by Carter, Bill
Conan O’Brien wrapped up what he considered another strong show on the evening of Wednesday, January 6. The interview with that night’s lead guest, Matthew Broderick, had gone especially well. The overall trend felt right; the shows were getting positive press. This was nothing like those early days on the Late Night show when survival seemed to hinge on every guest booking, every joke. All the negative attention in the press was centering on Jay and how his ten p.m. show was wrecking the network. The new Tonight Show, hosted by Conan O’Brien, seemed to be a given going forward.
And yet, as he gathered his writing and production group for the postmortem, Conan felt out of sorts. He realized he was coming across as edgy and short-tempered, which was not his intention. So he dismissed the group early. Gavin Polone stayed around. The manager had dropped by the show that night as he occasionally did now that Conan was in LA. Nothing seemed in the least wrong about the show to Polone, but he knew Conan well enough to recognize the clouds circling above his star’s head.
“What’s wrong?” Polone asked. “That was a really funny show. Things are going great. The show is growing; you’re doing good work every night. The numbers aren’t there yet, but that’s because of Jay. If they move him out, they’ll put some other programming in there and, you know, that can only help.”
Conan’s glum expression was unchanged. “I just have a bad feeling,” he said. “I just think he’s going to hurt me in some way.”
“You’re crazy!” Polone said. What could NBC do? Move Jay back?
That was clearly Conan’s fear.
“Why would they do that?” Polone asked. “Jay’s failing. They’re going to move the guy who’s failing back to where he was? It makes no sense! You can’t think about these jobs based on what’s happening this second. You have to think about where you’re going to be in five years. Jay will be nearly seventy. You’re going to have a seventy-year-old man hosting The Tonight Show? I just don’t see any of that happening. It would just be the dumbest move ever. I’m not saying these guys are my friends or that they would keep their word. I’m just saying it doesn’t make any sense.”
Now, if NBC somehow had a line on somebody like Jon Stewart, Polone said, there might be some cause for alarm. But they didn’t, and Stewart would never listen now anyway. He was far too successful doing what he was doing to jump into this swirling uncertainty.
Conan nodded unconvincingly. His mood did not lift. The premonition was still there.
When he got home, he had a raging headache. He dropped his things and walked into the spacious country kitchen, where he collapsed onto a couch. Liza found him stretched out there.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I think maybe they’re going to cancel Jay,” Conan said. “I just think that guy is going to hurt me.”
Now Liza stepped up to be reassuring. “I don’t really see how that’s possible,” she said.
Conan got up and gobbled some Tylenol. His head was pounding—it didn’t relent.
Later he went to bed, the headache lingering. Finally, still unsettled and still not sure why, he fell asleep.
At six a.m. Pacific time Thursday, Jeff Zucker was up already in his room at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills, getting ready for his day leading his prospective new bosses on a grand tour of the Universal lot, when he got a call from the room down the hall. His top corporate communications executive and close friend Allison Gollust had received an e-mail that morning from one of Jeff’s own media properties. CNBC wanted a reaction to a story someone there had just seen on an obscure Web site called FTV Live. Had The Jay Leno Show been canceled? Gollust reported that she had told CNBC she was looking into it. She and Zucker agreed that was all they planned to say for the moment.
It was about seven fifteen when Zucker walked outside into the crisp California morning and climbed into his limo with Roberts, Burke, and Gollust. As they settled into their seats, Zucker spoke up immediately. “There’s something you might want to know that’s just about to hit the papers,” he said. Recognizing that the two Comcast executives could have no input into NBC’s operations at that point but guessing that the news would interest them anyway, Zucker filled them in on what was happening with Jay and Conan. He also briefed them on NBCʹs thinking and the network’s provisional plan going forward.
Roberts and Burke took the information in as though listening to a ten-day weather forecast. Gollust had the impression that they concluded NBC might be overreacting a bit in anticipation of what was going to transpire.
The car wound its way through the congested morning-rush traffic toward Universal City.
