J.R. Ewing, Larry Hagman and Me

My hero

Like his famous alter ego, Larry Hagman dodged death so many times, I assumed he was going to live forever. Waking up to the news last Saturday morning that Hagman was suddenly gone left me feeling a little dazed. Without putting much thought into it, I grabbed an old J.R. Ewing publicity shot, scanned it and reached for my laptop to tap out a quick tribute for Dallas Decoder.

As fate would have it, my previous post was a transcription of the next-to-last scene from “The Search,” the “Dallas” episode where Jock is presumed dead. When I logged into my site, I was greeted by a shot of Bobby standing in the Southfork dining room, breaking the news to Miss Ellie that Daddy isn’t coming home. In that instant, I wondered: Where is Patrick Duffy right now, and does he look as heartbroken as he does in this old picture?

That’s when I lost it.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was weeping over the death of a television actor, a man I’d never met. Yes, I’m a “Dallas” fanatic, but I’m not much of a crier. So as I sat on my sofa shedding tears, I kept telling my husband Andrew how silly I felt. He held my hand and told me I shouldn’t feel embarrassed.

I see now that Andrew was right. Whether or not I knew Larry Hagman wasn’t the point. What mattered is that he had touched my life. Maybe J.R. Ewing wasn’t a real person, but the sense of loss I felt at that moment was very real.

It took me a few days to figure all this out and find the words to express it. The breakthrough came when I realized J.R. has been part of my world almost from the beginning. I don’t remember when I watched “Dallas” for the first time, but it must have been in the spring or summer of 1980, when the show was 2 and I was 6. I didn’t always understand the stories I saw on “Dallas,” but I couldn’t get enough of the glamorous trappings – the ranch, the offices, the cars. Mostly, though, I loved the rapscallion at the heart of it all.

J.R. Ewing was my hero. I can remember spending Saturday afternoons “playing ‘Dallas’” with Joanna, the girl who lived next door. Together, we would recreate the scenes I had watched on the show the night before. In our backyard world of make-believe, I always cast myself as J.R. Joanna was assigned all the other roles: Sue Ellen, Kristin, Cliff.

In middle school, my love of “Dallas,” “Knots Landing” and the era’s other prime time soaps was one of the things that made me realize I was different from the other boys. The other boys realized this too, and they made my life miserable. That’s when my appreciation for J.R. deepened. Even though I saw him do a lot of bad things each Friday night, I so admired how he carried himself. No one pushed J.R. around. Words never stung him. It was the kind of power I wanted for myself.

I used to fantasize about silencing my sixth-grade tormentors with clever, J.R.-style ripostes. Sometimes I’d imagine staging fiendish acts of revenge to make the mean kids sorry for picking on me. What these imaginary ploys entailed, I cannot recall. I couldn’t have been older than 11 or 12 at the time, so how devious could my maneuvers have been? Was I going to frame one of my bullies by making it look like he’d copied his homework?

I eventually outgrew my secret desire to plot and scheme like J.R., but I never outgrew my admiration for his swagger. J.R. never apologized for who he was, and eventually, I learned to be proud of who I am. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not the kind of person who brims with self-confidence. I’ll never have J.R.’s moxie. But I did learn a lot from him about standing up for yourself and having the courage to go after the things that matter to you.

Since I started Dallas Decoder and began re-watching the original series with fresh eyes, I’ve found myself thinking about Larry Hagman as much as I do J.R. What a phenomenal talent. Much has been made in recent days about Hagman’s gifts. There’s not much I can add here, except to say this: Larry Hagman wasn’t an actor. Larry Hagman was a wizard. He didn’t perform. He made magic.

People who knew Hagman have talked a lot this week about how the lines that distinguish him from J.R. blurred with time. I don’t doubt it. But I also believe there was a part of Hagman that was just plain Larry.

I thought about this a few days ago, when I watched the “Dallas Reunion: The Return to Southfork” retrospective. At the end of the special, Hagman and his longtime co-stars are sitting in front of an audience, reminiscing. At one point, the camera cuts to a shot of Hagman laughing. He’s so tickled, his eyes crinkle. This isn’t J.R.’s mischievous chuckle. It’s Larry’s hearty guffaw. It made me think: I know J.R. and I love him, but I wish I could have known Larry too.

I was lucky enough to have one encounter with Hagman. It happened during the fall of 2004, when I was working as a newspaper reporter. CBS announced a conference call for journalists to interview Hagman and Linda Gray about that “Return to Southfork” special, which was going to air in a few days. My editors weren’t interested in a story about a “Dallas” clip show, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let that stop me from participating in the call. This was my chance to finally speak to my hero.

When the time came, I sat at my desk in the newsroom, dialed the number on the press release and listened to the moderator’s instructions. Each reporter would be allowed to pose a single question to Hagman and Gray. Fair enough. Except when it was my turn, I didn’t ask a question. Not really. I gushed. I went into full-fledged fanboy mode, telling Hagman and Gray how much I loved them, their characters and all things “Dallas.” At one point, I acknowledged I sounded like a sycophant. Hagman chuckled and called me “sickie.” J.R. Ewing took a shot at me! I was over the moon.

I’ve thought about that call a lot this week. I cherish the memory, but I also wish I could get a do-over. I wouldn’t gush this time, and I wouldn’t ask Hagman a question. I’d simply thank him.

What did Larry Hagman mean to you? Share your comments below and read more opinions from Dallas Decoder.