I never found Bill Bixby to be a very convincing actor, I bet you he’s never read Aquinas or ate pork sausage in a wool sweater with frayed cuffs. Some say he was a husk of a man, I’d say he was a short unassuming fellow with copper-teeth and yellow-fin hair, the sort you might find in a popshop or a roofer’s garage. But then again I could be mistaken, as is often the case; rickets and frayed cuffs do that to a man, without him knowing any better or worse, or anything at all about serial television and mussel-guys for that matter.
