The Late Shift

by Carter, Bill

  That was Letterman’s cue. In a strong but even tone, he started to speak: “Well, I’m sure that Jay will do a great job. But I must tell you,” he said, “we’ve been here for ten years. We’re a unit of forty people; we know how to do this show. The next best thing for everyone would have been if we could have done the ‘Tonight’ show. That’s always what we wanted to do; that’s what we’ve had in the back of our minds. This is a real disappointment. But if this is your decision, you can contact my lawyer, Jake Bloom.” Then Letterman stood up from his chair, looked directly at Littlefield and Agoglia, and said: “Gentlemen, this is completely unacceptable. I want you to release me from my contract.”

  The room fell totally silent as Letterman, without a second’s hesitation, turned away from them and strode out the door, leaving the two NBC executives staring at his back.

  Letterman felt a surge of adrenaline as he disappeared out the door, past Laurie and out into the hall. He felt great, not so much because he believed this grandstand play was going to turn the tide—though that was his wafer-thin hope—but because he had done what he set out to do, and he had done it well: He had been very calm, very articulate, and he thought he had made a meaningful argument. Within minutes, taking refuge in Robert Morton’s office down the hall, Letterman was on the phone to Peter Lassally in his “Tonight” show office in Burbank, describing what had happened, what a perfect performance he had given, and how he had stunned them into total silence.

  In the twelve years he had known David Letterman, Lassally had never heard the performer prouder of himself.

  Inside the room, Morton and Rollins were left to deal with the two wide-eyed NBC executives. They never got to sell any of their new promises to Letterman. “What are we going to do now?” Littlefield asked Morton. “How can we make him happy?

  “How can you make him happy?” Morton said. “You heard him. Give him the ‘Tonight’ show.”

  “Well, short of that,” Littlefield said.

  Agoglia jumped in with what had been their intended sales pitch to Letterman: They wanted Dave to know that when Jay took over the “Tonight” show, NBC was going to change the formats of the two shows to create what Agoglia called “a seamless two-hour block.” The idea, as Agoglia and Littlefield framed it, would be to emphasize the similarities between the two shows and the two stars, with the nightly promotions always coming on the air in tandem. Sometimes the shows could even have gags that ran over from one show to the next. Over and over, Agoglia and Littlefield pushed the notion of the two-hour seamless comedy block, never realizing that David Letterman’s biggest fear was that his show would lose its distinctiveness if it started looking too much like the “Tonight” show. Nor could they have been aware that the biggest fear of Dave’s producers was that the lead-in from Jay Leno was inevitably going to be weaker than the lead-in they had had for ten years from Johnny Carson.

  The discussion in Letterman’s office continued for about forty minutes after Dave’s abrupt departure. Then Laurie Diamond buzzed Morton and said he had to take a call at her desk. Morton excused himself and went to the phone. It was Letterman. “All right, wrap it up,” Dave said. “That’s enough time for those guys.” Morton told Dave that Rollins was still inside talking to them. “Well, we need to talk about this ourselves,” Letterman said. “Go in there and put an end to the meeting.”

  Morton figured it wouldn’t especially endear him to the NBC executives to walk back in and order an end to the meeting, but that’s what his boss wanted; so he did it.

  “All right, let’s knock this off now,” Morton said as he came back into the room. The discussion wasn’t really getting anywhere anyway, so the NBC executives didn’t protest. They said their good-byes and left, not sure of what the next step was going to be or how they were going to handle Letterman, whose distress about losing the “Tonight” show was far deeper than they had expected. But they were sure of one thing: They had a contract with David Letterman for two more years, they had done nothing to violate any terms of that contract, and no matter how deep his pique, no matter who his lawyer was or what he said, they certainly weren’t going to let him out of it.

  Within a day, Letterman was full of regret about the meeting. Somebody had tipped the press that he walked out of the meeting in a huff because he didn’t get the “Tonight” show. Now the story was “Letterman Goes Ballistic, Threatens to Quit.” It became embarrassing, and Dave still abhorred embarrassment. He thought his master plan had backfired, that he had shot himself with his own gun.

  And the feeling grew worse. As the days went by, Letterman began to feel overcome with the conviction that he had no future at all in television. He sank into a deep depression. With Jay officially named as Johnny’s heir on the “Tonight” show, Dave was left with no viable choices, as he saw it. He could continue at 12:30, but he was forty-four years old, and it was simply logical that the people staying up that late would soon decide they didn’t want to see a guy pushing fifty doing a show at that hour. On top of that, Jay was going to be doing a show that Dave expected would be perceived as more similar to “Late Night” than it was to Carson’s “Tonight” show. With Carson and “Late Night” it had always seemed like two guys with more differences than similarities; with Jay, that would be reversed.

  Letterman asked himself what he could possibly do. It didn’t seem as if CBS would be interested in a show, not after their Sajak experience. He couldn’t imagine them leaping back into the late-night talk arena again. And he felt that ABC was—and should be—extremely happy with Ted Koppel and “Nightline.” That left only syndication, a prospect that gave Letterman true chills. He could envision a sleazy syndication salesman out with a videotape of his wares: “Uhhh, we got Letterman. What the hell ya want? Ya want ‘Studs ’93?’” Letterman knew he would eat himself alive if he had to sink to that level. His oldest demon, self-doubt, came roaring up inside him again. Suddenly the two years left on his NBC contract started looking like a lifeline.

