I wasn’t exactly tuned in when the episode first aired on October 30, 1978 — I was about 2 years old, so television programming wasn’t high on my to-do list. But by the time WKRP in Cincinnati hit syndication, I was definitely old enough to appreciate that particular brand of chaos.

The episode, titled “Turkeys Away,” is often hailed as one of the greatest sitcom episodes ever made. The premise is absurdly simple: station manager Arthur Carlson decides that the station needs a big Thanksgiving promotion. His idea? Drop live turkeys from a helicopter over a shopping center parking lot.

What follows is pure comedic mayhem. Turkeys plummet. Windshields shatter. Radio reporter Les Nessman delivers a breathless play-by-play from the scene as if covering the Hindenburg disaster (“Oh, the humanity!”). And when the smoke clears, Carlson utters one of television’s most immortal lines:

“As God is my witness… I thought turkeys could fly.”

Believe it or not, this feathered fiasco was inspired by a real radio stunt gone wrong — not with helicopters, but with a pickup truck full of live turkeys in a Dallas shopping center. Truth really can be stranger (and funnier) than fiction.

Decades later, that scene still gets replayed every Thanksgiving, both for its slapstick brilliance and for the reminder that even the best intentions can crash-land spectacularly. It’s radio history, sitcom gold, and Thanksgiving tradition all rolled into one chaotic broadcast.

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Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

If WKRP gave us the funniest Thanksgiving disaster ever broadcast on television, then Planes, Trains, and Automobiles gave us the most heartfelt one ever put on film. Released in 1987 and directed by John Hughes, the movie follows Neal Page (Steve Martin) and Del Griffith (John Candy) as two mismatched travelers just trying to get home for Thanksgiving.

Everything that can go wrong — does. Flights get diverted, trains break down, rental cars catch fire, and tempers flare. Yet underneath the frustration, the story becomes a tender portrait of kindness, loss, and unexpected friendship.

And because I spent twenty years in the travel industry, this next scene never fails to make me laugh — not just because of its legendary profanity, but because I’ve seen versions of it play out (minus the Steve Martin delivery) more times than I can count:

Car Rental Agent: [cheerfully] Welcome to Marathon, may I help you?
Neal: Yes.
Car Rental Agent: How may I help you?
Neal: You can start by wiping that fucking dumb-ass smile off your rosy fucking cheeks! Then you can give me a fucking automobile! A fucking Datsun, a fucking Toyota, a fucking Mustang, a fucking Buick! Four fucking wheels and a seat!
Car Rental Agent: I really don’t care for the way you’re speaking to me.
Neal: And I really don’t care for the way your company left me in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking keys to a fucking car that isn’t fucking there. And I really didn’t care to fucking walk down a fucking highway and across a fucking runway to get back here to have you smile in my fucking face. I want a fucking car… right… fucking… now.
[pause]
Car Rental Agent: May I see your rental agreement?
Neal: I threw it away.
Car Rental Agent: Oh, boy.
Neal: Oh, boy, what?
Car Rental Agent: [narrows her eyes] You’re fucked.

Every travel professional watching that exchange has to laugh — not because of the language, but because of the truth in it. Thanksgiving travel brings out the best and worst in people, and Hughes captured that raw frustration with perfect comedic timing.

🦃 The Gravy Incident of 2012

(Because sometimes, the drama isn’t on screen — it’s on the dinner table.)

After all the sitcom chaos and travel tribulations Hollywood could dream up, nothing compares to real-life Thanksgiving mayhem — the kind that happens when timing, tension, and turkey grease collide.

So, WCP is a wonderful cook — much better than I am. I suspect it started out of necessity more than desire, but game recognizes game, and she’s got it in the kitchen.

Wide-sweeping announcement: I’m a gravy monger.
Go ahead, check your “shocked face.”
I haven’t met a country gravy or brown gravy I didn’t like — and my sister’s is no different.

WCP and I have both worked for Costco Wholesale for years. Every November, each employee gets a free frozen Butterball turkey as a gift of gratitude — usually 14 to 16 pounds. When we lived together, that meant two turkeys: one for Thanksgiving, the other for my February birthday.

From the cooking process, all that glorious liquid gold collects at the bottom of the roasting pan. Per my sister’s strict instructions, I was to save it, not toss it. She’d transform it with fresh spices, cornstarch, and possibly a little magic dust into gravy worthy of its own zip code.

Thanksgiving 2011 was a boom year — a full house, plates stacked, everyone happy.
Thanksgiving 2012? A bust. Just the two of us.

I cooked the turkey, as usual — four hours of anticipation. Like clockwork, I set aside the drippings, imagining the liquid symphony that would soon become gravy. When dinner was ready, my sister sweetly said, “Dish up, Los.”

Ravenous, I plated up, spotted the gravy saucepan, and thought, Huh, that doesn’t seem like much. Naturally, I poured most of it.

I sat down, happy as a clam, shoveling turkey and stuffing like it was my last meal. Across the table, Charrina quietly sat with her plate — noticeably gravy-less. Between bites, fork mid-air, I asked, “Where’s your gravy, WCP?”

She mumbled, “On your plate, you gravy thief.”

Oof. Instant regret. I felt like a heel — gravy-guilty and fully un-grateful. I tried to fix it: “Lemme give you some from mine.”

She waved me off. “That’s like trying to put spilled milk back in the carton. Enjoy the gravy, big brother.”

Ugh. Suddenly, every bite tasted like guilt — seasoned with shame and a dash of remorse.

Fast-forward to Thanksgiving 2013 — a boom year again. A full house, laughter, and redemption… or so I thought.

When it came time to eat, Charrina stood up, ladle in hand, and declared:

“Everyone — except Los — can plate up. And listen up! The big saucepan of gravy is for all y’all, not Los. You can cooperate and share. Los is on gravy restriction and has been segregated to his own little saucepan where he can smash all of it by himself. You don’t touch his; he won’t touch yours. Capisce?”

The whole room erupted. Even me.
Because in that moment, I knew the Gravy Incident of 2012 had officially entered family legend.

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Curtain Call

Whether it’s turkeys falling from the sky, travelers losing their minds, or brothers hoarding gravy, Thanksgiving has a way of turning ordinary moments into unforgettable stories.

WKRP showed us how even the best-laid plans can nosedive spectacularly. Planes, Trains and Automobiles reminded us that behind every frustration, there’s often unexpected friendship — or at least a lesson in patience. And The Gravy Incident of 2012? Well, that one proved that sometimes the holiday drama isn’t on screen, but sitting right across the dinner table holding a ladle and your dignity hostage.

But that’s the beauty of Thanksgiving. The mess, the laughter, the chaos — it all becomes part of our shared mythology. Every dropped turkey, delayed flight, and gravy-gate moment eventually finds its way into the highlight reel we tell year after year.

Because when the plates are cleared and the leftovers packed away, what really lingers isn’t the food — it’s the story. And if you’re lucky, the people you love are there to help you retell it… one laugh, one memory, and one perfectly seasoned helping at a time.