The sun was beginning to dip behind the jagged peaks of the Santa Monica Mountains. Mike Farrell sat on a weathered wooden bench, the kind that creaks with…

Mike Farrell was halfway through a story about his grandkids when the air began to change. He was sitting on a quiet patio in the hills, the California…

I was sitting in a small, soundproof studio recently, recording an episode for my podcast, and the host asked me something I haven’t been asked in a very…

The coastal town of Newport, Oregon, is a place defined by its relationship with the mist. It rolls in off the Pacific, heavy and grey, blurring the lines…

It was a late-afternoon session for a documentary about the legacy of the show, and the lighting in the studio was that warm, amber hue that makes everything…

So, Alan, do you remember the smell? Not the prop smell of stale coffee and dusty canvas, but the real, lingering, aggressive smell? Mike Farrell’s voice crackles with…

The warehouse was cold, but the air inside the corner unit felt decades older. Mike Farrell adjusted his glasses, his boots echoing against the concrete floor. Loretta Swit…

Loretta sat on the porch of her home, the late California sun catching the silver in her hair as she leaned back in the wicker chair. Across from…

The interview was taking place in a dimly lit television studio in the early nineties, years after the dust of the Korean War had settled for the final…