From limelight to leisure, David Letterman's next shift

"You're just lucky enough to get to do exactly what you want to do all your life." — David Letterman

When the TV camera's red light goes dark on Wednesday, David Letterman's dream job will come to an end.

The gig, Letterman told Alec Baldwin in 2012, has allowed the Indianapolis native to do exactly what he wanted across 33 years and more than 6,000 episodes of late-night talk.

Irony-laced monologues. Signature Top 10 lists. Guests ranging from oddball citizens to A-list celebrities.

Future TV shows may give viewers a reason to wake the neighbors and phone the kids, but 68-year-old Dave is calling it a career.

Retirement will bring changes, expected and unexpected, to the Hoosier icon who blazed a new paradigm for humor in the 1980s. Known for applying a perfectionist's streak to goofball gags, Letterman gave his all to become a king of comedy on NBC's "Late Night" (1982-93) and CBS's "Late Show" (1993-2015).

With singular determination, he rejected dozens of versions of monologue jokes daily to hit upon the most rewarding laughs. He fretted when guest interviews fell flat and he rarely built friendships away from the set. Letterman waited 20 years too long to become a father, he told Baldwin on a 2012 episode of the actor's "Here's the Thing" podcast. Every aspect of life largely neglected, aside from the show.

"He lives for that one hour every day," said Jeff Lewis, Letterman's fraternity brother at Ball State University. "That's going to be a gigantic void to fill."

Rick Posson, Letterman's classmate at Broad Ripple High School and his eventual boss at TV station WLWI-13, agreed that the on-air experience has been paramount.

"He told me once, not that long ago, that his happiest time in life is when he's doing the show," Posson said. "When he's actually physically doing the show. Not writing a bit or hanging around for a meeting."

During a final "Late Show" appearance on April 24, Jerry Seinfeld quoted an old "Larry Sanders Show" line about hosts who intend to retire. Seinfeld called Letterman a "talk-show animal ... out of Greek mythology: half-man, half-desk."

There's no turning back for Letterman. His particular, peculiar creature is being put to rest.

After closing shop at New York's Ed Sullivan Theater, Letterman can spend free time with his wife, Regina Lasko, and 11-year-old son Harry at their home in North Salem, N.Y., their apartment in Manhattan or their ranch in northwest Montana.

Up first, however, is a trip back to Indianapolis for the 99th edition of the 500-Mile Race on May 24. Letterman is co-owner of two cars.

It's likely that Letterman's involvement in auto racing will grow, said Posson, the former local TV executive who now owns a public relations firm.

Ball State University's Muncie campus, which has hosted four public visits from Letterman during the past decade, may receive even more attention from its most famous alum to graduate with a 2.0 grade point average.

But it won't be surprising if Letterman second-guesses his decision to exit the airwaves, said Natalie Caine, a California-based consultant to retirees from the worlds of acting and politics.

Similar to anyone entering retirement, Letterman is letting go of his career identity, daily routine, workplace support network and camaraderie of colleagues.

Setting him apart from other retirees are traits, for better or worse, that accompanied his rise to the top.

Known to be a harsh self-critic, Letterman lives for making the show but fully expects that things will go wrong. When things go right, the show has been his one reliable gauge of positive feedback.

Now, suddenly, yank.

Time, the undefeated, pulls the plug on late-night Letterman this week. What is he supposed to do next? How will he cope?

"Even if you chose to step down or step aside, you know you're not going back to that life and you know you're going to miss it," Caine said. "It's really important to acknowledge that you're going to have some sad days."

Letterman's spring has overflowed with fond remembrances and salutes from peers. In a matter of weeks, attention will turn to "Late Show" successor Stephen Colbert.

For the first time since Ronald Reagan's first term, Letterman will be untethered from a host's desk and have the limited showbiz clout of Civilian Dave.

It's not unfamiliar territory.

Decades before stardom, Letterman spent his youth in a one-story home at 5520 Indianola Ave. in Broad Ripple. He struggled against self-doubt but also discovered his gift of humor and began a journey — not without setbacks — toward TV greatness.

***

"You know, I used to have a paper route. I don't know how this happened." — David Letterman in Playboy magazine, 1994.

