We admit to being of two minds with regard to the TV legacy of Ed McMahon, who died yesterday at age 86.

First let us be clear about the important things.

Ed seemed like a nice man, so we’re sorry he’s gone and our sincere sympathies go to his family and friends. Even when someone lives to what is considered a ripe old age, it’s never easy to let them go, and we hope Ed — who had been battling a bunch of health problems — is in a better place.

Now back to the trivialities of TV.

Most people under the age of 35 probably don’t even know who Ed McMahon was, but to multiple generations of North Americans, he was the omnipresent sidekick to the legendary Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show. Ed was most famous for his nightly introduction: “Heeeeeeeeeeeerre’s JOHNNY!”

We can say without question that as far as talk-show sidekicks go, Ed perfected — or at least created the template for — the role.

Ed always was there with his signature, chortling laugh when Johnny needed it. Johnny could pick on Ed when the time was right. And for the most part Ed knew his place, too. Occasionally when Ed would say something that elicited a chuckle from the studio audience, Johnny would glare at Ed with mock anger and mutter, “Exactly where on the cue-card does it say, ‘Sidekick gets big laugh?’ ”

Think of all the other people who have tried to be sidekicks, or some kind of sidekick-announcer or sidekick-band leader combination. From Paul Shaffer to Andy Richter, they just never quite slip into the role as smoothly as Ed did.

Now, was that because of Ed, or was that because of Johnny?

There’s no denying that for whoever Ed McMahon really was in person, his persona became a show-business cliche: The second banana.

Many comedy shows took shots at Ed, both directly and indirectly.

On SCTV, John Candy conjured McMahon in the form of suck-up sidekick William B. Williams.

On The Larry Sanders Show, Jeffrey Tambor conjured McMahon in the form of untalented, overly ambitious sidekick Hank Kingsley. (Remember the episode when Hank was going to try standup comedy, and Artie — played by Rip Torn — agreed to practise-heckle Hank? “Hey, you big, no-talent piece of s---,” Artie bellowed, and Hank started to cry. Priceless).

On Saturday Night Live, Phil Hartman (as McMahon) and Dana Carvey (as Carson) took a hilarious but savage look at an aging Johnny and Ed toward the end of their three-decade run together. To this day, when we remember the words, “Hey-yooooooo!” or “You are correct, sir!” in our heads, we aren’t sure if we’re hearing McMahon, or hearing Hartman doing McMahon.

When Carson retired in 1992, he disappeared from public life so completely that in the next 15 years McMahon became more of an individual celebrity, if for no other reason than to pick up the slack. As a Carson devotee, it just didn’t sit well to hear McMahon liberally using the word “we” when talking about all the accomplishments and the great legacy of The Tonight Show.

But then again, we have to be fair to McMahon in this regard.

It always makes us furious to hear music snobs say dismissively, “Well, Ringo Starr wasn’t a very good drummer,” when discussing the Beatles. The implication is that anyone could have been plugged in there to keep time with John Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison, and everything would have been the same — which, of course, is bull.

There’s a lot more to entertainment than mere technical proficiency. Ringo’s personality had a lot to do with the Beatles’ early worldwide success, both in terms of fan support and internal band politics.

Likewise, it’s easy to say anyone could have done Ed McMahon’s job alongside Johnny Carson. But is that really true? We don’t really know, do we?

In that way, McMahon’s TV legacy forever will be secure. Rest in peace, Ed.

bill.harris@sunmedia.ca