Maybe classic television can't teach us everything about the world, but I ask, if TV doesn't know it, is it really worth knowing? I was recently in a philosophical mood and looking to acquire some life lessons, so I turned to perhaps the most instructive of all genres: TV Westerns. After viewing some old favorites as well as a few series I had never seen, here is what I learned:

The Rifleman
As single father and rancher Lucas McCain, Chuck Connors projects solid moral authority to son Mark (Johnny Crawford), helping create what I think is one of the best family programs ever. Many episodes teach a fairly explicit lesson, but The Ordeal gives a particularly important piece of advice: You can never bring enough water. The guys are out in the middle of nowhere gathering salt when a rattlesnake scares their horses. The frightened animals bolt, wrecking the wagon and leading Lucas on a chase that leaves him dazed and bloodied and one of the horses with a fatal leg injury.

Hey, we've all been in that situation, right? Only the guys obviously can't just call AAA (no cell phones, remember?) so they have to trek 60 miles through the desert to get home. 60 miles! I sometimes get winded walking to the mailbox to drop off my ClassicFlix return envelope.

It only gets worse for them when Lucas injures his leg, forcing him to send Mark on ahead to get help, but it actually gets better for the viewer because we enjoy a great scene. While the son sleeps, the father prepares what he thinks may well be a farewell note, and then he gives him the rest of his water before sending him on his way, claiming to be fine but fearful that it's the end. His only priority is doing whatever he can to ensure his boy gets to safety. It's a classic moment of sacrifice and honor that epitomizes the greatness of this underrated series. It's enough to make me think maybe is there a bigger lesson here than just that you can never bring enough water to the desert...but still, gee, next time, fellas, bring a whole tanker of the stuff with you, all right? If you watch just one of the episodes I mention in this column, well, I'll be miffed because there are a lot of good ones still to come, but you could do worse than to track this one down.

U.S. Marshal (AKA Sheriff of Cochise)
This half-hour syndicated program began life under the latter title, then became U.S. Marshal to reflect Sheriff Frank Morgan's promotion, and it's available here at ClassicFlix under that name. What a revelation this series is! I always assumed that the West died out sometime around the 1890s, as every piece of desert was paved over for a strip mall and every saloon became an In-N-Out Burger (Of course, certain federally protected lands were reserved for the production of John Ford movies in exchange for his wartime service). However, this show is definitive proof that the West actually continued into the 1950s!

Another piece of info I gleaned from U.S. Marshal is that a car is a heck of a lot more efficient piece of transportation than a horse. Sure, you can always pick up instant Western cred by hopping on a 4-leggged creature named Cyclone or Whirlwind or Ed, but when you really want to get the bad guys, just take the car. That approach works for Morgan (John Bromfield), and he's a guy who means business. In fact, as early as the opening credits, he's shooting at the camera! I'm not talking an 'Isaac from The Love Boat' playful finger gun, either; no, this lawman pulls out an actual firearm and unloads on us. After experiencing such a striking credit sequence, I'm inclined to go along with whatever he says, does, or even what he might be thinking. So if a car's good enough for him, it's good enough for me, even in the West.

The rest of the program isn't as memorable, and at times it has a certain unpolished feel. I'm thinking budgetary restrictions made them shoot quickly, with minimal retakes. Yet the contemporary Arizona setting gives this Crime/Western its own distinctive feel. Perhaps owing to the fact that it was not on a broadcast network, U.S. Marshal is rather obscure today for a Desilu production with over 150 episodes, but it's worth a look.

Tales of Wells Fargo
I chose the atypical sixth and final season when I sampled this 1957-1962 NBC Western. The format switched from black and white to color, expanded to an hour from 30 minutes, and broadened the focus from the action and adventure of Wells Fargo agent Jim Hardie to include more domestic scenes on his ranch with new characters. Other than that, you know, it was the same show.

Why did I start here? Two words: William Demarest. The venerable character actor joins the cast in season 6, so that's the season I want to see. Unfortunately, at least at the beginning, he's an awkward fit, offering crusty comic relief but looking like he's forced into the show. Even Demarest's introduction in the title sequence is a waste of his talent, as he gives a feeble wave and half smile, almost like he knows he doesn't belong.

Fortunately, the rest of the show is entertaining enough, and I'm sure Wells Fargo aficionados are laughing at me for jumping on board at this point. But Disc 1 sets up the new direction and also introduces Jack Ging as a Confederate zealot who joins forces with Dale Robertson's Hardie after an encounter with Special Guest Star Howard Keel. This series offers a lot of gunplay and threatened gunplay while offering a valuable lesson: Any Western outlaw wielding a gun can be easily distracted and overpowered.

The first 3 episodes all feature at least one moment in which Hardie is held at gunpoint by some scoundrel but manages to create a distraction effective enough to allow him to either lunge and knock the weapon away or wrestle the guy to the ground. Therefore the apparent overwhelming advantage of having a gun is really a disadvantage. Now, I am not positive this tactic works in real life, so don't try this at home. It may just be the dusty frontier air that makes folks so susceptible to diversions like fire, thrown objects, or someone yelling, 'Hey, they're giving half off whiskey at the Long Branch Saloon!'

Death Valley Days
There are hundreds of episodes of this anthology series, but precious few are on DVD. Fortunately we can view several on Film Chest's excellent 50s TV Classics compilation.

