There’s something oddly poetic about the fact that only three actors from NBC’s 1980s sitcom 227 remain alive today. The show itself, which aired from 1985 to 1990, was a product of its era—a time when television was still figuring out how to balance sitcoms with social commentary, and when Black actors were rarely allowed to lead stories without being tokenized. But here we are, 36 years later, and Marla Gibbs, Jackée Harry, and Regina King are still very much part of the cultural conversation. Their stories aren’t just about longevity; they’re about how the entertainment industry has—and hasn’t—changed. And honestly? It’s a bit of a mirror held up to us all.
Let’s start with Marla Gibbs, who played the ever-composed Mary Jenkins. At 95, she’s not just surviving; she’s thriving. Her recent guest spot on Chicago Med alongside her daughter is more than a nostalgic reunion—it’s a reminder that age is just a number, especially when you’ve spent decades proving that point. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Gibbs has always seemed to exist outside the typical Hollywood retirement timeline. She’s not just acting; she’s performing with a kind of defiance, as if she’s saying, ‘Why would I stop now?’ I find it incredibly refreshing. So many stars fade into obscurity after a few decades, but Gibbs keeps showing up, whether it’s in a hospital drama, a comedy revival, or even a Breaking Bad spinoff where she plays a woman who just wants a vacuum cleaner. It’s not about the role—it’s about the refusal to be sidelined by time.
Then there’s Jackée Harry, whose character Sandra Clark was the perfect foil to Gibbs’ Mary. Harry’s career is a masterclass in adaptability. From soaps to sitcoms to voice acting, she’s carved out a niche that feels almost impossible to replicate. But what I find most interesting is how she’s managed to stay relevant without ever being typecast. Her role on Sister Sister was iconic, but her work on Everybody Hates Chris and The First Family showed that she could play both the wise aunt and the sassy neighbor with equal ease. One thing that immediately stands out is how she’s never been confined to a single genre or demographic. She’s the kind of actor who can make a sitcom feel fresh, a drama feel grounded, and a reality show feel like a real-life story. What many people don’t realize is that her success wasn’t just about talent—it was about her willingness to evolve, even when the industry wasn’t exactly set up for that kind of reinvention.
And then there’s Regina King. Oh, Regina King. The girl who played Brenda Jenkins on 227—a teenager with a future that would eventually include an Oscar, a Grammy, and a director’s chair. Her journey from sitcom star to Oscar-winning actress is one of the most remarkable in Hollywood history. But what really strikes me is how she’s never let her early fame define her. She’s taken roles that challenge her, from The Boondocks to Watchmen, and she’s done it all while maintaining a level of grace that’s rare in an industry that often treats Black women as either sidekicks or symbols. If you take a step back and think about it, her career is a testament to the power of reinvention. She didn’t just ride her 227 fame into stardom—she built a legacy that’s far more complex and nuanced. This raises a deeper question: How many other actors have been forced to hide their versatility behind their early roles? King’s refusal to be boxed in is what makes her so inspiring.
Looking at these three women together, it’s impossible not to think about the broader implications. The fact that 227 was created by a Black woman (Marla Gibbs) and featured two other Black women in leading roles is a rarity in the history of television. It’s not just about representation—it’s about ownership. Gibbs’ insistence on being an uncredited producer, despite the lack of formal recognition, speaks volumes about the systemic barriers Black creatives have faced. And yet, here we are, with these women still making waves. It’s a reminder that progress isn’t linear, but it’s also proof that when you have the right people in the room, even the most stubborn systems can shift.
What this really suggests is that the entertainment industry’s relationship with diversity is still a work in progress. We’ve seen a lot of tokenism, a lot of performative allyship, and a lot of missed opportunities. But the survival of these three actors—and their continued relevance—shows that when talent meets determination, the world takes notice. As Marla Gibbs once said, ‘As long as I’m breathing, I still have a chance to enjoy life.’ That’s not just a mantra for longevity; it’s a call to action for anyone who’s ever felt like they don’t belong. The legacy of 227 isn’t just about a sitcom that lasted five seasons. It’s about three women who refused to be forgotten, and who continue to redefine what it means to be a star in an industry that still has a long way to go.
