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Lamb Chop in Search of a Martini

January 9, 2012 | by

When recently asked his opinion of monogamy, John Waters said, “I don’t need another person to make me feel whole. I feel crowded.” The line immediately reminded me of ventriloquist Shari Lewis. Lewis wasn’t crowded, exactly, with only three enduring creations—Lamb Chop, Charlie Horse, and Hush Puppy—but to me her career is emblematic of the simultaneously crowded and lonely nature of puppeteering. By Lewis’s own admission, Lamb Chop’s Play-Along, which I grew up watching during its run on PBS from 1992 to 1997, had no educational content. (“My show is not organized to educate,” she said. “Sesame Street does that brilliantly.”) Instead, Play-Along was a serialized sock-puppet soap opera (“At Home with Lamb Chop”) which kept being interrupted by knock-knock jokes, songs, and gags (including an ingenious method of preslicing a banana so that it would tumble to pieces, Jenga-style, when unpeeled). The show was like Borscht Belt boot camp: a toolbox for kids who desperately wanted to be liked, full of little tricks to spruce up their personalities. Even Lamb Chop’s laugh—a hesitant, schmoozy laugh that usually comes in response to jokes she doesn’t quite understand—hints at her desire to fit in.

The show’s emphasis on showmanship stressed me out as a kid, and I preferred the “At Home with Lamb Chop” sequences. They were absorbingly plotted but also had none of the perils of interaction, of trying to woo friends, of trying to follow along at home with your own banana. “At Home with Lamb Chop” offered the comforting suggestion that friends weren’t necessary, that one could simply chop one’s own personality to bits, and, earthworm-style, the pieces would all sprout heads and start bickering.

Shari Lewis—née Sonia Hurwitz—was raised in the Depression-era Bronx and learned ventriloquism at the knee of an ancient black vaudevillian named John W. Cooper. Her first dummy dated from the turn of the century. Her breed of shtick, in other words, was ancient even when she started out—but it was shtick that continued to delight mainstream audiences. In the forties and fifties, ventriloquist dummy Charlie McCarthy had stars like Marilyn Monroe and Humphrey Bogart on his radio show; when McCarthy costarred in a movie with W. C. Fields, the posters crowed, “At last!”

Lewis’s first national television series, The Shari Lewis Show, ran on NBC from 1960 to 1963, and while the show was broadcast on Saturday mornings, surviving episodes have a sophisticated bite. Lewis had studied with Method-acting legend Sanford Meisner (she may have brought puppets to their sessions—it’s unclear), and her naturalistic, seemingly impromptu conversations with Lamb Chop entranced adult fans ranging from Errol Flynn to Sammy Davis Jr. Lewis was young and beautiful, too, and the music was arranged for a piano and a xylophone, supplying the show with a boozy lounge-lizard feel. In fact, after her NBC show ended (due, Lewis claimed, to the rise of cheap animated series), Lewis performed a Vegas nightclub act that featured a soused Lamb Chop groping around the stage in search of a martini. In one bit, Lamb Chop hoped to become a Playboy bunny; in another she cracked Nixon jokes. PBS didn’t pick Lewis up for almost thirty years, and this was a scrappy, frustrating period for her, during which she conducted symphony orchestras, starred in stock productions of Funny Girl, Bye Bye Birdie, and Damn Yankees, and opened for Jack Benny at casinos.

Lewis’s work, however, rarely tipped into seediness, in part because Lamb Chop’s voice—her singing voice in particular—is shot through with purity. In Blue Valentine Ryan Gosling’s character says, “I can’t really sing. I have to sing goofy, in order to sing. Like, I have to sing stupid.” That’s true for Lewis. While her own singing voice has a metallic, tremulous Judy Holliday quality to it, when singing as Lamb Chop she is singular—producing an adorable little caterwaul with phrasing as crisp as Sinatra’s. If that comparison seems presumptuous, it should be explained that on The Shari Lewis Show Lewis’s puppets regularly dug into the American songbook, with an emphasis on flippantly woeful ballads: within a single episode, Hush Puppy sang “They Can’t Take That Away from Me,” and Lamb Chop delivered “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face.”

