Conan the late night clown

Last night I stayed up later than usual to watch Conan O’Brien host his first “Tonight Show.” I woke up a little more tired than usual this morning, but it was worth it.

Sadly, I don’t watch much late night anymore. For a few years in college it was a nightly ritual, at least whenever I didn’t have a 9:30 class in the morning. But rising early for work everyday has meant earlier bedtimes. Of course, a lot of people stay up regardless, but I need sleep. I love sleep. On most weeknights I hit the sack around 11 pm, so I never stay up late enough to even watch the local news, let alone any of the late shows. But last night was special, so I made an exception. I saw Conan’s last “Late Night” way back in February, so I wanted to at least bookend his transition to Los Angeles as a fan and curious art lover should.

Obviously he was the logical choice to succeed Jay Leno, and I don’t give a shit about all the nay saying old schoolers. I trust Conan will take the reigns of the franchise (which is an annoying overused word that I think just entered the public’s television lexicon earlier this decade) and do his own thing. I hope he does, even though I can’t see my parents watching him. I’m unsure what my dad thinks — frankly, I’m unsure if he’s ever stayed up late enough to have seen Conan — but I know my mom doesn’t care for big red. She thinks he’s “weird.” It’s understandable, I suppose, since she belongs to an older generation that associates “The Tonight Show” with a man (born in Iowa) who made his entrance each night through a multicolored curtain.

As a kid I could hear muffled laughter and applause coming from the tiny TV in my parent’s room after going to bed. After watching the news on channel nine (which was actually broadcast on channel 10 for a long time in Iowa City), my dad would flip down to seven and watch Carson. “Carson.” One word said it all. When they lived in Los Angeles, my parents would often go to tapings. He was their late night idol. I could hear dad laugh as he lightly dozed.

Carson was a steadfast fixture at night, and I remember it being monumental when he retired in 1992. My mom taped his last week of shows and we still have the VHS somewhere in a basement closet. I remember listening for muffled laughter from my room on Leno’s first night, wondering if dad’s approving chuckle would ever sound again. The next day I asked him if anyone in the audience laughed; I was thinking Leno would be booed off stage, but dad said, “Oh yeah.”

Last night I had a chance to connect with the nine-year-old Quiet Boy and that historic transfer of late night power 17 years ago, but actually get to see for myself if anybody would laugh. I knew they would, and so would I.