The War for Late Night_ When Leno Went Early and Television Went Crazy - Bill Carter [95]
Jay, of course, kept his own eye on the numbers, especially for the shows at ten, because they provided his network lead-in (and Dave’s). He could see what was happening at his own network. Its big new highly promoted entry, My Own Worst Enemy, starring Christian Slater, had been given the plum ten p.m. slot after NBCʹs one newish (though fading) hit, Heroes; but it had already caved in, with barely a 1.7 rating in the young-adult demo. Jay was averaging about a 1.4 running well past midnight, for a fraction of the cost.
Maybe, he finally concluded, he really could do some business at ten p.m.
By the late fall of 2008, down to his last three months as host of Late Night, Conan O’Brien felt the pull of history. Not so much from his own show, though the process of going back through highlights of more than twenty-five hundred programs certainly struck an emotional chord. No, what was hitting O’Brien hardest was his imminent change of venue. It had been the same for David Letterman when his days in 30 Rock were melting away. Saying good-bye to the most famous building in the history of broadcasting was more than sweet sorrow, it was gut-wrenching.
Conan responded by trying to absorb every moment he had left. For him that meant changing a routine he had followed from his first days at NBC, when he would grab a cab from the apartment he rented off the park near Tavern on the Green and jump out on Forty-ninth and Sixth. Close by the entrance was an auxiliary elevator bank that took him up to his office on the seventh floor.
Now eager to drink in all of 30 Rock that he could, he decided to start his days by wandering in slowly through the ornate entrance on the plaza side of the building. In December that meant weaving through the streams of tourists lined up to take pictures of the giant evergreen, just lit in all its glory in the annual celebration that NBC had turned into a holiday special.
Even in baseball cap and sunglasses, and with his head down, Conan was always recognized. That profile, the red hair, the storklike gait—who could miss him? “Hey, Conan!” The shouts were predictable: “Conan! What’s going on?” or “Conan! Love the show!”
OʹBrien always shouted back, “Thanks, great to see you.” He didn’t mind the notice; he still remembered when there hadn’t been any.
Conan walked into that grand art deco lobby because he wanted to see the murals every day he had remaining, the massive wraparound painting American Progress by Jose Maria Sert, depicting straining men and women building a nation. As he walked by, Conan looked up at the murals and found himself lost in scenes from the movies Quiz Show and My Favorite Year.
O’Brien, who probably knew more television history than anyone else who’d made a piece of it, could recite details about the 30 Rock-based inspirations for those films, the scandal of the rigged answers on the quiz show Twenty-One and the raucous nights of ninety minutes’ worth of live weekly comedy from Sid Caesar and Carl Reiner on Your Show of Shows that were the model for My Favorite Year.
He thought about watching Rob Petrie in The Dick Van Dyke Show, a writer for an ersatz Caesar (played by Reiner) whose fictive workplace would have been 30 Rock (though it was never expressly mentioned). And the birth of Saturday Night Live, so essential to his own career. It was from this location that breaking historic news had been broadcast to the nation since the 1930s. Of course, Steve Allen had begun The Tonight Show here, with Paar and Carson following, all commanding America’s attention every night. And this was where Letterman lit the fuse that turned Conan into a late-night host.
To O’Brien the place was ground zero—the place where television was invented. Walking in through that imposing lobby and looking all around, he could feel it. He was there.
Having worked sixteen years in the building, Conan felt that so much of his life had been gifted to him through his television show. He had, after all, met his wife