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Who Loves Him? In New York, where he moved five years ago, Jack got a chance to go on talking on a shortlived CBS radio show called Bank on the Stars. Then he moved into TV as a replacement for Arthur Godfrey, finally replaced Walter Cronkite on the Morning Show, which he quit after eleven months ("Too much pressure for me to help soften up sponsors"). After that, guest appearances with Ed Sullivan kept him going until NBC signed him up to take over the Tonight show.
Perhaps the only person who knows him well and does not quite believe he has arrived is Jack Paar himself. Like any TV performer, Paar watches himself on a monitor set during the show, but he also seems to be watching himself on an imaginary monitor when he is not performing. Compulsive and candid talker that he is, he looks for signs of having said the wrong thing or having been misunderstood. He still broods "When will they start tearing me down?" Or "I wonder how many among my group really love me?" Says a former agent of his: "He has no armor. You can pierce him with a piece of Kleenex."
A small kindness from anyone seems to be a large emotional shock, and Paar still weeps often. When he went through the motions of an on-screen reconciliation with Dody Goodman fortnight ago, he broke into tears. When he was told that a Lindy comic had liked his show, he was "Leaky Jack" once more, his eyes misting as his own hostility melted.
It may be necessary for Paar to live at the top of his emotions, because to such a large extent in his work, feeling takes the place of a specific talent. He is no actor, singer or dancer. He is a gifted comedian, but not in the Lindy stand-up-and-knock-'em-dead sense. His comedy is low pressure and has to be, if it is to be tolerated on a nightly 1¾-hr. show. "Nine hours a week," says one awed performer of Paar's stint. "My God, that isn't overexposure, it's practically nudism." But Paar seems to have found the formula for beating the dreaded "overexposure" problem.
He has found a way of being unobtrusive in the somnolent, night-time living room, of providing just enough surprises to keep the audience from falling asleep but not so many shocks as to jolt them really wide awake. He has developed a knack for picking good guest performers, has made his show one of the prized showcases for new talent. The program can be dull and pointless but, as Paar himself says, "there's nothing like it." He adds with a wry smile, "I'm so lovable, I have a love affair with this whole continent."
It may not be love, but it is certainly more than one of those quick-cooling TV infatuations, one of those flirtations that wither in weeks, leaving only an old pile of fan letters and musty ratings. The fact is that Paar is less a comedian than a personality—and personalities usually outlast comedians.