That was the first time ever in history that anybody got Special

In the voice of pride mixed with mirth, the actor Jonathan Harris, known to many as the cunning and theatrical Dr. Zachary Smith from Lost in Space, once declared: “That was the first time ever in history that anybody got Special Guest Star. I started that whole nonsense.” To the casual ear, this might sound like a playful boast, a relic of Hollywood vanity. Yet beneath his humor lies a subtle truth about individuality, innovation, and the eternal human desire to be recognized — to leave a signature upon the stage of time. Harris, though speaking of a credit on a television show, was in fact giving voice to a universal yearning: the wish to stand out, to be remembered, to be the first to shape tradition out of invention.

When Harris claimed he “started that whole nonsense,” he was referring to a moment in the golden age of television when the idea of a “Special Guest Star” did not yet exist. It was he who, upon negotiating his role in Lost in Space, insisted upon a title that would distinguish him from the rest of the cast — a mark of both creative wit and personal pride. In doing so, he birthed a new custom in the entertainment world, one that continues to this day. Yet, though he called it “nonsense,” his act was far from trivial. It was a reminder that even the smallest innovations, born of personality or humor, can echo through generations. For what begins as whimsy can become legacy.

The origin of this quote, then, lies not in arrogance, but in artistry. Harris, a man of refinement and theatrical training, understood the importance of presence — not only on screen, but in identity. To him, acting was not merely imitation; it was self-expression elevated to ceremony. The “Special Guest Star” title was more than a line of text — it was a symbol of performance itself, a nod to the spirit of the showman who refuses to be invisible. And in that moment, Harris turned the mundane into the memorable, proving that every field — even one ruled by contracts and studios — can be transformed by the will of a creative soul.

The story echoes through history in countless forms. When Leonardo da Vinci signed his name upon the Mona Lisa, he too was not merely marking ownership, but proclaiming individuality in a world that had long treated artists as mere craftsmen. When Sophocles placed his name upon his tragedies, when Mozart dared to compose music in defiance of the rigid courts, when Chaplin inserted his name into his films, each one followed the same impulse: to bring the human self into the art, to demand that the world not only see the work, but the maker. In this way, Harris stands among them — not as a painter or a poet, but as one who, in his sphere, made a simple act of acknowledgment into an enduring tradition.

Yet there is another layer of wisdom within his words — a certain humility disguised as humor. When he calls it “nonsense,” he laughs at his own creation, recognizing the absurdity of fame and the fleeting nature of recognition. He knew, as every wise artist eventually learns, that titles fade and honors pass, but character endures. The laughter in his tone reminds us that achievement, though sweet, must never become idolatry. What matters is not the label before our name, but the integrity behind our deeds. His jest, therefore, is also a mirror — reflecting both the vanity and the virtue that coexist within the heart of every creator.

The lesson here, O seeker of wisdom, is this: do not be afraid to claim your space in the story of the world. Even if the world laughs, even if your idea seems like “nonsense,” pursue it with courage and creativity. For the world is moved forward not by those who follow the script, but by those who dare to rewrite the stage directions. Whether your field is art, science, teaching, or craft, remember that innovation begins with one person daring to do something differently — to step forward and say, “This is mine.” Yet temper that daring with laughter, for greatness without humility becomes tyranny.

And so, let the words of Jonathan Harris serve as both celebration and counsel. He may have spoken of a mere credit line, yet in truth he spoke of the eternal dance between ego and expression — the desire to be seen and the wisdom to smile at it. Be bold enough to make your mark, but wise enough to laugh at your own importance. For history remembers those who act with both passion and perspective. Harris began with what he called “nonsense,” and from it came a tradition, a symbol, and a smile that still endures. Thus, in even the smallest act of distinction, the spirit of creation finds its immortality.