Free Still Talking by Joan Rivers, Richard Meryman Page B

believe that somewhere inside him I was a kindred spirit, absolutely in tune comedically.
    As a standup comedian, Johnny had an easy, WASPy charm. He came up as a boyish MC, and he never seemed to want to develop any great routines. You never thought, Jesus Christ, that was funny-like Woody Allen’s moose routine, George Carlin doing the Seven Words You Can’t Say, or Bill Cosby doing Noah. But Carson is still one of the great straight men of the century. He is a brilliant reactor who becomes the audience, asking its questions, having its reactions. This is extremely difficult. He has to know when to cut in with a question, when to stay out, when to make the face, when to be sincere, when to lean toward his guests and be entre nous, when to look at the audience and give the joke an extra twist. He has to know when a joke is big enough to sit back in his chair and laugh out loud.
    His timing must be masterful. If he comes in with “How fat is she?” one beat off, the joke won’t work, because comedy is half music. So much has to do with rhythms and timing-when a beat comes, when a rest comes. If somebody sets you up wrong, it’s like a conductor tapping his baton; you have to stop, reset yourself, and start again.
    Johnny never left me alone in the lifeboat. If a joke wasn’t working, he didn’t turn to the audience and give them a look that said, “She’s a kook,”
    while he rowed away and left me sitting there.
    I felt so grateful to Carson, so loyal, I refused for nearly
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    two years to go on Merv Griffin’s show when it started in 1965. I would not appear on any network but NBC. I thought I was back in college-NBC, rah, rah, rah. I bought an NBC T-shirt. They were my family, and a family is sacred-your own through thick and thin.
    Johnny Carson worked because he’s an old friend. America wants to be with someone comfortable at night. You have to laugh and cry over and over again with someone before you feel comfortable. Look at Phil. Look at Oprah. Look at the years it took to establish their shows. Look at Jay Leno. He’s wonderful, he has great humor, he’s ebullient. We know him. I think and hope he’ll do well.
    I adored Johnny Carson. His leaving late-night television signified the end of an era, an end to his audience’s youth. Many performers of an older generation-whom you won’t see on Letterman or Arsenio-have lost their final theater. And Johnny’s absence, of course, will leave a big gap in America’s viewing habits.
    He was kind and considerate to me. Many people thought he was aloof, but he is a loner who has nothing to say to a lot of people, and I understand that; I am the same way. Johnny was proud that he had found me. He found a lot of people-Woody Allen and Bill Cosby-and they moved on and became his equals. But I constantly thanked him for turning around my life, for saying, “She’s right,” and bringing me the career, the husband, the major break of doing Ed Sullivan:
     
    I started on The Ed Sullivan Show right after I became pregnant. Edgar had shown no interest in having a child during the first two years of our marriage. I was caught up in my career and had never been the one who went “kitchy-koo” to that baby in the park, never said to the neighbor, “Oh, let me baby-sit little Tiffany.” I did not reinvite people who brought their kids over.
    But one day while I was performing in Detroit, I stopped at a soda fountain for coffee and an English muffin, and a dark-haired woman came in with a baby. It was so cute, bundled up to twice its size in a snowsuit. They were

56 JOAN RIVERS
    having a great time together, blowing on a straw, the kid laughing. The relationship was so tender and dear, so total, I said to myself, “I want one of those.”
    I was shocked at this revelation. Shocked! But suddenly it was the right next step. For the first time, my life was stable and structured. 1 did not want to be telling jokes in nightclubs all my life, and part