Honestly, if you look at the landscape of 1979 television, nobody expected two cousins in a beat-up Dodge Charger to become a global obsession. It sounds like a fluke. Maybe it was. But the Dukes of Hazzard beginning wasn't some boardroom brainstorm where executives tracked metrics and "synergy." It was grittier than that. It started with dirt roads, actual moonshine culture, and a 1975 film called Moonrunners that basically served as the DNA for everything we saw in Hazzard County.
The show premiered on January 26, 1979, as a mid-season replacement. CBS didn't even think it would last. They ordered nine episodes. Just nine. They figured it was a "filler" show to bridge a gap in the schedule. Instead, Bo and Luke Duke didn't just fill a gap; they blew the doors off the ratings.
The Moonrunners Connection and the Real Uncle Jesse
Most people think Hazzard County was dreamed up in a Hollywood backlot. Not quite. Gy Waldron, the creator, was obsessed with the stories of Jerry Rushing. Rushing was a real-life moonshine runner from North Carolina. He didn't drive a flashy orange car, but he had a delivery vehicle named "Traveler," named after General Robert E. Lee’s horse. Sound familiar?
Waldron took the essence of Rushing’s life—the cat-and-mouse games with local law enforcement, the souped-up engines, the "good ol' boy" code of ethics—and turned it into Moonrunners. When it came time to pitch a show to CBS, Waldron basically filed the serial numbers off his own movie. Waylon Jennings, who narrated the film, stayed on as the Balladeer for the show. The character of Uncle Jesse was a direct carryover from the movie's Arthur Hunnicutt version of the character.
It was raw.
The early episodes of the Dukes of Hazzard beginning feel noticeably different than the later seasons. If you go back and watch the first five episodes, which were shot on location in Georgia rather than a California set, the tone is almost... swampy. It’s more adult. There’s more drinking, more suggestive dialogue, and the stakes feel a bit more dangerous.
Why Georgia Mattered for the Dukes of Hazzard Beginning
Location is everything.
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In those first five episodes, the production team set up shop in Covington and Conyers, Georgia. This wasn't just for aesthetics. It gave the show a texture you can’t fake with plywood sets. The red clay was real. The humidity looked real on the actors' faces.
Tom Wopat and John Schneider weren't even the first choices for some executives, but their chemistry was instant. Schneider actually lied to get the part. He showed up to the audition in a beat-up truck, carrying a beer can (which he claimed was filled with water), wearing dirty clothes, and speaking with a thick Southern accent. He was a kid from New York, but he convinced them he was Hazzard born and bred.
When the production eventually moved to the Warner Bros. lot in Burbank, California, some of that gritty realism evaporated. It became more of a "live-action cartoon." But that Dukes of Hazzard beginning in the Georgia woods? That was pure Southern Gothic action.
The General Lee was the Real Lead Actor
Let’s be real for a second. Bo and Luke were great, but the 1969 Dodge Charger was the star. In the very beginning, the car wasn't the polished icon we see on t-shirts today. The first few General Lees had messy paint jobs. The "01" was hand-painted in some shots. The crew didn't realize they were going to be destroying dozens of these cars every month.
They jumped it. A lot.
In the first episode, "One Armed Bandits," the jump over Rosco’s cruiser was a massive deal. That specific jump covered 82 feet and reached a height of 16 feet. It was a record-breaking moment for television stunts at the time. The car didn't survive, obviously. In fact, throughout the series, they went through somewhere between 250 and 320 Dodge Chargers. By the end of the show’s run, they were so desperate for 1968 and 1969 Chargers that they were placing notes on the windshields of strangers' cars in Los Angeles, offering to buy them on the spot.
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Rosco P. Coltrane: From Menace to Comedian
Another weird thing about the Dukes of Hazzard beginning is Rosco. James Best was a legendary character actor who had been in serious Westerns and dramas. In the first few episodes, Rosco P. Coltrane is actually a bit of a threat. He’s a crooked cop, sure, but he isn't the bumbling, "gitch-gitch-gitch" laughing character we remember.
Best eventually realized that the show worked better if the villain was someone kids could laugh at rather than someone they were genuinely afraid of. He developed the voice and the mannerisms to soften the character. He wanted Rosco to be like a kid who never grew up. This shift was pivotal. It moved the show from a gritty moonshine drama into a family-friendly Friday night staple.
The relationship between Rosco and Boss Hogg (Sorrell Booke) became the comedic backbone. Interestingly, Booke was a highly educated man, a Shakespearean actor who spoke five languages. He wore a fat suit to play Boss Hogg. The "greed" of Boss Hogg was played for laughs, but in those early scripts, the corruption was presented with a bit more of a bite.
The Cultural Impact and the "Daisy Duke" Effect
You can’t talk about the beginning of this show without mentioning Catherine Bach. When she showed up for the audition, the producers didn't know what they wanted for Daisy. They were thinking of a Dolly Parton type. Bach showed up in homemade denim shorts and a T-shirt.
The "Daisy Dukes" were born.
The network was terrified. They thought the shorts were too revealing. The solution? She had to wear flesh-colored pantyhose under them to ensure nothing "scandalous" happened during action scenes. It was a weird compromise that defined an entire fashion trend for the next forty years.
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Why the Start of the Show Still Resonates
Why do we care?
The Dukes of Hazzard beginning tapped into a specific American sentiment of the late 70s. People were tired of the "system." Trust in government was at an all-time low after the mid-70s political scandals. Bo and Luke Duke represented the ultimate anti-authoritarian heroes. They weren't criminals in the traditional sense; they were "never meanin' no harm." They fought the corrupt local government (Boss Hogg) using their wits and a fast car.
It was a modern Western.
The "Robin Hood of the South" trope worked because it felt earned. The show didn't take place in a sparkling city; it took place in the dirt.
What You Should Do Next
If you want to truly appreciate the history of the show, stop watching the later seasons where they used miniature models for the car jumps. It looks cheap and ruins the magic. Instead, go back and source the first five episodes—the Georgia episodes.
Look for the "One Armed Bandits" pilot. Pay attention to the background—the real trees, the real dilapidated barns. Compare the tone of James Best’s Rosco in episode one to episode fifty. It’s a masterclass in how a show finds its soul through trial and error.
If you're a car enthusiast, look for the subtle differences in the General Lee’s trim in the first season. You’ll notice the "C" pillar emblems and the varying shades of "Hemi Orange" (which was actually often "Big Bad Orange" or even "Flame Red" depending on who was painting that day). Understanding these small, messy details makes you realize that the Dukes of Hazzard wasn't a corporate product; it was a chaotic, high-speed experiment that somehow landed perfectly on its wheels.
For those interested in the real history, researching the life of Jerry Rushing provides a fascinating look at the "whiskey trippers" who paved the way for NASCAR and the Duke boys. The transition from illegal moonshine runs to Saturday night television is a quintessential American story that started long before the cameras started rolling in Covington.