They were two of the strangest hours in the history of
television. They happened exactly five years apart, and on the same
show, and to the same man. And as the years increase between us and
those two notorious nights, you have to wonder if TV - a medium that
seems more tightly controlled and predictable than ever - will see
many more moments like them again.
Fifteen years ago tonight David Letterman put on a talk show, and
a wrestling match broke out. Andy Kaufman, a singular figure in
entertainment, whose antics both on and off the tube were already
legendary, struck a blow for performance art, or rather received one,
when he was clobbered by pro wrestler Jerry Lawler during a taping of
Letterman's new late-night talk show on NBC.
On the same date in 1987, Letterman was in the line of fire as a
segment with the actor Crispin Glover disintegrated into a kicking
exhibition, with one foot coming very near Letterman's pricey head.
To this day, no one is really sure how much of either incident
was spontaneous. Few things are more staged than a television
broadcast. Yet they surely realized there is no more compelling
theater than the live TV show where all of the elements are in
perfect harmony.
Or in the case of these two shows, perfect discord.
Andy flips out
Andy Kaufman didn't believe in traditional comedy; that was his
gift and his burden. An accomplished standup from the age of 9,
Kaufman as an adult became fascinated with getting more out of his
audiences than reactions to punchlines.
He began to perform as his own warmup act, creating alter-egos
and playing them to the hilt. One was Tony Clifton, a malevolent
lounge singer who verbally abused his audience and often refused to
do his act.
Kaufman treated Clifton as a separate person and would go
ballistic any time someone suggested that the two were the same man.
He even arranged for Clifton to have his own guest appearance on
"Taxi," the sitcom that made Kaufman famous. The shows never got
taped because Clifton made an ass of himself on the set and was
finally dragged off by studio guards, cursing and yelling at the
director, "You'll never work in Vegas again!"
Meanwhile off the screen, Kaufman was establishing himself as the
world's premier "inter-gender wrestler. " From 1979 to 1983 he took
on hundreds of women in the ring. As was his wont, Kaufman
specialized in alienating crowds before and during the fight,
ensuring that they would be completely behind the woman, whom Kaufman
would then proceed to beat handily.
A feud broke out between Kaufman and a male wrestling champion
named Jerry Lawler that resulted in a grudge match. Lawler won
easily, and Kaufman wound up in traction. Thus set the stage for what
transpired on "Late Night with David Letterman" on July 28, 1982.
Letterman hadn't been on the air six months in late night but had
been host of dozens of "Tonight Show" broadcasts and, briefly, his
own morning show on NBC. Like Kaufman, he was already beginning to
tire of the conventional format that entertainers in his line of work
were expected to follow - in Letterman's case that meant the talk
show format modeled by "Tonight."
When he invited Kaufman and Lawler to discuss their feud on the
show, Letterman was well aware what might happen. Like Kaufman, he
was conducting experiments on his audience. Professional wrestling
fans are used to seeing grown men pull each other's hair out on
stage, but not on NBC, before a hip studio audience and a
mild-mannered TV host.
Sure enough, the segment quickly broke down into insults. What
happened next, not even Letterman anticipated. Kaufman taunted Lawler
relentlessly, raising the big man's blood pressure by the minute. As
Letterman tried to cut to a commercial, Lawler rose from his chair
and clocked Kaufman on the head, sending him sprawling.
After the break, an enraged Kaufman swore a blue streak at Lawler
(which, of course, was bleeped) and tossed hot coffee in his face.
Lawler bounded out of his seat and chased Kaufman from the studio.
With the two guests suddenly gone, a satisfied Letterman simply
shook his head and ad-libbed, "I'm not sure about any of those
words, but you can be darned sure that FCC regulations prohibit
throwing coffee."
After it was over NBC considered banning Kaufman; Kaufman
responded with an impossible, $ 200 million lawsuit against the
network. In less than two years Kaufman would be dead of a rare
strain of lung cancer, despite his reportedly never smoking. It was
the kind of demise so bizarre that some thought it to be concocted -
Kaufman's latest ruse. Some even thought that Kaufman, like Elvis
Presley, had not really died.
