The War for Late Night_ When Leno Went Early and Television Went Crazy - Bill Carter [136]
But Jay would still step out onto his little monologue platform to greet the audience and deliver the nightly volley of jokes; he would still look to his left to get reaction or support from his reliable bandleader, Kevin Eubanks. And in a pinch, they would even roll out a minidesk for him to work behind for such critical elements as the “Headlines” segment, which was still set for Monday nights—just like always.
What would not be like always was that “Headlines” was going to disappear from its traditional spot in act two, right after the show’s first commercial pod. Instead it would be relegated to the final segment of the show, some comedy candy to keep the fans hanging in until the end. The decision to move that segment came directly as the result of a request by Jay’s most important partners in the ten p.m. enterprise: the managers of NBC’s lineup of affiliated stations. Before NBC could attempt this monumental redefinition of prime time, it had to get assurances that its stations would be on board. And they were (with that single exception of the Boston affiliate that wanted to preempt Jay but was soon browbeaten into line). The local stations had conducted their own round of research into the ten p.m. change and found the results most promising. Not only did their viewers indicate that they liked Jay and would love to see him earlier, but their answers to the research questions seemed to prove that Jay’s viewers had special interest in the news, which was why they enjoyed his topical monologues so much. The stations had only one request: They wanted input into the format of the show.
In LA, Debbie Vickers read a piece in the paper about NBCʹs plans for the show and saw a quote from Jeff Zucker saying, “We’re going to let the affiliate board have input.” No one had mentioned this plan to Debbie. Her reaction: We’re in trouble.
Debbie Vickers had no intention of sitting down with TV station managers—hilarious guys though they might be—to hear their ideas about how to create a comedy show. She told Rick Ludwin, “You’ve got to go to these meetings. I’m not meeting with affiliates.” Vickers had never considered herself and her team to be production geniuses, but they certainly knew more about what Jay was comfortable doing than guys selling commercial time to supermarkets in Omaha and Orlando.
Ludwin held the meetings. Word came back: The stations wanted the strongest possible comedy material at the end of the show, to lead in to their local newscasts. That meant not just “Headlines” but also “Jaywalking” and the items from the 99-cent store—all the act two bits Jay had painstakingly assembled over time as recurring elements. Slotting them at the program’s close instead of right after the monologue would necessarily change Jay’s rhythm. Vickers thought it was a bad idea, but the network had agreed to it, so they went along. The plan then became to fill the now empty act two with a host of new “comedy correspondents” who would tape some energetic (and, they hoped, amusing) reports to keep the laughs rolling each night.
Another move made to enforce the distinction from The Tonight Show was limiting the guest interviews to one each night—on the set, in any case. The staff then came up with another idea, “10 at 10,” in which Jay would interview some celebrity by satellite from a remote location with ten questions intended to evoke humorous replies and sparkling repartee. And then there was “The Green Car Challenge,” designed to play off Jay’s automotive avocation. Guests would be invited to take a spin in an electric-powered Ford Focus around a racetrack laid out in the area behind the studio, each recording a time. The idea was to create