andy was protesting a decision the council had just made to evict an elderly citizen (Frank, played by Andy Clyde) because he was behind on his property taxes. I always suspected that the real reason why the council was in such a hurry to evict him was because the councilmen had concluded informally that the house was an eyesore. When the old man was evicted, they could tear the house down and start over again.

As sheriff, it was Andy's job to serve the eviction notice.

"This is one part of sheriffin' I can do without," Andy said as he left the meeting.

The councilmen were right, though. The house was a mess with all kinds of clutter in the yard and chickens running loose, and the house itself was old and run down. The screens on the windows were torn, and the house needed a paint job. The old one was peeling in many places. Some of the boards needed to be replaced, too.

Andy felt bad about having to serve the notice. But Frank told him that he was glad Andy had been the one to do it. "It made it easier," he told Andy.

That evening, as Andy and Aunt Bee (Frances Bavier) and Opie (Ron Howard) sat on the porch and Andy played his guitar, they spoke about Frank and what a shame it was that he was being evicted.

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Opie wanted to know what the word evicted meant. Andy tried to explain that Frank was losing his home because he was behind on his taxes.

Opie said that because Andy was serving the eviction notice, it seemed only fair that Andy should provide Frank with a place to stay. Andy and Aunt Bee tried to object, but they could never get around Opie's logic. It was decided that Frank would be invited to stay with them.

And he must have accepted because the next thing the viewers saw was Frank arriving at the house with Andy with his belongings in tow.

One of his belongings was his strongbox, in which he kept his "valuables" — like a medallion from the 1906 World's Fair and a slotted spoon with the Milwaukee skyline carved in it.

And a $100 bond issued by the town of Mayberry in 1861.

The bond had no expiration date. It only said it was redeemable at 8½% interest compounded annually.

After a conversation with the folks at the bank, Andy called a special meeting of the city council. At first the mayor and the councilmen insisted they were too busy to deal with Frank again, but they soon learned that they would have no choice. Frank's bond was worth nearly $350,000.

As the councilmen oohed and ahhed over a document that was a century old and worth more than a quarter of a million dollars, Frank remarked, "I'll take it in cash."

The fly in the ointment, though, was that Mayberry didn't have the money to pay Frank. Andy was recruited to offer Frank a settlement. He agreed to try, then, as he was leaving, he observed, "Just a few days ago we was ready to give Frank the boot. Now, for all we know, he may be giving the town 24 hours to get out."

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Andy came up with a compromise that seemed to please everyone. The members of the council fixed up Frank's house — gave it a fresh paint job, did some repairs to the exterior, made it a showplace (Andy's word) that was sure to attract out–of–towners. And the banker worked out financial arrangements with Frank to get his taxes up to date. All this would be a settlement in lieu of paying off the bond.

Yep, everything seemed to be going just fine — until the councilmen realized the bond was bought when Mayberry was part of the Confederacy — which meant it had been bought with Confederate money — which meant it could only be paid back in Confederate money — and, since the Confederacy no longer existed, that meant the bond was worthless.

Once again, the councilmen were ready to evict Frank from his home — until Andy urged them to consider it a good deed for a citizen in need and let it go at that.

That was pretty good reasoning — and by agreeing to it, the council members might have spared themselves another visit from karma instead of a couple in a convertible who mistakenly thought they were in some place called Elm City.

Confronting What Frightens You

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"A sandwich sure tastes better with milk."

Opie (Ron Howard)

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There were episodes in the second season of the Andy Griffith Show in which I feel the program's writers lost their way.

And that is truly a shame because the episode that began that season on this night in 1961, "Opie and the Bully," was a great example of one of the eternal virtues of the show — Andy's relationship with his young son Opie (Ron Howard) and his parental efforts to teach the boy right from wrong.

I have never been a father, but it has always seemed to me that Andy's character knew instinctively what to say or do — even though he would undoubtedly be the first to say that he didn't have all the answers. (Of all the fathers on TV, I have always thought Griffith's character was the best.)

In fact, there was one episode late in the series when Andy was trying to resolve an issue with a teenage Opie. Andy was taking the wrong approach and everyone seemed to realize it but Andy — who eventually conceded the fact when someone from outside the family circle demonstrated the right way to handle the matter.

I suppose it isn't at all uncommon for parents to be unsure of their parenting skills when their children hit their teens. But on this night in 1961, Opie was still in elementary school, and he faced a situation nearly every kid faces at some point.

For one reason or another, every kid has to learn to stand up for himself or herself — and that formed the basis of one of the Andy Griffith Show's episodes that I must watch whenever it is on.

In this episode Opie found himself at the mercy of a bully who wouldn't let him pass on his way to school unless Opie handed over the nickel (nickels were worth a lot more 55 years ago than they are now) he had been given to buy milk at lunch. If Opie didn't pay, the bully threatened him with "a knuckle sandwich."

So Opie thought he had hit on the solution. He would get nickels from both Aunt Bee and Andy. He'd give one to the bully and still have one for milk.

But Andy became suspicious when Opie did that and asked him about that night. Opie insisted that he wanted the second nickel as a spare in case he lost the other one.

