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Rod Serling at 100: The Twilight Zone Creator Remembered
Remembering the visionary who changed culture forever with The Twilight Zone.
"You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension. A dimension of sound. A dimension of sight. A dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into... The Twilight Zone."
You know the words. You know the show (which airs regularly on SYFY). You even know the iconic twist endings. But what do you know of the man who changed our culture forever? The man who dared to drag our ugly fears, prejudices, and vices into the daylight for all to see? That brilliant man was Rod Serling, and on the anniversary of his hundredth birthday, we honor him as a visionary, a pioneer, and one of the most important storytellers of the last century. Strike that — he was (and remains) one of the most important storytellers of all time.
"Rod was writing about the human condition in all of its weakness and frailty and grandeur," Marc Scott Zicree, author of The Twilight Zone Companion (essential reading for TZ fans everywhere), tells SYFY WIRE over Zoom. "He had hope for humanity, but he did not have blinders on. He really saw mankind for what it was and still had hope."
"It breaks my heart that he left us at 50, because I think if he had lived on, he would have had even more of a impact on our society," adds his eldest daughter, Jodi Serling, on a separate phone call. "There was so much more to him that he wanted to get out there ... He did enjoy his success, but I don't think he ever would have understood the depth of the impact of him on our society would be coming to fruition like it has."
Remembering Twilight Zone creator Rod Serling on his 100th birthday
Born on December 25, 1924 to a Reform Jewish family in Upstate New York, Rod Serling grew up in Binghamton, which became his place of solace — even after he found fame and fortune in Hollywood. "He loved so much about that town," Jodi says. "It's where he really hung his hat." Rod's deep affection for the place (and his upbringing at large) eventually manifested itself in the classic Twilight Zone episodes like "Walking Distance" and "Kick the Can," which both highlight the fleeting magic of youth and the double-edged sword of nostalgia.
"He used to tell me, 'Don't ever lose your child like qualities because if you do, that's when you grow old,’" Jodi recalls. Indeed, her father never lost his childlike enthusiasm, especially when it came to the double celebration of Christmas and his birthday every December. "My dad was more excited than a child. He wanted to open presents before Christmas, and my mom kept saying, ‘No, you can't open them.’ It just was such an exciting time."
Rod's yearning for the past only intensified during his military service as a paratrooper in the Pacific during World War II. "When he was over in the Philippines, he wasn't able to come back in time [before] his father died," Jodi continues. "I think that loss had a tremendous effect on him, inspired a lot of his writings, and also showed the loss and yearning to go back in time and have things the way they were before he went overseas." Moreover, the unspeakable horrors he witnessed during the conflict (including the accidental decapitation of a close friend by an airdropped supply crate) resulted in severe PTSD, which Serling often confronted through his work. "It was cathartic and painful for him to write about that," Jodi notes, referring to the fact that three separate Twilight Zone episodes — "The Purple Testament" (Season 1), "A Quality of Mercy" (Season 3), and "The Encounter" (Season 5) — were directly inspired by her father's wartime experiences.
After returning home, Serling used the G.I. Bill to study literature at Antioch College in Ohio and, upon graduating, pursued a career in writing — first in radio and then in the nascent television industry. He gained notoriety and a slew of Emmys in the latter space with a string of acclaimed productions written for live anthology programs like NBC's Kraft Television Theatre and CBS's Playhouse 90. In 1955, following the murder of Emmett Till, Rod had hoped to write a television piece on racism in America, but knew it would be torn to shreds by the highly restrictive network censors and sponsors. His solution of getting around that obstacle ended up being The Twilight Zone.
"He thought, ‘Well, if I write a science fiction, fantasy, or horror, I can say what I want to say about the human condition and the censors won’t notice,'" Zicree says. "That’s absolutely what happened. But Rod never intended to be a science fiction writer. He wanted to be the Arthur Miller of television. The times being what they were in the 1950s, the censors and sponsors weren’t going to allow that. So he came up with a workaround that incidentally [resulted in] one of the greatest TV shows ever made."
