Free The War for Late Night by Bill Carter Page A

guarantee that he would ascend at that point to The Tonight Show ?
    The question being unofficial, Ross felt comfortable giving an unofficial response: “Look, the obvious answer is yes.” But of course he would take the question—quietly—to Conan.
    As the two warriors who had shed the most blood building Conan’s television career from almost literally nothing, Ross and O’Brien shared an understanding that the rest of their team could never quite be part of. The agents Conan had hired were among the most impressive Jeff Ross had ever dealt with—and besides that, he was fond of them, especially Rick Rosen, who had become a confidant and friend outside the business. Ross knew they were dedicated to his guy and pushed to get the best for him. But they were still in a different business, and a different city, three thousand miles away. They were not in the offices at 30 Rock, sitting there every day with Conan, dragging him off the floor during the postmortems when he felt he’d botched a guest interview or a comedy bit. They did not really know what it took to make a show every day out of piles of written comedy notions and yellow cards with guests’ names stuck to a wall. And so, to Ross, the agents did not totally get it—not what Conan was all about as a performer, and not what The Tonight Show meant to him. For agents, in general, money seemed to be too much the prime factor in considering a client’s future, and a decision like the one they were now facing simply could not be based upon financial considerations alone. Waiting four more years to get to 11:35, when Fox and ABC were beating down doors with money and blandishments, might sound preposterous given how hot Conan was post-Emmys and post-anniversary show.
    But Jeff Ross knew his guy, so the conversation about the news delivered by Graboff was going to be just between them. Ross would be telling Conan something he had longed to hear—NBC had a plan to give him The Tonight Show —but it was coming with a delay that Conan likely did not expect. So in his usual low-key style, Ross laid it out: NBC is talking about maybe extending Leno until 2008, and then guaranteeing you the gig . . . if you’re willing to wait. O’Brien’s nimble mind could make all the requisite leaps in an instant. This solution had an elegance to it: Jay would be accorded all honors due him with a lengthy farewell tour of duty; Conan would be rewarded for loyal service to the network. Was there any doubt? Conan said, “I’ll do it.”
    Then the two compatriots had a little laugh together about how the call to propose this notion had come in from Graboff. They both knew who was really behind the deal.
    As for the delay involved, while it seemed easy to Conan to say he would wait, at the same time it struck him: Who in show business waited that long for anything? It was absurd, maybe the most ridiculous request in the world. But it was also kind of comical. By the time he got to host The Tonight Show , he could well be riding onto the stage wearing a jetpack.
    Still, he had no real reservations. Conan knew that if he refused and went to another network, and then at some indefinite point in the future Jay really did step down and someone else was named to host The Tonight Show, it would have haunted him forever. He needed to take this deal. He had to say yes.
    It was mid-February 2004, and Conan O’Brien had the assurance he had been looking for: NBC was committing to him as the next host of The Tonight Show . But he could hardly unleash a celebration. Jay Leno didn’t know a thing about the deal. Nothing could be made public for a still-undetermined amount of time. But that didn’t mean Conan couldn’t share the happy news with a few people.
    The secret was closely held; just the intimates Conan trusted. His wife, of course; and Jeff Ross. And a select few others.
    On February 19, just days after learning the news, Conan, stepping up for his network as usual, participated in