Canceled by Choice

 **Canceled by Choice**

For decades, a persistent myth has shadowed the end of *Bewitched*: that the show was canceled due to declining ratings, a victim of shifting audience tastes or network fatigue. But according to Herbie, Elizabeth Montgomery’s close friend and confidant, nothing could be further from the truth. “When she left the show,” he emphasizes with quiet conviction, “everybody said, ‘Oh, the ratings were bad.’ No—they weren’t.” In fact, during its eighth and final season in 1971–1972, *Bewitched* was still holding its own in one of the most competitive time slots in television history. ABC had boldly scheduled it opposite CBS’s *All in the Family*, the era-defining sitcom that had become a cultural lightning rod and a ratings juggernaut. Yet even against that powerhouse, *Bewitched* performed admirably—consistently drawing strong viewership and maintaining its place as one of ABC’s most reliable performers.

The narrative of decline, Herbie insists, was a convenient fiction spun after the fact to explain a decision that was, in reality, deeply personal and entirely Elizabeth’s own. “Everyone thought, ‘Well, the ratings weren’t the same…’ No, it wasn’t canceled. She quit. She ended the show.” This distinction matters—not just for historical accuracy, but for understanding Elizabeth Montgomery as an artist who refused to let external metrics dictate her creative life. At a time when most television stars were contractually bound and rarely had the power to walk away from a hit series, Elizabeth exercised a rare form of agency. She didn’t wait for the network to pull the plug; she chose her own exit, on her own terms.

And it wasn’t for lack of offers. “ABC went back to her and begged her,” Herbie reveals. “They wanted a ninth season—maybe even a tenth. They were willing to move the time slot, rework the format, bring in new writers. They saw *Bewitched* as a cornerstone of their lineup, a show with merchandising, syndication, and international appeal that could run for years more.” But Elizabeth was resolute. Eight years was enough. She had fulfilled her commitment, explored every angle of Samantha she felt was artistically honest, and was ready—desperate, even—to reclaim her creative freedom. The show may have been thriving in the ratings, but for her, it had run its emotional and imaginative course.

Her decision was revolutionary in its quiet defiance. In an industry that often treats stars as replaceable cogs in a machine, Elizabeth asserted her humanity: her need for growth, her right to evolve, her refusal to be frozen in time as a smiling suburban witch. She understood that longevity on television could come at the cost of artistic stagnation, and she was unwilling to pay that price. By walking away from a still-successful show, she sent a powerful message—not just to ABC, but to Hollywood at large—that an actor’s worth wasn’t measured solely by Nielsen numbers, but by their integrity and vision.

In retrospect, her choice proved prescient. Freed from the constraints of weekly episodic television, Elizabeth dove into the burgeoning world of made-for-TV movies, where she tackled some of the most challenging and socially relevant roles of her career. From portraying the accused ax-murderer Lizzie Borden to a rape survivor fighting for justice, she demonstrated a dramatic range that *Bewitched* had only hinted at. Had she stayed, she might have remained America’s favorite witch—but she would have sacrificed the chance to become one of television’s most courageous and versatile actresses.

So while the history books sometimes frame *Bewitched*’s end as a decline, the truth is far more empowering: it wasn’t canceled by the network. It was concluded by its star. Elizabeth Montgomery didn’t fade away—she chose to transform. And in doing so, she turned her final act on *Bewitched* into one of her most powerful performances yet: the role of an artist reclaiming her destiny.