Copyright 2005 Ben S. Pollock
Wednesday, January 26, 2005: My newspaper rarely does front-page obituaries, particularly of celebrities. The last was Marlon Brando’s. Monday morning it gave top-of-2A play for Johnny Carson, the penultimate spot. The front page would have been appropriate.
Carson was a significant icon of the 20th century, in American culture (popular culture is or should be redundant). His wasn’t the only show on at 10:30 weeknights (11:30 for Eastern-timers, it must be acknowledged to avoid confusion), though the accolades of the past couple of days implied it. Yet, his voice, as well as his work, are indelible to a good two or three generations who saw him on the tube serially, at various ages, in his 30 years hosting NBC’s "The Tonight Show."
I believe and agree with David Letterman, Conan O’Brien and Jay Leno in admiring that rare skill of Carson’s, to be funny, entertaining, to ably interview all sorts of people, to be quick with wit or to instantly overcome gaffes of one sort or another.
But I write this to note how glad I was to have seen him retire in 1992.
At that time, I was as hooked on seeing most of his show every night. It was a similar addiction to asinine comic strips like "Nancy" or the daily horoscope. During that period I worked for months to kill those habits, which haven’t come back.
So far as Carson, in the 80s and up to that point I would work my shift like anyone else, relax as a bachelor or with my then-fiance in the evening, preparing my or our supper and watching good or junky prime-time television on nights I wasn’t out., working or enjoyingn "real" entertainment.
But in the 80s, my first decade after college, I grew to resent Carson like those insignificant newspaper features. His work for me had long grown stale, the monologues and the skits seemed like corny retreads. I don’t claim to have been all that hip, but every night I watched I grew angry at myself for wasting time. I should have been asleep or reading or watching PBS. But Carson had me hooked.
Lots of times, I stayed through the opening segments just to female performers enter. That walk showed off the revealing outfits they usually wore, frankly, moreso than after they sat down when the cameras generally stayed above the shoulders, which I watched, too. Frankly, I was leering at them yet was offended at Carson’s lecherous remarks. (For all of her class, Susan Sarandon comes to mind as gamely sparring in kind with Carson.)
I don’t feel my mind numbing in the last dozen years in the same way with Jay and Dave, though their routines have become, well, routine, and they do their share of verbal eye-popping with Salma or Charlize or Halle. This must because when irritated I can switch between the two — or Koppel or Charlie Rose. Or Emeril for that matter.
Finally in the past year I have found the strength to turn the box off and read. I have found that I invariably sleep better following that period of quiet.
The death of Carson was a front-pager in spirit because what he created still is going strong, good and bad. He was not the first talk-show host; it was not pioneering that he accomplished. Best, too, is hard to judge. But all the skills that he used sure had legs. Rest-in-peace, Mr. Carson. You entertained a lot of people. -30-
