Column: A duchess in the dust

Dear Readers,

The Indiana Derby might be a royal affair this year.

I’ve extended an invitation to Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex, and her husband, Prince Harry. I figure she could use a break from the glittering, judgmental glare of her California coterie.

Here, she and Harry can find a moment of respite from all the haters. 

I watched her new TV show, “With Love Meghan.” The critics almost universally hated it, like everything else Meghan does. OK, so Meghan doesn’t have the talent of a decorating savant like Martha Stewart, but who does? 

I liked Meghan’s show. I find myself baffled by the backlash. In a television landscape cluttered with shows about hoarders, storage unit auctions, and people eating bugs for cash, watching Meghan fix spaghetti in a skillet, felt almost quaint. After all, isn’t pasta in a skillet what Hamburger Helper is? 

America loves Hamburger Helper. From humble beginnings, Hamburger Helper, similar to Oreo cookies, needs an aisle of its own for all of the variations it has spawned. From Cheesy Enchilada to Cheesy Italian Shells, there is a Hamburger Helper for everyone. Don’t like hamburger, no problem, there is Chicken Helper. Vegetarians can even enjoy Hamburger Helper by substituting plant-based protein.

Enough about Hamburger Helper. Let’s get back to Meghan and Harry’s visit.

Shelbyville is no Montecito, but it has its charms. Megan and Harry might fall in love with Shelbyville. Rupert, the local celebrity who once outwitted, outplayed, and outlasted on “Survivor,” is proof that fame doesn’t have to be a prison.

I plan to give Meghan and Harry the “next level” treatment when they visit. Attending the Indiana Derby is only the start. I plan to take them to see The Helbing and visit The Grover Museum.

We can stop by Linne’s and feast on donuts before a stop at Rupert’s Arcade. Harry can challenge Rupert for the crown of pinball wizard. The Brits are crazy about pinball.

We can lunch at Capone’s and Harry can enjoy a pint or two. 

So why does everyone seem to hate Meghan’s TV show? The problem, I suspect, isn’t the show itself. It’s Meghan. Or rather, it’s the way the world sees Meghan. And for that, I blame Oprah.

Now, let me be clear: I admire Oprah. She’s a titan, a billionaire with the Midas touch, and a woman loved by millions of fans.  But even titans can stumble, and Oprah’s decision to air Harry and Meghan’s grievances against the royal family on TV was a misstep of epic proportions.

What began as a fairytale $40 million wedding with Sir Elton John singing “Tiny Dancer” to the bride at the reception, ended in a televised tell-all that felt more like “Jerry Springer” than “60 Minutes.”

Oprah, the queen of empathy, should have known better. She should have seen the fallout coming. Instead, she handed them a microphone and let them air their dirty laundry on national television. And the world hasn’t forgiven them since.

Oprah’s role in this debacle cannot be overstated. She knew the power of her platform. She knew the stakes. And yet, she chose to profit from the spectacle, turning Harry and Meghan’s pain into prime-time entertainment.

In doing so, she didn’t just amplify their voices; she weaponized them. The result? A rift that seems irreparable, a public image in tatters, and a couple who can’t seem to catch a break.

So, here’s my pitch: let’s give Meghan a chance. Let’s judge her show on its merits. Let’s remember that television is a vast wasteland, and a duchess making macaroni is hardly the worst thing to grace our screens.

And let’s hold Oprah accountable for her part in this mess. She may have given us books and life-changing advice, but she also gave us a royal scandal that no one needed.

As for Meghan and Harry, maybe they’ll take me up on my offer. Maybe they’ll find solace in Shelbyville, far from the glare of the spotlight.

Or maybe they’ll just enjoy a day at the races, a pint at Capone’s, and a moment of peace. After all, even duchesses deserve a break.

See you all next week, same Schwinn time, same Schwinn channel.