How I Got This Way (21 page)

Good-byes, especially after all those years of inseparable morning teamwork, are always tough. Her departure day was July 28, and naturally, the buildup to her grand on-air finale with me had been intense and emotional. As she would say, “Over a third of my life has been here. This is family. It’s been an amazing journey.” Gelman had all sorts of surprises to spring on her during the farewell broadcast, including taped testimonials from Dave Letterman, Rosie O’Donnell, and Susan Lucci. Mayor Rudy Giuliani sent over an official proclamation declaring it “Kathie Lee Gifford Day” throughout the city. Her whole family, including Frank and their kids, Cody and Cassidy, were there—as was our big boss, Disney CEO Michael Eisner, who presented her with a trophy and said, “The ratings have been so unbelievable this week, can’t you do it again?” All through the weeks beforehand, she swore she wasn’t going to cry, but of course there was no chance of her sticking to that promise. There were waterworks in the end—and not just from her. In the last few minutes of that last show, I sang a special version of “Thanks for the Memory” to her, some of which went like this:

Thanks for the memory,

Your smile was always sunny,

You’ve made a lot of money.

You’ve come a long way since you were just a Hee Haw Honey—

And met Mr. Football. . . .

Now comes a time when we’re partin’.

After fifteen years, that’s an option.

We’ll put Gelman up for adoption.

But don’t lose heart—

There’s still Wal-Mart.

And thanks for the memory.

They said it wouldn’t last.

Sure has been a blast.

We never won the Emmy, but we never were outclassed—

To the voters, kiss my ——.

The next day the New York
Daily News
would report: “And in a week in which the star steadfastly refused to cry, it was Regis Philbin who finally brought Kathie Lee to tears, with his version of ‘Thanks for the Memory.’” After summing up some of those personalized lyrics, the story then stated: “And he left her weeping when he crooned, ‘Please recall, I love you so much.’” Yes, that was the last line of the song that I’d sung to her. And I meant it. It had been a great run. The broadcast ended. There were good-byes all around, although she and I have never lost touch because, well, how could we?

But once the misty eyes finally dried up a bit, the reality began to sink in. Which meant that it was time again to look for another cohost. And yet who could’ve guessed what a terrific new thrill ride next awaited me?

Chapter Eighteen

KELLY RIPA

I
ncidentally . . .

Yes, I’m starting this chapter with that word—
incidentally
—because you-know-who thought it might’ve made a good title for this book. She knew that I was writing about people who’ve had an impact on me, by way of some personal shared history, feelings, or particular incidents that I’ve experienced with them along the way. But mainly she thought it would be a great choice since she insists that I’ve (
incidentally
) used that word on a constant daily basis during nearly eleven years together of making our own special mix of morning television chemistry. Well, incidentally, I disagree with her; I’m fairly sure I don’t use it
that
much. Just like I don’t think I’ve ever really said,
“I’m out of control!”
That one I blame on Dana Carvey, who blurted it out so often when playing me in sketch after sketch on
Saturday Night Live
back in the nineties that it got pounded into everyone’s head as being “my” classic catchphrase. A catchphrase that
I had no control over
. . . since I doubt I ever said it to begin with! Still, I have to admit that Dana did channel a very funny “me” in those old routines. But, you see, that just shows you that I’m not the one who’s out of control. Instead, it’s the world I live in that’s out of control. Believe me, those waves of day-to-day chaos or stupid little affronts I’ve regularly talked about over the years—all thanks, as you know, to that unshakable dark cloud over my head—do manage to keep me from having control of much of anything in this life!

But when it came to looking for Kathie Lee’s replacement, Gelman and I very deliberately decided to take sure-handed control of the selection process. Honestly, we just took our time finding the right fit. What was the hurry at that point, anyway? In fact, I’d even gone so far as to utter the near unthinkable on that Leap Day 2000 when Kathie Lee dropped the bombshell and announced her upcoming departure from our show. At first, of course, I articulated half-joking disbelief: “She’s kidding,” I told the viewers in knee-jerk reaction, even though I already half knew this moment had been coming. “She ain’t going anywhere. . . . She’ll be back, crawling in here saying,
please
. . . .” Until I quickly saw that she meant it. Especially when she next offered, very sincerely, to stay on until we could “find the right lady . . .
if
it’s a lady” to fill her seat. Then she added, “Hey, it’s the new millennium! Why not a
guy
?” And that’s when I shot off my mouth and said,
“Why does it have to be anybody?”
Naturally, she rolled her eyes and told me, “Oh, you’re
really
out of control now. . . .” Thanks again, Dana.

Nevertheless, we had some fun over the next six months bringing in an array of different people to try on the cohost role for size. Some of them had no desire to take the job, but we knew they’d produce a day or two of laughs for the show anyway. Jon Stewart—yes,
a guy—
was one that I recall kidding around with quite enjoyably. Even Don Rickles got out of bed early one morning during a trip through New York and joined me at the desk. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but that only made him
more
Don Rickles—feistier than ever, of course—and we loved it. As another novelty, I think we even managed to have the entire cast of that season’s reality series
Survivor,
one by one, come give it a shot. None of them survived, however. There was pretty much a constant march of possible or improbable candidates—comediennes, actresses, musicians, newswomen, sports stars, you name it—and most dependably, my Joy, who has always been terrific at Host Chats and the guest interviews, even though she wanted absolutely no part of the full-time job. She gets more than her fair share of me off camera, as I’m sure she would happily tell you herself.

