When I mention a thirty-year career in television comedy, including work on the beloved sitcomCheers, I can practically see the thought bubble forming above people’s heads. It always boils down to one question, unspoken but glaringly obvious: “He must be swimming in residuals.”
Residuals – those per-episode payments writers, actors, and directors receive whenever their work is re-aired – hold a strange fascination for many. The assumption is that a long-running show equates to a lifetime of financial ease. It’s a compelling fantasy, fueled by the mystery of what others earn.
People don’t hesitate to ask directly. “How much are we talking?” they’ll demand, eyes calculating. Others are more subtle, their gaze sweeping over my belongings – watch, shoes, even my skin – attempting to quantify a lifestyle based on perceived wealth. It’s a quiet assessment of value, a human impulse to understand where others stand.
There’s usually a brief pause while this silent inventory takes place before the conversation can continue. I don’t mind, honestly. It’s a natural curiosity. But let me be clear: the initial burst of residual income diminishes rapidly. After a few reruns and international sales, the payments begin a steep decline.
To illustrate, my entire career residuals for the final quarter of 2025 totaled approximately zero. The quarter before that? Around thirty dollars. And when that check arrived, my reaction wasn’t disappointment, but genuine delight. “Thirty bucks! Sweet!” Decades of experience have recalibrated my expectations.
And, for the record, the watch? Inherited. It’s a story I often offer to preempt the speculation. It’s not about denying success, but about challenging assumptions.
This isn’t meant as a complaint. The 1990s and early 2000s were a remarkably generous time in television. My compensation was, in economic terms, unsustainable. Even now, I’m grateful for the opportunities and the willingness of others to invest in creative endeavors.
Recently, I stumbled upon an Instagram account meticulously dissecting eachCheersepisode, dedicating a week to each installment. It’s a delightful trip down memory lane, a chance to revisit moments I’d almost forgotten. What’s ironic is that I’m not earning a penny from this rediscovery.
Social media companies, with their relaxed approach to copyright, aren’t exactly prioritizing payments for fragments of thirty-year-old scenes. But surprisingly, that doesn’t bother me. The joy of unexpectedly encountering a particularly brilliant moment from the show far outweighs any potential financial gain. It’s a small, unexpected burst of happiness.
That feeling, however, may be short-lived. Last week, I reposted a scene I was particularly proud of – Woody’s hilarious fear of a French seducer. A follower, who also happens to be an executive at Paramount Global (the current rights holder, at least for now), immediately contacted me.
He informed me he’d alerted his colleagues to the copyright infringement and they would be taking action. “You should be getting paid for this,” he stated, clearly believing he was doing me a favor. But some things are simply more valuable than a meager quarterly check – especially when that check is less than thirty dollars.
