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Some celebrity deaths hit harder than others. George Wendt’s passing at age 76 feels personal. For me, he wasn’t just an actor. He was a staple of my childhood. When I was young, I was only allowed one hour of television a day, and more often than not, that sacred hour was spent watching Cheers reruns.
Cheers was one of the best-written and best-executed sitcoms of the time. But let’s be honest: Norm was the show. George Wendt brought warmth, wit, and weight (pun somewhat intended) to every scene he was in. He didn’t just play a bar regular—he played the dream of belonging. As a kid growing up in a rural area with few friends, the idea of walking into a room where everyone knew your name? That was magic. And Norm was the spellcaster.
Wendt’s reach went far beyond Cheers. A few years ago, I did a full MASH* rewatch and was genuinely surprised to see him pop up there too. He may have had a pool ball in his mouth and a slightly off-kilter performance, but the spark was unmistakably his. Even in a brief role, he made an impression.
What really throws me is the fact that he was “only” 76. I think, as a kid, anyone over 20 felt ancient. So someone who appeared in both MASH* and Cheers must’ve been pushing 100, right? Apparently not. But that speaks to the kind of legacy he built—so embedded in pop culture, so foundational to our TV experience, that it feels like he’s always been there.
And even if the world mostly remembers him from the barstool, Wendt never stopped showing up. I was thrilled to see him again—albeit briefly—when he guest-starred on The Goldbergs. I pointed him out to my kids like I was introducing them to an old friend. Because in a way, I was.
Then there’s Saturday Night Live. His recurring appearances, especially with the Chicago “Da Bears” superfans, are forever etched into sketch comedy history. The man had range. He could break your heart with a sigh at the bar, then have you doubled over in laughter shouting, “DA BEARS!” five minutes later.
George Wendt wasn’t flashy. He wasn’t a leading man in the traditional sense. But he was reliable. He was real. He made people feel seen, even in the background. And for those of us who grew up looking for a place to belong—he gave us one.
He will be missed. And maybe, just maybe, when the next soul enters that great sitcom in the sky, a chorus will echo: “Norm!”
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