Why is it that when it was announced a few weeks back that ABC was giving the axe to two of its venerable soap operas, One Life to Live and All My Children, I felt a tinge of sadness? No, not just a tinge. It was stronger than that; like something major and very wrong was taking place. And the reason I question my emotional response to the news is because I don’t watch either show. And I never did. Really, as the world turns, the days of my life have gone by year after year without much thought of either show. As far as I’m concerned they might as well be taking place in another world. But enough with the egregious puns; back to the self-analysis.

The only time I’ve ever seen All My Children is in random clips, watched here at the Paley Center in preparation for a project on the serial genre that we did back in 1997. As for One Life to Live, I did watch a full episode, one that revolved around daytime’s first gay teenager (played by future film star Ryan Phillippe), also for a work-related project. I’ll admit it: I don’t really like soaps. Their drawn-out way of storytelling doesn’t much appeal to me and they always seem hokier than other scripted dramas. And yet…the dual cancellation makes me feel like they’re tearing down the neighborhood bar—granted, I would never patronize my neighborhood bar because, from what I hear, it’s filled with whiney drunks I wouldn’t care to spend much time with. But it’s been there, serving its purpose for eons and because of its longevity I want it to keep on being there.

I guess it’s a sentimental reaction to the slow dismantling of one’s past. And by one’s past, I don’t necessarily mean what I myself did or what I personally watched, but those pieces of history that make up the world around you. Through the years, I’ve heard people I know and care about speak fondly of both programs; of the ritual of getting deeply involved in the story lines; of referring to characters on a first name basis with seemingly more affection than they probably held for certain relatives. But it also might have to do with the fact that even when you avoid certain facets of pop culture, they enter your life anyway. In my case, I actually had in-person contact with cast members from both series.

Back in the 1980s, I remember being down on Long Beach Island and seeing a marquee for a local nightclub letting you know that you could meet All My Children’s “Phoebe Tyler,” Ruth Warrick, that Friday night. I was struck by the incongruity I conjured up in my head of the woman I knew best for playing the First Mrs. Kane in Citizen Kane and Bobby Driscoll’s mother in Song of the South, standing in a nightclub greeting fans between boogie-woogies on the dance floor. But Phoebe Tyler was about to be closer than I imagined.

Going out to dinner that night, I was surprised to see that the party seated at the table next to ours included none other than the Island’s Celebrity of the Moment, Ms. Warrick. As she took her seat across from her dinner companions, I pictured her sitting opposite Orson Welles at the ever-lengthening dinner table in Citizen Kane, but the rest of the room was more than likely abuzz because she had been on AMC since its inception in 1970. That she had starred in one of the greatest movies ever made was probably irrelevant to most of the vacationers; at that moment in time you could switch on AMC most days and find her there. She was a current star. I rather liked that she didn’t just have to be thought of as a lady who’d done things a long time ago. She was still very active and on a series many people were aware of or watched. Back then, it was pretty much accepted that a lot of people watched All My Children. It had been around some fifteen years and at the time it seemed like it would stick around for what one presumed would be close to eternity. Who knew?

My personal connection with One Life to Live was more up-close. When I joined the board of Theatre World several years back, among those involved was Patricia Elliott, whom I knew from singing “Every Day a Little Death” on the original cast album of A Little Night Music. But what those outside the realm of musicals knew her for was playing Renee Divine Buchanan (a former madam, no less!) on OLTL, something she’d done since 1988. Patricia was always a pleasure to be around and would often drop droll comments about her less-than-scintillating experiences acting on the soap opposite fellow cast member Phil Carey (whom she was obliged to marry no less than three times on the series, until he finally departed this earth and left her a widow). Patricia was grateful to be a part of something with a large fan base, not to mention having a pretty steady job, one that didn’t require her to be at the studio every day, therefore giving her some flexibility in her life, without the terror of worrying if the phone would ever ring again. It was things like this that made me glad that soap operas seemed to be eternal.

But of course they’re not. They just seem that way. Indeed, the one soap my mother tuned in to faithfully for years, The Edge of Night, had been around longer than I had been when I used to watch it with her in the late 1960s. It managed to hang on throughout the 1970s, long after I had seen an episode. But then it bid goodbye in December of 1984, after a 28-year run.

So, with the death of soaps, I now I feel like I don’t quite understand the function of afternoon television. To me, when I was growing up, being home in the daytime meant game shows, soap operas, and black and white movies on WOR Channel 9. If you look at the current TV listings (and I don’t mean in the TV Guide because, just for the record, you can’t find the afternoon or morning television schedule in the newsstand version – hey, sounds like there’s a future blog in that too!), you’ll notice that the game shows have mostly disappeared, the afternoon movies are on cable (just as well), and now there will be only four soaps on the air, come next January (and why do I get the impression that their days are probably numbered too?). The lineup looks pretty bleak and now there’s something called The Chew on the way to take the place of the departing dramas. Blech! I’d hate to be home sick in bed with only basic to watch.

A recent article about the cancellation of AMC and OLTL (I’ve already forgotten which paper it was in) tried to dismiss the fan outcry as sentimental pining for a dying and/or dead genre; telling us that reality programming has replaced everything soaps did and now do them better. This made me feel deeply insulted for a genre I don’t even care for. If we’ve reached the point where scripted entertainment, which requires a degree of skill and talent to construct, whether you like the end result or not, and reality programming, which is the lowest form of lazy show business, are considered on the same level, then maybe I should just turn my back on the whole thing and spend more time reading books.

Tune in tomorrow…while you still can.