When I asked reader William Katz if he'd ever written about his work for employers including the New York Times and the Tonight Show, he responded that he hadn't -- but that he would. Now he writes with the second installment of his reflections on working for the Carson-era Tonight Show:

Aside from Johnny Carson's obvious talent, it was the strength of the guests that made The Tonight Show. The main effort of the staff was aimed at selecting guests, then working with them to make sure their segment clicked.

Working with them? You mean, it wasn't all spontaneous? Nah.

The Tonight Show was planned spontaneity. Carson didn't "go with the flow." He created it. He swore by the show business adage that the best ad libs are planned. And, like a good lawyer, he rarely asked a question unless he already knew the answer.

Every guest booked on the show was pre-interviewed by a talent coordinator. This was done in our office, in a guest's home or hotel, or by phone. The pre-interview was designed to get from guests the best material they could use on the show. The talent coordinator then wrote a proposed on-air interview, which included not only questions, but the answers. This went to the writers, who would type in, in red, zingers that Carson could use to reply.

Carson studied this material, and modified it. He'd add comebacks of his own, which were usually stellar. The writers, by the way, also gave him "savers," lines Carson could throw in if something bombed. Example: The audience won't laugh at a joke. Carson shoots back a cold stare and says, "May a diseased camel leave a gift in your Christmas stocking."

So, when he went on the air, Carson was well prepared. I don't, however, mean to suggest that he rigidly followed a formula. He was bright, and sharp. There were indeed spontaneous moments, and comments from guests that surprised us. Carson had the sense to move with what was working. But, bottom line, there was always a prepared structure.

Here's professionalism: One thing you'd never see was Johnny Carson studying notes during commercial breaks. He knew it was rude, left the guests sitting near him dangling, and broke the spell of the show. He'd talk to the guests, put them at ease, and make some comments to the audience. He might glance down at his notes to review for a moment, but that was it. He'd learned the stuff.

My most memorable pre-interview was with Jane Wyman, who'd been married, of course, to Ronald Reagan. Reagan was governor at the time, and Jane's only stipulation was that he not be discussed. I spoke with her by phone for an hour. What came through was her wonderful, musical voice – she'd started as a singer – and her clear-headed intelligence. During that hour, she never made a grammatical error, and spoke in complete sentences – nouns, verbs, adjectives, all the stuff performers today don't use. She was a marvelous conversationalist. Like many stars from film's golden age, she knew how to be interviewed, and knew it was part of the job. I can understand why Reagan admired her.

Talent coordinating, like education, is wasted on the young. One of my great regrets was not knowing enough about some of the guests. We had to move quickly, and there was little time for research. For example, I interviewed Buddy Rich, who was introduced to me as "a drummer." Some drummer. He was one of the greats of the big-band era, and I just didn't understand his importance. Buddy Rich was electric, always on, someone who today would be hauled down to the principal's office for hyperactivity. If I'd known then what I know now, I would have asked him about Glenn Miller, the Dorseys, the whole lot of them.

And then there was the girl singer. David Steinberg was guest hosting one night and insisted on booking this gawky girl. I dragged myself down to the studio to watch her rehearse. Oh Lord, I thought - she's big, she kind of hunches over, and her song is more than four minutes, an eternity in television. I asked Steinberg if perhaps he could find her other work. But he ws firm. "It'll be great," he said. I thought he was insane. Well, the girl was Carly Simon, the song was "Anticipation," she was virtually unknown at the time, and I stand properly corrected. I also hear she has found other work.

A pre-interview could never prepare us for a from-the-gut audience response. Rita Hayworth was a minted Hollywood legend, and one of the two great pinups of World War II, the other, of course, being Betty Grable. She was booked on the show and escorted onstage by Dan Rowan and Dick Martin, of "Laugh-In." But when she walked out, the audience gasped. Most, apparently, hadn't seen recent pictures. Rita was deteriorating, and in the first stages of a newly discovered illness of the brain. It would be called Alzheimer's Disease, and it was her publicly-announced diagnosis that put the disease on the map, and made it a cause. But, at that moment on our show, the audience realized that something terrible was happening to one of its stars. We never considered that they'd react that way.

There's a good lesson in this: We had stars around all the time, and sometimes the familiarity led us to miss things that the public would pick up instantly. Familiarity not only breeds contempt, it can breed an entirely unintended blindness.

Oh, that other legend, Betty Grable: She never wanted to do the show, but our producer, Fred DeCordova, was determined to try again, and assigned me the job. "Here," he said, handing me a slip of paper. "It's Betty's number in Vegas. Why don't you call her." I looked down, and became a teenage boy again. I mean, in my hand was Betty Grable's phone number. Can you imagine the reaction of those GIs?

I called Betty, and it took about ten seconds to understand why those soldiers loved her. What came through immediately was her warmth. Not hotness. Warmth. You were talking to your best friend. No, she still didn't want to do the show, but being turned down by Betty Grable was a life-affirming pleasure. They called her the girl with the million-dollar legs. She was far more. She proved that real stardom can never be based entirely on looks. It takes what old Hollywood called "that indefinable something extra." Betty Grable possessed it. Those guys in the infantry had very good taste.

And there'll be more...

A footnote: One frequent Tonight Show guest Mr. Katz doesn't mention here is Mel Torme. Torme wrote the book on Rich -- Traps - The Drum Wonder: The Life of Buddy Rich. I vividly recall Torme discussing the book during one of his appearances on the Tonight Show.

Related: "Learning from the Tonight Show."

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Posted by Scott at 06:03 AM  |    |