Sister Wilhelmina and her husband David, with newborn in tow, are settling into a new life in Salt Lake City. Willie is overjoyed to receive a box of her beloved books, but Sister Sarah, who enters the premises for the sole purpose of hectoring, lectures her on frivolity.

David comes home giddy about the news that the elders have chosen them to help establish a new settlement in the remote Utah frontier. Good-bye, comfort. Hello, hardship. Sarah approves, of course being a big fan of hardship, and is making the journey as well, but Wilhelmina balks.

David tries to talk up the honor and importance of the move. I wish he'd give a stirring speech about the American pioneer spirit, about the religious mission he believes in so much, about anything inspiring, but it really comes down to, 'Because they said so.' He urges her to give it a chance, and he thinks she'll be wowed when he builds their house with his own hands.

Willie is predictably unimpressed, and despairing of the barren environment, she wishes there were just one thing of beauty there, one thing that would convince her life could be worth living in the boonies. She eventually prepares to take the child and abandon her hubby, even in the face (and a formidable face it is) of Sister Sarah, who takes time out from her busy schedule of haughty frowning to block the doorway.

At this point-well, I don't want to spoil the particulars, but it is a status-quo-affirming resolution that basically argues Sarah was a crybaby to desire things like culture, indoor plumbing, human contact (Sarah doesn't count). It also celebrates the 'stick-to-it-iveness' of the pioneers. I confess I'm not sure this lesson really sticks with me. I still think the toughest hardship I can bear is settling for a standard DVD when a Blu-Ray is unavailable.

Stories of the Century
I'll get right to it and tell you what this series teaches me: Our history books have been doing us a big disservice. After all, how many of you remember reading about the exploits of railroad detective Matt Clark?

Exactly. Yet according to this short-lived syndicated half-hour, Matt Clark was all over the West, tangling with every legendary figure from Geronimo to the James boys to Billy the Kid. An interesting aspect of this series is that Matt Clark (Jim Davis) has a female partner who is treated more or less as an equal. Clark's concern for her is not patronizing but akin to a standard cop/detective partnership, and she is depicted as a legitimate member of the team instead of someone to be bailed out of peril or someone with silly 'feminine' sensibilities. Take that, Death Valley Days!

This program (and just about other Western of the 1950s and 1960s) is also a good reminder that in any given episode, you're likely to find a guest star or two you recognize. In The Dalton Gang alone, I saw Fess Parker, Robert Bray, and Keith Richards. No, it wasn't that Keith Richards-he's not quite that old--but I'm sure he's somebody.

The Tall Man
I learned from this Western that contrary to the Billy the Kid depicted in Stories of the Century,' William Bonney was actually a decent fella who just needed some guidance. At least that's the attitude of eventual nemesis Pat Garrett, the New Mexico lawman and titular Tall Man (what, you were expecting Kareem Abdul-Jabbar?).

I'm not sure how historically accurate Tall Man is, but it does offer a unique look at the relationship between two icons. It's more like a straight-laced older brother dealing with a lovable scamp of a little bro than the Garrett vs. Billy dynamic we often see in popular culture. The oddly comic byplay between the two isn't the only distinctive aspect of this 1960-1962 NBC half-hour. There's Esquivel's offbeat musical score, and most of all there's Clu Gulager's off-kilter performance as Billy.

Having cast Barry Sullivan as the honest, dependable, upright Garrett, the producers no doubt wanted to install a younger actor who could provide contrast. Boy, does Gulager do that. His line readings are almost always just a bit unconventional and often a little rough, and he is often doing little bits of physical business. He always calls Garrett 'Patrick,' never 'Pat,' which is at first reminiscent of that Maverick episode where Clint Eastwood keeps saying 'Mav-er-ack,' but it's soon evident that the young'un has tremendous respect and affection for the lawman. Gulager gives Billy the Kid a weird but appropriate charisma that makes the character compelling. The complex relationship between Garrett and Bonney, an unspoken bond of brotherly love mixed with the tension of the showdown both anticipate but want to avoid, makes this one of the more intriguing Westerns of its day. I look forward to seeing more episodes.

Wanted Dead or Alive
This is a fun show about a bounty hunter who happens to be played by Steve McQueen. Mind you, this was before Steve was the coolest person on the planet-you know, all the way back when he was merely one of the coolest people on TV. Considering the series' quality, its availability, and of course its star, I think it is vastly underappreciated today.

(Steve McQueen as Josh Randall)
I watched the season two episode The Hostage, which teaches us you can't negotiate with terrorists, or at least not with wanted criminals who, after being captured, instantly escape custody and take hostages in an attempt to flee town again. Now, this particular bad guy is played by Lee Van Cleef, so it should be no surprise that he lies, refuses to negotiate in good faith, and uses underhanded tactics in his desperate attempt to get out of the police station where he holes up. Maybe the lesson here should be simply, 'You can't negotiate with Lee Van Cleef.'

McQueen's Josh Randall realizes this immediately and learns his own lessons about the loyalty the townspeople will or will not show him when they have a chance to serve their own interests. This is a great episode, but it's just not fair that in addition to being the coolest person on the screen, Steve is the smartest, too. In it, he makes some combat moves that if I tried this in real life, I would find out pretty quickly that I am not and never will be Steve McQueen. That's perhaps the saddest lesson I learned from my journey into classic Westerns, but it might be the most important one.

Rick Brooks is the proprietor of Cultureshark, a blog in which he uses an often irreverent approach to express his reverence for the classics and the un-classics.