From 1955 to 1975, Gunsmoke, the longest running prime-time ensemble drama in television history, told stories of a sheriff, his sidekicks, Miss Kitty in the saloon and other drifters through a Western city. In the heyday of the TV western, literature and prior films spurred a plethora of cowboys, rugged landscapes and moral issues of the frontier for viewers every week. These series both launched stars—Clint Eastwood, Steve McQueen, James Garner—and showcased cinematic legends like Barbara Stanwyck, confronting a male world in The Big Valley (ABC, 1965–9). While no major shows followed Gunsmoke, the impact of the western nonetheless lingers.

The Brauers (1975) have categorized the television western by three phases. The first horse phase included cowboys and chases with heroes like Roy Rogers (NBC, 1951–7), the Lone Ranger (ABC, 1949–57) and the Cisco Kid (syndicated, 1950–6). This family entertainment (including Saturday morning fare) offered comical sidekicks and idealistic cowboys. Rogers merged public and private life with Dale Evans, while the Lone Ranger introduced a terse Indian companion, Tonto, and Sky Kïng (ABC, 1953–4) substituted a plane for a horse.

The second, adult evolution of the western followed the gun (e.g. Gunsmoke, CBS, 1955–75), with increased violence and retribution. The sheriff or some honest man versus criminals and occasional Indians recapitulated themes of freedom, justice and gunplay found in movies such as High Noon (1952). Moral ambiguities and irony crept in with the gambling Maverick family (ABC, 1957–62) as well as Bat Masterson (NBC, 1959–61) and his cronies. The Wild, Wild West (CBS, 1965–9) paired the western formula with James Bond-like espionage, humor, vamps and toys.

The consummate example of property was the vast Ponderosa ranch, owned by Ben Cartwright and his boys in Bonanza (NBC, 1959–1973), another top show. But this was echoed by both Stanwyck and Lee J. Cobb in The Virginian.

In all these melodramas of “Americanness,” strong, independent and virtuous men overcame obstacles for weak and evil men as well as forces of nature—floods, stampedes, blizzards—that tempered their character. Indians were not so badly defined as in earlier Hollywood westerns, but were rarely central to action or perspective. Hispanics also had a slight presence in the nebulous West; Asians were drawn between Bonanza’s faithful cook, Hop Sing, and David Carradine’s later half-Chinese Caine, wandering the West dispensing justice and wisdom in Kung Fu. Females tended to be love interests, domestic or flirtatious, until a stronger female/family perspective emerged with Little House on the Prairie (NBC, 1974–83). In the 1990s, however, the only longrunning western, Dr Quinn Medicine Woman, cast a female star in a professional role.

While the Hollywood western was rekindled in the 1990s by films that introduced dark lines into heroes amidst epic grandeur, no such rebirth hit television. Yet westerns retain an impact in other ways. Star Trek (NBC, 1966–9) is heavily indebted to this schema on “the final frontier.” Moreover, prime-time soaps like Dallas, Dynasty and Falcon Crest, all set in the West (the latter including a faithful Chinese servant), recalled the freewheeling property and even guns of older days, although in boardrooms rather than saloons and corrals.