Oh, man
And now, Johnny Carson has passed away. Among the many things for which he served as inspiration, he should also provide a model for performers on going gentle into that good night. He retired with all the foofarah of a king, and then, barring a handful (at best) of TV guest appearances, he simply enjoyed his life out of the spotlight.
I’m remembering an interview David Letterman gave in which he spoke of the graceful way Carson had gotten off the stage with the applause and laughter still ringing in his ears. As opposed to, say, Bob Hope, who had to be led offstage when he couldn’t hear the applause (or see the cue cards) any more.
I’ve read a fair amount about Carson. Just sitting here, I’ve been realizing how much material I’ve accumlated over the years without ever considering him a prime interest of mine. But I have a pretty good biography of him, King of the Night, and profiles by (one of my favorite writers) Kennth Tynan and Bill Zehme. And that’s just the top of the pile.*
So what I’m saying is, inasmuch as you can feel you know anybody from reading about them (especially someone as famously “aloof” as Carson), I think I know enough about him to know that he wasn’t–he couldn’t be–that Huck Finn kid from Nebraska he pretended to be. But at the end of the night, who cares? He was a broadcaster–in terms of longevity alone, one of the greatest broadcasters in the history of the media. And more than anyone I can think of on the air today, he seemed comfortable with just sitting in front of a camera and seeing what happened. I admire Letterman and O’Brien, and even Leno is no longer painful. (Fergeson needs a writing staff he can better jive with). But none of them seem likely to throw out an entire bit on the whim of something better that came to mind, as Carson did on a memorable night described in the Tynan profile.
In the spirit, I suppose, of “you don’t know what you got until it’s gone,” I never paid that much attention to Carson when he was on the air five times a week, more if you count that syndicated collection of sketches. Too, by the time I became aware of him, he was well into the “platinum” stage of his career, platinum referring not only to his hair but the whole feel of the show: Cool, glinty. But in times since I’ve come to miss a certain sense of merriment he had, at the best times.
So, good night, sweet prince–and brace yourselves for the tributes from every late night show under the moon, and Ed McMahon on a very special Larry King live.
- There’s Tim White’s interview, and the Bill Carter book about the Tonight Show succession, and Charles Grodin’s books, and Mark Evanier’s essays, and his appearances in Jack Benny biographies…you see what I mean.
