I learned of the death of the admired, much beloved Garry Marshall early last evening during a long walk along the beach. I didn’t mean to convey a lack of respect by not posting a remembrance or at least an acknowledgment earlier today, but honestly? I never felt that strongly about his influence upon TV comedy (Happy Days, Mork & Mindy, Laverne and Shirley) or the films he directed. The truth is that Marshall, a sharp, tough-minded guy known for warmth, caring and solid professionalism, had a thing about feel-good material. He liked fantasies, loving friendships, up vibes, romances that end well, families, communities. No disrespect is intended when I say I genuinely liked two films of his — The Flamingo Kid and Runaway Bride. And that I honestly hated Pretty Woman. Marshall brought a lot of laughter and lifted the mood of millions who watched his stuff for 40 years, but he wasn’t my kind of guy. In my book the best thing Marshall ever did was that classic Las Vegas scene with Albert Brooks in Lost in America. I loved the way he referred to Santa Claus in this scene as “Santy” claus.