They were beautiful, those songs, though perhaps I have a perverted sense of what’s beautiful. Of all the aspects of puppetry that simultaneously muss the illusion and sustain it, there are few I love as much as puppet vibrato. Muppets like Miss Piggy are made of sculpted foam latex, and can only simulate vibrato by rather mechanically clapping their mouths open and shut—but as a nearly unadorned sock, Lamb Chop’s face is extraordinarily expressive. Her vibrato shows up as a ripple, a series of split-second fabric bunchings, an Adam’s apple that ricochets around her head like a pinball. And yet it’s less realistic than a Muppet trill, because in scrutinizing Lamb Chop’s face you can pick out a thumb here, a pinkie there. Realism’s no priority in ventriloquism, of course—the Man Behind the Curtain is there, and Lewis designed her routines knowing that children were drawn to staring at her clenched teeth, trying to catch her on the plosives. I used to relish this little game, especially in a world of kiddie entertainment where “magic” was laboriously, and often tiresomely, sustained.

And yet the emotions of Lewis’s high-strung little socks remained poignant. Film critic David Thomson has written that “the most special effect in movies is always the human face when its mind is being changed.” He didn’t mention what Shari Lewis gives us: the effect of the human hand changing its mind.

Like Grover and Cookie Monster, Lamb Chop sings willfully, with an insistence on hitting notes she doesn’t quite have. So she hits them. Note, also, the subversive guttural chs that Lewis has Lamb Chop use when she’s singing “The First Noel,” at 7:13 in the video above. It’s the giddy usage of a little Jew who’s just been taught how to pronounce challah and is overdoing it. (Lamb Chop, with her Yiddishy line inflections, often seems Jewish—and Charlie Horse definitely is, having once referred to himself as “one of the few Palomino Jews.”) Although Lewis’s family was not observant, she considered herself culturally Jewish, telling a member of the American Jewish Committee, “I certainly am alienated from society. Jews are alienated from society.” While conceding that she grew up in a Jewish community, Lewis added, “Once you look out at the outer world you see the rest of them. You become aware of the fact that it’s us and them, and that ‘us and them’ never leaves you, I think.” Being a woman isolated Lewis further. “The real difference between Jim [Henson] and me was his power as a team player,” she said. “Girls are not brought up that way.”

This alienation comes across in her work: the profession of ventriloquism was assurance that Lewis would never have to interact onscreen with anyone other than herself. I recently watched her 1996 guest appearance on Sesame Street; the episode is ostensibly about a kittenish Lamb Chop learning how to meet new people, but what struck me was how furiously Lamb Chop and Lewis kept their eyes on each other throughout. Big Bird, Lamb Chop’s “new friend,” just stood there like a lug while the two of them sang. A new friend, of course, would throw their rhythm off. Their shtick is self-sufficient.

For a while my friend Sara and I had a running parlor game in which we tried to determine who in our lives qualified as a “tragic figure”—who, that is, had been battered by misfortune and failure to the point that they transcended reality and seemed to exist in enormous, Jocasta-ish proportions. The game faded from our lives, partly because of the gradual realization that we might be tragic figures ourselves, but it all came flooding back when I watched a recording of Shari Lewis’s 1993 appearance at the Museum of Television & Radio. It was a blip in Lewis’s fifty-year showbiz career, but a revealing blip all the same.

The turnout was mostly children, and Lewis hastily abandoned the planned interview and began prancing about and singing to hold their attention. Less than five feet tall, she seemed to be all pantsuit lapels. There was no sweetened laugh track to leaven her jokes, either, and as gag after gag flopped, Lewis took to doing little burlesque bumps and saying things like, “I need a rimshot!” Her fear of being washed up was obvious. When asked if her show had been renewed, Lewis tentatively replied, “We’re going to find out Tuesday at twelve o’clock.”

Later in the Museum of TV & Radio appearance, she invited a small child onto the stage. The skittish child tried to retreat, but Lewis coaxed her back, manhandled her onto her lap, and ordered her to tell a knock-knock joke. When the joke turned out to be incomprehensible, Lewis froze for a second, then laughed mechanically to get the audience going—but you could see her nostrils flaring with disgust at the kid’s unprofessionalism. That same year, Lewis told the Baltimore Jewish Times, “I am a performer who loves performing.” When the reporter prompted her, “And loves children?” Lewis hastily added, “Yeah, oh yeah, I love children.” She’s not too convincing—and watching the Museum of Television & Radio appearance made her plight obvious: Lewis performed for children because they were the only people still showing up.

She was never particularly into kids as an audience. While touring in a production of Funny Girl in 1967, she told newspapers, “I don’t want to be known as a children’s performer. I’m an entertainer.” She spent decades yenning for a prime-time sitcom. A month before her sixtieth birthday, she boasted to the New York Times, “It’s something I’ve always wanted, and the offers are finally coming my way.” No such offer materialized, of course—but Lewis never incorporated her resentment of Lamb Chop (if she had any) into her act.

A small mountain of lore has accumulated on the subject of Lewis’s connection with Lamb Chop—it’s been suggested that she smuggled the puppet along on her honeymoon and that she insisted producers flying her places purchase a seat on the plane for Lamb Chop—but it’s hard to tell how much of it’s apocryphal. Lewis herself confessed that after The Shari Lewis Show was cancelled in 1963, she “went to Lamb Chop and cried with her. But it hasn’t happened since.” Even once seems like a lot, though, and Lamb Chop’s Play-Along often seems to be referring to that moment of demented codependency, presenting situation after situation in which Lamb Chop is jonesing to get away from Lewis. Here’s a typical exchange:

Lamb Chop: She treats me like such a child. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, Shari is always lurching in the background. It’s not healthy.
Shari: Well, what do you want?
Lamb Chop: I think it’s time you tried to find some friends your own age. (pause) No matter how long that takes.

It’s a winningly abrasive routine, but I think I prefer the yearning, Ramona Quimby-esque Lamb Chop of The Shari Lewis Show. She was still fantasizing about solitude in 1961, but the sentiments were abstract and dreamy: “Sometimes I wish I could go away to a little town where nobody knows me … and tell them about me,” she said once.

Of course, Lamb Chop did get her solitude: Shari Lewis died on August 2, 1998, of complications from uterine cancer. Lewis died when I was on the cusp of outgrowing Lamb Chop. If she’d stuck it out for a couple of months, I wouldn’t have needed closure, wouldn’t have had to dig my cleats into her life as I’m doing now. As it is, even Lewis’s televised sign-off fascinates me. It was a little jingle called “Hello, Goodbye,” and in its very chintziness it seems to be encoded with the tragic disappointments of Lewis’s career. The song was edited to a montage of Lewis’s greatest screen triumphs (none of which seem very great, and none of which are as moving as the simple arrival of Lamb Chop’s runny-nosed falsetto two minutes in). “Hello, Goodbye” was the last time Lewis appeared on camera. Huddled with the rest of the crew of The Charlie Horse Music Pizza to watch the playback, Lewis fixated on Lamb Chop’s televised form, saying, “Isn’t she beautiful, isn’t she funny, isn’t she hysterical?”

Well, yes, she is. But then, I have a perverted sense of what’s beautiful.

Matt Weinstock lives in Manhattan.

24 COMMENTS

23 Comments

  1. L.George Alexander | January 9, 2012 at 11:06 am

    I would like to know why Matt Weinstock disliked Sherri and her puppets so much. This is a hatchet job.

  2. scout3808 | January 9, 2012 at 11:34 am

    Never really a fan for just the same reasons listed in the article. Shari Lewis’ disappointment with her life showed through her acting. Nothing was smooth about the scenes in her TV show. It was halting in it’s timing and painful to watch Shari sing those awful songs. I just wonder who’s idea it was to expose kids to her toxic aura of false cheerfulness and denial.

  3. Lorin Stein | January 9, 2012 at 6:02 pm

    Oh, Scout, I think we must have watched different footage!

  4. Kathryno | January 10, 2012 at 4:43 pm

    I don’t think it’s a hatchet job at all. Just very bittersweet. I recently saw Lewis in an old episode of “The Nanny.” It was the first time I’d ever seen the “martini” version of Lamb Chop, and I found it quite jarring. It’s interesting to learn how much more there was to Shari outside the kid stuff.

