It started with a stray bullet and a gusher of "Texas Tea." When Jed Clampett fired at a rabbit and hit an oil vein, he didn't just change his family's life; he changed the DNA of American sitcoms forever. Most TV shows from 1962 feel like dusty museum pieces now. They’re slow. They’re stiff. But the characters of the Beverly Hillbillies still have this weird, magnetic energy that works even in the era of streaming and TikTok. It wasn't just about fish-out-of-water tropes. It was about four people who were completely unfixable—and completely uninterested in changing for the sake of polite society.
The show was a juggernaut. We're talking about a series that once held eight of the top ten highest-rated episodes in TV history. Think about that for a second. In an era before 500 channels, basically the entire country was watching a man in a battered felt hat try to make sense of a "cement pond." But why? If you look closely at the characters of the Beverly Hillbillies, you see they aren't actually the ones being mocked. The joke is always on the greedy bankers and the social climbers of 90210.
Jed Clampett: The Zen Master of the Ozarks
Buddy Ebsen played Jed with a stillness that’s honestly underrated. He was the anchor. While everyone else was screaming or falling into pools, Jed just stood there, whittling a stick and being the smartest person in the room without ever acting like it. He was a widower, a philosopher, and a multi-millionaire who couldn't have cared less about the $25 million in his bank account (which, by the way, would be over $250 million in today’s money).
Jed is the only reason the family didn't get chewed up and spit out by California. He had this "common sense" that acted like a superpower. When Mr. Drysdale would show up with some convoluted scheme to keep the Clampetts' money in the bank, Jed would just squint, say "Wellll, doggies," and somehow dismantle the whole corporate facade with a single sentence.
He wasn't a caricature. Ebsen, who was actually a sophisticated guy—a dancer and a sailor—brought a dignity to Jed that prevented the show from becoming a mean-spirited mockery of rural people. He was the moral compass. Without him, the show would’ve just been a loud mess of slapstick.
Granny: The Tiny Terror of the Kitchen
If Jed was the soul, Granny was the engine. Daisy Moses, played by Irene Ryan, was technically Jed’s mother-in-law, though she basically ran the household with an iron fist and a bottle of "rheumatiz medicine" (which we all know was high-proof moonshine).
She was tiny. Barely five feet tall. But she was terrifying.
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Granny represented the old world's refusal to acknowledge the new one. She didn't believe in doctors; she believed in "potions" and "salves." She didn't trust the police; she trusted her double-barreled shotgun. One of the funniest recurring bits in the history of the characters of the Beverly Hillbillies is Granny’s absolute conviction that California was a desolate wasteland filled with "foreigners" who didn't know how to properly skin a squirrel.
Irene Ryan was actually younger than Buddy Ebsen in real life. Let that sink in. She used heavy makeup and a frantic, bird-like physicality to transform into a woman who seemed like she’d been cured in a smokehouse for eighty years. She gave the show its edge. While Jed was diplomatic, Granny was ready to start a civil war over a property line dispute.
Elly May and Jethro: The Muscle and the "Brain"
Then you’ve got the kids. Well, they weren't kids, but they acted like it. Donna Douglas played Elly May Clampett as a subversion of the "bombshell" trope. She was stunning, sure, but she was also stronger than most of the men on the show. She’d rather wrestle a chimpanzee or a bear than go to a debutante ball.
Elly May was pure. That was her whole thing. In a town like Beverly Hills, where everyone has an angle, she just wanted to take care of her "critters." It’s a bit of a tragedy that the show never really let her grow up, but as a character, she provided a necessary sweetness that balanced out Granny’s vinegar.
And then... there’s Jethro Bodine.
Max Baer Jr. played Jethro as a man-child with the physique of an Olympic athlete and the intellectual capacity of a ham sandwich. Jethro’s obsession with his "sixth-grade education" is one of the show's best running gags. He was always trying to "become" something—a brain surgeon, a double-nought spy (inspired by James Bond), a movie producer.
