by John M. Curtis
(310) 204-8700

Copyright January 25 2005
All Rights Reserved.

itting like a tsunami, the death of 79-year-old late-night talk show legend Johnny Carson from emphysema strangely paralleled the painful loss of President Ronald Reagan June 3, 2004. Carson ruled late-night TV on the “Tonight Show” for 30 years before his abrupt retirement and exit from public life in May 1992. Reagan also disappeared from the national stage after announcing his Alzheimer's disease Nov. 5, 1994. For men of such popularity and influence to vanish from public view created a delayed grief reaction. Unlike Reagan, a naturally gregarious man, whose medical condition forced him out of the limelight, Carson bailed out in his prime, preferring a life of seclusion and privacy. Carson left an indelible mark on pop culture, etching himself into the American experience. Like Reagan, Carson didn't hide his Midwest roots, personifying the American success story.

      Born in Corning Iowa and raised in Norfolk, Neb., Carson oozed a boyish charm, yet displayed the wit and sophistication of a Manhattan socialite. It was this uncanny combination of folksiness with cosmopolitan wit that enabled him to connect with the widest possible audience—young and old, rural and urban. “He had it all. A little bit of devil, a whole lot of angel, wit, charm, good looks, superb timing and great, great class,” said pop singer Bette Midler, whose own success skyrocketed with appearances on the “Tonight Show.” Midler points to Carson's charisma, that priceless commodity separating mere mortals from superstars. Few individuals could vacillate from the debonair leading man to the slapstick buffoon. No matter whom the guests—whether entertainers, politicians or scientists—Carson had the unique ability to match wits, play chameleon and spontaneously relate.

      Like the Ed Sullivan Show of years past, Carson saw his stage as a launching pad for young talent, especially comedians seeking to break into show business. “Johnny was responsible for the beginning and the rise of success for more performers than anyone. I doubt if those numbers will ever be surpassed,” said comedian Bill Cosby, a frequent guest on the “Tonight Show.” Far from a saint, Carson had little patience for incompetence, mentioning little about the wannabes who bombed out. While Carson was big-hearted to some, he displayed acerbic wit, targeting regulars for comic relief. His sidekick and announcer Ed McMahon frequently bore the brunt of Carson's jokes, especially about his weight and rumored alcohol consumption. Even his band-leader Doc Severinsen and his backup Tommy Newsome were frequent targets of Carson's jokes and fun-poking.

      Carson made people laugh, not because he was the best comic but because he could laugh at himself. He never took himself as seriously as the people on his show. People delighted in watching him or his sidekicks laugh hysterically. His monologues and skits took satire to new limits. When Carson lampooned Richard Nixon during Watergate, it marked the beginning of the end for the beleaguered 37th president. Unlike today, Carson remained politically neutral, lending clout to his criticism. His audience cut across party lines, turning public opinion against the one-time invincible ex-president. Whether reviewing films, gauging talent or quipping about politics, Carson had supreme credibility. His baritone voice and well-articulated speech commanded respect from his guests and audience. Despite personal shyness, he redefined charisma through his behavior and public image.

      Carson's retirement remains shrouded in mystery. Few people can explain why a national icon—a man who hosted the Oscars five times—would exit the national scene so abruptly. “I have an ego like anybody else,” Carson told the Washington Post in 1993, “but I don't need to be stoked by going before the public all the time.” He left few clues why, after more than 45 years in show business, he packed up his bags and went into seclusion. While Carson would occasionally socialize with media mogul Barry Diller and NBC executive Bob Wright, he refused to look back, telling Esquire Magazine in 2002 that, “I just let the work speak for itself.” It's possible that Carson burned out on show business after years in the pressure cooker. It's also possible that an undiagnosed and self-managed social phobia drove him to the sidelines. Whatever the case, the reasons for his disappearance remain unclear.

      Carson's monologue epitomized the meaning of stepping up to the plate. Good, bad or indifferent, you couldn't help but marvel at his spectacular wardrobe, meticulous appearance and upright posture. His look or style became the professional standard, influencing today's talk show hosts and many business executives. Most of all, Carson looked like he was having fun. Night-after-night, he conveyed his delight to an admiring audience. With wit and humor, he created spontaneous entertainment, keeping guests on their toes. “With decency and style he's made America laugh and think,” said President George H.W. Bush in 1992, awarding Carson the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation's highest civilian honor, but failing to capture the essence of the man that became, without question, the nation's leading role model. For generations to come, he'll be a tough act to follow.

About the Author

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He's editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.

©1999-2002 Discobolos Consulting Services, Inc.
(310) 204-8300
All Rights Reserved.