  5. Nancy Sander | January 11, 2012 at 3:52 am

    Perhaps if I belonged to a Shari Lewis and Puppets fan club I too would be upset by this article. I don’t belong to one but I really liked Lewis’ work and I like this article. In fact I feel an exhilarating connection with the author and gratitude for his research and tribute to this versatile female artist. When I was growing up fifty + years ago, Shari Lewis came on tv just before the news which my parents always watched. This allowed me to catch a few minutes once in a while. Somehow even as a preteen I found it honest and reassuring how Lewis moved comfortably from adult, discretely to child and back to adult. I recognized that her show had more in common with my father’s favorite performer Victor Borge than children’s shows, like Howdy Doody . Talk about closure, not until now have I been able to say “Lewis was important to me” . For me, Lewis the adult and only human on the show as i recall was clearly the master of her television ship unlike the greats with shows of their own. Why even brilliant Ann Southen , the secretary, was part of ensemble cast, and slap stick comedienne genius Lucy was wife working with other humans. For me Lewis was a woman on her own, “handling ” it all. Puppetry allows suspension of disbelief . In my case I started believing she created it all, wrote the shows, and made things up as she went along which made me believe I could handle come what may. As an adult I appreciate how hard she worked and what a talent she was, I thank Weinstock for reminding me of Shari Lewis., of my lprivate influences and enjoyments, of dear Lampchop and the other puppets too, For my mind, Weinstock crafted a piece a little bit crowded, but not too crowded –just enough facts and personal information to jar me into recalling . Thanks too for all the videos especially Christmas one. Encore and Sock it to me, you with the marvelous quotes.

  6. Mallory Lewis | January 11, 2012 at 11:02 am

    Shari Lewis was an amazing talent. She touched millions of people. She meant SO much to them that nearly 15 years after her passing they are STILL coming to Lamb Chop’s shows to tell me how much they loved Shari.

    Shari DID want to perform for adults, and I think she would be gratified to know that Lamb Chop’s audience is now primarily just that… the grown up versions of the kids she entertained for decades. And she would be thrilled that Lamb Chop lives on!

    However…

    “Huddled with the rest of the crew of The Charlie Horse Music Pizza to watch the playback, Lewis fixated on Lamb Chop’s televised form, saying, “Isn’t she beautiful, isn’t she funny, isn’t she hysterical?”……. DIDN’T HAPPEN, we would know, we were there, we are her daughters…. and we are so proud of her! Mallory Lewis and Lamb Chop

  7. Matt Weinstock | January 11, 2012 at 11:33 am

    Mallory,

    Thank you so much for your comment. Your mother was indeed a phenomenal talent, and it was a pleasure to rediscover her work in the course of researching this piece.

    The “Isn’t she beautiful” line is a direct quote from Nikki Tilroe (a principal puppeteer on The Charlie Horse Music Pizza)–she is quoted in Todd Stockman’s Winter 1998 Puppetry Journal piece, “In Memoriam: Shari Lewis.” The relevant passage:

    “Nikki was in the ‘puppeteer’s pit’ to manipulate ‘Lamb Chop.’ Shari’s long-time puppeteer and puppetmaker Pat Brymer was there as ‘Hush Puppy.’ And in a rare and poignant move, Shari’s daughter, Mallory jumped in to expertly perform ‘Charlie Horse,’ in what Nikki calls ‘a fitting and touching tribute to her Mom.’ After the three puppeteered the famous trio to Shari’s voice-track, the cast and crew gathered to watch the playback. Nikki recalls, ‘Shari kept looking at Lamb Chop on the TV screen saying, “Isn’t she beautiful, isn’t she funny, isn’t she hysterical,” in a way saying goodbye to Lamby…’ Afterward, Shari addressed everyone in a numbing speech on the set, telling them about her recently diagnosed health condition. She then headed back to Los Angeles to bravely undergo chemotherapy. For the first time that anyone could remember, Shaft Lewis, the real trouper, had to miss a show.”

  8. Cindy | January 11, 2012 at 11:35 am

    Get this–I had NO idea shari did the voice for lambchop. !!

  9. Mallory Lewis | January 11, 2012 at 11:58 am

    Lovely quote from Nikki… That part is just not accurate. Mom would have been FAR to busy making sure she approved the take to be talking. :-)

    Although I don’t agree with some of it… your piece was a deeper take on my mom than most.

  10. Mallory Lewis | January 11, 2012 at 12:05 pm

    Matt… would love to contact u directly, can u send me ur contact to my email on my website, plz? Many thanks, Mally

  11. Mike Clark | January 11, 2012 at 11:39 pm

    One things Matt forgot to mention is that Shari and her husband Jeremy wrote the script for the 3rd season STAR TREK episode “The Lights of Zetar.” Shari lobbied for the lead female guest star role but was turned down by producer Fred Freiberger. I think she would have been great!