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He was the ultimate dreamer. Jethro represents that specific type of person who has all the resources in the world but absolutely no idea how to use them. He was lovable, but man, was he a dunderhead. Baer Jr. played it so well that he actually found it hard to get serious acting work later because people couldn't see him as anything but the big guy looking for a "fancy eatin' table."
The Beverly Hills Foil: Milburn Drysdale
You can’t talk about the characters of the Beverly Hillbillies without mentioning the man who kept them there. Milburn Drysdale (Raymond Bailey) was the president of the Commerce Bank, and he was a man possessed. His only god was the Clampett fortune.
Drysdale is a fascinating character because he’s technically the villain, but he’s so pathetic you almost feel for him. He spent every waking hour terrified that Jed would move back to the hills and take his millions with him. This led to Drysdale forcing his poor secretary, Jane Hathaway, to cater to the family’s every whim.
Nancy Kulp’s Miss Jane was the unsung hero of the series. She was the "straight man." Cultured, educated, and perpetually frustrated, she was the only one who saw the absurdity of it all. Her unrequited crush on Jethro was—let’s be honest—deeply weird, but it added a layer of human longing to a show that was mostly about sight gags and hillbilly puns.
Why the Dynamic Worked
The show worked because it was a closed loop.
- Jed provided the wisdom.
- Granny provided the conflict.
- Elly May provided the heart.
- Jethro provided the chaos.
- Drysdale provided the greed that kept the wheels turning.
If you removed any one of them, the whole thing would have collapsed. It was a perfect ecosystem of tropes.
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The Cultural Impact Nobody Admits
People look down on "rural comedies." The "Rural Purge" of the early 70s—when CBS cancelled shows like The Beverly Hillbillies, Green Acres, and Petticoat Junction—was a deliberate move to attract a "hipper, urban" audience. But here’s the thing: those "hip" shows didn't always have the staying power.
The characters of the Beverly Hillbillies resonate because they represent an American myth. The idea that you can strike it rich and still stay exactly who you are is incredibly appealing. We live in a world where everyone is constantly "branding" themselves and changing their personalities to fit in. The Clampetts didn't give a damn about branding. They brought their wood-burning stove into a mansion and kept wearing their homespun clothes. There's a radical authenticity in that.
Misconceptions About the Show
A lot of people think the show was just making fun of "dumb hicks." That’s a total misunderstanding of the text. If you watch an episode like "The Giant Jackrabbit," you see that the "sophisticated" people of Beverly Hills are almost always the ones who end up looking like idiots. They are the ones blinded by greed, vanity, and social climbing. The Clampetts are the only ones with any dignity.
Also, people forget how surreal the show was. This wasn't a gritty documentary. It was a live-action cartoon. There were episodes involving literal time travel (sorta), hippopotamuses in the pool, and Granny trying to fight the "smog monster." It was weird. It was experimental in its own way.
How to Revisit the Clampetts Today
If you’re going back to watch the show now, don't start from the end. The early black-and-white episodes are actually where the sharpest writing lives. The stakes feel a bit higher, and the contrast between the mountain culture and the California glitz is much more stark.
- Watch for the physical comedy: Buddy Ebsen and Max Baer Jr. were masters of using their height and weight for laughs.
- Listen to the dialogue: Paul Henning, the creator, had a real ear for Ozark slang. It’s rhythmic and almost poetic in a strange way.
- Pay attention to Miss Jane: She’s the bridge between the audience and the Clampetts. Her reactions are usually our reactions.
The characters of the Beverly Hillbillies aren't just relics of 1960s television. They are archetypes. They represent the clash between tradition and modernity, between soul and money. Whether you love the slapstick or appreciate the subtle satire of the banking industry, there’s a reason Jed, Granny, Elly May, and Jethro are still on our screens decades after they drove that old truck down Sunset Boulevard.
If you want to dive deeper, look for the original 1962 pilot. It’s surprisingly grounded and does a great job of establishing why Jed decided to leave the swamp in the first place. You’ll see that the heart of the show wasn't the money—it was a father trying to give his daughter a better life, even if he had no idea what a "mansion" was supposed to look like. Focus on the character beats rather than just the "yee-haw" jokes, and you'll find a much smarter show than the critics of the 70s gave it credit for.