ack in my college days in the early, early eighties, a roommate of mine could often be found in the living room, watching a late night rerun of The Rockford Files. It had only just been cancelled and he was a fan.

For those who don’t know what this is, it was a series from 1974 to 1980. The story centers on Jim Rockford (played laconically by James Garner), an LA private investigator who lives in a rusted trailer sitting in beach-side public parking. He gets in all sorts of jams, uses charisma to sometimes get out of them, and is fun to watch. I have to watch this on Roku (with, sigh, commercials) but I’m enjoying it all the same.

What really gets me is the view of 1974 LA, all gritty and dirty, the cars big, the electronics non-existent. Jim takes a snap shot of someone with a neat pocket camera but then needs to go find a dark room to develop the photo.

To me, half the fun is looking at the backgrounds of the various shots – the suburbs with their ranch-style homes, the freeways with two lanes each way, the big cars that bounce like boats on uneven terrain. The need for a phone booth or a contact in the newpaper to get files and information. Even how Jim gets paid – everyone pays by check (and everyone is always bouncing them). Not a credit card to be seen.

Also not to be seen is graffiti; the alleys and vacant lots are devoid of it, so much that it makes the modern eye blink.

Los Vegas was pretty funny – a couple of modern casinos, looking lost and alone in that vast desert (you don’t see them as the adult theme parks they are now).

And that’s part of the fun of watching old series and movies, all the background scenes from the world that has passed on. You know, I lived in that time and can remember it, but it really takes something like this sort of show to remind me of the gulf between the then and the now.

Hello, this is Jim Rockford. At the sound of the tone, leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you.

>>>AND BUY A BOOK!<<<