  12. Gordon Bressack | January 12, 2012 at 2:54 am

    Matt – I think you might have a different appreciation of Shari if you were a bit older. To baby boomers like myself Shari Lewis was our first crush. I know I loved her. She touched my prepubescent self in a way that no other performer at that time did. There were other ventriloquists I enjoyed like Paul Winchell, for example, but none had the same “romantic” attraction for boys of my age. Her career might have been uneven in later years (I think Music Pizza was an excellent show) but she influenced and touched a whole generation and that is quite a legacy.

  13. Chuck Collins | January 12, 2012 at 11:53 am

    My favorite Shari Lewis appearance was on an episode of “LOVE AMERICAN STYLE” entitled “Love and the Dummies”. She co-starred with fellow master ventriloquist Paul Winchell in one of the sweetest and cutest stories ever. While they both utilized their puppeteering talents, Shari showed that she had much more depth and acting ability than she was normally allowed. It also may be the only dramatic appearance she ever made from then on than did not involve Lamb Chop.

  14. Mike Doran (aka Lowbrow Crank) | January 12, 2012 at 12:55 pm

    My kidhood years were the late ’50s- early 60s, so I definitely remember Shari Lewis’s Saturday morning show.

    Shari was not alone – not at all.

    There was always some other human around to interact with Shari and her puppets, mainly recruited from Broadway shows that were running at the time. Most of the cast of CARNIVAL, the musical version of the movie LILI, turned up, especially that show’s puppeteer – the young Jerry Orbach.
    I also recall a chubby young comic who had a running part as a bumbling detective named “Kenny Ketchum”. Unless I’m mistaken, this was Dom DeLuise’s first TV appearance.
    Here’s how fargone I am – I even remember the theme song. I’d quote it, but it was mainly nonsense words and I’m not sure of the spelling.
    One point, though: Shari Lewis was my first crush, too.

  15. Russ Lewis Russo | January 12, 2012 at 2:34 pm

    I enjoyed Mr. Weinstock’s review of Shari Lewis career very much. I was brought up to entertain at her birthday party in once in New York City, in the fifties. It was a joke I think, in retrospect, on Shari, that they would hire a ventriloquist to entertain a ventriloquist and her guests at her birthday party. I remember her generosity n sharing with me later, she took the time to privately animate and voice several of her puppets.

    One was a spaceman puppet complete with glass bubble, predating Lambchop, that I don‘t believe was used much in public, if at all. Shari gave form to her make believe world of sights and sounds. She gave meaning to the term‘ beside the self. She brought into higher relief for me and for her many fans, the distinction between the animate and the inanimate, the concept of dualism. She played with the mystery of a world of dimensions that holds enraptured between what we do and what we do not see. She with great delight brought this into form for us and did so with great clarity through the lens of her art of ventriloquism.

    Her work I believe was intended not merely to entertain which Shari did magnificently. But after reading Mr. Weinstock’s excellent research, an underlying philosophy rises to the surface and I sense on her part, a determination, a defiance, against that which would demean the human spirit, demoralize, depress and close the mind to hope, to inventive solution. Shari unfalteringly showed more than just great ventriloquial technique, she demonstrated that our imaginations were more than a closed system by dramatizing how the material and immaterial are able to interact by exercising the gift of ‘self-talk’ into a paly on the plurality of the self. Sheri Lewis exchanged self for ’celebrity, but not only for her sake, it was for ours as well that she grafted the role of Lamb Chop for our delight and greater good overall.

  16. John Christie | January 12, 2012 at 2:57 pm

    What a great article. I worked with Shari for many years as an editor, both on Play Along and Music Pizza as well several specials. Shari was the ultimate Vaudevillian, she could sing, dance, or tell a joke, all with a puppet or two to contend with at the same time. She could switch character voices instantly when performing, two puppets would be arguing with each other and Shari was trying to intervene and she’s doing all the voices flawlessly.

    I edited “Hello Goodbye” originally for Music Pizza, but soon afterwards I cut the version you have in your article to be shown at her memorial service in LA. I haven’t seen it in years and it brought a tear to my eye to see it again.

