Goodbye, Mary Richards, From The Little Boy Who Wanted To Be You

When I was a 10-year-old boy, being the first female assistant producer/producer of the WJM-TV nightly news looked like the ideal life. Plus, it seemed to pay enough that I would be able to toss away hats as I saw fit.

Before we get ahead of ourselves, this isn’t the story of a young woman who realizes she’s trapped in a boy’s body or the tale of a LGBTQ youth coming to terms with his identity. No, those are far more interesting stories, and I suggest you read them immediately. I am what the Google algorithm would label as "fake feminist news" and what Donald Trump and Ted Baxter would consider a primary source for gender issues.

This is for all those men (particular the ones in charge of making action figures) who think that young, mostly-straight* boys can’t identify with a female protagonist.

When I was 10 years old, there is nothing I wanted more than to live in my own apartment, work in an office full of quick-witted co-workers and host a variety of dreadful dinner parties. If I could do it while a catchy pop tune sang my praises, all the better.

I identified with her optimism, her tenacity and her addiction to politeness. I never saw myself as Ted; I wish I had a friend like Murray, and I too wished that Mr. Grant would watch his language and cut down on his drinking.

I got angry alongside her when she discovered she made less money than the male associate producer in “The Good-Time News” episode. I was frightened when she was audited (once I learned what an audit was) in “1040 or Fight” and embarrassed for her when she wore the infamous green dress in “You Try to Be a Nice Guy.” Most young men were making other realizations when they saw a scantily clad Mary Tyler Moore, but I was afraid she would get cold or use one of the many cutouts as arm holes on accident...just like I would have.  

She made a person’s 30s seem like a magical time when you went on a different date every week, slept on a fold-out couch and met Walter Cronkite.

Even though we are different genders, Mary Richards and I are both squares. We will do anything for our friends, we’ll stand up for the little guy and cry every time a clown dies…and then laugh...and then cry again. Bullies would call us snowflakes, but those are plentiful in Minneapolis.

There are smarter people than me. Some with fancy degrees from the Ted Baxter School of Broadcasting who would be better at describing her feminist importance. This character was much more important for others. She was a woman in a male-dominated workplace during a time when that was so rare, it was described as a comedic situation.

But for me, she will always be a hero--because she prevented toxic masculinity from entering my world…which, by the way, she could turn on with a smile.

As we go forward with women leading our "Star Wars" franchises and dominating our comedy shows, I want to say thank you to Mary Richards from myself and from all the children who learned you can get into wacky situations and epic adventures in both trousers and pencil skirts.

It may seem weird to think that a silly little sitcom from the 70s could have such an important impact on my life, but we’re talking about a woman who could take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile.

Plus, I love spunk.

*Until Timothy Olyphant returns my calls.