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In horror of Columbus Day

By Ed Goldman

I introduced my daughter to “Columbo” pretty early on—the show and the character, not the late Peter Falk, who played him so indelibly on and off from 1968 to 2005. Jessica was born in 1986 and began joining her mom and me to watch the show when she was about 12. She was instantly hooked, finding Falk very “aww”—her term for irresistibly cute.

I was such a fan of the show that even before it left the air I bought a DVD set of most of the episodes. Jessica seemed delighted by the show’s format. Since almost every episode began with the murder (of someone you instantly didn’t like), and we saw who committed it, the gimmick wasn’t “whodunnit” but rather “howcatchem.” I didn’t make up those terms, of course, but I think of them as perfect.

After her mom died in 2007, Jessica finished her bachelor’s degree in English at UC Berkeley (in just three years) and came home for a while so we could comfort each other. We spent almost every evening after dinner watching episodes of “Columbo” and “Seinfeld” (whose DVD set I’d also bought). In essence, we were bingeing on reruns before anyone used the term “bingeing” for anything but drinking to excess, overeating or snorting a few months’ worth of their salary. 

While there was violence and, now and then, even some sexual innuendos in “Columbo,” Jessica’s mom and I were pretty permissive about what she could watch, read or listen to. That had started one Thursday night when Jess, trying to avoid going to bed, insisted on watching an episode of “Cheers” with us, which contained enough raunchy references for it to have a TV-PG rating (after all, it was set in an urban sports bar). Her mom tried to tell her it might not be appropriate for her at that age (about seven years old) but our daughter insisted, “It’s a show about loving.” That was hard to argue so we let her sit down with us for a 10-minute segment. She mimicked the studio audience (or laugh machine) and chuckled at every one-liner. We had no way of knowing if she understood the dialogue or was just simulating comprehension—a question I ask myself to this day about how my own gags are being absorbed. But no matter. By the time the penultimate commercial break came, she fell asleep in her chair.

“Columbo” may have led Jessica to her love of books and movies about heists or cons—and I’m proud to report she didn’t grow up to be a cat burglar or conwoman. Besides, Columbo, the character, was actually a decent role model. He was unfailingly polite to people—particularly those he knew he’d be apprehending by the time of the closing credits—shaking their hands, calling them “sir” or “ma’am” and apologizing for his intrusiveness. He also managed to ask questions he was determined to ask no matter how much the perp-to-be attempted to distract him, which I think could have taught our daughter persistence. Commenting on Columbo’s tenacity, Falk said in his entertaining oral memoir that for the murderers he was closing in on, it must have seemed “like being nibbled to death by ducks.”

My ultimate reward for introducing my kid to the show popped up one day when she was in high school and wondering if she’d pursue a career in journalism. One day I took her to three back-to-back interviews I was doing so she could see what this line of work is actually like. Remarkably, each chat that day required me to jolt the interviewee into being more forthcoming—and to do so, I acted as though the interview was over, I had all I needed and thank-you-very-much-I’ll find-my-way-out. Even more remarkably, each time I did this the interviewee stopped me from leaving and then began to be far more candid as Jessica and I sat back down. Yes, it’s a gimmick I use—rarely, but almost always successfully. It usually wasn’t that some people were evasive as much as they turned shy. Usually.