So long, little buddy.

Thirty-eight years after being rescued from a desert island that ironically bore his very name, Gilligan died today at the age of 70. Sit right back and read his tale.

In the fall of 1964, a young shiphand who simply went by the name of Gilligan took a first mate's job on the S.S. Minnow, a tiny ship. According to his boss, the Skipper, it was to be a quick jaunt from the tropic port and back. In fact, said the Skipper, considering the small size of the vessel, the brevity of the trip (it was to be a three hour tour, max) and the fact that only five passengers were to set sail that day, a first mate wasn't really needed. He just thought Gilligan could use a few extra bucks.

It was to be a fateful trip. As luck would have it, two tropical storms converged and overtook the Minnow as it began to return to port. Within minutes, the weather started getting rough and the tiny ship was tossed. Later, Gilligan would tell reporters and biographers that if it were not for the courage of him, and to a lesser extent, the Skipper, the Minnow would have been lost. Probably capsized or smashed up against some rocks somewhere.

After what must have been a trying hour or so of wild spinning, the ship took ground on the shore of an uncharted desert isle. All crew and passengers made it out alive, including: Gilligan, the Skipper too, a millionaire and his elderly wife, a youngish female actor, an adjunct professor and Mary Ann.

Knowing they would be there for a long, long time, the first mate and his skipper, too, resolved to do their very best to make the others comfortable in the topic island nest. It was, to say the least, an uphill climb. A quick search of the island confirmed that there was no phones, no lights, no motor cars -- indeed, not a single luxury. Using rocks, bamboo and some palm fronds, the Skipper and Gilligan built several huts and put a picnic table out in a common area for meals and meetings and such. It was as primitive as can be.

Time took its toll. Every week, the castaways would nearly escape from the island, only to have their hopes dashed at the last minute by some unfortunate (and easily avoidable) incident. The only breaks from their routine were the many minor celebrities who found their way to the island over the years.

Finally, after three years, they made it off the island. Then, in an ill-advised move, all crew and passengers decided to celebrate their return to the mainland with a short boat trip. Unbelievably, another perfect storm formed and overtook the tiny vessel. Even more incredibly, they were washed ashore on the very same, still uncharted, isle. The irony was not lost on the Skipper, who allegedly lost control and told Gilligan that he was going to kill and eat the other passengers. Fortunately, they were rescued before the Skipper could act on his plan.

In later years, Gilligan regularly experienced vivid flashbacks of his time on the island, usually on weekdays at around 10:30-11am and weeknights at 9:45-10:15pm.

You'll be missed, Gilligan.