by Carter, Bill
After all, one senior NBC executive, assessing the fallout from the late-night decision as honestly as he could, said of the decision to choose Leno and allow Letterman to go to CBS, “That was a half-a-billion dollar mistake.”
But Bob Wright still ran NBC, and Wright chose not to judge his executives on the basis of one less-than-stellar decision. Indeed, the executive at the center of the decision, Warren Littlefield, had done a remarkable job of rehabilitating his image as a programmer in the eighteen months since Letterman had made him look so wrong about late-night. First Littlefield resurrected NBC’s mighty Thursday night of programming, then he stuck his neck far out under the blade by moving a new hit comedy, “Frasier,” to Tuesday where it faced off against television’s most popular show, ABC’s “Home Improvement.” But that move proved to be brilliant, creating a second powerful night for NBC. The addition of “ER” on Thursday cemented Littlefield’s comeback.
As Warren Littlefield entered the NBC party that November night, the sweeps month was looking like NBC’s best in years. So he could hardly contain his buoyant joy. NBC was back; so was he.
“If we get a couple more shows working, we’re going to have to add staff to count the money,” Littlefield joked.
Though he was still among the most gentlemanly of competitors in the television business, there was a bit of an edge in Littlefield’s voice when he talked about CBS. Warren said, with just a trace of bitterness, “All CBS has going for it is Letterman.”
Letterman. If the name didn’t actually haunt Warren Littlefield, it certainly popped into his mind an awful lot. Clearly Littlefield did not relish the prospect of his career being judged principally on the one call he made about late night. More than anything, he wanted to expunge from the historical record the conclusion that he had made one of the wrongest calls ever in the annals of the television industry.
And so he argued the point: “The jury is still out on late night,” he said. It was a long race, he told everyone. Jay was coming on. Dave was starting to fade.
Warren also took some credit for the changes Jay had made in his show. He said he was very hands-on with Jay, suggesting ideas, staying in touch on an almost daily basis. The “Tonight” staff appreciated the executive support, even when they didn’t exactly want to hand out creativity awards to Warren Littlefield for improving the show. “Oh, now Warren’s the show’s savior?” one “Tonight” staff member said. “You should hear Warren’s ideas.”
Jay himself maintained a good relationship with Littlefield, though his previous trials at the hands of NBC’s executives had left him a bit more cynical in general about network support.
Bucked up by Jay’s near tie the week before he came to New York, Littlefield gave an interview to Eric Mink in the New York Daily News in which he let his optimism run a bit wild. He said he hoped that Jay would pull even with Dave by the end of 1994 and that sometime in 1995, Jay would be the leader again in late night.
As bold as those words sounded, few at the NBC party that night saw reason to question them. The trend looked convincing.
And so when Jay Leno appeared at the doorway to the banquet room, a buzz went through the NBC crowd. Jay Leno had arrived and Jay Leno was hot.
Jay worked the room—and the prime-rib on sourdough—with even more than his characteristic enthusiasm. He was getting congratulations everywhere. “Oh thanks a lot,” Jay said, trying to sound casual between bites. He introduced Mavis around; she seemed to be enjoying the attention he was getting as well.
Then a dark-suited figure interrupted Jay’s swing around the room and asked for a private moment. It was John Rohrbeck, the president of NBC’s stations division and one of the key executives who had openly and vocally supported Leno’s ouster in favor of Letterman almost two years earlier. Rohrbeck had argued that Jay would be a disaster for NBC’s stations.
Jay excused himself and stepped to one side with Rohrbeck, who shook his hand enthusiastically and spoke with him earnestly. Jay nodded and smiled, then Rohrbeck clapped him on the back, shook hands again, and left.
When Jay returned to Mavis he had not changed his usual controlled expression. But his report was certainly noteworthy.
“Rohrbeck just told me he was sorry. He said he had misjudged me, and apologized for that. He said it turned out I was doing good for the O and O’s. I think he thought I’d be mad. I just told him, don’t worry about it. This is just business. I said I was trying to bring the ship around. It was fine.”
Leno did not even allow himself the slightest smile of satisfaction.
In the center of the room a small group was too busy with their own concerns to pay homage to Jay Leno. They were the staff from “Late Night with Conan O’Brien,” including Conan himself, his sidekick Andy Richter, his producers Jeff Ross and Rob Smigel, and the man responsible for selecting Conan in the first place, Lorne Michaels.
Their eighteen months on the air had not gone quite so smoothly as Letterman’s. Early curiosity had given way to some harsh criticism, then a period of slow growth, mostly in obscurity. One moment from the show’s first year still stood out: the night that David Letterman himself had come in as a guest.
“Dave was crucial for us,” Ross said. “He was not only brilliantly funny, but he gave us credibility by saying we were doing some of the best comedy on television.”
Letterman had indeed said that, and it did lead to some reconsiderations of Conan. Those who watched regularly did see some of the most original comedy being done on television—on some nights. On others, they saw some of the unfunniest.
The show’s unpredictability centered on Conan himself. Though he now had nights when he brought off some brilliant piece of written comedy, he still had nights when he looked like he didn’t belong on television at all. What no one at NBC could seem to conclude was whether Conan had reached a plateau in his performing ability, one well short of true comic stardom, or whether he would continue to progress, although at an agonizingly glacial pace.
