All I Really Need to Know in Life, I Learned from /The Twilight Zone/

There are things I really like, such as the ranch dressing from Outback and cashew chicken and driving a 5-speed car and a wedding with good dancing to non-annoying music and the clearance rack at Banana Republic and well-scripted/well-acted movies with minimal swearing that have a good message but don’t get pedantic.

There are the things I can’t live without, such as Dr. Pepper and homemade salsa and/or guacamole with extra cilantro and books and jeans with a 34” inseam and good conversation with good people.

There are the things that make life worth living, like well-behaved dogs and people who are nice to animals and the Pizza Hut Pizza Buffet and period dramas and the music from the likes of Paul Simon or The Mountain Goats and moving worship services and 30 Rock reruns.

And there are the things whose value is far greater than the amount of time to which I have actually devoted to them, such as Kiva.org and great ape sanctuaries and really knowing the nitty-gritty of constitutional law and The Twilight Zone.

Oh, The Twilight Zone.  It feels like watching good literature—that the twists are rarely predictable (just like an O. Henry story) and the study of irony is top-notch (as in Hemingway) and the themes of humanity are often both encouraging and convicting (much like T.S. Eliot).  I consider myself fairly well-versed in the TTZ canon, though I must admit that I have certainly not seen every episode.  Therefore, I look forward to the Twilight Zone marathon that Syfy runs every New Year’s Eve and Fourth of July, because it gives me the chance to catch up on a “new” episode or two.

This year, I was able to see Burgess Meredith in “The Obsolete Man”—and I have not been able to get it out of my head because of the final scene.  The plot synopsis is as follows:  Meredith is a librarian [actually, his second TTZ librarian role.  Anyone know his other, more famous one?] in a futuristic society wherein books no longer exist, technology rules, and anyone ruled by The State to be obsolete must be “liquidated” within 48 hours.  Faced with such a verdict, Meredith makes the request (as is his prerogative) that he be executed in a manner that is to remain secret until he shall reveal it, and that his final hours be broadcast for the nation to see.  The judge from his trail, a State goon, comes to visit Meredith in his book-filled home as he awaits his execution, and Meredith locks the door behind him.  Then, Meredith reveals that he has requested from his executioner that a bomb be planted in his home, set to detonate at midnight, with everyone watching.

This clip, about 5:30 long, is the end of the episode.  Be sure to watch until Rod Serling appears at the end and delivers the moral like a 1960s Aesop.  Then ask yourself the rather frightening question of whether or not those of us who share Serling’s view on the matter have also become obsolete.