p***@nbc.com
2005-01-24 01:24:02 UTC
Johnny Carson, 30-year king of late night TV, dead at 79
By Gary Levin, USA TODAY
"Heeeeere's Johnny!"
That phrase delivered in the booming baritone of Ed McMahon, backed
by the theme song by Paul Anka is as firmly ingrained as any in the
history of television.
Johnny Carson hosted NBC's Tonight Show for 30 years before passing
the torch to Jay Leno.
AP file
Johnny Carson didn't invent late-night TV, but he might as well have.
For it was his Tonight Show that perfected the art of wee-hours talk,
comedy and music, setting a gold standard punctuated by his genius for
effortlessly wringing a laugh out of a well-chosen grimace or
tie-straightening gesture.
Carson, 79, died Sunday morning. The cause of death was emphysema,
according to NBC.
"Mr. Carson passed away peacefully early Sunday morning," "He was
surrounded by his family, whose loss will be immeasurable. There will
be no memorial service." his nephew, Jeff Sotzing, told the Associated
Press.
In 4,350 shows over nearly 30 years, Carson's Tonight reigned supreme.
He made stand-up comics' careers with a mere gesture, a "nice stuff"
compliment that spoke volumes or an invitation to come sit and chat.
Jerry Seinfeld, Roseanne Barr, David Letterman and his successor Jay
Leno, among many others, vaulted to stardom by warming Johnny's couch.
He wrestled with exotic animals brought by the likes of Jim Fowler and
Joan Embrey. He embodied iconic characters such as the turtle-necked
and turbaned soothsayer Carnac the Magnificent, tart-tongued Aunt
Blabby, "teatime" movie host Art Fern and hayseed patriot Floyd D.
Turbo that won audience hoots each time they reappeared.
He provided a huge showcase to plug books, movies and TV shows. And he
set a style standard with his own sporty clothing line, sold in
hundreds of department stores.
And aside from cementing his own stature, he made household names out
of McMahon and his bandleader Doc Severinsen, who replaced Skitch
Henderson in 1967.
Through all of his antics, Carson was a comforting presence for
millions of insomniacs and hundreds of comics, actors and singers who
performed before his curtain. A consummate straight man, his
Midwestern reserve, dry wit and easy grin put fans at ease and proved
a marked contrast to the edgier, often aggressive late-night humor
that would follow.
Even after his May 1992 retirement when he disappeared from the
public eye he couldn't completely let go. Peter Lassally, who worked
with Carson for nearly 20 years, told television writers at a
conference last week that Carson he missed the monologues most. "When
he reads the paper in the morning, he can think of five jokes right
off the bat that he wishes he had an outlet for," Lassally says. "But
he does once in a while send the jokes to Letterman, and Letterman has
used Johnny's jokes in the monologue, and Johnny gets a big kick out
of that."
From magician to TV host
Born John William Carson in Corning, Iowa, in 1925, Carson's family
moved to Norfolk, Neb., where he began performing at 14 as "The Great
Carsoni," a comic magician.
After a Navy stint and four years at the University of Nebraska, he
became a local radio announcer, and dreamed of emulating his idols
Jack Benny or Fred Allen as an audio comic. He moved into the nascent
world of television at an Omaha station in 1949.
His first show: The Squirrel's Nest, a daily afternoon show with jokey
interviews. A few years later, he moved west to Hollywood. He starred
in Carson's Cellar, a low-budget local series that attracted the
attention of Groucho Marx, Fred Allen and Red Skelton. He became a
writer for Skelton's show and served as a substitute for the host when
he was injured.
After breaking into prime time with a short-lived quiz show, Earn Your
Vacation, he flamed out in 1955 with CBS' failed The Johnny Carson
Show, a comedy-variety show that depended on the 29-year-old Carson,
who had yet to develop a TV persona.
His first big break came in 1957 as host of ABC's game show Who Do You
Trust?, for which he hired McMahon as his announcer. The exposure led
him to serve as a substitute for Jack Paar, who endorsed Carson as his
permanent replacement. Forced to ride out his ABC contract, Carson
became Tonight's permanent host on October 1, 1962, six months after
Paar's retirement.
Under Carson's reign, Tonight moved from black-and-white to color,
from New York to NBC's studios in "beautiful downtown Burbank,"
Calif., in 1972, and in 1980, from 90 minutes to one hour. Two years
later, his production company launched Late Night With David Letterman
in the NBC time slot that followed.
