Prime-time ladies

The line between TV and reality got squishy in 1992, when Vice President Dan Quayle decried the fictional character Murphy Brown’s decision to have a baby on her own. The resulting national discourse made it clear that there had been a cultural shift – that many people supported professional women having babies, even if they weren’t married. Yes, a TV character triggered that controversy. And in a new book, “What Would Murphy Brown Do? How the Women of Prime Time Changed Our Lives” (Seal Press, 256 pages, $16.95), author Allison Klein considers the lessons that women took from Murphy Brown and other TV sitcom heroines – especially those who came out of the women’s movement in the 1970s. She shows how different those women were from TV’s role models in the 1950s and 1960s. Here are some of the key women of television who Klein looked at and the modeling – good and bad – we got from them:

“Donna Reed, “The Donna Reed Show,” 1958-1966

What Klein says: Donna Reed, as well as Harriet Nelson and June Cleaver, conveyed that families are patriarchal, that “fathers know best,” that there should be no serious discord in a happy family and that housekeeping was one of a woman’s most important roles.

What we think: Donna Reed and the TV women of that era gave rise to unrealistic expectations of how families should look and behave. The message was that women should defer to men, look beautiful and well-groomed at all times – most insanely, by wearing pearls and heels to do housework.

“Mary Tyler Moore as Laura Petrie on “The Dick Van Dyke Show,” 1961-1966

What Klein says: Laura, like other prime-time moms of the era, presented a sanitized version of dependent women, a select group alien to the real-life experiences of most American women at the time.

What we say: At least Laura wore capris at home instead of a full-skirted dress and heels.

“Mary Tyler Moore as Mary Richards on “Mary Tyler Moore,” 1970 -1977

What Klein says: Mary represented the opportunities opening up for women during the 1970s; no longer was life preplanned with marriage and motherhood. She was an emblem (not coincidentally, a very pretty one) of early feminism. She also made it clear, through an occasional reference to “the pill,” that she sometimes slept with her dates – a new concept for TV.

What we say: We loved Mary for making it OK to stay single, to love your job and have fun at work, to form a new kind of “family” from your co-workers and friends. We also loved how she occasionally stood up to her boss, Lou Grant, even if her voice got girlishly high when she did – “Oh, Mister Grant!”

“Diahann Carroll as Julia Baker in “Julia,” 1968-1971.

What Klein says: In this first television comedy to star a black woman, Julia gave women a refreshing example of a successful middle-class single parent with a career as a nurse at a major hospital. It was a big step forward for television, for blacks and women – and conveyed an important cultural message that a well-functioning family could be led by a single mom (though in this case, she had to be widowed, not divorced).

What we say: We loved Julia’s independence. Her perpetual poise was inspiring; she showed that “mother knew best,” and she was usually much more wise than even the professional men with whom she worked.

“Bea Arthur as Maude Findlay in “Maude,” 1972-1978

What Klein says: Maude was a breath of fresh air and an icon of the political and social changes of the 1970s. As Norman Lear’s liberal, feminine counterpoint to Archie Bunker, she was older, not conventionally pretty, and loud – one of the most consciously feminist television sitcom characters in history. She was real, too; her character had an abortion, a face-lift and went through menopause.

What we say: We have a funny feeling a character with Maude’s edge would never make it to prime-time airwaves today, when TV favors young, bouncy and nonthreatening starlets. We admired her for her strength (if not the dusters she wore).

“Bonnie Franklin as Ann Romano on “One Day at a Time,” 1975-84

What Klein says: Romano offered a realistic image of family life – a more unsanitized view. The comedy featured the typical clashes between teenage girls (who dealt with hard issues, including drugs) and their mom. This woman-centered show also showed a mom who dated men and occasionally found herself in a serious relationship; it candidly explored the issues that single moms faced in the 1970s and ‘80s with sensitivity and humor.

What we say: A refreshing show with a strong single mom as a sexually independent being. But what was up with letting the handyman have such easy access to the apartment and the two teenage girls who lived there?

“Roseanne Barr on “Roseanne,” 1988-97

What Klein says: This working-class comedy, an extension of Barr’s real life as a wife and mother, was a marked contrast to the glamour of “Dynasty” and “Dallas.” She showed the problems average Americans faced, and her humor was strident – she was funny without worrying about being liked.

What we say: Roseanne was the “anti-Clair Huxtable,” hardly the image of grace or class. She was heavier than other TV moms, and didn’t mind being perceived as a bad wife and mother – occasionally, the message here seemed to be that motherhood might not be for every woman. But the in-your-face aggressiveness of the characters was balanced by the strong bonds among family members. There was no question they loved each other.

“Candice Bergen as “Murphy Brown,” 1988-98

What Klein says: This was a new kind of workplace comedy, with a lead who was complicated and flawed – a recovering alcoholic who was abrasive and very successful; a woman who could be insensitive and manipulative but also sympathetic.

What we say: Sometimes, the way Murphy told everyone off got a bit tiresome. But it was good to see a multidimensional, not-so-perfect woman as heroine. We loved how this “real woman” had a baby later in life and how she was so bad at keeping things together domestically that her painter had to take over that realm. See, women don’t have to be good at everything, she seemed to say.

“Sarah Jessica Parker as Carrie Bradshaw on “Sex and the City,” 1998-2004

What Klein says: This HBO show broke barriers when it came to women’s frank discussions of sex and love. Blunt conversations were sometimes shocking, often funny.

What we say: We loved how the women seemed to be (mostly) happy about being single and having one another as a network of support. The emphasis on conspicuous consumption? Not so much. (We know TV isn’t real, but still – $40,000 worth of Manolos?) And for some of us, the sex talk veered into pornography. Still, we loved the girls and how they were there for each other, through the ups and downs of romance, work and life.