In another part of town, at just about the same hour, Jeff Gaspin was driving himself toward the same destination. Waiting at a stoplight, he heard his BlackBerry ping and quickly checked the message. It was Rebecca Marks, letting him know that the news about Jay had leaked. But she noted that it had been posted on a site that did not attract much traffic. It seemed to be from a blogger who had posted other pieces about local TV stations. Gaspin guessed that one of the affiliates, exuberant over the news that NBC had finally found a favorable solution to the ten p.m. issue, had contacted this guy with a scoop. But the site had the news a bit wrong. The leak suggested that Jay had simply been canceled and was leaving the network. The inaccuracy encouraged Gaspin—maybe nobody else was going to follow this up.
A short time later, Conan OʹBrien slid behind the wheel of his own car in his driveway in Brentwood. By that point the news had made it to the radio. The first newscast Conan heard cited reports on the Internet that NBC had canceled Jay Leno’s show. Conan listened intently—not a word about The Tonight Show.
That same morning on the Universal lot, NBC’s corps of executives was arriving early, eager to get to the meet and greet with the new Comcast overseers. A group of about thirty filed into the conference room in the Lew Wasserman Building. At about eight, Zucker strode in, accompanied by Gaspin. Zucker introduced Roberts and Burke. The NBC executives quickly introduced themselves one by one and briefly described their duties. Neither Rick Ludwin nor Nick Bernstein said a word about the morning’s developments, because they were completely unaware of them.
The upbeat meeting broke up a little after nine and everyone dispersed—Zucker and his companions to some waiting golf carts for a spin around the lot. The NBC contingent took off to start their workdays. As soon as many of the network executives arrived at their offices, they perceived a heightened sense of tension. The news began to come at them all at once; reports were breaking everywhere that Jay had been canceled. The executives sped to their computers and phones, seeking to make sense of what was really happening. But they resisted the urge to check with one another, because it seemed no one had any clue what had been confirmed and what was just rampant rumor. It struck one executive as “utter chaos.”
Rick Ludwin had a message waiting when he arrived back at his desk: See Gaspin immediately.
Jeff got right to the point as soon as Ludwin walked in. The plan to make the change with Jay was in progress: no more ten p.m. show; Jay back to 11:35; Conan pushed to 12:05. Gaspin asked Ludwin what he thought of the idea.
Ludwin responded that the other proposal that had been discussed—cutting Jay back to one or two nights—still seemed much better to him, because it would have been far less disruptive. Ludwin stressed that his strong preference was to avoid this kind of shakeup. But Gaspin made it clear he was going ahead with his plan.
At just about that time, Jeff Ross was arriving at the Tonight offices inside the auxiliary gate down at the front of the lot. As usual he was at his post before Conan turned up. The show’s staff was buzzing. The rumors were by now aflame all over the Internet, though NBC had not confirmed anything: Jay was supposedly getting canceled.
“Hopefully that’s true,” Ross said, figuring almost anything NBC came up with would improve the ten p.m. hour and help Conan. But he wasn’t really sure what to think. The uncertainty was only compounded a few minutes
later when he got a message from his assistant. Jeff Gaspin wanted to see Jeff—and Conan—in his office as soon as Conan arrived. This immediately struck Ross as a curious and worrisome request. To him it should have been right out of Show Business 101: The network boss can order the producer to his office, but he never demands an appearance by the star. That just isn’t done.
A few minutes later Marc Graboff walked into Jeff Gaspin’s office in response to a similar request for an immediate meeting. Gaspin explained that the Jay story had broken because of an apparent leak by an affiliate. It was now imperative that they break the news to Conan immediately. He told Graboff he had already summoned Conan and Jeff Ross. Graboff recognized the good intentions behind everything Gaspin had done, but he wished there had been an opportunity for the same kind of back-channel work he had put in five years earlier when he was able to bring Conan and Ross in on NBCʹs plan to transfer control of The Tonight Show. It was too late for that now.
