I confess to starting many things “on a lark” which eventually turn into pleasant obsessions. That would include up-selling little antiques that I find at thrift stores and garage sales, birdwatching, and whatever vintage or British TV series I watch with my morning coffee and my morning Ibuprofen.
And so began my fascination with the classic “Perry Mason” legal drama series, which ran for a whopping 271 episodes over nine years spanning 1957-1966. Yes, Perry Mason, a defense attorney created by Erle Stanley Gardner, who always had innocent clients, and capped every episode with a courtroom showdown with the unlucky District Attorney Hamilton Burger. Burger, played with hooded-eyed consternation by William Talman, was doomed to fail in these scenarios, as the actual criminals inevitably confessed in the witness box in the shows’ final moments, entrapped or uncovered by Perry’s skillful cross-examination. Once in a while, Perry—played to perfection by Raymond Burr with his sepulchral voice and eyes like searchlights under thunderously heavy brows—would involve Burger in the trap—but not often. Burger lived to be frustrated and humiliated.
And so when the series turned up on one of my streaming services, I absolutely couldn’t resist. Not only was this a familiar program from my childhood—when I definitely did NOT entertain any thoughts of becoming a lawyer—but I figured I would find it both ironic and amusing to watch from my vantage point as a former prosecuting attorney. In the world of the TV series, there were no female attorneys, with the exception of screen legend Bette Davis doing a guest star turn for an episode during Season Six, when Burr was sidelined, recovering from surgery. There were certainly no female prosecutors. In 271 episodes, there was a woman on the bench only three times. Fast forward fifty years to the present day. In the courthouse milieu where I worked for 18 years, it was not unusual for every single authority figure in the courtroom--judge, bailiff, court reporter, prosecuting attorney and defense attorney--to be female. In my own imagination, if I’d been occupying the prosecution’s seat in the courtroom instead of Hamilton Burger, I’d have been kicking Perry’s can all over the place in my high heels.
And so, coffee and breakfast and Ibuprofen at the ready, one morning I began and entered the time warp, starting with the very first episode and marching through all the way to the end. It took nearly a year to make it through.
It was easy to chuckle at the 1950s era male/female dynamics in play at first. Starting with the ridiculous Barbie-style “mules” Perry’s faithful secretary Della Reese minced around the office in for the first couple of seasons. She eventually graduated from the equivalent of sexy bedroom slippers to actual spike heels, which looked equally ludicrous in scenes where she was perchance stepping into a row boat or walking through a construction site.
Eventually, though, the entrenched power dynamics were disturbing when set against the modern realization that despite her competence and fidelity and unquestioned utility to Perry, good old Della would have been unable to get a credit card in her own name, much less unilaterally buy a house or a get an auto loan. Those days didn’t come about until 1974, long after the series had ended. If she wanted to get ahead, Della would have needed a man.
And still, I kept watching, in part because I love a good mystery, and in part because William Hopper—who played private investigator Paul Drake—was indeed a tall, cool drink of water (albeit quite the well-mannered chauvinist!).
Along the way, several rules or conventions emerged as through-lines for the writers. One appeared to be that tough divorce laws made for many a murder plot. The harder it was for a character to get a divorce from an unpleasant or inconvenient spouse, the more attractive it became to use an extra-judicial process.
Another was that the entirety of the U.S. military was populated and run by white men in uniforms.
Yet another was that business and industry were entirely run by white guys in suits. The roles of women were largely ornamental, though often colorfully villainous. Virtuous wives wore Peter Pan collars and were buttoned up to the chin, while femmes fatale really overdid it with the satin and the jewelry and the furs. Any woman over fifty was played either for laughs or for bitterness. The general contempt for women in business settings was illustrated by dialogue such as “Well, women in business…you know, I paid little attention” and “It’s a man’s world, Miss Krall, I do not take orders from lady straw bosses.”
In general, despite the foundational melting pot nature and reality of America, virtually every single character in 271 episodes was white. There was a single African American judge on the bench in a single episode—Season 6, Episode 6, “The Case of the Skeleton’s Closet”—but the actor was not credited in the cast, and more important, he didn’t utter a single word in the episode. So the entire customary dance of objections and insults lodged between Perry and Hamilton Burger in the courtroom requiring rulings from the bench--a veritable highlight of the episodes--was absent because, of course, this judge who wasn’t white wasn’t given a line to speak. And even that modest break from convention was controversial in the industry. By the way, giving credit where it’s long overdue, the person playing the part was Vincent Townsend, Jr., an actual judge in Los Angeles County and a friend of Thurgood Marshall.
As I finally wrapped up watching the series, it was easy at the time to think “oh thank God things aren’t like that anymore!” I have credit cards. I have a car. I received a seamless no-fault divorce without having to temporarily move to Reno, Nevada. And then the politics of 2025 settled in, and there is suddenly an increasing erasure in the military, in education, in history, in daily life, of the accomplishments and rights of anyone who doesn’t look like the dominant cast of Perry Mason in the 1950s.
Whether we are indeed hurtling toward a future that looks more and more like The Handmaid’s Tale or will be able to course-correct to what we had thought of as “normal” a year ago is an open question.