AP photo
"When he reads the paper in the morning, he can think of five jokes
right off the bat that he wishes he had an outlet for," Carson
associate Peter Lassally says of the comedian post-retirement. "But he
does once in a while send the jokes to Letterman, and Letterman has
used Johnny's jokes in the monologue, and Johnny gets a big kick out
of that."
Carson had his battles with the network, and wrestled with his own
demons, mainly alcohol. He had pay squabbles, one leading to a walkout
for several weeks in 1967. Tapes of most early episodes from New York
were recycled and destroyed by NBC, in a cost-cutting move that
enraged Carson.
When he moved to L.A., he assumed ownership of the show and preserved
episodes, now sealed in an underground Kansas vault. They were
released on home video just a few years ago by his company, run by
nephew Sotzing.
Unlike Letterman and Leno, Carson was comfortable enough in his role
to welcome regular guests hosts: Joey Bishop appeared most often,
followed by Joan Rivers, who filled the role in the mid-1980s, Bob
Newhart and John Davidson.
Johnny outshone and outlasted scores of would-be challengers, from
Chevy Chase and Jon Stewart to Arsenio Hall and Pat Sajak including
Rivers, who had a short-lived talk show on Fox, and Bishop, who had a
late-night talk show on ABC.
So many memories
There were many signature Tonight moments, some unplanned: The famous
1965 episode in which singer Ed Ames, demonstrating how to throw a
tomahawk by aiming at a wooden sherriff, struck it squarely in the
crotch, prompting Carson to adlib: "I didn't even know you were
Jewish."
In 1987, he witheringly tortured Myrtle Young a collector of
animal-shaped potato chips by pretending to crunch on one.
And in his biggest ratings stunt, he presided over the 1969 wedding of
that era's ukulele-playing curiosity Tiny Tim to Miss Vicki.
For many viewers, the most memorable Tonight episode was his
next-to-last broadcast on May 21, 1992. A visibly choked-up Carson was
serenaded by Bette Midler, astride his desk, and both fell into a
touching duet of Here's That Rainy Day.
That episode left such an indelible mark and many a tear that
Carson reportedly wanted to end the show there. But he returned the
next night for a finale, showcasing highlights and thanking viewers,
with these words:
"And so it has come to this. I am one of the lucky people in the
world. I found something that I always wanted to do and I have enjoyed
every single minute of it."
"You people watching, I can only tell you that it's been an honor and
a privilege coming into your homes all these years to entertain you.
And I hope when I find something I want to do and think you would
like, I can come back and (you will be) as gracious in inviting me
into your homes as you have been."
"I bid you a very heartfelt good night."
And that was that.
A private life
Seven weeks after he retired, at age 66, Carson signed a lucrative
deal with NBC to develop and star in unspecified new shows for the
network. The pact was heralded by then-programming chief Warren
Littlefield as "a very, very important announcement for all of NBC."
But it came to naught: Instead, Carson promptly vanished from sight.
Always an intensely private man, he retreated to his Malibu estate,
played tennis each day, traveled, bought himself a yacht and spurned
all pitches to resume work.
He accepted a Kennedy Center honor a year later and made occasional
cameo appearances, and egged on by pal Steve Martin wrote a
handful of short humor pieces for The New Yorker a few years back. But
he granted only two major interviews since quitting his show, to the
Washington Post in 1993 and Esquire in 2002.
"I think I left at the right time," he told Esquire. "You've got to
know when to get off the stage, and the timing was right for me. The
reason I really don't go back or do interviews is because I just let
the work speak for itself."
Carson married four times and divorced three, making frequent
references to his marital troubles in nightly monologues. (He's
survived by his fourth wife Alexis.)
But he was intensely secretive about other aspects of his life. One of
his three sons, Ricky, a nature photographer, tragically died in a
1991 car accident while working.
Carson had health problems a heart attack and quadruple-bypass
surgery in 1999, emphysema revealed a few years later but kept the
news even from close friends.
He even passed on Tonight's 50th anniversary special, explaining in
his stoic, Midwestern way that he such appearances felt needlessly
self-congratulatory.
His biggest (though perhaps unwarranted) worry, expressed to the Post
in 1993, was that his return would bomb in the ratings and sully his
legacy.
"You say, 'What am I doing this for? For my ego? For the money?' I
don't need that anymore. I have an ego like anybody else, but it
doesn't need to be stoked by going before the public all the time."
