Why Brandon Tartikoff Really Mattered

Even people who don’t pay much attention to television probably felt a twinge upon hearing that Brandon Tartikoff had died--a sense of recognition not usually afforded to guys who wear suits and decide on which night to schedule sitcoms.

Tartikoff, who died Wednesday of complications related to treatment for Hodgkin’s disease at the age of 48, was one of those rare executives who put the “show” well ahead of the “business,” never forgetting that TV’s prime directive is to entertain.

People know of him in part because Tartikoff became part of that show--making cameo appearances on NBC sitcoms, showing up on interview programs and even hosting “Saturday Night Live.” He gleefully provided a glimpse into the machinations behind what they saw on television, before an explosion of new entertainment-oriented magazines, TV shows and cable networks brought the public into the process.

More than anything, however, Tartikoff’s 10-year run through the 1980s as president of NBC Entertainment conveyed the notion that TV may not always be good, as a much-discussed network ad campaign currently suggests, but at least it should be fun.

Indeed, in a hit-starved business where quality often seems to augur commercial doom, Tartikoff’s unabashed love for television allowed him to help churn out such classic programs as “Cheers,” “Hill Street Blues,” “The Cosby Show,” “Family Ties” and “St. Elsewhere,” even as he savored those offerings that garnered an audience while making critics wince, from “The A-Team” to “Punky Brewster.”

What made Tartikoff so refreshing as an executive, in fact, had less to do with the way he trumpeted his success than the manner in which he embraced his failures. In an industry ripe with inflated egos and self-importance, Tartikoff made a point of discussing even his most bone-headed decisions--hardly the norm in Hollywood, where half one’s time can easily be devoted to claiming credit for what works and shunning what doesn’t.

Tartikoff’s sense of humor was often self-effacing, joking about short-lived shows he championed such as “Manimal” (about a man who could transform into various beasts) and “Misfits of Science.” In that respect he recognized the alchemy behind introducing a series that connects with viewers, acknowledging that no one had a firm grasp on that answer.

He underscored that point in explaining how NBC became the dominant network on Thursdays thanks to “The Cosby Show,” which broke the stranglehold CBS enjoyed on the night with “Magnum P.I.”

“We were stumbling around in the dark,” he said in a 1995 interview. “I’d be lying if I said we had this great vision of what to do. We were just going up against a powerhouse in CBS and just wanted to come in second.”

This is not to say Tartikoff lacked an ego: far from it. He carefully tended his image, monitoring coverage of NBC in newspapers across the country, calling flabbergasted critics in far-flung towns to comment on their reviews and articles.

Network press conferences--traditionally drab affairs, with executives fielding questions about why they canceled some show about three kids and their surrogate parent figure--also took on a theatrical air in Tartikoff’s hands. He once literally swore on a stack of Bibles (held by an actor attired in priest garb, no less) that he would never order another program from Geraldo Rivera, after critics savaged NBC for putting on a particularly trashy Rivera-hosted special about Satanism.

Critics tended to give him the benefit of the doubt, even when NBC’s stream of hits dried up in the late ‘80s, ultimately leading to its slide from first place to third in the ratings. Guided in part by a shrewd sense of timing, Tartikoff left shortly before the check came due for the network’s past glory.

Tartikoff dabbled in some rather eccentric ventures in recent years, such as trying to craft a TV series based on the tabloid magazine Weekly World News. Perhaps commenting on the times, he named the production entity he formed last year the H. Beale Co.--after the crazed anchorman in the movie “Network.”

Still, Tartikoff’s fascination with the medium of television never appeared to waver. He became the youngest person ever to head an entertainment division in 1980, at age 31, and retained an almost-childlike enthusiasm throughout his career--as if unable to believe he got to play with those rectangular squares that determine where programs are scheduled.

Well after his tenure at NBC and a brief, uneven stint running Paramount Pictures, Tartikoff continued to be an impassioned advocate.

In April, hospitalized and nearly incapacitated by chemotherapy treatments, he took time to write a column for The Times in which he offered advice to network programmers, including such axioms as “Put on what’s not on” and “Don’t get hung up on the concept. Viewers make friends with characters, not the concept. Not many folks come home from work muttering to themselves, ‘I wish somebody would put on a good fire-station comedy.’ ”

As Grant Tinker--as chairman of NBC, Tartikoff’s boss from 1981-86--pointed out, the executive also happened to reach his professional peak when the three major networks still ruled the airwaves, before alternatives like Fox, cable, home videos and the Internet began whittling away at their audience.

“He was a man for that time and that job,” said Tinker, referring to TV in the mid-1980s, adding that the industry will “never be quite that way again.” Tartikoff agreed, titling his 1992 autobiography “The Last Great Ride.”

Brandon Tartikoff enjoyed that ride, but perhaps most of all he seemed to cherish television’s ability, in those rare moments, to be something more than just a dull glow in the midst of a dimly lit room.