These being the days before iPhones, everyone was scrambling for information. Fans were craning their necks to get a look at Bob’s screen and shouting over to him, “Bob, what’s happening with OJ?” It turned out Simpson was holding a .38 to his own head; his friend and lawyer Robert Kardashian, father of Kim and company, had read what sure sounded like a suicide note and thinly veiled confession written by Simpson. And yet, somehow, throngs of OJ fans were packing the overpasses and pressing up against the guardrails on the freeway, cheering him on.
What was happening? Why was this plainly guilty person being celebrated like a modern-day folk hero? Bob and I just looked at each other, speechless, knowing this might be the strangest thing we’d ever witnessed in our broadcasting lives.
The trial lasted almost a year; deliberations, less than four hours. The courtroom was packed; reporters and spectators jammed the hallway outside. Like pretty much everybody else in the news business, I’d been consumed by this saga for months.
The words “Not guilty” reverberated throughout the room, followed by gasps, yelps, and sobs. OJ’s son Jason Simpson doubled over, weeping with relief; a distraught Kim Goldman, sister of Ron, wept too. The scene in the hallway revealed an equally stark divide: Black people cheering and throwing up high fives, white people standing by, speechless, shell-shocked. Just like the rest of the country, we’d soon learn.
Looking back, I find it much less difficult to comprehend. The Rodney King verdict was a slap in the face to Black Americans and the abuse they routinely took at the hands of the police. Acquitting OJ may have seemed like a measure of delayed racial justice （despite the feeling that he’d turned his back on the Black community long before; as Ta-Nehisi Coates wrote in the Atlantic, “Simpson should have been the last person in the world to reap a reward from the struggle waged against the LAPD”）。
Meanwhile, all the aghast white people knew was that a murderer had gotten off. It would take years for them, us, me to fully see what lay beneath.
27
The Coast of Casablanca
IN RARE MOMENTS when the country wasn’t blowing up, I allowed myself to enjoy what was happening in my little corner of the world. The ratings were climbing, the reviews were glowing, and the requests for interviews were coming in by the second. Even Johnny Carson wanted one. Chatting with him on The Tonight Show—making the Johnny Carson laugh about my dad’s reaction to the condom demonstration—was a pinch-me moment.
But I wasn’t the only one getting noticed.
Part of the job of co-anchor was popping up on local morning shows to tease segments that were coming up later on TODAY. The idea was to give viewers a reason to stick around, have another cup of coffee, and maybe even be late for work. And make them feel that the people at NBC and its affiliates across the country were all one big, happy family, which required a heavy dose of playful banter with local anchors.
There was a guy doing Today in New York we were all checking out. He seemed to be a natural at the chummy, unscripted back-and-forth. And he was good-looking, with a rakish smile and a nice head of hair. At a certain point, everyone was talking about Matt Lauer.
Whatever it is, Matt had it—that ability to reach through the screen and make people watch. I remember visiting Kiki in Boston years earlier and catching a local show called Talk of the Town, and checking out the host. Wow, that Matt guy is smooth, I said to myself, both of us nobodies at the time.
Matt co-anchored Today in New York with warm, capable Jane Hanson. As the story goes, one morning they were preparing to chat about the previous night’s big hockey game where one of the teams had staged a major comeback. Jane didn’t know anything about hockey, so during the taped piece, Matt gave her an assist: He said that after he mentioned the final score, she should say, “Wow! They are really on the coast of Casablanca.”
“It’s a sports thing,” said Matt. “People will be impressed.”
Sure enough, when Matt reported the score, Jane did as he’d suggested, saying, “Wow! They are really on the coast of Casablanca.”
At which point Matt turned to her and said, “What? What does that mean? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Punk’d. On live TV. Jane turned beet red and laughed. So embarrassing, yet so hilarious—and so Matt.
He started filling in as newsreader on TODAY in 1992 and officially got the job two years later. The first time Matt covered for Bryant, we kicked it around effortlessly—the chemistry was obvious.
After one particularly jocular exchange, Jeff jumped to his feet and pointed at the monitor. Anyone within a mile radius of the control room could hear him shout, “That, ladies and gentlemen, is the future of the TODAY show!”