1-6 “Emily Dickinson”
A classic. Wherein Blair is a big cheating cheater (academic, not relationship) and Mr. Bradley says the h-e-double-hockey-sticks word. Also plenty of gross creepage from white men. Good stuff.
The episode begins with Mr. Bradley entering the lounge in the girls’ dorm, which seems pretty rude considering it’s late enough for the girls to be in their night clothes. Tootie lies upside-down on a chair with her roller skates on while pink-robed Natalie brushes Sue Ann’s hair.
Mr. Bradley snots on them for watching television and introduces the episode’s conceit: The girls all have poems due tomorrow. Tootie immediately demands her place among poetry’s greats with the following:
How it feels
To make your deals
Eat your meals
Cool your heels
All on wheels
By Tootie Ramsey
Studio audience: [Applauds]
Mr. Bradley: “That’s quite a catchy title.”
Tootie: “No, Mr. Bradley, that’s the whole poem.”
Mr. Bradley: “Then let me give you a title: Ode to an F-minus.”
Tootie: [Giggles] “That’s OK, I have a back-up poem!”
Mrs. Garrett comes in and greets the gang, and Cindy sets up a dumb fat-joke. I think that perhaps I should just try to freeze-frame all the funny looks in this episode.
Mr. Bradley mansplains television repair, which leads to Natalie making a dumb old-joke, and Mr. Bradley, of course, declaring that it’s a simple fix and then blowing a fuse, literally. Mrs. Garrett takes an excellent shot at Mr. Bradley and all of this is just be so the lights can be out when Blair comes in with her generic 80s hunk of the week. He makes some predictably ham-fisted pass attempts to make a pass at her and then just starts kissing her over her protestations that she has work to do.
Mr. Bradley: [From off screen, where he’s gone with Mrs. Garrett to fix the blown fuse] “Is anything turned on out there?”
Tootie: “Yeah, but it’s not the lights!”
Gross. Anyway upon hearing Tootie, they split quickly just as the lights go on, whereupon we get useful exposition that the dude, Jason, is playing Romeo to Blair’s Juliet. Like, in the school play.
Upon Jason’s departure, Mr. Bradley needles Blair about whether her poetry assignment is done, and she unconvincingly tries to lie that it’s right up there in her noodle. She didn’t say it exactly like that, but Mozart did.
Mrs. G crosses boundaries by patting Blair on the butt and scooting her upstairs. Blair crosses boundaries right back.
Upstairs, Blair removes her makeup and winks at herself in the mirror. Tootie toddles out of the bathroom, having changed pajamas but still in her roller skates.
Blair pooh-poohs Tootie’s exhortation that Blair really needs to get started on her poem and protests that all she needs is a little inspiration. Tootie jokes about Jason and his “magic lips,” but Blair instead seeks inspiration in an Emily Dickinson anthology. She makes a snide comment about Emily Dickinson’s hair and then reads the first couple of lines of “Beauty crowds me till I die” and comments that Emily Dickinson writes the way she would write if she had the time. Oh oh, I think she’s getting a not-so-good idea.
“I’ll just change a few lines!” she exclaims to Tootie, the town gossip, who points out in no uncertain terms that that would most definitely be cheating. Blair rationalizes her actions, as cheaters do. Her best one is “It’s only cheating when someone finds out, and no one knows but you and me.” And perhaps anyone who has ever taken an introductory poetry class.
That is one thing that always confused me about this episode. How does Blair expect to get away with plagiarizing one of history’s most iconic poems? How the hell did Mr. Bradley manage to get his M.Ed or whatever he needs to be the headmaster and never hear that poem? I couldn’t have been older than eight or so the first time I saw this episode, and I had at least heard of it.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Tootie quips that sure, she and Blair are the only two that know, and Blair isn’t going to tell anyone. And thus begins one of the most iconic bribery scenes in all of 80s television:
Blair: “You will keep my secret, won’t you?”
Tootie: “You know me.”
Blair: “I sure do. Everything I tell you goes in one ear and out your mouth.”
Tootie: “Blair, don’t worry! I just hope I don’t talk in my sleep.”
Blair: “Exactly what would make you shut up in your sleep?”
Tootie: “If I weren’t under so much pressure…”
Blair: “All right, what pressure?”
Tootie: “Well, I have to make my bed every day…”
Blair: “I’ll…I’ll make your bed.”
Tootie: “And clean my room every day…”
Blair: “I’ll clean your room.”
Tootie: “And press my unifor-“
Blair: “All right, Tootie, and that’s it.”
Tootie: “This is too much! Having a white maid!”