What's more: Serling's insistence on maintaining creative control led to much of the series' success. "Rod really was the first modern showrunner," Zicree says. "Prior to Rod, producers ran television and writers were subordinate to them. Rod was the one who said, ‘I’m gonna be at the top of the food chain and what I say goes.’ That’s exactly how it was and that spawned all the great TV we’ve seen in the years since ... He deserved all the good things he got and more — and I'm glad that we can share the gift that he gave us."
The groundbreaking anthology — which picked up three Emmys across its five-season run between 1959 and 1964 — was never afraid to tackle heavy themes of war, bigotry, alienation, power, corruption, murder, death, conformity, and paranoia, which remain as relevant as they ever were. Serling held a cracked mirror up to society, pointing out its greatest faults, but making it palatable through captivating stories. "Because he was writing more generally about things like mass hysteria and man’s inhumanity to man and so forth, it made the stories timeless," emphasizes Zicree. And by "trusting the audience to get it," the ambitious Binghamton native created a lasting piece of entertainment. "Throughout the '60s, [the networks believed] the audience was dumb, and Rod never believed that. He was right, and we're better for it."
"The stories that my dad told touched everyone in an intimate way," echoes Jodi. "They were definitely moving, heartwarming, and there was always some kind of message in his writing. He also had this unique quality of having premonitions. He felt something or wanted to tell something that was going to happen, and it's happening today."
Rod, of course, served as host and narrator, becoming as inextricably tied to the show as its penchant for twist endings. But as Jodi remarks, the well-dressed man with the unique voice and ever-present cigarette clutched between his fingers was nothing like the austere individual who appeared on television sets each week.
"People always associate him with being weird, but he wasn't weird at all," she stresses. "They associated the weirdness of Twilight Zone or Night Gallery, but he was beyond that. He was imaginative enough to create those kind of strange and spooky stories, but he didn't live them in real life. He was just a normal, down to Earth, humble guy. He also had his quirks and interests, just like everyone else, things that people never saw from his TV persona, but he definitely had a fierce sense of humor and a really humorous side to him. He loved to goof around and make people laugh."
Once The Twilight Zone came to an end, Serling kept himself busy with other film and television projects like The Loner, Seven Days in May, The Planet of the Apes, and Night Gallery. "Some of the biographies [on Rod] came out and said he was a broken man and a dark figure and depressed, living under a dark cloud toward the end of his life. None of that is true," states Zicree. "He would get up and he would work, and he did that until the end of his days ... He succeeded at pretty much everything he tried to succeed at and more. The legacy he left was huge. He came out of the first Golden Age of television, and he largely is responsible for the second Golden Age, because all those people modeled themselves after Rod and loved Twilight Zone."
At the same time, Zicree clarifies, Serling was never fully satisfied with his body of work. "Rod thought that he had failed. He said his work was momentarily adequate. The one sad thing is he didn’t know that he had succeeded as hugely as he had ... If I could go back in time and talk to Rod, I would say, ‘Look, you succeeded. Don’t worry, people are going to be watching your work and loving you as a pop culture icon as far as we can see into the future.’"
A lifelong smoker, Serling died on June 28, 1975 at the age of 50 following complications from open heart surgery. As a result, Jodi decided to become a registered nurse. "[I felt] 'Well, if I couldn't save him, I'm going to try to save anybody that I can take care of,'" she admits. "I think that's why I became a nurse. That was my gift, that was my way of dealing with his loss."
Rod Serling remembered by his younger daughter, Anne (as recounted to SYFY WIRE)
The moment, decades gone, remains clear. And although the house that held this memory was long ago sold and transformed (partially gutted, walls blown away), it is, in my mind, intact — unaltered. We are all still there. It is my father’s 50th birthday. I’ve gotten up early, wanting to be the first to see him. My dad, though, has been there awhile. I find him sitting at the table in the early light, sipping an almost empty cup of coffee (black, two tablespoons of sugar). There he is in his old blue robe, his worn slippers. He hasn’t noticed me yet. (I’d crept down the stairs and slowly tiptoed past the Christmas tree). He’s petting our Irish Setter, Michael, and they are both looking out the window.