  On their side, all the NBC executives knew was that they had a massively unhappy star. At the same time, they realized they had no one in the network who could easily step in and make it better, because no one had any sort of a close relationship with David Letterman. Even without knowing that Letterman considered him a worm, Littlefield didn’t think he was likely to get too far pursuing Dave immediately. So he tried an indirect route. The day after the meeting, he called someone who did have a good relationship with Letterman: Robert Morton.

  “I understand he’s angry; I understand he’s hurt,” Littlefield told Morton. He then asked Morton what NBC could do to make Dave enthused about sticking with the 12:30 show. Morton told him one problem was that with Jay as host, the “Tonight” show was going to start doing what “Late Night” did—and was going to book the same guests. Littlefield said that wasn’t necessarily so, that Jay had had on guests like C. Everett Koop, the surgeon general, people Dave would never have chosen. Still wondering just what Dave might be up to with this new lawyer, Littlefield said, “If possible, could we get him back in the frame of mind of ‘we’ve got a show to do?’”

  To indicate the depth of his concern about Letterman’s state of mind, Littlefield told Morton that NBC had given Letterman the news of the selection of Leno even before it had told Johnny Carson. Littlefield suggested that moving the Letterman show to the West Coast would not be a problem, if Dave wanted to do that. Littlefield asked if he and Morton could meet late in the day to talk it out further. But Morton said no; Dave had already told him he didn’t want anyone from the show talking to any of the NBC guys. Morton repeated that to Littlefield, and added, “I’ve worked with him a long time and he always means what he says.”

  Littlefield pressed on. “Get in the room and talk to him,” he told Morton. NBC was still hawking the two-hour seamless block. “This is such a great opportunity. Don’t let him blow the opportunity,” Littlefield told Morton. The newly combined block would be called “NBC Latenight,” instead
of two separate show names, Littlefield said. Morton said he’d do what he could. But that was purely polite business talk: Robert Morton was going to do whatever David Letterman thought was right.

  A close friend said Robert Morton could have been a Catskills comic or social director if he hadn’t gone into television; there was an unmistakable aura of old-time show business about him. Morton, called Morty so often that he frequently used the nickname himself, displayed the kind of New York style and energy too often reduced to a description like “street-smart.” But Morton was a vending machine stacked with smarts; he had stores of savvy and chutzpah, and he loved to play the network political game. Morton was especially smart about television. He started as a page for game shows at the Ed Sullivan Theater in the mid-seventies then got into production with local talk shows in Boston and New York. He was hired as a segment producer for Tom Snyder’s “Tomorrow” show in 1978. When Letterman got the morning show in 1980, Morton, who had roomed in college with Stu Smiley, then one of Letterman’s managers, had a chance to work on the show. But the woman Morton was dating at the time worked as a segment producer on Letterman’s morning show, and he wanted to avoid any potential conflicts. He hooked up with Letterman when the show became “Late Night” in 1982.

  Morton sometimes said that Peter Lassally fulfilled the role of Letterman’s older brother, while he played younger brother. Certainly Morty supplied a lot of youthful enthusiasm; he liked to generate fun as well as have it. In his late thirties, ruddy-faced, with curly black hair and a stocky build, Morton had every reason to love his life. He was a prince of the city and attended all the industry social occasions, invariably with a stunning female companion. In the summer Morty held court in the Hamptons, and became a fixture in the social swirl that centered on players in the media world. On vacations, he often repaired to the villa he leased in Tuscany. All of this good life was possible because Morty, a kid from Long Beach, Long Island, had found his way onto a hot show with a hot star. He recognized his good fortune and was grateful and intensely loyal to Letterman. But the notion, held by Agoglia and others inside NBC, that Morton was little more than Letterman’s lapdog and simply served at his master’s whim (one other NBC executive said Morton filled the role of “lucky stone or charm” for Letterman) completely missed the hardworking, professional approach he took to his job. Morton wasn’t the creative genius behind the show, but he was the guy who got it on and off the air. He had paid his dues. For years he ran all the production aspects of the show, deciding on bookings, getting the show taped on time every night from a spot in the audience just in front of Letterman. Morton was also the guy who had to face Dave every night in the postmortems, even on those nights when he knew Dave’s mood would be coal black after a lame effort. He did it because he was well paid to do it, and because it was his job.

  Jack Rollins had the title of executive producer of “Late Night.” His role was mainly to work with Dave; he didn’t involve himself much in the day-to-day mechanics of running the show, though he sat in the control room most nights and frequently met with and counseled Dave. Morty and Jack got along extremely well. Morton waited patiently for his chance to move up, even turning down offers to make the jump to other shows, including “The Pat Sajak Show” and Fox’s failed late-night effort that followed Joan Rivers, “The Wilton/North Report.” Morton, like many others on the staff, stood in awe of Letterman’s comic abilities. He kept the faith.