  17. Alan Cook | January 13, 2012 at 3:54 pm

    I saw Shari in 1980 at the Kennedy Center, in Reno-Sparks at Harrah’s (I think), and at the Walnut Creek (CA) Civic Arts Gallery auditorium where the audience was mainly adults. The adults all loved what they got to see.

    In Reno, I had to watch from the light booth. It was her last night of that booking, and the sound guy and the lighting technician were laughing their heads off—they explained that what they were seeing was all new material that night!

    Shari was one of the most DETERMINED performers I have ever witnessed.

    Many careers had ups and downs, as did hers. I once saw her at the Los Angeles County Fair perform in a head-to-toe clown suit. We got her at Walnut Creek because she was “available”–but the sold-out 500 seat house also proved that she was as great as ever. It was the first time I’d seen Lamb Chop soused, and there was some rustling among the audience but it did not last long. Shari won them over.

    At the Memorial when the Hello/Goodbe clips were run on the screen, there was not a dry eye among the mourners. First off, Shari’s DETERMINATION was never more in evidence. Of course she knew it was the end—the very last Good Bye. Just thinking again about it renews my tears. She had INDOMITABLE COURAGE and showbiz guts as strong as any performer and moreso than most.

    It was a rare Memorial that truly brought things to a full circle of life.

    Yes, Dom Deluise began his TV career with her, and he was also on her last show. That too, was a powerful, very human moment.Another full-circle.

    TV was better with Shari Lewis around.

    While there is room for variations in memory, I appreciate all the comments posted.

  18. Bruce R. Thurer | January 17, 2012 at 10:25 am

    I’m late to the conversation, but my favorite memory of Shari Lewis (whom I thought was lovely) was her appearance on “Car 54, Where are You?” The episode centered on a blind date with Fred Gwynne, who was at least a foot and a half taller than Shari was. It was the moment I realized (age 13) that she was not only lovely and enjoyable. She was beautiful. I still remember the scene where she comes to the door–50 years later.

  19. Shawn Cullen | January 17, 2012 at 12:33 pm

    I was too young to remember “The Shari Lewis Show” but my local public library had at least two books on puppetry (mostly how to make puppets) authored by Lewis which I borrowed repeatedly as a child. I have not seen those books in decades, but the odd tone of melancholy that ran through them has stayed with me. Lewis used little stories to illustrate how she had learned to make various puppets (for instance, one was taught to her by a nurse when a family member was gravely ill in a hospital). I was a solitary child, really quite unsocial, but even I was struck by the sad tone of these supposedly jolly books aimed at kids, underscored by the austere black & white photo illustrations.

  20. ninja3000 | January 17, 2012 at 1:04 pm

    I too had a crush on Shari back during her first TV series, and (coincidentally) a couple decades later had a girlfriend who always was being told by strangers how much she looked like Shari.

    And I also miss Lambchop.

  21. David Cohen | January 17, 2012 at 2:52 pm

    A quibble: It’s not *precisely* true to say that by choosing ventriloquism, Shari Lewis never had to interact with anyone else. She did appear as an actress in the 1960s. I remember watching a rerun of “The Man From Uncle” on cable in the 1980s and being astonished when Shari Lewis came onscreen, because I had only seen her in black-and-white as a child and never knew she had flaming red hair. I called my roommate into the room and asked her “Do you know who that is?” My roommate squinted and said “She looks familiar, but I don’t know.” I walked over to the TV and turned the color off, and she instantly said “Oh! It’s Shari Lewis!”

  22. Stephen Karlinchak | January 22, 2012 at 5:19 pm

    I am a 53-year old man. I am also employed as a newspaper librarian. When Shari Lewis died, a female copy editor came into the newspaper’s morgue to retrieve a photograph of Ms. Lewis for her obituary.

    I got kinda of misty-eyed when I was told of her death. I blurted out: “Shari Lewis was my first crush.”

    The copy editor replied: “You are not alone. You are the third or fourth man in the newsroom to tell me that.”

  23. margaret human | April 25, 2012 at 3:02 pm

    funny that she didnt like to do educational. music pizza was lots of fun and very educational. I used to watch it w/ my grandchildren and kept wondering why we never see it in reruns. I guess it is because a lot of folks think like this reviewer, but i dont.

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