The son of florist Harry Joseph Letterman and church secretary Dorothy entered media at the most humble level. David had helped his dad deliver arrangements out of his shop, Joe Letterman Flowers, 5611 N. Keystone Ave. (now site of The Reef Pet Shop), and the youngster made his own money delivering copies of The Indianapolis Star, The Indianapolis News and The Indianapolis Times.

A paperboy's simple, purposeful work appealed to Letterman.

"I loved folding them, I loved delivering them, I loved everything about it," he told The Star, reminiscing during a local visit for the 2014 Indy 500. Letterman declined to be interviewed for this story.

An inner drive propelled him much further than depositing Sunday's edition inside screen doors.

Ultimately, he would devise a formula for bridging broadcasting and making people laugh. Along the way, he would give weather forecasts on WLWI, talk Watergate on Hoosier radio station WNTS-AM (1590) and craft one-liners at Hollywood's Comedy Store.

But in the halls of Broad Ripple High School during the first half of the 1960s, Letterman distinguished himself as being a "damn good thinker," in the words of longtime pal Posson. It would be incorrect to label Letterman as an extrovert or "class clown."

"I referred to him as the 'class entertainer,' " Posson said. "You could tell that he was always thinking: 'What would be funny? What's a funny bit? What would be funny for me to say?' "

Letterman flexed his comedic skills as a teenage bag boy at bygone Atlas Supermarket, 5411 N. College Ave.. While shucking corn one day, he and fellow baggers stuffed husks into an empty Corn Flakes box and placed it in the aisles for sale.

File that under "harmless mischief." But when low self-esteem gripped Letterman, he turned to mean-spirited pranks. His crew egged the homes of attractive girls simply based on the belief that they would never date these guys, Letterman told Rolling Stone magazine in 1982.

" 'I know you're not gonna go out with me, so we'll egg your house,' " said Letterman, who still conversationally refers to himself as "Duck Lips."

Eighteen-year-old Letterman enrolled at Ball State in fall 1965, majoring in radio and television and devoting plenty of time to fraternity life. After pledging Sigma Phi Epsilon as a freshman but not meshing with that chapter's jock-heavy personnel, Letterman joined Sigma Chi as a sophomore.

Lewis served as president of Ball State's Sigma Chi chapter and wrote a 1997 book titled "The Sweetheart of Sigma Chi: Dave Letterman, The College Years." He said Letterman's sense of humor thrived at the house occupied by 52 residents.

"In that environment, he flourished," Lewis said. "For the first time, he was with a group of guys who encouraged him."

Lewis remembers Letterman's fashion critique of a fellow student: "I wouldn't use that necktie to start my lawnmower." And Letterman's reaction when he encountered a six-toed animal in Muncie: "Well, that cat needs corrective shoes."

During his studies at Ball State, Letterman met a radio personality who made the dream of broadcasting appear to be a realistic proposition.

Darrell Wible reported on the Indianapolis 500 from 1953 to 1966, the year he became Ball State's first faculty member hired for the school's Center for Radio, Television and Motion Pictures.

Letterman, getting laughs at Sigma Chi but making little academic headway, credits Wible for helping "a poor student find a path."

"I was barely a 'C' student at Ball State in the 1960s, with nothing productive going on at all, when I met Professor Wible," Letterman said in a statement when Wible died at age 88 in 2013. "He became a mentor, and he introduced me to a world of broadcasting in a way that changed my life."

Cincinnati's WLW, an AM station beaming a 50,000-watt signal throughout the Midwest, captivated Letterman the radio listener. Among his favorite DJs were prank-minded Rich King, who gave blow-by-blow reports of fictitious bullfights, and rock 'n' roll expert Jim LaBarbara, who billed himself as the "Music Professor."

Crosley Broadcasting Corp. owned WLW as well as Indianapolis TV station WLWI-13 (now known as WTHR). To collect a paycheck from the company that also paid King and LaBarbara would move Letterman along the road to becoming a legitimate broadcaster. And as a Ball State junior, he scored a promising interview at WLWI.

"He came back really pumped up because they said, 'You really look great on camera,' " Lewis said. "All of a sudden, television becomes a possibility for him as a career option."

