When someone says “Norm!” in a bar, you know exactly who they’re talking about. George Wendt, the actor who brought that lovable, beer-loving character to life on Cheers, passed away this week at 76. It’s the kind of news that hits like the last call at your favorite pub.
I met George years ago at The Second City in Chicago. He already had a presence — the kind that made you feel like you’d seen him somewhere before. Probably because he kept popping up in sketches as the round-bellied cop, or the city official with a doughnut in one hand and a wisecrack ready to go. Even then, he had a way of turning background roles into something unforgettable.
But it wasn’t until Cheers that the world really knew his name. Well, not his real one — his character’s. Norm Peterson. The guy who had a stool waiting for him and a bartender who always asked, “What would you say to a beer, Normie?” Norm always had the perfect comeback. “Daddy wuvs you,” he’d say, cradling his drink like it was gold.
That’s the thing about George Wendt. He made Norm real. And real sticks with people.
George didn’t just show up now and then on Cheers. He was in every single episode. Eleven seasons. More than 270 times. Six Emmy nominations followed. Not bad for a guy whose best friend was a pint of cold beer.
Outside of Cheers, he kept busy. Sketches on Saturday Night Live where he played a sports-obsessed Chicagoan, yelling “Da Bears!” like a battle cry. Guest roles, cameos, even a short-lived sitcom where he played one of two brothers hosting a car advice radio show. Hollywood had no shortage of roles for the guy who made being relatable into an art form.
Years later, we found ourselves at a dinner in New York. A group of us, some well-known, others not. But George? He was the one folks recognized. Passersby would glance over, light up, and call out the name they remembered.
“Norm!”
He never missed a beat. “How ya doin’, pal?” he’d say, raising his glass. It didn’t feel like an act. It felt like Norm was always part of him. And maybe he was.
“They want me to be Norm,” he said that night, like he’d been asked it a hundred times before. Then he smiled. “Glad to do it.”
Somewhere between the last bite of dessert and the final sip of wine, I asked him if it ever got old. Always being the same guy in the public eye. He laughed, full and easy.
“It’s a good life,” he said. “People don’t really know me — but they like me.”
Then came the perfect pause.
“But I am a little disappointed that when people ask, ‘Who’s the next James Bond?’ my name never comes up.”
That was George. Always with the punchline, never mean, always spot on.
Kelly Leonard from The Second City said it best. “He treated you the same whether you were the dishwasher or the producer. I know — I was both.” That kind of kindness isn’t taught in acting school. It’s just who George was.
He didn’t chase fame the way most in Hollywood do. He let it come to him, one beer at a time, one laugh at a time. And it came. People didn’t just like Norm — they loved him. Because Norm felt like your friend. Your uncle. Your dad’s buddy from college. The guy who always had a seat next to him and a story to share.
There’s something special about being so good at one role that no one else could ever play it. George Wendt had that. He was Norm. And Norm was George.
But George was more than one role, even if that’s the one etched in pop culture. He was a loyal friend, a gentle soul, a husband, a father, and a guy who made the world feel a little warmer just by being in it.
You didn’t need to know him to feel like you did. That’s rare.
So here’s to George. Here’s to Norm. And most of all — cheers to a life well lived.
Because what better legacy can there be than bringing joy into people’s living rooms for over a decade? Making strangers laugh. Giving them something to hold onto. A reason to smile after a long day.
No one ever yelled “George!” when he walked into a room. But when they saw his face, they lit up all the same. Because in a way, Norm wasn’t just one guy at one bar. Norm was every man who’s ever needed a place where he belonged.
George gave us that. And now, as we raise a glass in his honor, we remember not just a character — but the man who brought him to life.
So next time you’re at a bar, and someone says “Norm!” to an empty stool, smile. Because some people never really leave. They just live on in the stories we tell, the shows we rewatch, and the laughs we share.
Cheers to a life well lived, George. You earned it.