  Morty was also the center of operations for “Late Night.” Nobody could get Dave on the phone, so they all called Morty, a guy who never met a conversation he didn’t like.

  After Letterman’s big scene in the meeting with Agoglia and Littlefield, Morton’s phone was incessantly busy. The same night the meeting took place, Morty got a call at home from Leno at 1:00 A.M. In the conversation, Leno told him of the deal, set up in April, in which he was to get the “Tonight” show as soon as Johnny chose to leave, and that he had signed a contract with NBC stipulating those terms only one week before Johnny made his announcement. Knowing Jay’s inclination toward embellishment, Morton didn’t know whether he should believe that story.

  At 1:30 the next afternoon, Helen Kushnick called. “From me to you, I’m here and I’m scared to death,” she told Morty. Helen then said she had heard the meeting was uncomfortable, but expressed hope that the two shows could coexist without any animosity. She added that she thought the NBC executives were “shitheads” who would always make the wrong decision. She also revealed to Morty that she would take over the show as executive producer. That, he surely believed.

  Several other NBC executives called, including Rick Ludwin, the president of NBC’s late-night programming. Ludwin said he had recommended they pick Leno but also that NBC take steps to make the news easier for Dave to swallow. Some initiatives should have been put on the table, Ludwin added. Morton thought Ludwin sounded lost and scared.

  None of this was changing any of the circumstances, and Morton realized nothing probably could. NBC had made its call; he knew it was a bad call, but as long as the “Tonight” show opportunity had passed, Morton figured it was wise to make the best of it. If the idea of a seamless two-hour block held the prospect of any short-term benefit for his show, he’d be willing to try it. At the least it might get “Late Night” a few more promos.

  Helen Kushnick had a year to get ready to run the “Tonight” show; she relished every minute of it. She had ideas, of course, most of which involved doing almost everything opposite of the way it had been done under Johnny Carson. She would order a different set, a far different band, and the guests she booked would confirm just how stodgy a show Carson had been delivering. Initially Kushnick stayed out of the way on those nights Jay was guest hosting during Carson’s final year. But gradually she began to exert her influence. Nowhere was her influence more imposing than with Jay. Helen wanted no one to come to Jay who hadn’t spoken to her first. One night, through some mix-up, Leno’s aunt was denied permission to get into the audience for the show. The representative of NBC guest relations responsible for the mistake called Jay’s aunt and apologized, telling her to come back whenever she was in town. Then, as a courtesy to Jay, the representative knocked on his door, explained what had happened, and apologized for the error. When Helen heard of it she exploded, and told everyone in the department they were never to speak to Jay Leno unless they talked to her first.

  Before Jay became the host-designate, Helen steered clear of the bookings, allowing the regular “Tonight” staff to continue to book their own show. But once NBC had named Jay, Helen immediately became more aggressive. She began to make deals with studios and record companies and publicists: In exchange for the biggest names, Helen agreed to put a line of lesser guests on the show. Many on the “Tonight” staff objected to this practice because they had always avoided it. They thought the idea was to make the show entertaining each night, not to feature a big name one night and damage the show another night with a guest who was a virtual unknown. But when they complained to Carson, he told them to back off. “It’s their show,” he said. “They’re in control. Let them book the show the way they want to book it.”

  Of course, he had also told staff members: “When I go out the door, the product goes with me.” To the astonishment of many on the “Tonight” show staff, NBC had never seen fit to consult Carson about the naming of his successor, and he never volunteered an opinion. But no one close to Johnny had any real doubt about his preference; he never said a bad word about Jay, but they were certain he supported Letterman.

  Helen had plenty of business to attend to on the show, but she also had a last deal she needed to make with NBC before Jay began his run. Jay’s deal as star was already in place: He was to make a guaranteed $12 million over two years, with some bonus incentives based on ratings performance. And Helen had her own deal to become executive producer. The last point to work out related to the ownership rights to the program. NBC had negotiated ownership of the “Tonight” show a
way to Carson in his spectacular 1980 contract. Now the network wanted that ownership back, badly. In the years since Carson assumed control of the show, the rest of the television industry had expanded exponentially. Cable systems were already offering fifty channels or more, and the future promised hundreds. All those channels needed programming. Everything on television had become recyclable. So everybody wanted to control the future sales of the reruns.

  With Jay as host, NBC would own the show outright again. But with Helen remaining Jay’s manager, even as she produced the show, the arrangement became messy. Helen also had a few other clients whose careers might be affected by the “Tonight” show. “There were potential conflicts,” Agoglia said. Besides, Helen was making loud noises about selling her management company to somebody else. In a letter to Agoglia, with a copy sent to Jack Welch, the GE chairman, Helen said she had had expressions of interest in her company from Carsey/Werner Productions, the team that had produced two of television’s biggest comedy hits, “The Cosby Show” and “Roseanne.” If a company like Carsey/Werner got the management rights to Jay, they would then have an interest in how the “Tonight” show was run, who was booked, etc. In the letter, Helen emphasized that she wasn’t shopping the management company around, but did point out that she was sure CBS would have bought her out in order to land Jay.