Andy let it slide — until he was talking with Barney about it the next day — and Barney told Andy that Opie had been in the jail earlier asking Barney if he had a nickel he wasn't using.

Barney offered to give Opie some fighting lessons, but Andy rejected the idea. Opie didn't need fighting lessons, he told Barney. Andy didn't want his son to be the kind of boy who went around looking for fights, but he didn't want Opie to back down from one when he was in the right. Andy had to figure out a way to impress that on Opie.

And it came to him when they were fishing one day. Opie wanted to know how Andy came across such a good fishing spot, and Andy made up a story featuring himself at Opie's age. In Andy's story, he had been chased off by the town bully, "Hodie Snitch," and he told Opie how he had stood up for what rightfully belonged to him.

The story should be seen in its entirety, but essentially Andy's point was that tough talk is just talk, and Opie was inspired to stand up to the bully who had been extorting money from him.

Opie repeatedly sought reassurance from his father, asking him to confirm things he had said in his story. Andy had claimed that he laughed when Hodie hit him, that he didn't even feel it. Opie was reassured, and he resolved to confront his tormentor.

Opie asked Andy to keep some spare clothes for him at the courthouse — in case something happened that got his clothes torn and messy. Andy agreed, knowing what Opie was planning to do. Later at the courthouse, Andy and Barney speculated about where Opie was and whether he had had his confrontation with the bully. Andy was having the kind of doubts that all parents must have at some time.

"Did you ever do anything," Andy asked Barney, "that you wondered if you was doing the right thing?"

Opie faced his fear — and got a black eye for his trouble. But for him it was a badge of honor.

And an important lesson had been learned.

What Friends Are For

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"It's like they say, 'Once burnt, lesson learnt. One mistake, better cake. Once bit, best forget.'"

Barney (Don Knotts)

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Andy Taylor (Andy Griffith) enjoyed teasing people, but he always seemed to stop before he crossed the line from teasing to humiliating.

That was probably one of the qualities of his character that appealed to me the most. We have probably all known people who kept picking at others long after they should have stopped. If one has been on the receiving end of such abuse, it is hard to forget — or forgive. For that matter, it can be pretty hard to forget or forgive if one has merely witnessed such abuse.

So when you see someone like Andy Taylor who knows where the line is and refuses to cross it, you tend to appreciate his decency — especially if the person who has been teased made an honest mistake in a sincere attempt to carry out a task. It doesn't seem right to me to pile on such a person. Andy Taylor seemed to know that, too.

And that was what was at the heart of the episode of the Andy Griffith Show that premiered on this night in 1961 — "Andy Saves Barney's Morale."

Andy was off to spend the day in a nearby community testifying in court, and Barney (Don Knotts) was left in charge. Andy was only gone for eight hours, but when he returned to Mayberry, he found the village to be strangely quiet, virtually deserted. Andy was pleased — until he went inside the courthouse and found half the town incarcerated in the jail's two cells. Among those in the jail were Andy's Aunt Bee (Frances Bavier) and his son Opie (Ron Howard). The mayor of Mayberry had been jailed as well.

In his zeal to show Andy how much he could depend on his deputy, Barney had gone overboard and made all of his arrests based on very flimsy legal logic. But he hadn't been authorized to fill in as justice of the peace in Andy's absence so he hadn't been able to process them. That had to wait until Andy returned.

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Now, Barney often went overboard. That was one of the running jokes of the series. And this episode provided plenty of material.

Technically speaking Barney's arrests were justified — but extreme. He arrested Aunt Bee for unlawful assembly and inciting a riot because she had gathered with other ladies in front of the courthouse, where, as Andy observed, the ladies of the community had been gathering to chat for years. When Barney tried to disperse them, Aunt Bee resisted and one of her friends raised her umbrella at Barney.

See, going strictly by the book, Barney was right. But any rational observer knew that the situation was not what the charges implied.

Neither was it justified when Barney charged an elderly man who could hardly speak above a whisper with disturbing the peace for allegedly shouting at his adversary in checkers.

The same logic was at work when Barney charged the mayor with vagrancy and loitering.

And, as a result, Barney was in for more than his fair share of ribbing from the folks in the town. He took it good–naturedly for awhile, but then it crossed that line, and he became noticeably despondent and told Andy he was going to quit the force.

Andy didn't tease him about any of it. He did, however, come up with a brilliant way to put the issue to rest.

He laughed along with the townspeople when they made their jokes, then casually dropped the bombshell on them that he was going to be getting a new deputy. After all, he pointed out, he couldn't have a deputy on the force who was the butt of so many jokes. Such a deputy, he said, has lost the confidence of the people.

That really made an impression on the folks in the town, who all gravitated back to the jail and incarcerated themselves, just as Otis the town drunk had been doing for years, and scolded Andy for not realizing how serious their "crimes" had been.

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Otis, by the way, had been one of the people Barney arrested earlier — and he had been charged with a perfectly plausible crime, considering Otis' history — being under the influence of alcohol.

But, as with all the others, Barney had been carried away. The fact was that, when Barney asked Otis to walk a straight line, Otis said, "What line?" not because he was drunk but because he didn't have his glasses with him.

But you didn't need glasses to see the wisdom of Andy's tactic.