As a clear hedge, NBC had hired Greg Kinnear, a far slicker host type, to take over Bob Costas’s “Later” show. Kinnear was so polished where Conan remained raw that many inside NBC believed it was only a matter of time before the network slid Conan out rudely and Greg in gently at 12:30.
Certainly that was the main worry of the Conan staff. They never got a message otherwise from NBC, which continued to express its doubts about Conan’s long-term viability by giving him extremely short-term renewals. Every thirteen weeks. Never for a year, never even for six months. The lack of support drove the Conan staff crazy. They were left so insecure that every rumor sent a shiver through them. At one point Little field was openly dallying with Howard Stern. The Conan staff could only guess what Warren would have in mind for him.
In the middle of it all stood the lanky figure of Conan himself: a pleasant, clever, but still uncharismatic guy trying to figure out what it takes to be a star.
Whatever was being said about him as host, however, Conan’s show was indeed demonstrating growth. If improved ratings performance was the criterion for NBC, Conan started to provide it. The talk about Kinnear began to fade, especially after one of NBC’s top executives questioned whether Kinnear “had developed a comic voice.”
Nor were the Conan people worried too much about the next challenge on the horizon, the backup late-night entry on CBS, a new talk show hosted by Tom Snyder. It wasn’t that Conan was cocky. It was just that it didn’t seem likely Snyder would appeal to any of the viewers who now liked Conan.
Snyder was Letterman’s personal choice for the job. Some sneered and said the old host of the “Tomorrow” show, now in his fifties, was so passé he would only attract viewers too old to stay up past midnight. But Letterman argued that Snyder had a special broadcasting quality and backed him, even over opposition from some CBS executives who at first preferred a show hosted by another comic.
Littlefield dismissed Snyder as an act whose time had passed. “That show ought to come
with a laugh track,” Littlefield said.
Only one thing seemed to be worrying Jay Leno at the NBC party that night: his bookings for the week. Coming into New York during Thanksgiving week had been NBC’s idea, he said. The studio would be available because “Saturday Night Live” was dark. But nobody considered the fact that Thanksgiving week might not be the best week to line up guests.
The truth was somebody had indeed considered that—Robert Morton at the Letterman show. For weeks, since he had heard NBC’s plans, Morty had worked at putting up a guest list for the week that would give Dave all the ammunition he needed to thwart Leno. The show had pulled out all its guns, starting the week with Arnold Schwarzenegger and closing it with Stupid Human Tricks, one of Letterman’s most potent draws.
“If Jay’s coming into our home, we have to fight any way we can,” Morty said.
The other secret weapon for Letterman was his first-ever prime-time special for CBS. Despite Dave’s reluctance, Morty and the other staff members concluded they needed another burst of publicity to counter the campaign for Jay that NBC had launched. The special gave them an opportunity to get press, and to get a barrage of promotions and newspaper advertisements out of CBS.
The special was well reviewed. It finished second in its time period to ABC’s football game. That led viewers happily into the Monday show with Schwarzenegger. Dave opened a big lead on Jay starting with that night.
Morton, taking a cue from the CBS research department, which counseled booking a college band because so many college kids would be home for the Thanksgiving weekend, scheduled the band Candlebox for Wednesday night. The show drew a huge 7.3 rating. Stupid Human Tricks closed out the week with a 6.7 rating.
For the week, Dave had a 6.2 rating; Jay had a 4.7. The sudden one-tenth point margin had just as suddenly become one-and-a-half points, or well over a million viewers.
Jay was never in the hunt in New York.
On his way out of the city, Jay tried to be philosophical. “I think the shows looked good. Some of the critics liked us. It’s just too hard to get guests in New York in Thanksgiving week—especially when the other guys are out there working against you.” What bothered him more than anything was NBC’s overselling the week as though it might be the one where he finally overtook Dave.
“Our goal ought to be to increase where we were last year, not to get close to Dave,” Jay said.
Littlefield agreed that “it was a tough week to come to New York.” But he still argued, “The show is on a roll.” As for his prediction that Jay was about to run Dave down, Warren said, “All I meant to say was that if the trend continues, we feel strongly that that’s where we can be. I know I stuck my neck out. I just didn’t mean to stick it out quite that far.”
The following week, Dave had a 26 percent edge over Jay. A week later it was 28 percent. The next week it was 33 percent. Through the end of the year and into 1995, Dave beat Jay by at least 20 percent every week after their showdown in New York. The gap between the two shows, once narrowed, had returned. It wasn’t that Jay was falling back as much as it was that Dave had gained even more strength.
By the end of January, the talk of Jay’s overtaking Dave had subsided to a whisper. Somewhat belatedly, NBC recast its storyline about Jay’s solid showing in the ratings. Eric Cardinal, the head of NBC research on the West Coast, said, “If you had said that Jay is going to replace the King of Late Night and put up these kind of numbers, we would have been thrilled out of our minds.”
And Littlefield pointed out, “Jay has put up those great numbers with Dave on against him. Johnny never had that kind of competition night after night.”
