One other reason, equally as good, is the annual Twilight Zone marathons.
Usually on Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends, somewhere on the six-hundred cable channels Charter overcharges me for, Rod Serling is telling me there's a place between light and shadow called the Twilight Zone. And he does it for forty-eight hours.
It's a given that at least two weekends a year I'll get to see William Shatner freaking out about a gremlin on the wing of his plane. Or about a fortune-telling machine with a devil's head on it in the booth at the diner.
I'll watch Burgess Meredith break his glasses, just as he has all the time he wants to read. I'll also get to see him square off against Fritz Weaver, explaining why he's not obsolete.
John Carradine will tell H.M. Wynant not to remove the small staff locking the door of the howling man, because he's really the devil. SPOILER ALERT: He doesn't listen and has to pay the price for it.
Captain Lutze will visit Dachau, and the ghosts of a million Jews will haunt him and eventually drive him insane.
And of course Ann Francis, as Marsha White, will go to the nonexistent ninth floor of the department store looking for a gold thimble, where she'll run into some familiar looking mannequins.
Under the guise of brilliant storytelling (Note to agencies: this is what real storytelling looks like), the Twilight Zone tackled real issues like racial prejudice, equal rights, crime and where an insatiable greed in all its forms inevitably gets you.
It's a testimony to Rod Serling's talent and imagination that decades after their original airing, the themes, stories and conclusions drawn on the Twilight Zone continue to be relevant.
Which I suppose makes it a sad commentary on us.
