Here are two thoughts on today’s topic.
First. Some people face terrible adversity in their lives. And somehow, they manage to rise above it.
And secondly. I loved The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. I was also crazy about The Incredible Mr. Limpet. I haven’t seen either since I was a kid.
Which brings me to Don Knotts. Most people write him off as a mindless goofball. But this guy was really something.
I should tell you this. His father held a knife to his throat when he was young. Decades later, millions would find joy and laughter because of the man he would become.
Don Knotts was born in Morgantown, West Virginia, on July 21, 1924. Apparently, he arrived unexpectedly. His mother, Elsie, was already forty years old. His three older brothers were teenagers. And to top all of that off, his father, William Jesse Knotts, had suffered a mental breakdown five years earlier and never fully recovered.
It seems that William Jesse Knotts lived with schizophrenia and alcoholism in an era when neither condition was properly understood or treated. The family could not afford to get any help. And back then, people did not discuss such things.
So. As a result of this, Elsie was left to manage the home. But it was a home that could erupt into chaos without warning. At some point, Elsie and Jesse slept together. I wonder about the circumstances surrounding the event that led to her pregnancy. One has to wonder.
Anyway, as a boy, Don had to sleep on a cot in the kitchen. To reach any other room, he had to walk past his father, who spent most days on the living room sofa. Some days were calm. But other days were terrifying.
Years later, his mother would ask him if he remembered the times his father held a knife to his throat when he was still in diapers. Don, thankfully, had blocked those memories.
His mom must have been a good woman to hold everything together. She rented rooms in their home to college students for extra income. She worked any job she could find. She fed four growing boys while the Great Depression crushed families left and right.
She did her best to help Don with any of his dreams. She encouraged his early attempts at magic tricks. She laughed at his jokes. When a neighbor offered to pay him a few coins to perform at a party, she let him do it. When he wanted to become a ventriloquist, she did not dismiss it as foolish.
But his father was abusive. Don was terrified of him for good reason. Then, in 1937, his father died. Don was thirteen. A huge weight had been lifted. Once his dad died, Don excelled in high school. He became class president. He wrote a humor column. He performed in talent shows.
He served in World War II, entertaining troops across the Pacific. He attended West Virginia University. He moved to New York and struggled, taking any stage work he could find. The bottom line is that he worked hard in everything he did.
Then, the magic happened. In 1960, a new television show needed a nervous deputy. And there it was. The Andy Griffith Show made Don Knotts a star.
He won five Emmy Awards for being good Barney Fife. I like old Barney, I’ll tell you. And with that, he became one of the most beloved characters in television history. Critics called his physical comedy genius. And it was.
His mom, Elsie Knotts, lived long enough to see it all. She attended the premiere of The Incredible Mr. Limpet in 1964 as a guest of honor. I love this. Don bought her a house. She watched him win awards and make movies and TV shows. She watched him succeed. She died in 1969.
Don Knotts worked until shortly before his death in 2006, at age eighty-one.
In interviews, he spoke about his childhood with a lot of compassion and understanding. He said his father’s illness was not a choice. He honored his mother.
I’d say he was a good man in this world. Goofy. And good.
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“What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.” — Plutarch
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“Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.” — Cormac McCarthy
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“I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy.” — Robin Williams
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“Out of difficulties grow miracles.” — Jean de La Bruyère
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