“Happy birthday!” I’d said. “You’re a half a century old.”
When my father turned toward me, there was something in his face that made me wish I hadn’t said that last part. Or maybe I just didn’t want to think of my dad as a half a century old. And so I immediately added, “Merry Christmas!”
My father was born on December 25th, 1924. Although he was Jewish, and grew up in a Reform Jewish family, they celebrated Christmas. In fact, my dad referred to himself as, "A Christmas present delivered unwrapped." He told me stories of when the more religious relatives would come over and they’d have to hide the tree under the bed. I never knew if that story was entirely true, but I loved it.
He also told me (and wrote) of the Christmas when he was in the war, in the Philippines. He said there was fierce fighting for 31 days. He weighed about 89 pounds, down from 120, because the only supplies were delivered by air. As they were marching down the mountain, my father said some guy turned to him and asked, "Do you know what day it is?" "No," my dad answered.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” the guy told him. My father said he was filled with, “a strange, warm glow… even against those totally untoward circumstances, against this background of mud and crud and the violence of the past months.” And then he said, “Someone started singing a Christmas carol as we marched down the hill and never in my life do I recall any a cappella in the world sounding as glorious or as fulfilling as that did.” My dad turned 20 the next day.
Time moves on. It’s June 28th 1975, six months after I’d snuck down those stairs to wish him a happy birthday. We’re in Rochester, New York. Strong Memorial Hospital. At 2:20 in the afternoon, the doctors walking toward us in their silent shoes proclaim my father “gone.” He died in the operating room following open heart surgery.
My father’s death demolished me. As I wrote in my memoir, As I Knew Him: My Dad Rod Serling, I could not imagine navigating this planet without him. But it was actually his own words from a story he wrote, "A Storm in Summer" that ultimately, finally, saved me. He talks about the impact of death on those left behind: “You feel like your life has ended. That some vital part of your body has been stripped away. That you’ll never heal, never smile, never laugh. That the sorrow is just unbearable and that the tears will never end. But they do. Somehow, someway, the crying does come to an end.”
Fifty years have passed since that birthday I found him in the early morning light. This year, on December 25, my father would have turned 100-years-old. He’d be stunned to know that he is still remembered by the public and remembered so fondly. He himself said that his writing was "momentarily adequate." That “it would never stand the test of time.”
In 2013, The Writer’s Guild voted The Twilight Zone as one of the three best shows ever written. And there is a program in Binghamton, The Fifth Dimension (I feel it might have been my father’s greatest accolade), where the fifth grade students watch Twilight Zone episodes and learn about racism, mob mentality, isolation, scapegoating, anti-Semitism. And just this summer, a statue of him was erected in his beloved Recreation Park in Binghamton, New York. In 2025 Antioch College will add an Ohio Historical Marker in his honor on the school’s Yellow Springs campus. The new marker will become a site on the Ohio Literary Trail that “spotlights Ohio authors and their contributions to literature and culture.”
When asked why I think my dad is still remembered, I think the answer is fairly simple. He dealt with the human condition and while times change, people (sadly) don’t. We are still battling issues he was vocal, disheartened, and enraged about. Our current politics have exacerbated our divisiveness, leaving many to agree that we are quite literally living in The Twilight Zone…
But, on this, my dad’s centennial birthday, I want to offer a personal message of gratitude to all the people who have expressed their love and respect for my dad and shared personal stories. Many have told me they became writers because of him. Or that they thought of my dad as their own father. He would have been so humbled, so honored to know that people still care and that his work did indeed “stand the test of time.” When he was asked in his last interview how he wanted to be remembered, he said, “I don’t care that they’re not able to quote a single line that I’ve written. But just that they can say, ‘Oh, he was a writer.’ That’s sufficiently an honored position for me.’”
Years after my father died, I learned that he’d told a college audience that all he wanted on his gravestone was, “He left friends.”
You have all risen to the task and helped to keep his legacy alive. Something he never anticipated. I wish I had sufficient words to express how profoundly grateful and moved I am.
Thank you.
Classic episodes of The Twilight Zone air regularly on SYFY. Click here for complete scheduling info!