Alas, there have been no new Andy Kaufman sightings since.
The Glover plan
By 1987 Letterman's anti-show had become the show. Interviews
became sparring matches, and guests who couldn't roll with the
punches were flattened by a Letterman put-down or had their segment
abruptly TKOed. But even this ritual wasn't immune from
self-effacement: One of the show's writers, Chris Elliott, routinely
barged in during the broadcast to make Letterman's life, as Elliott
liked to put it, "a living hell."
Letterman was entering that stage of his career that devotees
would later admiringly call his "fat and sour period. " He put on a
good 30 pounds and had broken up with his girlfriend - and the show's
onetime head writer - Merrill Markoe. Women in particular seemed to
catch him in a foul mood. He tore Parade magazine know-it-all Marilyn
vos Savant to shreds, and Shirley MacLaine and Cher called him an
unprintable name during their segments.
But was Letterman truly unhappy or was this a new character he
was trying out? As was the case with Kaufman, it was hard to say for
sure. But what happened 10 years ago tonight could not but catch
Letterman off his guard.
At the time of his guest appearance, Crispin Glover was best
known as Michael J. Fox's father in "Back to the Future. " He had
been booked on "Late Night" to promote his new film, "River's
Edge. " Glover was known as an odd bird, although he lacked the
self-destructive gene found in young rebels like Sean Penn and Robert
Downey Jr.
After he was introduced, Glover stepped out, but instead of
facing the audience, had his back turned and arms extended, as if
bickering with someone backstage. That night he had on funky trousers
with stripes of varying width, platform shoes and a button-down
shirt. He was carrying a briefcase, whose purpose was never
explained. His hair was disheveled. And, as the interview began, it
was clear he was extremely nervous.
"Nice shoes! " yelled a woman in the audience, as the show's
director, Hal Gurnee, zoomed in for a close-up shot of Glover's
cloppers.
Things went downhill fast from there. Glover produced a wad of
newspaper clippings about himself and began reading incoherent
fragments from them.
"You seem to be distraught," said Letterman, not really knowing
- or caring - why.
After a few verbal exchanges, Glover, stood up and hi-karated
straight at Letterman.
Whether the kick came near his head is unclear, but to the
viewers that night, it looked like a close shave. Without missing a
beat, Letterman excused himself and, as the show went to commercial, the camera closed in on a bereft Glover.
When the break ended, Letterman was back at his desk and the
guest was gone.
"I think that's the first time since we've been doing the show
that a guest actually tried to kick me," Letterman said. "He came
very close to denting my head with those giant shoes."
Within the lines
After spending the 1980s mucking around at the boundary that
separates reality from illusion, Letterman pulled back, and the
boundaries have contracted once more.
For most of his four seasons on CBS, Letterman has cultivated a
game-show atmosphere: volume on high, crowds on screaming and guests
way too pepped up for the 10:30 hour. In his old NBC digs, awkward
silence was part of the schtick; but in the vaster Ed Sullivan
Theater, it's an embarrassing hole the audience feels compelled to
fill with laughter or, worse, applause.
In recent years a few celebrities have conspired to look unhinged
on Letterman's program more or less on purpose, including Sharon
Stone, James Caan and, most recently, Farrah Fawcett, who at one
point in the program stared dreamily at the skyline behind
Letterman's desk, thinking (or pretending to think) it was an actual
50th-story view over Manhattan.
But in general there is less aberrant behavior on Letterman's
show because so much is at risk. Unlike in 1982 or 1987, dozens of
alternatives are just a channel-change away should a segment go awry.
A failed segment can be grist for Letterman's lightning-fast mind -
but then again, it can simply be a failure.
Glover is a successful character actor, with a recent role in
"The People Vs. Larry Flynt. " He also speaks on the college lecture
circuit and fields the inevitable questions from kids too young to
remember that night in July when he took one small step for man, one
giant leap for classic TV.
And somewhere, no doubt, Andy Kaufman's in a wrestling match.