Letterman eventually landed a full-time job at WLWI, where his duties included weekend weather forecaster (facilitating his famed description of hail the size of canned ham). Less glamorous was his role of booth announcer, but he also hosted a late-night showcase for low-budget films titled "Freeze Dried Movies."

Both Lewis and Posson were part of Letterman's troupe executing comedic sketches before and after commercial breaks. If viewers believed Letterman, "Freeze Dried Movies" sponsor Jack's Pizza offered linoleum and snow tire pizzas among its specials.

While hometown radio and TV had been fun for Letterman, 1970s Indianapolis represented a dead end in the realm of show business. He needed to travel to California and eventually New York to be hired for TV appearances, meet a heroic influence and botch his first attempt at a dream job.

***

"I'm too old to be on at 12:30. There's nobody watching — just guys on death row who haven't lost their TV privileges." — David Letterman in Rolling Stone magazine, 1993.

In 1975, Letterman drove his red Chevy pickup to Los Angeles to focus on making people laugh.

Wanting to write scripts for sitcoms, he eased into stand-up by performing on amateur bills at the Comedy Store. Letterman's contemporary peers included Jay Leno, Michael Keaton, Jimmy Walker and Robin Williams.

Moderate success opened the door for Letterman to slog through appearances on largely forgotten TV shows "Mary" (a variety show starring Mary Tyler Moore), "The Starland Vocal Band Show" (a vehicle for the group behind the song "Afternoon Delight") and "Liar's Club" (a game show in which celebrity panelists gave deceptive descriptions for antiques).

California wasn't paradise. His marriage to Michelle Cook, wed since they were students at Ball State, crumbled in 1978. Letterman, who characterizes himself as a recovering alcoholic, typically drank six beers before dinner during this era.

Still, he persevered professionally and caught the attention of talent scouts for "The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson." To Letterman, Carson represented the best in comedic broadcasting, a fan-idol relationship that dated to Carson's pre-"Tonight Show" work on game show "Who Do You Trust?" in the 1950s.

From Letterman's "Tonight Show" debut on Nov. 26, 1978, he rapidly ascended to become a guest host in Carson's absence and then the star of NBC's "David Letterman Show." The weekday morning show began on June 23, 1980.

The New York-based show allowed Letterman's skewed perspective to unfurl. He touted the opening of the Willard Scott Weather Museum in the basement of 30 Rockefeller Center. He brought a TV on set to show viewers they could watch reruns of "Alice" and "The Lone Ranger" on competing stations. He introduced viewers to future nighttime fixtures "Small Town News" and "Viewer Mail."

The show flamed out in four months.

Gerard Mulligan, who wrote jokes for Letterman from the morning show through the first decade of "Late Show," said the future appeared bleak.

"Dave often has said he was convinced his network career was over with the cancellation of the morning show," said Mulligan, who retired from Letterman's staff in 2004. "It's rare enough to get a chance at your own show, rarer still to get a second chance."

NBC served up that second chance in 1982, when the network found a time slot more appropriate than 10 a.m. for Letterman's vision. The new "Late Night with David Letterman" aired at 12:30 a.m. after "The Tonight Show," and Carson entered the David Letterman business. Carson Productions co-produced "Late Night."

Determined to not wreck his latest break, Letterman honed his focus on the show by removing some of life's distractions. He gave up the beer drinking.

"I thought alcoholism was certainly a potential problem," he told Playboy magazine in 1984. "But the thing that made me stop was the show. I had to feel I was doing everything in my power to make it a success. Otherwise, I'd have to answer to myself for the rest of my life for being a failure."

With "Late Night," Letterman hosted a show unlike anything else on TV, an hour built on informality, the unexpected and an underdog's spirit.

Comedian-actor Kevin Pollak, who interviewed 50 stand-up comics for his 2015 documentary film "Misery Loves Comedy," said he appreciated Letterman's honesty in being nervous and awkward in the early days of "Late Night."

"He was a guy reminding you, 'Hey,everybody, we're going to get through this the best we can,' " Pollak said. " 'Here's what we think is funny. Hope you do, too. If not, that's OK.' "

Millions of viewers caught on. "Late Night" was the place for stupid human tricks, stupid pet tricks and stunts featuring Letterman dressed in suits made of Velcro, sponges, Alka-Seltzer and Rice Krispies. Time magazine credited Letterman for "reinventing the talk show."