Tinkly music takes us to the lounge the next afternoon, where Mrs. Garrett repairs the television set and Sue Ann makes a fat-joke.
The girls want to watch “the game,” except wee little Molly Ringwald who hates the Dallas Cowboys for using cheerleaders as sex objects.
I used to hold that opinion about cheerleaders, back when I thought it was a betrayal to all women to ever wear makeup or dress cute or in any way conform to any of the beauty myth standards. I’ve learned a lot since then, and I’ve grown to respect cheerleaders as talented athletes and artists. When I found out that they don’t really make any money as cheerleaders and in fact pay to play, I was very judgmental, until my sister reminded me that I paid $300/year in dues plus my own travel expenses to play rugby.
Indeed, Natalie is awesome even as a wee little seventh grader, when she replies to Molly, “You won’t feel that way when you have your own set of pom poms.” I choose to interpret “pom poms” as whatever skill or attribute you have that helps you succeed in the athletic pursuit or hobby you enjoy.
Enter Mr. Bradley, who declares that he’s going to announce the grades on the the poetry assignment. No one is horrified that he’s just going to announce them in public like that. I guess these girls are really close. And apparently the only eight girls in Mr. Bradley’s poetry class, despite the fact that they span four grade levels.
Blair gets an A-plus, and the girls make the universally known hum of approval, pride, and envy all in one. The reaction worsens with every grade Mr. Bradley announces: Sue Ann: C-minus; Molly: D; Cindy: C; Nancy: C; Natalie: C-minus (Natalie: Oh no! I’m below C-level!). Tootie rolls over to Mr. Bradley and takes her paper from his hand before he has a chance to announce her grade.
Sue Ann, Blair’s best frenemy, is, of course, immediately indignant about Blair’s A-plus, and Mrs. Garrett, while noting that Blair’s A-plus is wonderful, wonders why the other girls got such low grades. Mr. Bradley explains that he graded it on a curve.
OK, grading on a curve with eight students across four grade levels on a poetry assignment seems … how does one say? Idiotic. But hey, this is the man who got an advanced degree and is able to teach poetry without ever hearing “Beauty crowds me till I die” before, so I guess I shouldn’t expect much .
Mrs. G agrees that Blair’s poem is remarkable, but doesn’t think it’s fair to lower the other girls’ grades because one girl performed particularly well. Mr. Bradley douches that life isn’t fair, and then crows some more about how Blair is gifted. Tootie is unimpressed.
Mrs. Garrett gets one more parting shot in at Mr. Bradly when she announces that she’s making the girls a blueberry cheesecake, but there won’t be any left for Mr. Bradley, because she’s baking it on a curve. Snerk.
Mr. Bradley isn’t done with the girls, though. He’s cutting them off from television and requiring everyone but Blair to submit a new poem. Full of resentment toward Blair, the other girls head upstairs to work on their second poems. Tootie sticks around, and Blair whines to her that there’s nothing she can do; if she turns herself in, Mr. Bradley will kick her out of the play and maybe out of school!
Tootie: “I would hate to see you go. You have been a gem of a maid.”
Oops! Mr. Bradley is not quite gone; he pokes his head in to tell Blair that he entered her poem in the state poetry festival! Blair visibly panics. Tootie: “Oh Blair, are you gonna be famous!” Like me, both Tootie and Blair assume that the judges of the state poetry festival must surely have heard of this poem, right?
Later, back in the lounge, Nancy makes a pretty funny “Elizabeth Barrett Brownnose” joke in Blair’s general direction.
Tootie rolls in with pizza, beginning a very interesting scene that I am certain was cut in syndication. Tootie announces that the pizza should have been twelve dollars, but the server messed up. Mrs. Garrett insists that Tootie take the extra money back, while sweet baby Socialist Molly criticizes Tootie for exploiting a member of the working class. Yes, in those exact words.
Mrs. Garrett gives a patented Mrs. G morality lecture, and Tootie relents, saying, “You’re right, Mrs. Garrett. Just because she’s dumb doesn’t mean she should be broke too.” Zoinks.
As Tootie goes to return the money and the other girls rush into the kitchen to get started on the pizza, Blair stays seated. Mrs. G hangs back to check in with her. She explains that she didn’t sleep well last night, and not because of Jason, as Mrs. G predicts. No, it’s because of the poem. Mrs. Garrett beams and says again how wonderful it was, and Blair can’t take it anymore.
Confession.
And the patented Mrs. Garrett morality talk gets hardcore here, as Mrs. G makes Blair think about what she thought the poem was about (“being beautiful”), and Mrs. G points out that beauty is about what’s inside.
