Before I segue into what I want to talk about today, I would also like to say that I am going to be writing some shorter posts. With that out of the way, let’s move into the Twilight Zone, or rather… who created it. For a series that came along as early as 1958, it was truly groundbreaking, and many episodes still hold up today because humans will always appreciate a good story and the writers who worked on The Twilight Zone were the best in the business. I happen to love it, so naturally I was also curious about its creator, the great Rod Serling.
In the Twilight Zone, he used to do an intro when a new episode started and an outro at the end, which I always found just as interesting as the programme itself. The show would always start with Serling saying:
“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call ‘The Twilight Zone’.”
Actually, why not listen to it yourself, it’s a belter of an intro that sets the tone:
Given his observations on life in The Twilight Zone, having written a number of the episodes, I was interested in how long his time on the mortal coil lasted and the manner in which he met his maker.
Call this morbid curiosity, if you will, but I’m often interested in this kind of thing, especially artists… as they tend to live the most interesting lives of all (I recall one where the artists lover shot him at close range with a gun, straight through the hand he painted with. Did that stop him? No way! He learned to paint with the other hand and carried on regardless).
Anyway, I digress. Let’s get back to Rod Serling…
He was a heavy smoker, apparently getting through 3 to 4 packets of cigarettes a day. Back in those days, it was not seen as being so hazardous to health and something decidedly relaxing to indulge in, so I don’t blame Rod for smoking his head off. I often think that if smoking was good for me, I’d probably be doing it too. One of my best memories as a kid was rebelliously smoking a cigarette and drinking a can of Shandy Bass that was 1.2% ABV (you may laugh, but you can’t bottle up a feeling that good when you’re 12 years old).
I checked how strong 1.2% alcohol is in terms of what it’s equivalent to, and I discovered Shandy Bass at 1.2% is similar to some overripe fruit or kombucha.
It seems I was rebelling by drinking the equivalent of what turned out to be fruit that was a bit ripe. Kombucha is healthy as well, isn’t it! On that basis, I was basically going to a health retreat with a cigarette. Pathetic, yet at the time in my head at the time, it was cool as shit.
The fact of the matter remains that Rod was puffing away on ciggies all day, which undoubtedly hastened his demise.
So how did Rod Serling die? Not how you’d think, given his addiction to cigarettes. He wasn’t propped up somewhere asking the bartender to pour him another bourbon.
Side note: For some reason I’m reminded of the joke, “Two hipsters walked into a bar, but they did it ironically.”
Far from it. Rod Serling had a heart attack at the relatively tender age of 50, after running on a treadmill, of all things. A fortnight later, he had a second heart attack which required open-heart surgery, and sadly it was all downhill from there.
I don’t know how Rod otherwise lived his life, and it’s true that some people get away with being heavy smokers into old age, so I can’t really say he died because he was a walking chimney, although that’s most probably the case. Rod expired after doing something seemingly healthy. Running on a treadmill was just too much that day and his heart couldn’t take it. Bad times.
It can happen to any of us at any moment. The world’s a stage, we play the part, and we can expire without warning. After that we’re quickly forgotten about unless we did something impactful in our lifetime (even Bob Monkhouse didn’t believe that applied to him and that time he wasn’t joking). Everything expires, including this blog, if I’m no longer around to tend to it.
Tomorrow isn’t promised, even if you do yoga every day and find the juiciest apple to keep the doctor away. The only time we have is right now, and if you make it to see tomorrow, remain thankful because it was never a given.
I have a story about another writer, but I’ll save it for another day, so for now I’ll leave you with Rod Serling to sign off. Until next time!