Johnny’s monologue chided the Los Angeles Dodgers for their long losing streak, needled the current Congress for its inability to pass any legislation except another raise for its members, and unloaded on used-car dealers whose opinion of their own sales abilities is so inflated that they insist on appearing in their own obnoxious television commercials with props ranging from boa constrictors to Dolly Parton look-alikes. Charles Nelson Reilly almost made me forget my nervousness when he described his run-in with a coast guard cutter while desperately trying to bring a runaway engine on his small boat under control. Then Jimmy Stewart showed film clips of a forthcoming special he was hosting, on another network, dealing with unidentified flying objects, and Donna Theodore belted out two rock hits that seemed completely implausible, to me, coming from such a regal and lovely woman.

Alfred startled me. “You’re in luck, Mr. Lawrence!”

“Oh? How is that?”

“You’re on right after the next two-minute station break, and it looks as if you’ll have as much as fourteen or fifteen minutes with Mr. Carson.”

“Wonderful! That will put me right up there with Carl Sagan and Paul Ehrlich!”

“What? Oh, yes … that’s funny. Fun-ny.” He wasn’t smiling. “Can you handle that much time okay?”

Having done nearly two hours, only three nights earlier, on Larry King’s network radio show, I patted Alfred’s fuzzy cheek and replied, “I’ll try, son, I’ll try.”

“Follow me, sir … and please watch your step. It’s rather dark, backstage.”

The band was playing on the other side of the curtain, entertaining the studio audience while the viewers across the nation were being instructed on the benefits of Alpo dog food and Jaymar slacks. Alfred leaned close to my right ear and shouted, “Stand here, please, until I pull back the curtain. Then—step out, take three steps forward, and turn right toward Mr. Carson. Careful you don’t stumble when you step up onto that platform around his desk!”

I nodded, wishing as I always did, just before making an appearance on any program, that I was back on Camelback Mountain, sitting by my pool with my basset hound and a good book. Suddenly Alfred, who had his ear close to the curtain separation, tugged at the heavy drapery and patted my back. The lights momentarily blinded me as I stepped forward and smiled. I waved to an audience I still could not see, turned right as instructed, stepped up on the platform, and grasped Johnny’s hand. Then I turned, kissed Donna’s cheek, and shook hands with Jimmy and Charles and Ed.

“Mr. Lawrence,” Johnny said warmly, “I’ve been a fan of yours for years. Welcome!”

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to be here.”