Graboff had a more urgent concern. If Conan and Ross got this news before NBC broke it to Conan’s representatives, the plan would never have a prayer of coming to fruition. On the other hand, he agreed that if Gaspin called the agents first, it would almost surely get leaked before they had a chance to break the news to Conan—and that could be an unforgivable move as well.
“So what do we do?” Gaspin asked.
Graboff had an idea. “Have Conan and Jeff let you know when they are coming over. And then, when they are on the way, we call Ari and Rick and fill them in.” That was the plan they decided to put in motion.
Back in Beverly Hills, Rick Rosen was just hanging up his jacket in his office at William Morris Endeavor at about nine fifteen when he got word from his assistant that a call had come in from NBC. “You must make yourself available for Jeff Gaspin at nine forty-five.” Rosen had already spoken with Jeff Ross earlier from his car, and Jeff had relayed the rumor about Jay’s getting canceled. Now, Rosen concluded, something was certainly afoot. He called Ross back and said a call was coming in from Gaspin.
“Something’s up,” Ross said. “Gaspin wants to see Conan and me, too.” Conan was just then arriving at the Tonight headquarters.
In Gaspin’s office, the NBC Entertainment chief put in another call, this one to New York. It was time to let Lorne Michaels and the staff of Late Night know that their show was headed for very late night—a 1:05 a.m. start time. The feedback from Lorne, Jimmy Fallon, and Jimmy’s producer, Mike Shoemaker, was all positive. Shoemaker told him, “We love what we’re doing. Don’t worry about us.”
“I appreciate that, guys,” Gaspin said. “I’m really in a shitstorm out here.”
A few minutes later Rick Rosen’s assistant reported that Gaspin’s office had checked in again, saying the call from Gaspin had been moved up to nine thirty. When Rosen phoned Jeff Ross back quickly with that news, the Tonight producer noted that they were supposed to be on their way to Gaspin’s office at precisely that time. Of course, Conan and Ross had no intention of leaving for Gaspin’s office until they knew what Gaspin had just told Rosen over the phone.
The call to Rosen came at exactly nine thirty. Gaspin was on the line, accompanied by Marc Graboff. “This is not a good call,” Gaspin said, leading off. Rosen, taking notes, wrote down a single word: “bad.”
Gaspin explained how important both Conan and Jay were to NBC, and how he wanted everyone to stay.
“What’s your plan?” Rosen asked.
Gaspin played his hand: Jay to 11:35; Conan to 12:05. “We really want to make this work.”
“And how long are we doing this for?” Rosen asked.
“Well, we don’t know. We need to discuss that,” Gaspin said, adding that this was not intended to be a long-term solution. He said he was about to have a conversation with Conan and Jeff.
“I know you are,” Rosen said. “We’ll get back to you.”
Rosen had a client waiting, one he knew was not going to enjoy this news flash. Rosen called Ross and O’Brien to clue them in on what they were about to hear when they got to Jeff Gaspin’s office.
Rosen could hear the dismay in Conan’s simple response: “Oh, boy.”
When Conan OʹBrien walked into Jeff Gaspin’s office at a little after ten a.m. on Thursday, January 7, his face said everything. Marc Graboff saw it and realized at once: Conan knows.
Gaspin was not quite as certain, but anyone could read Conan’s expression and realize something was tearing him up, either direct knowledge or anticipation of knowledge. All at once, as he prepared to deliver this blow, Gaspin sensed he might have played it all wrong. Maybe he should have brought Rosen in early, begged him to keep the information quiet, solicited his help in getting Conan on board. Now it was too late. He had a devastated star in his office about to get hit with the official haymaker.
The NBC executives greeted O’Brien and Ross formally and stiffly—there was no call for a bogus show of warmth. Conan sat across from them, but he looked off vaguely toward the window. He did not meet Gaspin’s eyes. Sitting next to him, Jeff Ross could not bring himself to look Graboff in the eye. He had too much history with Graboff, a guy he had always liked.
