The War for Late Night_ When Leno Went Early and Television Went Crazy - Bill Carter [220]
At the same time, when Jay discussed with his staff all the actions and reactions of that chaotic month, the one thing none of them really understood was that whole dream-destroying theme that Conan had expressed so eloquently. When Jay was a kid, he’d dreamed of hosting The Tonight Show, too. But as an adult it became his employment. Debbie Vickers questioned why Conan persisted in seeing the show as a dream when it was, in reality, a job—and one that required bringing in winning ratings. On Jay’s side of the late-night divide, pretending that ratings didn’t matter so much qualified as a form of arrogance, something they just could not subscribe to, because, as they saw it, they were too busy doing shows.
Jay intended to settle back in and stay busy doing shows for the foreseeable future, but he swore he was open to considering a true end date now, though one he could pick at his own discretion—not NBC’s. He cited what he called the Midwestern model: put twenty or more years into a job, get to sixty-three, sixty-five, or so, and that’s retirement time. Reminded that Carson went until he hit sixty-six, Jay conceded that sounded OK, too. He even volunteered to try on a plan he had always opposed: opening up some nights to allow guest hosts to replace him—a way for NBC to identify potential new host prospects. This kind of talk was totally new for Jay, who more often talked of working until the lights went out—literally. As in: “I’m Scottish; we die in the mine.”
The course of events that fall and winter did throw Jay off his stride, he admitted, and not just because of all the body blows he’d suffered. There was something a bit eerie about it all, or maybe it was just déjà vu. But at times Jay felt as if he were back in 1993, trying to hold on to the show because some people at NBC wanted to give it to Dave. Jay would never have believed he would be caught up in a replay of that unhappy time again.
But here he was, again forced to defend himself against charges of being an unworthy schemer—even though he had been the top-rated comic in late night for sixteen years.
One of his NBC associates, who had a good if somewhat superficial relationship with Jay, said that in the wake of what had taken place in the previous five months, Jay spoke more openly about his feelings when he returned to The Tonight Show. He made it clear that he wanted to get back in the good graces of those who still held ill feelings toward him because of the Conan business. But the heart-on-sleeve moments didn’t last. Jay could never be someone who waxed philosophical, the associate said. He simply didn’t look back. Seeking perspective might deflect his focus, and Jay believed that to stay on top it was essential to be single-mindedly focused on the job and the job alone. “The fact that he’s still number one alleviates most of the grief he takes,” the associate said. “He does his gigs; people eat it up. That justifies everything for Jay.”
Not that he believed anything he had done really required justification. The fact that show-business people, who really should have known better, could possibly conclude that it was somehow incumbent on him to walk away from The Tonight Show simply stunned Jay. His take remained: The show was taken from him, which was fair and square; somebody else got it. But the wheel had spun and, totally unexpectedly, the show came around again.
There was no deal in a back room. Circumstances played out; NBC moved him back where he had always wanted to be.
Jay slept well at night.
The tour, with all the spontaneous outpourings of love and support he encountered in every venue, surely helped Conan O’Brien get past some of his anger, but he was realistic. It would take time, longer than he probably could guess, to process completely the cosmic event that had crashed into his life.
Conan couldn