I first met Dr. Richard Kimble when I was a child. Not in person, of course, but in the flickering light of our living room, where re-runs of The Fugitive played out nightly. My late father, a fan of the show’s original run, would sit beside me, eyes narrowed in concentration as David Janssen’s Kimble slipped from one small town to the next, always a step ahead of the relentless Lieutenant Gerard.
The stories were simple and mythic: a good man, wrongly accused, running for his life, helping strangers, never able to rest. It is television at its most elemental, and it left a mark on me.
The show’s storytelling and its style—film noir on the small screen—taught me about adversity before I even knew the word. Each episode was a lesson in a man’s resolve. Each episode, Kimble showed the courage it takes to keep moving when the world says you should give up.
Kimble didn’t have the luxury of “settling down” or making commitments. Every new town he came to required that he had a new identity. Each show provided him with a new chance to do some good and then always and inevitably move on by the end of it.
He was the American cowboy as doctor, the mythic wanderer with an intellect instead of a six-shooter.
While I enjoyed Harrison Ford’s turn as Kimble on the silver screen, I still enjoy the old show way more than the movie. I grew up with three seasons of Kimble in black and white (and the final season in color).
But what really made The Fugitive sing was Peter Rugolo’s score. For years, the music was as elusive as Kimble himself. In various bouts of syndication, the score was thought lost to time.
In the early days of internet message boards, there became enough of a groundswell to get the original music back in the re-runs and especially on the DVDs. The first video tapes and several editions of the discs did not have the original music. Similar, but not what viewers originally heard in the 1960s.
When I finally got my hands on the London Symphony Orchestra’s recording of Rugolo’s soundtrack, it was like finding a long-lost friend. The music is iconic-brassy, mournful, urgent. It’s the sound of running, of hope and fear, of the American night.
Even now, I’ll put it on and find myself transported: The train wreck that originally freed Kimble from Death Row, the tense standoffs, the bittersweet moments of kindness in a world that mostly wants to see you fall.
A few years ago, I tracked down the DVD box set—edited with Rugolo’s music—and watched the series again, this time with the benefit of years and a little more understanding.
What struck me wasn’t just Kimble’s plight, but the way he never let his circumstances define him. He was always helping others, even when he could barely help himself. He made a difference, even if he couldn’t stay to see the results. And in that, there’s a lesson for all of us.
Here’s the thing: Most of us aren’t fugitives. We’re not running from the law or a tragic past.
But adversity? That’s universal.
Life throws obstacles in our path. Sometimes it’s unfair, while sometimes they are obstacles of our own making.
The temptation always exists to run, to avoid, to drift from one thing to the next, never making a commitment, never sticking around long enough to see things through.
But what if, instead of running, we chose to stand firm? What if we made commitments and honored them, not because we think we have to, but because we can?
That’s where coaching comes in. I help people who are tired of running from their own challenges, who are ready to face adversity head-on and build something lasting.
It’s not about wandering from one crisis to the next, hoping for a lucky break. It’s about making a plan or charting out a course, committing to it, and becoming the kind of person who weathers any storm.
If you’re ready to stop running and start building, I can help.
The lessons of The Fugitive—those of resilience, resourcefulness, and the power of doing good even when it’s hard—are the same lessons I bring to my coaching practice.
The difference? You don’t have to do it alone, and you don’t have to keep moving on. You get to stay and to grow. You and others get to see the payoff of your hard work.
And if you need a little inspiration, I recommend Rugolo’s soundtrack. It reminds us that every journey has a score and that every struggle has its own distinct beat.
The day the running stopped for Kimble was the day he found justice. For you, it might be the day you decide to stop drifting and start living with purpose.
If you loved The Fugitive—the stories, the music, and Richard Kimble’s journey—and even if you have no idea about any of it … let’s talk about how you can write your own ending.
Your story should not end as a wanderer, but as someone who makes commitments and sees them through.
Ready to stop running? Visit our page and take the first step.
Make “The day the running stopped” … today!
As always,
Brian
P.S. – Today, our latest Substack column once again made it again to the front page at LewRockwell.com. Thanks to Lew for republishing this one:
