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By Root 1516 0

haggard and deadly serious, the essence of his message to the jurors was that he had been threatened and he feared for himself, his family, and his job. He quietly admitted to things that made him sound boorish but explained that he was doing so willingly in an effort to help the DA’s office, which he praised and thanked, along with the grand jury. The jurors were sworn to secrecy, of course, but Letterman knew the incident would break as soon as an indictment was handed down. As he had throughout his incident-dense career (and life), Letterman decided to take the matter straight to his audience.

One of the unique properties of the late-night television show in America is that daily events in the private lives of its hosts become an inescapable part of the presentation, because the presentation is, in almost every case, the host himself. Letterman, more than any of his peers, had raised that act of public self-examination to a level of comedic—and sometimes dramatic—soliloquy. He simply didn’t talk about himself in any other context, which made his desk commentary in act two take on more and more of the aspect of a personal confessional. Most recently he had twice contorted himself, with apparent reluctance, into a regretful posture to apologize to Sarah Palin. But in his years on the show Dave had discussed everything from his encounters with his famous stalker, to the deaths of important people on the show and in his life, to 9/11, his bypass surgery, the birth of his son, and his marriage—all sitting behind his desk communicating directly into the camera.

In this case he might as well have been kneeling like a penitent.

Letterman told the audience assembled for that night’s entertainment that he was glad they were there and apparently in “a pleasant mood” because he had a story he wanted to lay out for them. The story traced his grand jury appearance and the charge of blackmail it involved. Letterman filled in many details: the mysterious package left in his car at six a.m. three weeks earlier containing material that claimed proof of “terrible, terrible things” Dave had done—Dave conceded, “Sure enough, there was some stuff in the pages that proved I did those terrible things”—and the threat that this evidence would come out in the form of a screenplay if Letterman didn’t pay up.

Dave related the steps he took, contacting his lawyer, the two of them meeting with the man behind the plot, the decision to go to the DAʹs office, the sting, which included Dave’s lawyer, Jim Jackoway, wearing a wire and handing over a bogus check for $2 million, and the resulting arrest of the blackmailer, whom Letterman described as menacing.

Throughout the account Letterman maintained a mesmerizing tone that mixed seriousness with a kind of “Can you believe this?” incredulity. The studio audience, not having a clue if what they were hearing was the truth, some tall tale, or maybe the intro to some comedy bit, was obviously thoroughly entertained, releasing regular bursts of laughter, sometimes at inappropriate moments.

“I had to tell them all the creepy things I had done,” Letterman said of his grand jury testimony, which ignited a huge laugh. “Now why is that funny?” Dave asked. But he continued, because it was time to discuss precisely what he had been accused of.

“I have had sex with women who work with me on this show,” he said, this time to silence. He recounted how the grand jury had asked whether this was true. “Yes, I have,” he said.

“Would it be embarrassing if it were made public? Perhaps it would,” he said, adding his only real joke: “Especially for the women.” But to go public and talk about it would be a decision for them, Letterman said.

He got to the essence of the issue: his need to protect his family, himself, and his job. When the smoke cleared, he brought out Woody Harrelson.

For those who had known and worked with Letterman throughout his career, the revelation was at once stunning and yet not unexpected. One longtime Letterman associate said, “I was surprised at how he confronted it. That was a shock to me.