He certainly never had to contend with the pressure to book guests that Jay faced on a weekly basis. Jay began to question just how much pressure the Letterman show was bringing to bear after an incident involving Brett Butler, the star of the ABC series “Grace Under Fire.” Butler showed Jay’s staff a letter from a Letterman producer saying that Dave was going to be personally insulted if Butler went on the “Tonight” show instead of appearing on “Late Show.” Jay never discussed the issue publicly because he didn’t want to raise the specter of a booking war again. But some on his staff did ask the question out loud: Are the Letterman guys starting to use Helen’s old tactics?
The Letterman staff’s own replay of the incident was that the only reason a letter was sent to Brett Butler at all was because she had twice before canceled appearances with Dave.
The real heat in the booking issue came not between the Letterman and Leno camps, but between some of Jay’s staff and NBC. Jay was not happy that NBC did nothing to protect his booking territory the way he perceived CBS did. Jay knew of CBS stars who were asked by CBS program executives not to go on the “Tonight” show. And yet in the week after Christmas, there was Jerry Seinfeld, NBC’s biggest star, on the air telling his holiday anecdotes to Dave, not to Jay.
“Jay is a little pissed at NBC,” one Leno staff member said. “He’s getting no backing on guests.”
What made the situation harder for Jay, this staff member said, was the fact that for the first time some publicists and managers were candidly telling the “Tonight” bookers, “We’re awfully sorry, but my guy just wants to do Letterman.”
It was the kind of blow that Jay had been absorbing from the day Letterman had gone on the air for CBS. Tom Brokaw had gone on Dave’s show that first night. Vice President Al Gore was on in the first week. When Dave did a week of shows from L.A., Carson had signaled his official stamp of approval by doing a walk-on with Dave carrying the top-10 list. Then there was the Seinfeld appearance.
But the biggest blow, the biggest and most official indication of where the two stars stood in the eyes of the show business community, was yet to come.
Ted Harbert, president of ABC Entertainment, knew early on that Billy Crystal “wasn’t going to happen” one more time as host of the annual Academy Awards telecast on ABC in March 1995. In truth, despite Crystal’s three highly regarded performances as host, that news did not disappoint Harbert much. Long before Crystal was officially out of the Oscar picture, Harbert had decided that there was another name that would be perfect for the role of host, a name that got Harbert truly excited about the show, a name he considered “really the home run.”
“I really, really wanted David Letterman,” Harbert said.
It was not the first time. Harbert had contacted Letterman and his agent, Michael Ovitz, a year earlier about taking over the host role. “But he was so new to CBS that nothing really came of the discussion,” Harbert said.
In reality, Letterman had thought seriously about the offer the year before. But he had only been on the air for CBS less than six months when the offer came, and Ovitz, sensing that the timing simply wasn’t right, recommended that Dave turn it down.
But when an offer came around again for the 1995 telecast, Ovitz believed Dave was ready to accept the statement that the Oscar role implied: He had become the true successor to Johnny Carson as America’s host.
Harbert said that the statement was indeed accurate. More than any other star, more than anyone on any ABC show, even its own comic superstar, Tim Allen, David Letterman was the ideal host of the Academy Awards telecast.
“David Letterman has some magic about him,” Harbert said. “The Oscar assignment says it all. He is the guy, the man, in American entertainment right now.”
Johnny Carson did the Oscar show five times between 1979 and 1984. Before him the job was most closely associated with Bob Hope. Crystal had put his own signature on it. Now it was David Letterman’s turn.
Inside “Late Show” there was the expected anxiety about what the pressure of doing this show—seen not only by an audience second only to the Super Bowl in the U.S. but also by an audience around the world estimated at one billion people—would do to Dave’s always fragile psyche. The pressure of the daily Dave was enough to deal with for many staff members, who found him to be ever more irascible and difficul
t.
“He’s angry a lot and yelling at people more than ever,” one of his close associates said late in 1994. Dave’s impatience with his studio audience also manifested itself on more and more occasions. If he didn’t get laughs with his first couple of monologue jokes, he would be likely to turn on the audience, sometimes picking on some members of the crowd or sometimes even bagging the rest of his monologue entirely. The postmortems on the show continued to be harsh.
“I don’t even want to imagine the postmortem after that Academy Awards show,” one staff member said.
But there was really little doubt that Dave would accept the honor. After all, Johnny had done it. And besides, it did occur to Dave that if he had said no, there was always a chance they might offer the job to Jay.
As Morton saw it, the opportunity to host the Oscars would provide an incalculable boost to Dave’s regular show. If he even needed it. “Dave will get tremendous exposure,” Morty said. “And it will only cement our relationship with the movie industry as the place to go to launch your movies.”
Jay Leno came out of his latest run at David Letterman perhaps more realistically aware of exactly how daunting it was going to be to turn public opinion around to the point where he could be thought of as being on an even footing with Hollywood Dave.
Jay still felt he was even or better than Dave in the first segments of their shows. “I think we win the monologues most nights, and we stay at least even with them until about the second commercial,” Jay said. But even he recognized that Dave held his audience better through the interview segments.