Travels through the internet: Chasing down Troy McClure

December 20, 2023, 7:45 am , by Richard Lutz

I’m trying to get to grips (writes Richard Lutz) with one of the great questions to plague mankind: what’s the difference between old fashioned Hollywood cuties Troy Donaghue and Doug McClure.

They were both silver screen stud monkeys in the late fifties. They were graced with evanescent youth, all American whitebread looks and billion dollar smiles reflecting sunburst and stardust. So easy to confuse the two. And then…..they vanished. Seemingly, into air, into thin air. Into the junkyard of B movies and forgettable tv.

Well, that muffin above is Troy Donaghue, strumming a strangely minuscule guitar in a god awful photo shoot. I dig those cut off white jeans. He had a bit of heartthrob fame in movie hits such as A Summer Place and Imitation of Life. And some tv. Then he exited stage left to Nowheresville. Though he did briefly appear as Michael Corleone’s alcoholic brother in law in Godfather Two. The character was called Merle Johnson; a bit of a Coppola in joke as Merle Johnson is Troy’s real name.

Now to that cute cowpoke on your left. That’s Doug McClure, all teeth and cool western hat. He paid the mortgage in the tv series The Virginian where he strutted his stuff as roguish Trampas always up for a bit of fun and danger amidst the sagebrush.

Sadly, Doug slipped down the slippy sidewalk of mediocrity and ended up starring in charity shop flicks such as Warlords of Atlantis, The Bloody Vultures of Alaska and the unforgettable Humanoids from the Deep.

As for Troy, he had troubles of his own: with drink and drugs, carcrashing through four wrecked marriages and living, for a period, a hobo life under a tree in Manhattan’s Central Park.

The two were so interchangeable that The Simpsons crew created a washed up celebrity reduced to infotainment ads called Troy McClure. Finally….fame once more …in a cartoon. That’s Show Biz.

Where I found the fascinating backstories to these doppelgängers is simple. Like the rest of the planet, I automatically dipped into the net. The poisons of choice were Wikipedia and movie buff site IMBD.

There I dredged up all the useless trivia I craved. And there the trouble begins. The mind gets curious about Hollywood, quantum physics or the World Cup and the brain sends pulses to the nerve endings, the fingers twitch and Default Madness begins. The search for Troy leads to a list of his lovers, his dreadful tv shows, his father’s career, how he was ‘discovered’ in a Malibu diner. Yes, even his nights under that Manhattan tree.

The search for Doug defaults to The Virginian cast list, the crappy fantasy movies he walked through and, sadly, his death. Yes, even forgotten heroes of the screen die.

The twitch to descend into the mire of digital mind-junk is unlimited. We all know that. It is crack cocaine for the electronic addict. Which we all are. Of which I am one. Who was the sixth president of the US, someone asks. And no sooner is the question raised, than at least one person (probably two) is tap tap tapping away. Same for the age of the planet, the Latin name for a carrot or the exact location of Wyre Piddle (it’s in Worcestershire. I googled it).

Yes, admittedly, it is a valuable channel for news, help and conversations about a sick uncle, the fortunes of friends, neighbours who need to know about a burst water main. But, truthfully, this ever accessible digi-verse never allows you to stop to think, guess, argue, or just get things wrong. You don’t have to read books, go for a walk, even, horror of horrors, binge on flatscreen stuff or talk to another person. There’s never an empty minute.

This bottomless pit has taken us hostage. And we, all of us, have created it, stoked it, are entrapped by it and constantly giving it unwitting sustenance. It’s an integral part of The Attention Economy which perfects systems, alerts, alarms, bells and whistles to seduce the reader to immediately plunge into the web. And the reason is to gain more access to your profile, your predilections, your life. The ease of accessing sites and platforms is really not to help us. It is to enrich the techno owners. Make no mistake about that. It’s a business. And what a business! As Financial Times columnist  Robert Armstrong warned us just before Christmas: “Once the internet was a magical wonderland where everything was true…now it is just a place where your lies are indelibly recorded.”

But if it wasn’t for the digital world, I wouldn’t now instantly know the difference between Doug and Troy which, yes, I am sharing with you on my site and is posted via three streams.

Of course, there are remedies or suggestions of remedies. A print journalist I know says he never answers calls on his days off. A tech manager says she simply doesn’t trust social media. Especially, she adds ominously, What’s App. British author Oliver Burkeman reports that a New York Times writer has simply removed colour from her screens. Her phone and laptop are grey. Her devices are ‘…a tool rather than a toy’, Nellie Bowles explains. Other suggestions abound.

But what a life, what a strangely denuded life, it would be if there were no net, no iPads, no domains, no bulk instant link to those family, friends and neighbours. No mobile phones that set nerve endings jangling when we hear a call coming in or a personalised ring tone telling you there’s a message waiting, waiting, waiting….forever waiting.