by Chris Licht
Here’s what actually happened after I read Phil’s summons.
In an e-mail, I acknowledged his request for a conversation. Then, after the show finished, I conducted the usual staff postmortem of the segments and guests. And I deposited the impending session with Phil into a brand new, what-happens-happens vault, to be retrieved only when it was time for the conversation.
Then Joe called. He knew Phil had contacted me.
Don’t freak out, Joe said.
He was envisioning a Woodstock of worry by Old Chris.
“Joe,” I said, “I’m really not freaking out. I have plans today. I’m not going to stick around.”
If I was in the building when Phil was ready for the conversation, I’d be there.
“You don’t need to calm me down,” I said.
Not having to reassure me meant Joe and Mika had one less thing to worry about during this flap, making things better for all.
The plans I had mentioned to Joe included a doctor’s appointment, and I was waiting in the exam room that afternoon when Phil finally called for the big chat. The head of human resources for NBC was on the line with him, which is usually a leading indicator that someone’s professional health is about to take a turn.
Phil asked if I had known what was going to happen on the set that morning. I hadn’t, or at least I hadn’t known the discussion was going to go the way it did.
What they did out there, Phil said, could get you in a lot of trouble.
Maybe. But I wouldn’t disown them to cover myself, because they had been with me in the emergency room.
I knew Phil would be within his rights to suspend me. If he did and if my conduct became an issue in my contract negotiations, which were not far down the road, well, I could live with that, because what choice did I have? That was what I realized on the deck with Andrew, namely, the beauty of knowing when you have the power to change something and when you don’t. I didn’t want to be suspended and I love NBC, but you cannot enjoy a job, you cannot do it well, if you are always afraid of losing it. And I wasn’t anymore.
In the end, my boss and friend didn’t suspend me. I might have lost points with Phil because of what happened on the air, but my day turned out exactly as it would have if Old Chris had worried the whole time. I had spared myself a lot of hand-wringing and been more productive and emerged right where I would have anyway.
A few days later, I was supposed to go to Las Vegas—for me, not the show. Las Vegas is perhaps my favorite diversion and several friends and I have a sort of annual guys’ trip there. But this year, members of the posse had been dropping out. Then, at the last minute, my friend Marc, the only one besides me still going, canceled.
Jenny thought it would be kind of pathetic to go anyway. A grown man flying to Vegas alone to play the tables alone and eat alone? Sad. But there was no way I was not going. I do not put things off these days, another learned lesson.
I could have told myself that, well, Marc has given me an out and I can cancel the trip and keep working to make up all those days I missed in the spring when I so thoughtlessly allowed blood to spill in my head.
But that scenario was not going to happen. I was going to grab the days. So I said to me: Go. Go. Enjoy.
On a Friday morning, by myself, I headed to JFK for a 7:45 flight to Las Vegas. It was raining so hard the expressways were flooded, and despite my clear suggestion of an alternate route, the driver decided he knew best. And drove us straight into a standstill. Not only was traffic stopped cold, it didn’t move for three hours. Three hours. I missed my flight. I began trolling the airline schedule on my BlackBerry for the next one. I missed that one. My short vacation in Vegas was shrinking by the minute. This was worse than missing a flight for the show. This was cutting into my time, pool time in the warm sun.
This is where Old Chris traditionally rears his head, blisters the car’s driver for wasting hours and hours of my short weekend getaway, screams at the airline, and yet, somehow, gets no closer to the airport for all that emotion. I didn’t do any of that. Now let me be clear. I wasn’t happy. But I consciously reminded myself not to overreact to a situation that had no remedy.
Rain? It happens.
Drivers who won’t listen to a good suggestion? Happens.
Brain bleeds? Them, too.
From the car, I called Mom, to pass the time.
“You’re so Zen,” she said.
I got to Las Vegas. It gets better. After Marc had canceled on me, I had called Chris Marlin, the same friend whose wedding I skipped a while back, and lobbied him heavily to join me on this junket because I wanted time with a friend. He was too busy. Then, at the last second, Chris changed his mind, and now he, too, showed up in Las Vegas, flying all the way from the East Coast to eat a single dinner with an old friend.
What a great evening.
Acknowledgments
The idea for this book was not mine. It was the idea of my friend, and frequent Morning Joe guest, Jon Meacham. It was Jon who invited me to lunch last summer to tell me that it was important for me to tell my story. He even came up with the title at that lunch, knowing fully that I didn’t yet have the answer to the question “What did I learn when I almost died?” He started me on the journey to find out, and I will always be grateful to him for pushing me to do the book and the faith he showed by bringing the idea to Simon & Schuster.
Speaking of Simon & Schuster, Jonathan Karp and Priscilla Painton have been incredibly supportive since the moment we met. Every step of the process, they’ve nurtured this book as if it was their own story.
This book would not exist without the tireless work of my collaborator and de facto therapist Steve Twomey. The many hours we spent together helped me absorb not only how the incident affected my life, but also the lives of those closest to me. What you have just read is the result of Steve taking the time to interview more than a dozen people connected to that day. He is not only a meticulous Pulitzer Prize–winning reporter, but also a skilled writer who captures my emotion and voice perfectly. He is also now a friend.
I would also like to thank everyone who took some of their valuable time to help me tell this story: Phil Griffin, Mike Barnicle, Willie Geist, and Farra Ungar from MSNBC, with a special thanks to Cate Cetta of MSNBC, for patiently juggling so many phone calls, e-mails, and appointments essential to making this book happen. From GWU Medical Center: Dr. Vivek Deshmukh, Dr. Ryanne Mayersak, Jenn Klemperer, Mike Hite, and Carlo Angelo Cruz. (I guess this would be as good a time as any to also thank them for saving my life.) Also, Marc Cadin, Lesley Sookram, and Jay Carney. And of course my best friend, who’s never shy about telling me the truth and whom I believe is a psychiatrist largely because of our friendship, Marc Nespoli.
There are many people who made this book possible, but none more than Joe and Mika. Their support of this project from idea to completion never wavered. What we’ve built professionally and personally is unique and something I will always cherish. They are much more than colleagues. They are friends.
Finally, my family. When the you-know-what hits the fan, this is the team you’d want in your corner. Mom, Dad, and Stephanie: we’ve come out of this experience closer than ever.
And most of all, Jenny, who gave me two beautiful boys, Andrew and Ryan, and proved once again, I married the greatest woman in the world. I love you.