But if you’re interested in getting a preview as to where it looks like things are headed, I suggest you pull up the original Perry Mason series, and instead of a period piece, think of it as going “Back to the Future.”
And so began my fascination with the classic “Perry Mason” legal drama series, which ran for a whopping 271 episodes over nine years spanning 1957-1966. Yes, Perry Mason, a defense attorney created by Erle Stanley Gardner, who always had innocent clients, and capped every episode with a courtroom showdown with the unlucky District Attorney Hamilton Burger. Burger, played with hooded-eyed consternation by William Talman, was doomed to fail in these scenarios, as the actual criminals inevitably confessed in the witness box in the shows’ final moments, entrapped or uncovered by Perry’s skillful cross-examination. Once in a while, Perry—played to perfection by Raymond Burr with his sepulchral voice and eyes like searchlights under thunderously heavy brows—would involve Burger in the trap—but not often. Burger lived to be frustrated and humiliated.
And so when the series turned up on one of my streaming services, I absolutely couldn’t resist. Not only was this a familiar program from my childhood—when I definitely did NOT entertain any thoughts of becoming a lawyer—but I figured I would find it both ironic and amusing to watch from my vantage point as a former prosecuting attorney. In the world of the TV series, there were no female attorneys, with the exception of screen legend Bette Davis doing a guest star turn for an episode during Season Six, when Burr was sidelined, recovering from surgery. There were certainly no female prosecutors. In 271 episodes, there was a woman on the bench only three times. Fast forward fifty years to the present day. In the courthouse milieu where I worked for 18 years, it was not unusual for every single authority figure in the courtroom--judge, bailiff, court reporter, prosecuting attorney and defense attorney--to be female. In my own imagination, if I’d been occupying the prosecution’s seat in the courtroom instead of Hamilton Burger, I’d have been kicking Perry’s can all over the place in my high heels.
And so, coffee and breakfast and Ibuprofen at the ready, one morning I began and entered the time warp, starting with the very first episode and marching through all the way to the end. It took nearly a year to make it through.
It was easy to chuckle at the 1950s era male/female dynamics in play at first. Starting with the ridiculous Barbie-style “mules” Perry’s faithful secretary Della Reese minced around the office in for the first couple of seasons. She eventually graduated from the equivalent of sexy bedroom slippers to actual spike heels, which looked equally ludicrous in scenes where she was perchance stepping into a row boat or walking through a construction site.
Eventually, though, the entrenched power dynamics were disturbing when set against the modern realization that despite her competence and fidelity and unquestioned utility to Perry, good old Della would have been unable to get a credit card in her own name, much less unilaterally buy a house or a get an auto loan. Those days didn’t come about until 1974, long after the series had ended. If she wanted to get ahead, Della would have needed a man.
And still, I kept watching, in part because I love a good mystery, and in part because William Hopper—who played private investigator Paul Drake—was indeed a tall, cool drink of water (albeit quite the well-mannered chauvinist!).
Along the way, several rules or conventions emerged as through-lines for the writers. One appeared to be that tough divorce laws made for many a murder plot. The harder it was for a character to get a divorce from an unpleasant or inconvenient spouse, the more attractive it became to use an extra-judicial process.
Another was that the entirety of the U.S. military was populated and run by white men in uniforms.
Yet another was that business and industry were entirely run by white guys in suits. The roles of women were largely ornamental, though often colorfully villainous. Virtuous wives wore Peter Pan collars and were buttoned up to the chin, while femmes fatale really overdid it with the satin and the jewelry and the furs. Any woman over fifty was played either for laughs or for bitterness. The general contempt for women in business settings was illustrated by dialogue such as “Well, women in business…you know, I paid little attention” and “It’s a man’s world, Miss Krall, I do not take orders from lady straw bosses.”
In general, despite the foundational melting pot nature and reality of America, virtually every single character in 271 episodes was white. There was a single African American judge on the bench in a single episode—Season 6, Episode 6, “The Case of the Skeleton’s Closet”—but the actor was not credited in the cast, and more important, he didn’t utter a single word in the episode. So the entire customary dance of objections and insults lodged between Perry and Hamilton Burger in the courtroom requiring rulings from the bench--a veritable highlight of the episodes--was absent because, of course, this judge who wasn’t white wasn’t given a line to speak. And even that modest break from convention was controversial in the industry. By the way, giving credit where it’s long overdue, the person playing the part was Vincent Townsend, Jr., an actual judge in Los Angeles County and a friend of Thurgood Marshall.
As I finally wrapped up watching the series, it was easy at the time to think “oh thank God things aren’t like that anymore!” I have credit cards. I have a car. I received a seamless no-fault divorce without having to temporarily move to Reno, Nevada. And then the politics of 2025 settled in, and there is suddenly an increasing erasure in the military, in education, in history, in daily life, of the accomplishments and rights of anyone who doesn’t look like the dominant cast of Perry Mason in the 1950s.
Whether we are indeed hurtling toward a future that looks more and more like The Handmaid’s Tale or will be able to course-correct to what we had thought of as “normal” a year ago is an open question.
But if you’re interested in getting a preview as to where it looks like things are headed, I suggest you pull up the original Perry Mason series, and instead of a period piece, think of it as going “Back to the Future.”
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