Where Has Ward Cleaver's World Gone?

It had been a long time since Ward Cleaver had gotten involved in dad things. The last episode of "Leave It to Beaver" aired in 1963; a lifetime ago.

So much had changed, and I wanted his advice for 1990s fathers. It had been said about him, "He was the most understanding man who ever accepted the daunting mantle of video fatherhood."

Who better to ask about dads and stuff than Mr. Cleaver? He came from a time when there were no split families and kids could safely be in the streets.

Through the magic of something called "typing on a terminal," I made Ward Cleaver appear. (If there's something that unites us, it's that we're all part of the electronic age.) He was, as usual, wearing his tie and jacket. He peered over my shoulder and asked what I was doing on the computer.

Surfing through the Internet, I said, looking through electronic "newsgroups," in which a computerized nation talks to each other.

I scrolled through a newsgroup called "alt.child-support," consisting mostly of angry divorced dads.

"I have come to see women as a bunch of whining, self-centered leeches! What a bunch of ---!" was a typical comment.

In shock

Ward Cleaver shook his head. He was disappointed at the rancor on the screen. He said, "You know, Wally, shaving is just one of the outward signs of being a man, it's more important to try to be a man inside first." (All dialogue verbatim from actual shows.)

It wasn't quite the advice I was looking for, but I figured Mr. Cleaver was still in culture shock.

I scrolled some more. I told Mr. Cleaver that half of marriages end up in divorces these days. We read another electronic missive: "My ex was so bitter that she tried to convince the therapist who is seeing my children that I was sexually molesting them . . . I have little phone contact with them because the stress that gets created for them isn't worth it . . ."

Mr. Cleaver raised his eyebrows in that disapproving look he could get.

"Beaver," he said, "you just go on to school today and do the best you can no matter what part you have to sing in the chorus."

I felt I better talk straight with Mr. Cleaver. The modern American family was in real trouble. I needed better-quality platitudes from him.

"Remember one thing: Wrong is wrong even if everyone else says it's right - and right is right even if everyone else says it's wrong," Mr. Cleaver said.

Changing times

I tried to make him understand how angry relationships had turned. I showed him a copy of "The Backlash!", a local "men's rights" publication. It had nuggets such as, "Men invented civilization to shut women up."

Mr. Cleaver just seemed sad. "Things like that never work," he said. "It's always wrong to lie; and Beaver, you just build up more trouble for yourself by not facing the truth."

From his wallet, Mr. Cleaver took out a crumpled piece of paper, something the Beav had written, mistakes and all.

"The most interesting character I have ever known is my father, Mr. Ward Cleaver," it said. "He does not have an interesting job he just works hard and takes care of all of us . . . he never saved anybody that was drowning but that's all right with me because when I am sick he brings me ice cream and when I tell him things or ask him things he always listens to me. He used up a whole Saturday to make things in the garage. He may not be interesting to you because he's not your father, he's mine."

I asked Mr. Cleaver if he thought that in this rancorous world, if having your kids write a note like that was what really mattered.

Mr. Cleaver nodded. He said, "I guess there's not a father around who doesn't want things to be just a little bit better for his children than they were for him."

Then, just like that, with the push of a couple of buttons on the terminal, Mr. Cleaver was gone. I went back on the Internet. More angry messages were flying around, men and women electronically biting at each other. What happened, Mr. Cleaver?