Yet the grandson of Greene County coal miners didn't bask in his success.

In a 1994 Playboy interview, Letterman said he suffers from anhedonia: the inability to enjoy things that most people enjoy.

"I always thought of Dave as Midwestern," Mulligan said. "He's in show business only because he does a one-hour show he loves, not because he loves the trappings of show business. He rarely goes to parties, never does red carpets and cherishes his privacy."

In the early 1990s, the "late-night wars" nudged Letterman's insecurities and his pursuit of approval into the public eye.

The title he wanted and said he deserved, host of "The Tonight Show," went to Leno when Carson retired in May 1992.

Following behind-the-scenes drama that almost landed Letterman at "Tonight" anyway, and inspired best-selling book "The Late Shift" and an HBO movie of the same name, Letterman accepted a job with CBS in January 1993.

He didn't have "The Tonight Show," but he had an 11:30 p.m. time slot, where a larger audience and greater prestige could be claimed. Under the brightest lights, Letterman and Leno competed head-to-head.

When sizing up these foes, conventional wisdom designated Leno as the people-pleaser and Letterman was viewed as being detached and aloof. Beneath this cool exterior, Letterman cared greatly about how his show played. His post-taping routine involved watching an instant replay of the show and zeroing in on what he perceived to be his own errors.

Former WLWI executive Posson cites contrasts between Leno and Letterman. He spent time with Leno when visiting a friend who is a neighbor of the comic.

"I saw none of the drive in Leno that I see in Letterman," Posson said. "Totally different people. Leno seemed like a guy who loved cars, and, 'By the way, I do this show.' Letterman is, 'I do this show,' and then he has his family and racing."

For the first two years of "Late Show" vs. "Tonight," Letterman won the ratings battle and was symbolically crowned as Carson's true talk-show successor.

The viewership tide turned, and in lasting fashion, when actor Hugh Grant appeared on "The Tonight Show" on July 10, 1995, to talk about his recent arrest for picking up a prostitute in Los Angeles.

Leno consistently attracted a larger audience until his retirement in 2013. Jimmy Fallon's current incarnation of "The Tonight Show" is a nightly ratings winner at 11:35 p.m.

Tavis Smiley, who grew up in rural Kokomo and graduated from Indiana University, hosts a nightly talk show for PBS. Smiley is friendly enough with Leno that the former "Tonight" host spoke when Smiley received a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 2014.

"I've gotten to see up close what these late-night wars are like," Smiley said. "I can tell you that trying to maintain this is much more difficult than attaining it."

Letterman's challenges when trying to keep "Late Show" in the hunt are well-documented.

A fantastic career opportunity, hosting the 1995 Academy Awards, is remembered primarily for one misfire joke about the names of Oprah Winfrey and Uma Thurman. And Letterman's privacy unraveled in 2009, when his affairs with "Late Show" staff members became public.

Through it all, Letterman continued broadcasting and working at comedy. He surpassed Carson's record of 30 years as a late-night host and he outlasted Leno's protracted exit from "The Tonight Show."

Even quintuple bypass heart surgery in 2000 failed to slow Letterman down.

"To be honest, I didn't notice a huge change," Mulligan said of Letterman's health crisis. "He still looked at every word of every piece that went on the air; he still held lengthy monologue-rehearsal sessions in his office every afternoon."

Letterman's personality did mellow, Mulligan said. In 2003, Letterman became a father. Harry, named after his grandfather, the small business owner who died of a heart attack in 1973 at age 57, presented a new idea to Letterman: Maybe the show isn't everything.

"Fatherhood's the kind of thing that gives even the most driven person pause," Mulligan said. "It's hard for me to assess another's state of mind, but he seemed to feel more contented after Harry was born."

***

"Well, I have Regina and I have Harry, and we have a little couch and a little desk in the living room. I can continue to do the show at my house for quite some time, until they absolutely refuse. And I control the money, so they really can't refuse. So I don't see a need to ever actually stop." — David Letterman in Rolling Stone magazine, 2008.

Letterman has cemented his legacy. He redefined the late-night talk show. In 1992 he won a Peabody Award for excellence in broadcasting. A decade later he was a Kennedy Center honoree, joining the likes of Paul McCartney, Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford.

