The War for Late Night_ When Leno Went Early and Television Went Crazy - Bill Carter [172]
For Jeff Ross, it was instantly, and inevitably, the worst meeting he had ever had with his friend. Ross felt completely uncomfortable, trying to find a balance between the personal affection he felt for Zucker and the professional distance he needed, because Conan held his first and forever loyalty. And already—even with Zucker trying to express NBCʹs continued commitment to Conan—Ross’s gut was filling with bile over how Conan had been treated. The whole affair felt like a public vote of no confidence; they had simply bailed on Conan.
Ross signaled the formality of this occasion by sitting behind his desk rather than out in one of the chairs or on the couch across the room. Zucker settled into a chair facing the desk. After about fifteen minutes Conan, now changed out of his suit into his usual uniform of T-shirt and jeans, ambled in slowly, hands folded, eyes downcast, his face so drawn, his expression so stony blank that Zucker thought he looked catatonic. Conan sat down all the way at the far end of the couch, about as far from the chair Zucker was in as he could get.
Despite their connection stretching back to their Harvard days, the two men were not especially close, though Conan had previously felt nothing but support from Zucker. Now Zucker spoke softly, his own eyes directed toward the carpet. He spoke first about why they had decided to make this move, how they had to do what they believed was in the best interest of NBC. That had to be the primary responsibility. Zucker stressed how vitally important both Conan and Jay were to the network, how this was all about NBC trying to do everything humanly possible to keep both of them.
Conan wanted to make one point first and foremost.
“Here’s the thing I regret the most,” he told Zucker. “I have a great staff. I have a staff that loves this show, a young staff that really believes in it. A lot of people moved out here. They believe in what we’re doing. They see what’s happening. And for an hour today, for no reason, they thought they were canceled. That makes me sick to my stomach.”
Zucker said he regretted that, but his broad thought was that this sort of thing happened in the blogosphere world everyone lived in now.
Conan didn’t say much more, allowing Zucker to lay it all out, repeating the message: NBC did not want to lose him. This wasn’t about driving him away. This was about finding a way to get him to stay.
Conan let Zucker go on, thinking only of one thing. Finally, he said it again: “What does Jay Leno have on you guys? I just don’t get it.”
To Zucker, the question said more about Conan than it did about NBC. He saw it springing from Conan’s deep dislike of Leno that had simmered just below the surface for years. To Zucker, the answer to that question should have been: no more than what Conan O’Brien had on NBC. In an honest evaluation, as Zucker saw it, both late-night stars would have faced the same judgment: Their shows failed.
But Zucker didn’t say that to Conan. Instead, he went over in greater detail the dilemma NBC faced with the affiliate revolt—and something else. He referred to Jay’s unusual contract and the impact it had on NBC’s position. As both Conan and Ross heard it and interpreted it, Zucker was explaining that he had signed a contract with Leno that he would take back if he could, but that was impossible now, and what was done was done.
Conan, who grew only more silent and closed up as the conversation wore on, did not challenge this notion, or express outrage, though he found himself astonished by Zucker’s almost casual tone. To Conan, it sounded a bit like a passing observation that Zucker was making about the deal that had driven NBC’s decision making, even though to Conan the decision was of such monumental importance that it was a little like someone saying, “I took your son to the mall