By Gary Levin, USA TODAY
"Heeeeere's Johnny!"
That phrase delivered in the booming baritone of Ed McMahon, backed
by the theme song by Paul Anka is as firmly ingrained as any in the
history of television.
Johnny Carson hosted NBC's Tonight Show for 30 years before passing
the torch to Jay Leno.
AP file
Johnny Carson didn't invent late-night TV, but he might as well have.
For it was his Tonight Show that perfected the art of wee-hours talk,
comedy and music, setting a gold standard punctuated by his genius for
effortlessly wringing a laugh out of a well-chosen grimace or
tie-straightening gesture.
Carson, 79, died Sunday morning. The cause of death was emphysema,
according to NBC.
"Mr. Carson passed away peacefully early Sunday morning," "He was
surrounded by his family, whose loss will be immeasurable. There will
be no memorial service." his nephew, Jeff Sotzing, told the Associated
Press.
In 4,350 shows over nearly 30 years, Carson's Tonight reigned supreme.
He made stand-up comics' careers with a mere gesture, a "nice stuff"
compliment that spoke volumes or an invitation to come sit and chat.
Jerry Seinfeld, Roseanne Barr, David Letterman and his successor Jay
Leno, among many others, vaulted to stardom by warming Johnny's couch.
He wrestled with exotic animals brought by the likes of Jim Fowler and
Joan Embrey. He embodied iconic characters such as the turtle-necked
and turbaned soothsayer Carnac the Magnificent, tart-tongued Aunt
Blabby, "teatime" movie host Art Fern and hayseed patriot Floyd D.
Turbo that won audience hoots each time they reappeared.
He provided a huge showcase to plug books, movies and TV shows. And he
set a style standard with his own sporty clothing line, sold in
hundreds of department stores.
And aside from cementing his own stature, he made household names out
of McMahon and his bandleader Doc Severinsen, who replaced Skitch
Henderson in 1967.
Through all of his antics, Carson was a comforting presence for
millions of insomniacs and hundreds of comics, actors and singers who
performed before his curtain. A consummate straight man, his
Midwestern reserve, dry wit and easy grin put fans at ease and proved
a marked contrast to the edgier, often aggressive late-night humor
that would follow.
Even after his May 1992 retirement when he disappeared from the
public eye he couldn't completely let go. Peter Lassally, who worked
with Carson for nearly 20 years, told television writers at a
conference last week that Carson he missed the monologues most. "When
he reads the paper in the morning, he can think of five jokes right
off the bat that he wishes he had an outlet for," Lassally says. "But
he does once in a while send the jokes to Letterman, and Letterman has
used Johnny's jokes in the monologue, and Johnny gets a big kick out
of that."
From magician to TV host
Born John William Carson in Corning, Iowa, in 1925, Carson's family
moved to Norfolk, Neb., where he began performing at 14 as "The Great
Carsoni," a comic magician.
After a Navy stint and four years at the University of Nebraska, he
became a local radio announcer, and dreamed of emulating his idols
Jack Benny or Fred Allen as an audio comic. He moved into the nascent
world of television at an Omaha station in 1949.
His first show: The Squirrel's Nest, a daily afternoon show with jokey
interviews. A few years later, he moved west to Hollywood. He starred
in Carson's Cellar, a low-budget local series that attracted the
attention of Groucho Marx, Fred Allen and Red Skelton. He became a
writer for Skelton's show and served as a substitute for the host when
he was injured.
After breaking into prime time with a short-lived quiz show, Earn Your
Vacation, he flamed out in 1955 with CBS' failed The Johnny Carson
Show, a comedy-variety show that depended on the 29-year-old Carson,
who had yet to develop a TV persona.
His first big break came in 1957 as host of ABC's game show Who Do You
Trust?, for which he hired McMahon as his announcer. The exposure led
him to serve as a substitute for Jack Paar, who endorsed Carson as his
permanent replacement. Forced to ride out his ABC contract, Carson
became Tonight's permanent host on October 1, 1962, six months after
Paar's retirement.
Under Carson's reign, Tonight moved from black-and-white to color,
from New York to NBC's studios in "beautiful downtown Burbank,"
Calif., in 1972, and in 1980, from 90 minutes to one hour. Two years
later, his production company launched Late Night With David Letterman
in the NBC time slot that followed.
