"Dyn-o-mite!"
You can hear it, right? Even if you weren't alive in 1974, that catchphrase is etched into the bedrock of American pop culture. It was the calling card of J.J. Evans, the gangly, charismatic eldest son on the groundbreaking sitcom Good Times. Played by Jimmie Walker, J.J. was supposed to be a supporting character. He was a skinny kid with a penchant for painting and a goofy grin. But television history has a funny way of ignoring the writers' original blueprints.
Within months, J.J. didn't just become the star; he became a phenomenon. He was on lunchboxes. He was on posters. He was the reason millions of people tuned in every Tuesday night. But behind the scenes of that Chicago high-rise apartment, things were anything but "dyn-o-mite."
The meteoric rise of J.J. Evans in Good Times created a rift that eventually tore the show apart, leading to the exit of its most seasoned actors and a fundamental shift in how Black families were portrayed on screen.
The Accidental Superstar
When Good Times premiered as a spin-off of Maude, the focus was intended to be on the struggle. It was about John Amos's James Evans trying to find steady work and Esther Rolle's Florida Evans keeping the family's spirits high despite the crushing poverty of the Cabrini-Green projects. It was a "socially conscious" comedy. It had teeth.
Then came Jimmie Walker.
Walker was a stand-up comedian from the Bronx with a high-energy style that didn't quite mesh with the gritty realism the producers originally pitched. But the audience didn't care about realism. They loved the "Kid." Every time Walker walked into the Evans kitchen and shouted his catchphrase, the live audience erupted.
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This created a massive dilemma for the show’s creators, Norman Lear, Eric Monte, and Mike Evans. Do you stick to the plan and write about the harsh realities of unemployment and urban decay? Or do you lean into the goofy kid who is making the ratings skyrocket?
Money talks. Usually, it shouts.
The writers started leaning into J.J.’s antics. They turned him into a "buffoon" in the eyes of his co-stars. He became the centerpiece of every episode, often at the expense of the more serious storylines involving his siblings, Thelma and Michael, or his parents.
The Battle for the Soul of the Evans Family
John Amos and Esther Rolle were not happy. They weren't just actors looking for more lines; they felt a deep responsibility to the Black community to portray a strong, dignified family unit. They saw J.J. Evans becoming a caricature—a modern-day minstrel.
Amos was particularly vocal. He had frequent, legendary clashes with the writers. He felt that J.J. was becoming a "chicken-eating, hat-wearing" stereotype that undermined the show's integrity. He wasn't wrong, but he was also fighting against the most popular character on television.
"The writers would stay in their offices and write these scripts based on what they thought Black people were like," Amos later reflected in various interviews. He wanted J.J. to grow, to be more than a punchline. He wanted the character to use his artistic talent—J.J. was a gifted painter, after all—to actually get out of the projects.
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Instead, the scripts stayed focused on the gags.
The tension reached a breaking point at the end of the third season. John Amos was fired. The producers decided it was easier to kill off the father figure than to deal with an actor who constantly challenged the direction of the show's biggest star.
Why the J.J. Phenomenon Still Matters Today
It's easy to look back at Good Times and see J.J. as just a funny guy. But his trajectory represents a turning point in television. It was the first time a Black character became a "breakout" star in the way Henry Winkler’s Fonzie did on Happy Days.
The problem was the context.
When J.J. became the focus, the show lost its balance. Without James Evans to provide the "stern father" counterpoint, J.J.’s antics felt less like a teenager being a teenager and more like the show’s only identity. Esther Rolle grew so frustrated with the "J.J.-ification" of the series that she eventually left the show as well, only returning later with a contract that stipulated J.J. would be written with more maturity.
Interestingly, Jimmie Walker himself was often caught in the middle. He was a young comic doing his job. He didn't invent the catchphrase—director John Rich reportedly pushed him to say it—and he certainly didn't write the scripts. He was just the lightning rod for a much larger cultural debate about representation.
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Understanding the "Breakout" Trap
What happened with J.J. Evans in Good Times is a textbook example of a "breakout character" hijacking a narrative. You see it in everything from Urkel on Family Matters to Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory.
But with J.J., the stakes were higher because there were so few Black families on TV at the time. When one character becomes the "face" of a race for a national audience, the pressure for that character to be "respectable" is immense.
J.J. wasn't trying to be a role model. He was trying to get a laugh.
The legacy of the character is a complicated mix of genuine comedic genius and missed opportunity. Jimmie Walker’s physical comedy was top-tier. His timing was impeccable. But the cost of his success was the dilution of the show's original, revolutionary premise.
Actionable Insights for TV History Buffs and Creators
If you’re a fan of classic television or a writer trying to understand how to manage a "breakout" hit, there are real lessons to be learned from the J.J. Evans era:
- Watch the early seasons vs. the later seasons. Notice how J.J.’s painting—his one serious character trait—virtually disappears as the catchphrase takes over. This is a lesson in how "gimmicks" can kill character depth.
- Study the ensemble dynamics. A show survives on the friction between characters. When James Evans left, that friction vanished, and the show had to rely on increasingly wacky plots to fill the void.
- Acknowledge the weight of representation. In 2026, we have hundreds of channels and streaming services. In 1974, there were three. Every choice made for J.J. carried the weight of an entire demographic's image.
- Respect the "straight man." Every J.J. needs a James. If you're creating a story, don't sacrifice the grounded characters for the sake of the loud ones; you'll eventually find you have nothing left to ground the humor.
J.J. Evans remains one of the most iconic figures in television history. Whether you view him as a comedic legend or a cautionary tale, you can't deny the impact he had. He changed the way sitcoms were sold, and in the process, he inadvertently changed the course of Black history on the small screen.
To really understand the impact, go back and watch the season 4 premiere, "The Family Tree." See how the show tries to navigate the loss of the father figure while keeping the J.J. engine running. It’s a masterclass in a show trying to find its new soul.