Appropriately contrite, Blair heads to confess to Mr. Bradley. As she attempts to depart, Mrs. G reminds her that she still owes herself a poem.
Generic Jason shows up; the skeev is leaving tomorrow for his college interview and he wants one more rehearsal before he goes. Mr. Bradley busts in the other door. I’m grossed out how none of these men ever knock on the door of the girls’ dorm.
For his part, Mr. Bradley is Blair’s new biggest fan. When she tells him she has a problem, he tells her to go ahead and rehearse even though it’s a school night. I was about to say that it’s a shame he wasn’t all googly-eyed like this when she had her crush on him, but that would be really gross.
Speaking of gross, while Blair tries to protest that she has something to tell him, he tells her not to be such a “goody goody” and literally pushes her into Jason’s arms. Jason says, “Thank you!” and the studio audience laughs.
You said it, Mrs. G.
Outside, Jason is pathetically hamfisted, trying to flirt with Blair. He lays it on thick: “Tomorrow I’ll be gone. Who knows when I’ll be back or what’s in store for me?”
Blair: “You’re going to a crummy college interview. Not into combat.”
Nice job Blair.
Jason tries to make out with Blair, who is clearly not into it. In fact, after unnecessarily apologizing to Jason, she declares, “I’m really not into it.”
Jason: “That’s OK; I am!”
The studio audience laughs. Because the series is awesome, Jason is being made out to be a gross creep while Blair is the one with complexity. But the audience’s reactions betray how fucking disgusting society was in 1979. Be thankful for growth, but keep working. It’s not all better now.
Oh boy! Now we’re on to slut shaming! When Blair says she feels guilty, Jason protests that they haven’t done anything yet. “I have,” Blair blanches.
And when she explains that it’s not that she’s a big slutty slut slut, it’s that she cheated on her poetry assignment, our creepo of the year tells her it’s no big deal; he intends to get into Yale by cheating. He tries to make out with her again. She unnecessarily apologizes again, and pushes him away, telling him she has a poem to write. He grossly grumps into the park bench and fortunately doesn’t try to push her any further. “Fortunately.” The bar is so low.
Back in the lounge, the girls are all working to rewrite their poems. Blair sheepishly enters and announces that she has something to tell them. She comes clean, including the part about how Tootie knew.
Natalie: “Tootie kept a secret? There is a god.”
In comes Mr. Bradley, announcing that he has terrific news. Blair’s poem won third prize at the poetry festival!
The thing about the first season is that it really requires you to suspend belief hard.
While Mr. Bradley starts babbling about creating Blair Warner Day and hanging her portrait in the office, Mrs. Garrett tries to get him to back off. She has to yell “Mr. Bradley!” in her “Girls, girls!” voice to get him to listen. There aren’t too many men in the first season but they sure are portrayed accurately.
Blair: “Mr. Bradley! I cheated! I copied that poem from Emily Dickinson!”
Mr. Bradley: “Emily Dickinson? Blair, what the hell are you talking about?”
I only recall one other time that the devil’s lair was uttered on Facts. That’s in season five’s “Next Door,” in which their building has a gas leak and instead of evacuating as ordered, Jo declares that she’s staying behind to try to fix it. Mrs. Garrett calmly explains that she has only spoken this way twice: once when her ex-husband mortgaged the house to pay the bookie, and now, when she tells Jo, “Get the hell out of here before I beat you with my frying pan!”
But back here in season one, Mr. Bradley makes it all about him – “Blair, how could you do this to me?” Ugh.
One of the greatest things about Facts is its contribution to the great world of high school students’ writing efforts. From Sue Ann’s stoner Moby Dick report to Jo’s groundbreaking commencement speech to Tootie’s horrible Eleanor Roosevelt play, we have so much to enjoy. Blair says she’s too emotional to read it, so she hands it off to Mrs. G.
And here, from me, to you, is Blair’s poem:
Reflections
By Blair Warner
I never thought it possible
But when I look into the mirror
I don’t like what I see.
What I behold is a tarnished image
Of a betrayer of friends
And a cheater of self.
Where is that Blair of yesteryear?
That reflection that we held so dear?
Those perfect eyes
Those pearly teeth
That adorable perky nose
Those alabaster dimpled cheeks…
Mrs. G: “Blair, I think you’re being too harsh on yourself.”
Blair: “No, I deserve it. Go ahead. Read the part about the soft cascading hair.”
Now forced to withdraw from the play, face a month of grounding, and accept an F in English lit, Blair is bummed, but happily free of her guilt.
Tootie: “Blair, I’m sorry for what I put you through. But could I still have you for half the day on Thursday?”
