The franchise-friendly juggernaut Law & Order was almost consigned to the TV junkyard before the ignition key was turned. A one-hour drama sharply bifurcated into two half-hours— the "cop half" and the "lawyer half"? Catch-it-if-you-can exposition? Characters with no personal lives? No teenagers?!

In 1990, after NBC finally gave series creator Dick Wolf the green light two other networks had denied him, viewers embraced Law & Order in decisive numbers. The show plucked

crime stories from the grubby pages of New York tabloids and fictionalized them with class: it was highly intelligent, unfailingly unflashy; it was, in other words, New York City. And even as we came to love Law & Order's flinty ensemble, we came to accept that the inevitable passing of favorite characters was part of the Grand Design, just as we came to love their replacements.

Over the years the likes of Angie Harmon, Benjamin Bratt, and Jill Hennessy have lit up the show's authentically grimy set with bursts of gym-toned sex appeal, but for the redoubtable linchpins of Law & Order it's strictly earth tones: as the series approaches its 300th episode, its two main stars are Jerry Orbach (Detective Lennie Briscoe), hangdog veteran of countless Broadway musicals, and Sam Waterston (Assistant D.A. Jack McCoy), hangdog " character actor nonpareil.

A PERP'S WORST NIGHTMARE

Spotlight

Wolf initially regretted selling Law & Order's syndication rights

to A&E for a "ludicrously low price," but now appreciates that the cable channel's aggressive rotation of old episodes has helped weave the show deep into the cultural fabric. Wolf, a Madison Avenue refugee, took his proven "brand" and launched the spinoffs Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and Law & Order: Criminal Intent, both consistently high in octane and ratings. Thus has he become a mogul within his own hard-boiled genre—an Aaron Spelling for the sentient set.

STEVEN DALY