(4 of 9)
Paar claims that he is just being himself on the show, and to a very large extent he is. Unlike an actor, he cannot take refuge behind a script or a false beard; he must convince the audience that he is exposing his true face. The result is that the traits of the "real" Paar are very like those of the TV Paar—the difference being that off screen they loom much bigger. Says he: "It is not true that my personality is split. It is filleted. On the air all I do is hold back. If I gave too much of myself on the show, it would be too much for the cable." If the on-screen Paar can be kind and sentimental, the off-screen Paar often weeps like a baby. If the public Paar can be waspish and oddly defensive, the private Paar often seems like a hunted and inordinately suspicious man.
As he sees it, the soft green leaf may well be a nettle in disguise, and danger lurks on all sides. It is hard to trust people—"If they slap me on the back, maybe the next time they slap me they'll have a knife." On the other hand, so few people are really grateful to him: "It's not that I need credit. But somewhere along the line the dog should be patted on the head." If some neighborhood toughs honk their horns outside his house to annoy him, he speaks of being "hounded by degenerates."
This feeling of being hunted may be explained by past failures, by the very real back-stabbing that goes on in show business, and by the pressure of Paar's schedule—for in his life, almost every night is opening night. Each show is preceded by a private warmup, ranging from gnawing anxiety to panic. During the hours of preparation—which must end in laughter or failure—Paar is probably doing his hardest work. At noon on a recent, typical pre-show day, Jack was prowling his barn-red twelve-room house in suburban Bronxville, N.Y. His breakfast had been spoiled by an unfriendly newspaper comment on the previous night's show; now he was worried about the coming performance.
What to do? He calls Assistant Producer Monty Morgan at his Manhattan office. "It looks pretty nothing tonight," Jack complains. "The red flag is up. We're in trouble, we're really in trouble . . ."
2:05 p.m. Glumly Jack selects a Cuban cigar from his humidor. He is afraid to smoke cigars in public lest he look like a "wise guy." Pipes too have been forced into the privacy of his home since Marlboro cigarettes became one of the show's sponsors. Wandering aimlessly once more, like a man in search of work, Jack walks into the living room and picks up a newspaper. "What the hell can I say about the new women's hemlines?" he asks sadly. "I've already advised them to have their knees lowered."
2:50 p.m. He walks out to the swimming pool behind the house and seems surprised to discover that his nine-year-old daughter Randy is off swimming at the country club. "I never played with other kids. Most of the time Randy would rather sit and daydream like I do."