Dick Sargent

Richard Stanford Cox, better known by his stage name Dick Sargent, was the archetypal Everyman of television in the 20th century. Born on April 19, 1930, in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California, Sargent's life began far from the limelight in the idyllic and artistic confines of this coastal enclave. The son of Ruth McNaughton, an actress and musician, and Colonel Elmer Cox, there was a distinct creative and disciplined energy in Sargent's upbringing. Names dripped with a storied pedigree — his mother being one of the founding members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences — this young Californian had destiny written on his wings. Educated at the esteemed San Rafael Military Academy and later at Stanford University, where he studied drama, Sargent seemed poised for a multifaceted career from the outset. After Stanford, he duly served in the United States Air Force, an interlude that perhaps hardwired the work ethic and resilience required for a life on stage and screen. Sargent's early foray into Hollywood was hardly meteoric, yet decidedly steady. Entering an industry dominated by larger-than-life personas, Sargent's "everyday" charm became his calling card. His initial film efforts in the late 1950s, like "Bernardine" (1957) and "Operation Petticoat" (1959), established him as a likable, albeit conventional figure within Tinseltown. The seismic tremor that thrust Sargent center-stage was his casting in "Bewitched." When he slipped into the role of Darrin Stephens in 1969, replacing Dick York, who had to exit the show due to health issues, Sargent inherited not just a character but a cultural phenomenon. "Bewitched," at that time, was a parlance of the sitcom genre—a modern fable infused with whimsy and domestic subtleties. Sargent's portrayal of the beleaguered yet devoted husband to a witch, played by Elizabeth Montgomery, was imbued with both comic timing and a tangible humanity. Sargent's Darrin Stephens, somewhat more sardonic than his predecessor’s interpretation, was pitched perfectly for the evolving American family dynamic. His tenure on the show coincided with a transformative period in American society, reflecting the shifts in gender roles and societal expectations through the prism of a fantastical domestic arrangement. His performance, while earnest par excellence, was meticulous and nuanced, embodying the quintessential suburban husband caught in a maelstrom of the arcane. Beyond "Bewitched," Sargent's career embodied the quintessential journeyman actor status. As the show concluded in 1972, Sargent was unfazed. He maintained a consistent presence on network television and the stage. From appearances in well-regarded series like "Taxi," "The Dukes of Hazzard," and "Family Ties" to starring in numerous TV movies, Sargent displayed remarkable range. His guest spots were always warmly received, bringing his reputable skill set to a variety of projects. Perhaps what set Dick Sargent apart, both professionally and personally, was his tenacity for authenticity. As Hollywood sparkled and dimmed with the lives of many, Sargent's own narrative bore its share of adversities. In 1974, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, beginning a prolonged battle marked by strength and an undying passion for engagement. In 1991, in the golden twilight of his career and life, Sargent made an indelible mark by publicly coming out as gay, becoming one of the few actors of his generation to do so. This brave disclosure was more than a headline—it was a testament to his character and a clarion call in aid of the LGBTQIA+ community. His recognition of National Coming Out Day alongside “Bewitched” co-star Elizabeth Montgomery was a beacon, championing the same equality and tolerance he portrayed onscreen for decades. Sadly, his fight with cancer came to an end in 1994, but his legacy endured. With a career carving out the "nice guy" archetype, Dick Sargent exemplified the balance of challenge and charisma necessary for both art and life. While he lived in a world of pretend, his greatest accomplishment was his refusal to live a lie. To his fans, Sargent shuttered the screen door of suburban American households, reminding them that the magical could live side by side with the mundane. His life, shaped by early privilege, dashed with spurts of cinematic alchemy, and consecrated by a late triumph of truth, was a testament to the American archetype: transformative, sincere, and ever so enchanting.