Gaspin got right to the point. They faced a crisis with the affiliates. The press tour was around the corner. Something had to be done. So he had come up with this plan: half-hour Jay into a later Tonight Show. “I don’t want to choose between you,” Gaspin said. Once again he referred to his refusal to make a Sophie’s choice out of the situation.
Conan remained calm, totally professional, which impressed both Gaspin and Graboff. Inside he was churning, of course, but part of him was struck by how surreal—farcical almost—the moment felt. Sophie’s choice?
Still keeping his eyes averted, Conan responded, “I completely understand the difficult position you’re in,” but he began to lay out his case. If someone had told you six years ago what he was going to do, and you based all your actions on that promise, and then he turned around and reneged on that promise. . . .
He went through the litany of events that flowed from that initial guarantee of The Tonight Show. He had sacrificed a lot of money. He hadn’t wanted to go to the competition; he’d wanted to be loyal to NBC.
Gaspin offered no challenge; he saw no reason to. He agreed with Conan’s points.
“I get it,” Gaspin said. “It’s not perfect. I’m offering you both half of what you want. You get to come to work every day, same as always. Not Jay, because he’s got a half-hour show now. He’s the one who’s got to change his habit, a habit he’s had for eighteen years. You make the same money you always made. You work with the same people.”
Gaspin never mentioned the word “ratings,” nor did he bring up a point he himself regarded as an advantage for Conan: At 12:05 he wouldn’t have to face the pressure to broaden out. He wouldn’t have to listen to NBC’s endless notes on bookings and all the rest. And Jay would act as a good buffer between the news viewers and Conan. He hoped to have a chance to have that kind of fuller discussion down the road.
Now Gaspin came back to the need to make this change and his desire to do it the right way. “I want to be fair to both of you,” Gaspin said. “This has been an unfair situation for both of you.”
But Conan was seeing no equivalency on the fairness meter. He could not quite see how the situation could be construed as unfair to Jay. Leno had hosted The Tonight Show for seventeen years. He had handed it over and immediately shifted to ten o’clock, voluntarily. How, Conan asked himself, could any of this be construed as unfair to Jay?
“I know how hard I worked for this,” Conan told the NBC executives. “It was promised to me. I had a shitty lead-in.” His tone was soft, but the words were clipped. Graboff knew this was Conan in the raw, speaking from the heart.
Conan asked if Lorne knew; how about Jimmy Fallon? Gaspin said he had spoken to both of them already.
Graboff tried to shift the conversation, move it away from all the emotion. He said to Jeff Ross, “Come on, Jef
f. Just do this show for a couple of years and then move back.”
It was the only time in his experience with Ross that he had ever heard the producer really raise his voice. “That’s bullshit, and you know it!” Ross said, directly to Graboff. “The only way Jay leaves now is being carried out feet first!”
Gaspin countered by continuing his soft approach, urging Conan to give the idea some time, take it in, think about it.
Listening to Gaspin, still with a faraway look in his eye, Conan began to perceive an executive who had been in the world of cable, made a lot of money for the company by being in the right place at the right time, and was now under the impression that he was smarter than he actually was—like a guy who happened to live in Texas oil country around the time the internal combustion engine was invented. To the money counters, an executive like this came across as a genius. But unlike the best entertainment impresarios, like NBCʹs own Brandon Tartikoff, Gaspin wasn’t somebody who lived and breathed network television. And so, Conan intuited, Gaspin had little chance to understand how late night worked, the emotions of its performers, the loyalty of its audiences.
As Conan saw it, Gaspin was in over his head. He simply didn’t get what he was doing here: He acted as though late-night shows were just a few board pieces to be moved around. Conan pictured Gaspin as a guy who walked into an atomic bomb factory, had never been in one before, and just started swinging a wrench around.
The one thought Conan had on the spot about the half hour at 11:35 was that it likely would exacerbate the problem he already had with Leno. “So at least now, Jay does his show, but there’s the break of the news, and that’s kind of a reset button,” Conan said to Gaspin and Graboff. “At 11:35 Jay’s going to come out and do twenty jokes. And then what’s he going to do?”