What comes next? A vanishing act may be on tap, but interests in Indiana have publicly engaged Letterman in recent years.

Retirement consultant Caine said his situation is unique yet universal to all people at the end of careers.

"It's a journey to find new meaning," Caine said. "You're no longer the funny guy. You're no longer the sarcastic guy. You're no longer visible across the world. So what matters to you now? What is meaningful to you?"

A fair bet is that Letterman dabbles in what he knows best.

There is his production company. Worldwide Pants landed a hit with CBS sitcom "Everybody Loves Raymond" from 1996-2005 and collaborated last year with rock band Foo Fighters on HBO miniseries "Sonic Highways."

Podcasting, the 21st century format for broadcasting, would allow Letterman to focus on long-form conversations with handpicked subjects.

He could keep writing jokes.

Pollak looks to the retirement example of Carson, who resolutely stayed out of the spotlight. But behind the scenes, "The Tonight Show" icon wrote freelance monologue jokes and sent them to Letterman until Carson's death in 2005 at age 79.

"The question always for creative, funny people is that it does help you feel alive to be in the game, whatever the game is," Pollak said. "In (Letterman's) case, the game has never been show business. You can sense his general loathing of show business. It's the doing of the funny and creative."

Meanwhile, his offstage interests have room to move toward the forefront.

Ball State University has meaning for David Letterman.

His name adorns the 75,000-square-foot David Letterman Communication and Media Building. When accepting the CBS job in 1993, he teasingly told reporters that Muncie, New York and Los Angeles were possible homes for his new show.

His on-air mentions of Ball State added up to invaluable exposure for the school, former BSU President Jo Ann Gora said.

Gora was president when the Letterman building opened in 2007. She said the school brought the naming idea to Letterman, based on decades of philanthropy (including the David Letterman Scholarship for telecommunications majors and minors) and support of the university.

His first answer: "No, thanks."

"He initially demurred, saying that he didn't feel he deserved the recognition," Gora said. "I told him that he was possibly our most successful alumnus. And that his example was an inspiration to our students. We were making this request because we felt it benefited the university, not him. Under those circumstances, he said yes. I think he also thought it would please his mother."

Letterman also established the David Letterman Distinguished Professional Lecture and Workshop Series at Ball State, which has been graced by his attendance during public conversations with Twitter co-founder Biz Stone in 2010, political commentator Rachel Maddow in 2011 and Oprah Winfrey in 2012. It's a tall order to follow Oprah-level buzz, but Letterman has ample time to resume the series.

"What's great about retirement is you get to decide every day how you want to spend that day," said Gora, owner of a consulting firm Higher Education Solutions. "I certainly would hope that Dave would continue to show his affection for the university."

Auto racing has meaning for David Letterman.

Memorial Day weekend always brings Letterman home to Indianapolis for the 500-Mile Race. Back in the WLWI days, Letterman frequently asked to borrow the station's pit passes, Posson said.

As a racing team co-owner, Letterman enjoyed the peak experience of winning the Indy 500 when Buddy Rice finished first in 2004. Posson said he expects Letterman's retirement will include visits to IndyCar races around the world.

"I think he will become more involved by just being there," Posson said. "He loves standing in the pits and watching the (data) screens."

The celebrity schmoozing that surrounds racing? Not so much. Representatives for the 500 Festival Parade said they don't bother asking Letterman if he would like to participate.

"He's not a parade person," Posson said. "I think he'd much rather be interviewed in Victory Lane than anywhere else."

And auto racing is something in life he shares with son Harry.

"When you have kids, it's about them," Letterman told The Star in 2012. "I was 5 or 6 when my uncle (brought me to Indianapolis Motor Speedway). I got it immediately, and I'm hoping now that (Harry's) here, he gets it also."

Fatherhood has meaning for David Letterman. After focusing so long and so hard on a singular goal to affirm his worth, he has found joy and fulfillment on other paths.

Montana is where David and Harry wade into streams for days of fly fishing. It's a pleasant picture framing a pair separated by 57 years, the older one no longer consumed by TV perfection.

It's a life that has waited for Letterman, who's now free from worrying about who's tuning in.

Call Star reporter David Lindquist at (317) 444-6404. Follow him on Twitter: @317Lindquist.