“You’re drunk, sir. Sleep it off.”
Those were not the first words I heard Larry King say, but they may have been the ones that set him apart from other all-night radio talkers. I probably heard King for the first time in the late ’70s on WAVA radio in the Washington, D.C., area. He was on the Mutual Broadcasting System nationwide from midnight till 5:30 a.m. Eastern Time five nights a week.
The first three hours featured a guest who King interviewed and then had him take calls, and the rest of the show was called Open Phone America where King took calls from anyone who had the patience to wait on hold.. He was a one-man operation, with an engineer being the only other person in the studio.
Most shows then and since utilize call screeners who essentially makes the decision on who gets on the air and who doesn’t. I’ve had it explained to me that the purpose of the screener is to make sure boring calls don’t make it through and not too many calls are about the same subject.
Not King. He answered the phones himself and would talk to anyone. When the occasional caller got through who made little or no sense, King would use the line at the beginning of this piece and hang up on them.
Of course he went on to bigger and better things, from Larry King Live on CNN to a weekly column in USA Today that often seemed like a parody of a column.
His low point might have been a column in The Sporting News, when he either didn’t understand the idea of printing quotes or just didn’t care.
“I asked Cal Ripken what he thought of Camden Yards and he said, ‘Well, Larry …”
The column didn’t last very long, maybe because of an amazing letter to the editor opining on it.
“Nice column, Larry. Just one complaint, Larry. Too much Larry, Larry.”
He still had the USA Today column, which might have had some of the most bizarre items ever to appear in print.
“If you’re having pie, invite me over …”
“They don’t make cars like Studebakers anymore …”
“Things just haven’t been the same since Frank Sinatra died …”
I met Larry King once, and almost without intending to, I sort of punked him.
It was April 1992, near the end of my time covering the Los Angeles Dodgers. My seat in the press box was in the second row, and about three seats on my left were unassigned. They often were occupied by celebrities. I saw Robert Wuhl there, and David L. Lander. And on this Sunday evening in 1992, Larry King was three seats away from me.
I had seen his most recent column in USA Today.
“The chicken dance is a lot of fun …”
“Larry Hagman is a man’s man …”
“The new ballpark at Camden Yards is really wonderful …”
I hadn’t had the chance to see the Orioles’ new stadium. In fact, I still hadn’t, so I had a question for Larry King.
“I know you love that new ballpark, but out here we’re pretty proud of Dodger Stadium. Can you compare the two?”
I wasn’t surprised he sort of blew the question off.
“Oh, they’re both very nice …”
That was it for the conversation, but a few innings later, around the sixth or seventh, Larry King got up to leave. That really surprised me, because East Coast fans — including my own parents — were very critical of Dodger fans for leaving games before the final out So I figured it was worth saying something to Larry.
“Mr. King, I’m so glad to see you’re not one of those people who rag on Dodger fans for leaving early.”
“Oh, I never leave games early. It’s just that I have an appointment I have to get to.”
He looked genuinely flustered, as if I had caught him exposing himself.
“No problem.”
That was the contact I ever had with him, and this morning I awakened to find he had died at age 86. For some reason, this thought came to mind:
Eighty-six years is a pretty good run. Vaya con dios, Larry. You stayed till the final out.