When I was a kid in Brigham City, I mostly watched westerns. The Saturday night lineup on KSL-TV began with Wanted Dead or Alive (starring Steve McQueen as a bounty hunter); followed by HGWT and then Gunsmoke (with James Arness playing Marshal Matt Dillon); and ended with Raymond Burr as criminal lawyer Perry Mason (OK, not really a western but the courtroom dramas took place in California). In his Sunday sermons, our Presbyterian minister often referred to the Perry Mason program that he — and we — had seen the night before.

All of the shows were entertaining, although loosely connected with reality. For example, would Marshal Dillon have survived for decades in Dodge City, a tough town apparently surrounded by mountains (in Kansas?!?), without getting shot in the back? How often do spectators at murder trials pop up to admit guilt (and thereby exonerate defense lawyers’ clients) — something that regularly occurred on Perry Mason?

One particularly unlikely — nevertheless endearing — touch in HGWT was Paladin’s erudition. It’s hard to imagine today that a widely watched western could contain references to classical authors like Heraclitus and Marcus Aurelius, but HGWT did. Indeed, Paladin purported to have translated the works of Calamity Jane (such as they were) into Latin.

Paladin could quote poet John Donne, and he corrected another character’s attributing a line of poetry to Shelley, when in fact it was written by John Milton. (Typical campfire banter.) He helped recover a stolen piano that belonged to pianist “Franz Lister” (obviously a reference to composer Franz Lizst).

Paladin discussed nitroglycerin with Alfred Nobel, conveniently staying in Paladin’s hotel. (Nobel thought nitroglycerin was so powerful that it would end warfare. Paladin wasn’t convinced.) In another episode, Paladin used a breathing device invented by Leonardo da Vinci to look for submerged gold bullion. (Leonardo didn’t appear on the program, however. Wrong century.) Still another installment was based on Don Quixote.

You get the idea; the list could go on and on. Paladin was a cultured man. (In contrast, as appealing a character as Matt Dillon was, he seemed to read nothing but “Wanted” posters and job-related telegrams.)

Of course, many viewers at the time objected to Paladin’s use of guns, but his stances were based on moral principles. He fought for civilization (money, too, to be sure), and doing so sometimes required brutal practices.

Now, I understand that a hired gun wouldn’t really have talked and acted like Paladin. But what’s striking about his appeal in 1957-63 is that the producers of the show must have assumed that a mass audience understood, at least vaguely, the literary, musical, and scientific allusions. Indeed, the producers must have thought that viewers — some of them anyway — might want to become more familiar with the life of the mind. One can imagine that, after watching HGWT, a few folks might even have gone to their local libraries to check out Marcus Aurelius. Could anything like that happen today?

In the last 60-plus years, we’ve transitioned from a White House where Pablo Casals played his cello — the highest of high culture — to one where UFC goons do their thing on the lawn. I know the Casals fan in the early 1960s was Jackie Kennedy, not the president, but Jack wanted to present the right image to the public. He wanted to appear presidential (and at least as learned as a TV soldier-of-fortune). I ask again: Could anything like that happen today?

If only we could wire Paladin, San Francisco, for guidance . . . .

Erik M. Jensen is the Coleman P. Burke Professor Emeritus of Law at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio. He can be reached at emj@cwru.edu.