That when it comes to catching bad guys and saving lives, the LAPD and paramedic squads are practically infallible. 1.000 batting average, or very close to it.
Let’s leave it at the original “lets,” which was correct. 
I learned that all the best investigators are blind, in a wheelchair, really fat, or elderly.
–that psychologists could help people just by sitting in a chair and blinking at the them.
–that the 50’s were the Happiest Days
–that a short, obnoxious “biker” could be cool by sticking out his thumb and saying, “hey”.
–Jewish girls from NY had better fashion sense than WASP girls from Minneapolis.
–that “oh, Mr Grant” is an excellent response to any boss
–in blended families, none of the kids will be the same age, ever.
–that Sweathogs were actually people
–that cops drove fast, loud cars, were cute and always, always got the bad guys.
–that Pepsi, Pepsi, no Coke is de rigeur in some diners.
–to never answer the door when told it’s the “plumber”.
Or Candygram …
I forgot:
People from France might be aliens.
Andy Kaufman was less popular then a sea creature.
I am not Chevy Chase.
Nevermind
Jim
We’re all free to be you and me. Or you’re free to be me. Or I’m free to be…someone…oh to hell with it.
It’s all right to cry.
I learned that you’ll get the best gigs if you let your mom in the band.
I learned that you can support a teenage son by waitressing at a cheap diner.
I learned that as soon as you say the words slime or loser or idiot, that the greasers from upstairs will pop in to say hello.
I learned that if you spit a watermelon seed into an ashtray it will look like some furry gray dead thing.
I learned that if I could skate, I would be great.
I learned that if your sister protects you from bullies by throwing them over her shoulder, other kids will call her Flip Wilson. They’ll call you Geraldine.
I learned that some kind of help is the kind of help that helping’s all about, and some kind of help is the kind of help we all can do without.
– that fish don’t fry in the kitchen.
– that beans don’t burn on the grill.
– that suicide is painless.
I never really watched much past the credits.
If stranded on a South Pacific island, immediately imprison the first mate, and don’t let him out until you’re sure you’re going to be rescued.
…and, of course, that Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead.
That the 12 colonies of man will speak English, except for units of measure, which will be freaky space words.
If we store too much Nuclear Waste on the Moon eventually the dump will explode sending those poor Alphans and their intact Moon off into space.
Slow means fast especially when you are a $6 million government Cyborg
The word “Blank” usually is a cover for a dirty word the celbrities won’t use as their answer.
You can say Boobies on TV as long as you are Celebrity on Matchgame.
Paul Lynde was the funniest as center Square.
60s reruns were a good substitute for local evening news.
Never to mention anything about Sammy Davis Jr’s eye when he is around.
“Whatcho talkin’ 'bout” “Kiss My grits” “Dynomite” “Ayyyyy!” “Dummy” would cause thunderous applause, laughter and screams from an audience.
If the phrase is from a Black show the volume of the audience reaction is trippled
" ------- was taped before a live studio audience"
Finally I learned "What’s happenin’ "
and Brenda Morgenstern’s “hey hey Hey”
Racist jerks are really nice caring people deep down inside and the racism is something they built up to project their anger at a scapegoat for life’s pain and frustrations.
Tragedies will cause them to see the error of their ways.
which, in fact, is as true today as it ever was 
I learned that - contrary to all rules of gun safety procedure - the correct stance for holding a handgun (at least for buxom female ex-police officer / private detectives with great hair) is to place both hands on the handle, and hold it out at far from their body as possible, so that their arms make a perfect ‘V’ shape that emphasizes your cleavage. I guess it really doesn’t matter that, should they actually shoot the gun, the recoil will cause them to themselves in the head - since their all about T & A anyway!
I learned that respected scientists with the propensity for turning into mindless raging green-skinned gargantuan monsters can fake their deaths and disappear into middle-America without any type of largescale manhunt taking place. Only lone reporters working for sleazy tabloids (who are dismissed as cranks) will seek to locate them. Anyone who encounters such afflicted scientists and discovers their secret will agree to keep it secret to protect them, and not consider the potential danger a mindlessly-violent, rampaging, super-strong, behomoth on the loose might pose to the general public. Furthermore, such afflicted scientists can purchase stretch-cotton pants that will still fit them after they turn into their gigantic alter-egos. Alas, this amazing fabric will ONLY be limited to pants, so that the scientists’ shirts & cowboy boots will always be ripped to shreds as they turn into the monster.
I learned that Angie Dickinson’s ‘Police Woman’ character enjoyed posing as a prostitute, and never felt that was a demeaning assignment given that she was a police sargeant.
One thing remained a mystery though - Who WAS the dummy writing that show???
I learned that banging a gong could get a truly bad performer to stop his/her act and get pushed off the stage.
<sigh> If only that were still true …
I learned that little kids are really great at turning your used school bus into a Mondrian painting and that they always stay in the lines and everything.
Ah, you see how the wisdom of the ages remains timeless.
You have learned well, Grasshopper.
I learned that an evening news show can be produced without one single field reporter.
…that cab drivers love conversing with their fares
…that you form an instant bond with your coworkers - and that you’d rather be with them than with your family
…that you can be the only female employee in a male dominated workplace without fear of sexual harrassment