AP photo
"When he reads the paper in the morning, he can think of five jokes
right off the bat that he wishes he had an outlet for," Carson
associate Peter Lassally says of the comedian post-retirement. "But he
does once in a while send the jokes to Letterman, and Letterman has
used Johnny's jokes in the monologue, and Johnny gets a big kick out
of that."
Carson had his battles with the network, and wrestled with his own
demons, mainly alcohol. He had pay squabbles, one leading to a walkout
for several weeks in 1967. Tapes of most early episodes from New York
were recycled and destroyed by NBC, in a cost-cutting move that
enraged Carson.
When he moved to L.A., he assumed ownership of the show and preserved
episodes, now sealed in an underground Kansas vault. They were
released on home video just a few years ago by his company, run by
nephew Sotzing.
Unlike Letterman and Leno, Carson was comfortable enough in his role
to welcome regular guests hosts: Joey Bishop appeared most often,
followed by Joan Rivers, who filled the role in the mid-1980s, Bob
Newhart and John Davidson.
Johnny outshone and outlasted scores of would-be challengers, from
Chevy Chase and Jon Stewart to Arsenio Hall and Pat Sajak including
Rivers, who had a short-lived talk show on Fox, and Bishop, who had a
late-night talk show on ABC.
So many memories
There were many signature Tonight moments, some unplanned: The famous
1965 episode in which singer Ed Ames, demonstrating how to throw a
tomahawk by aiming at a wooden sherriff, struck it squarely in the
crotch, prompting Carson to adlib: "I didn't even know you were
Jewish."
In 1987, he witheringly tortured Myrtle Young a collector of
animal-shaped potato chips by pretending to crunch on one.
And in his biggest ratings stunt, he presided over the 1969 wedding of
that era's ukulele-playing curiosity Tiny Tim to Miss Vicki.
For many viewers, the most memorable Tonight episode was his
next-to-last broadcast on May 21, 1992. A visibly choked-up Carson was
serenaded by Bette Midler, astride his desk, and both fell into a
touching duet of Here's That Rainy Day.
That episode left such an indelible mark and many a tear that
Carson reportedly wanted to end the show there. But he returned the
next night for a finale, showcasing highlights and thanking viewers,
with these words:
"And so it has come to this. I am one of the lucky people in the
world. I found something that I always wanted to do and I have enjoyed
every single minute of it."
"You people watching, I can only tell you that it's been an honor and
a privilege coming into your homes all these years to entertain you.
And I hope when I find something I want to do and think you would
like, I can come back and (you will be) as gracious in inviting me
into your homes as you have been."
"I bid you a very heartfelt good night."
And that was that.
A private life
Seven weeks after he retired, at age 66, Carson signed a lucrative
deal with NBC to develop and star in unspecified new shows for the
network. The pact was heralded by then-programming chief Warren
Littlefield as "a very, very important announcement for all of NBC."
But it came to naught: Instead, Carson promptly vanished from sight.
Always an intensely private man, he retreated to his Malibu estate,
played tennis each day, traveled, bought himself a yacht and spurned
all pitches to resume work.
He accepted a Kennedy Center honor a year later and made occasional
cameo appearances, and egged on by pal Steve Martin wrote a
handful of short humor pieces for The New Yorker a few years back. But
he granted only two major interviews since quitting his show, to the
Washington Post in 1993 and Esquire in 2002.
"I think I left at the right time," he told Esquire. "You've got to
know when to get off the stage, and the timing was right for me. The
reason I really don't go back or do interviews is because I just let
the work speak for itself."
Carson married four times and divorced three, making frequent
references to his marital troubles in nightly monologues. (He's
survived by his fourth wife Alexis.)
But he was intensely secretive about other aspects of his life. One of
his three sons, Ricky, a nature photographer, tragically died in a
1991 car accident while working.
Carson had health problems a heart attack and quadruple-bypass
surgery in 1999, emphysema revealed a few years later but kept the
news even from close friends.
He even passed on Tonight's 50th anniversary special, explaining in
his stoic, Midwestern way that he such appearances felt needlessly
self-congratulatory.
His biggest (though perhaps unwarranted) worry, expressed to the Post
in 1993, was that his return would bomb in the ratings and sully his
legacy.
"You say, 'What am I doing this for? For my ego? For the money?' I
don't need that anymore. I have an ego like anybody else, but it
doesn't need to be stoked by going before the public all the time."