Dr. Kildaire Has Left The Building

Growing up, one of my first crushes was with Dr. Kildare, Richard Chamberlain. I watched his show as the activities unfolded at Blair General Hospital, listening to the hospital speaker announce, “Calling Dr. Kildaire,” and was mesmerized as he walked in with his devastatingly good looks, grace, and charm. He was beautiful, and as a little Catholic girl, I knew there was no future in me ever becoming a nun with my strong feelings for Dr. Kildare.

Fast-forward to the Thornbirds, and I knew of not one woman who didn’t secretly see the priest as a celibacy challenge rather than a spiritual guide and was beyond eager to shepherd him to the other side. Not one. Even my gay friends were on the same mission, and I would later discover they not only had a winning strategy but would achieve victory in the future.

Richard Chamberlain was my first hardcore crush. In those days, if you were lucky enough to own a television, the youngest family member was often assigned the task of channel changer, typically walking on my knees to the dial on the TV and spinning it. This was significant because it was my designated role, giving me a sense of control. I memorized the channel his show was on without referring to the television bible, The TV Guide, desperately ensuring  I was home in time to catch the show. The anticipation was palpable as I once again walked on my knees over to the TV and turned the dial. And there he’d be, all perfect, kind, and gorgeous with his chiselled features.   What could I do except kiss the screen, only to feel an electric shock of what I perceived was affection travelling through this box of beautiful black-and-white imagery. Dr. Kildare was the recipient of my kisses, and I of his. How disappointing to learn years later that it was static electricity due to my cheap canary yellow pants rubbing on the carpet, triggering the insincere shock.

Dr. Kildaire came on when I had the TV to myself. I listened to his soothing voice and stared at his unmatched good looks. Once the show was cancelled, I desperately searched for him elsewhere, from game shows to celebrity interviews, until I had to resign due to his absence. Devastated, I hooked my wagon onto my next crush, Bobby Sherman from “Here Come the Brides.” The Ed Sullivan Show memorialized my future crushes from there by introducing me to Donny Osmond and The Herman’s Hermits, but Richard Chamberlain started it all for me.

Tiger Beat Magazine fueled my infatuations and various puppy loves. Having only one in the fantastic, dreamy realm of imagination wasn’t enough. It was too much fun to fantasize back then. Lacking money to buy the magazine, I spent time with a friend at school whose mother gave her plenty of funds to indulge weekly at the local smoke shop. As she sifted through the licorice, Lolas, loose gums, and Pixy Stix straws, her final reach was for the latest issue of Tiger Beat, which she generously tossed my way for a first glance. It became a catalogue of who might be our next crush. The schoolyard discussions were surrounded by nuns, or as I perceived them, the Sisters of No Mercy. Sporting their stern scowls, we secretly hid the magazine underneath our buttoned-up tops or beneath our dowdy skirts, which generously covered our knees, partially stuck down in our waist-high underwear, while the sisters looked on like veiled villains. We often spoke about how we never once saw their spouse, God, to whom they were married on Tiger Beat’s cover.

Over time, I began to stray from the debonair Dr. Kildaire archetype and pursued Donny Osmond until I found out he was a practicing Mormon. Being Catholic, it would never work. However, he had a suitable hairstyle for walking into our home. It wasn’t a brush cut back then, but it was short enough to permit entry, and he was such a cutie. From there, I began to have butterflies for the long-haired rock stars that would undoubtedly give my parents a stroke, but that’s how crushes develop. I went to the dark side, from the musicians of Pink Floyd to Led Zeppelin. Smashing every conservative stereotype from the ’60s and ’70s that I otherwise pursued. The longer the hair, the more swept away I became. I then pivoted and replaced Richard Chamberlain with “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.” Robert Redford. Redford was never on Tiger Beat, but then I was growing up. Dr. Kildare, however, paved the way as a progressive and compassionate first face during that time, and what a great crush to have. Richard Chamberlain’s influence on my understanding of crushes was shaping my preferences and choices in the world of infatuation.

Upon hearing the news of Richard Chamberlain’s passing, I knew many others with a similar crush to mine. Over the years, Chamberlain took on comedic parts, and though out of character from his Dr. Kildare days, his grace, panache, and elegance were completely intact. I discovered over the years that he was shorter than me and gay. Both were comforting non-starters in the fictitious dreamy world of crushes, but his voice still held that magic.

Thank you, Richard, for instilling in this little girl the power and grace for which you will always be remembered. Your gentle influence on my life, shaping my understanding of crushes to guiding my choices in the world of infatuation, is something I will always be grateful for.

See you on the other side.