Jericho's second season serves as a tribute to the rugged individualism and other values—including a genius for publicity—that sprout up like golden corn across our land. The show, a postapocalyptic fantasy about a Kansas town toughing it out after the country is wrecked by nuclear bombs, was canceled last spring due to weak ratings. Outraged fans protested by shipping CBS millions of peanuts. (The show had quoted Gen. Anthony McAuliffe's famous non-surrender to the Germans: "Nuts!") Now the fans have Jericho back for seven episodes. To be honest, I was never going to mourn this new-millennial western, and season 2's first episodes don't grab me, either, with their dusty evocation of modern frontier grit. Meanwhile, sinister forces are reshaping the former U.S.A. into regional powers. A new President visits, and he's just another telegenic politico, a damply good-looking zero in a suit. What good's an apocalypse? But it does a heart good to see viewers' clout: Jericho deserves a place in TV history.