The Cult Zone
Then there are the lesser sects, with anywhere from a handful to several hundred members. Partisans of Gilligan's Island, Wild, Wild West and Lost in Space have their own fanzines or books. Students of The Prisoner meet in Wales every year and may spend days analyzing the import of one line of dialogue. And there are clubs for lovers of Dr. Who, Perry Mason, Space 1999, The Monkees and Mr. Ed.
Who are these people? They are the culties, that's who, and they are consumed by a passion for Jonathan Frid or Peter Duel or perhaps simply a craving for heroes. Sometimes their adorations are merely highly focused enthusiasms, sometimes they're bizarre and obsessive, but TV culties are only the perfervid leading edge of a wave of nostalgia swooping up men and women who were children in the '60s. That most traditional of motives—money—powers the wave, which began its rise with TV program directors. As kids, while their older sibs stuffed daisies in soldiers' rifles, the youngsters who would grow up to decide what airs on local TV sat and watched The Brady Bunch. There was a time, alas unrecorded, when such a programmer cast his eyes upon the gaping afternoon and late-night slots on his relentless schedule and remembered My Mother the Car and Batman. He remembered watching them the way an earlier generation recalled skating on ponds. He realized he'd like to see them again, then thought there must be others like him. Before you could say "Holy Toledo!" a show had been penciled in. Other ex-'60s kids, adrift in an alien sea of Baretta and Upstairs, Downstairs, flicked on the set one slow afternoon and rediscovered their roots. The shows were cheap to put on, far cheaper than new programs, making nostalgia economically viable. An obsession had been born.
The most popular reruns are sitcoms and sci-fi, which is what kids were mostly allowed to watch in the '60s: Car 54, Where Are You?, Outer Limits, Night Gallery and The Munsters. A show's locale may play a role: A New York club, which started with collectors amassing tapes for their VCRs, seems to want all 8 million stories from Naked City. Scarcity makes the heart grow fonder. Dark Shadows lost the nostalgic masses through too many easily taped reruns and now is seldom aired. That reflects a basic conundrum. Experts expect the old-time boom to wear out soon, as such booms do, and then the country will be left with naught but a yen for the good old days, when nostalgia was in flower.