And it so happened that during those months, not only was the name of our show temporarily changed to simply
Live! With Regis
but also, at long last, I actually won a Daytime Emmy for best talk-show host, my first ever in the very category that my whole career was built on. In the years following that totally unexpected victory, and even up until very recently, I had a lot of fun shouting out to no one in particular:
“The only time Regis ever won an Emmy was when he was out there all by himself!”
And then I’d repeat this kind of general noisy blustering until everyone was fed up with it or just very, very annoyed. Frankly, it was thoroughly enjoyable being so obnoxious, although some people who don’t know me better actually took it seriously. But those days are over now—with my solo Emmy outbursts, anyway—because just this year Kelly and I won the Daytime Emmy Outstanding Talk Show Host award together. Truthfully, it more than surprised us both. But what still bugs us most of all and remains an ongoing mystery is why the show itself, after twenty-three years of consistently strong production, has never once won the Best Talk Show award.

But not to get too far ahead of myself: So there I was eleven years ago with somebody new sitting beside me every week, each one of them hoping to eventually get that full-time cohost job. As we got increasingly serious about our search, there did emerge a promising handful who we brought back in earnest several times for yet another look. The process actually turned quite competitive: Many beautiful ladies realized it was a choice, high-profile role on a long-running hit show, which would ultimately mean for them the start of both a new career and an altogether new life. We carefully analyzed and weighed all the possibilities. When you’ve interviewed as many people as I have through the years—which was really what I’d been doing with each and every prospective candidate on live television during those interim months—they inevitably all seem to blend in with one another. Unless, that is, they somehow stand out and leave a certain sparkle lingering in the air afterward. That sparkle is very important, and it’s obvious when it truly shines. There was one guest we’d had on with us a few years before who had done just that. Hers was a natural, quick-witted, unaffected, confident, fun-loving kind of sparkle that both Gelman and I remembered very well. Especially because it came from, frankly, such an unexpected source—I mean,
a young soap opera actress
? (Usually that kind of easy conversational spunk is innate only in a special breed of broadcaster types.) We decided to invite her back, this time to consider her as a possible cohost.

So that was when this smiling, petite ball of fire named Kelly Ripa made her return to
Live!
for a test run at the rotating, up-for-grabs hot seat to my left. And my God, who knew what spontaneous combustion we’d make together? By then she was in her tenth year as an
All My Children
fixture, having started on the classic ABC soap at age twenty as a bright-eyed ingenue. But now we learned that along with her great sparkle, attractive looks, and ebullient personality—the word
ebullient,
by the way, drives her nuts, which I love—she also excelled at telling a good story. And that, of course, was so crucial to the opening Host Chat segment. In pulling up her memories of things that happened last night, last week, or even many years earlier, she could instinctively zero in on the funniest details, which came out of nowhere and somehow hit a comic bull’s-eye. That knack of hers pretty instantly struck a chord with the audience.

Not only was she something of a revelation to us, but early on she was actually blindsided by a real-life revelation of her own, live on our show. It was one of those astonishing, unforgettable, true-life TV moments that you couldn’t have scripted even if you tried. We relived it, in fact, not long ago, during our tenth anniversary week, when Gelman sprang on us, as a surprise guest, my old Los Angeles psychic pal Char Margolis, who had also been our guest back on November 1, 2000—the morning of Kelly’s initial tryout, believe it or not. “I don’t mind telling you that Char, of course, is the reason I got my job here,” Pippa said, as Char walked onstage this time. “I am convinced.” For sure, Char had been the chief catalyst in creating what turned out to be an unforeseeable jaw-dropper of an introduction for any cohost, potential or otherwise. On that long-ago November day, she had spoken of how Kelly’s dear deceased grandmother was always watching over her. But then Char continued to reveal that her grandmother’s spirit also knew of other private developments on the horizon. . . .

CHAR:
I heard you say earlier that you’re married and you have a husband and a son. She watches over your son, and she’s also showing me another baby. And I don’t—

KELLY:
[
gasping in shock here
]

CHAR:
And she’s saying that she’s going to watch over you when this new baby comes. And it’s soon. It’s not far away. You’re not pregnant yet, are you?

ME:
Are you expecting?

KELLY:
[
still gasping in shock
]

ME:
Is that a yes?

KELLY:
I haven’t told my bosses [at
All My Children
] yet!
Oh my God . . .
oh my God!

Well, right then and there, we all found out what she had shared with only a handful of intimates at that point—that she was a month or so into her second pregnancy. Sort of a broadcast minispectacular, which made a huge impact on the audience and also showed us what that most unguarded, spontaneous side of herself looked like. We had, up until then and even afterward for a couple more months, spent time working with other serious potential candidates, some of whom were quite good—but in the end it could only be Kelly. We kind of knew that from her memorable debut onward. She was the right choice and really the only choice. Like Kathie Lee, she knew exactly how to stir things up with me during the Host Chats. And also, just like Kathie Lee, who’d famously given birth twice during our years together, when Cody and Cassidy became household names, Kelly brought the promise of sharing further adventures in the Land of New Motherhood with us, too.

“Yes, we’re talking babies again—get used to it!” I shouted, full of teasing exasperation on the morning of February 5, 2001, when we announced to our viewers that Kelly had gotten the job. And if you’re wondering how we unveiled her as our final selection, I remember starting that show by just cutting to the quick, figuring that everybody out there, me included, had had enough of the half-year talent search experiment:
“Let’s get it over with!”
I said, more relieved than anybody else, I promise you. “Say hello to my new cohost: Kelly Ripa. . . .” We all knew she had just the right equipment. Standing on the sidelines that day was her husband and
All My Children
costar, Mark Consuelos, with whom she’d already had a son, Michael, a few years earlier. During the broadcast, Mark hinted about various personality quirks I could expect from his wife (pregnant or not) on a regular basis, and I leapt at the chance to get the full rundown in order to arm myself: “Mark,” I pleaded, “let’s have coffee after the show!”

Of course, their daughter, Lola, would arrive that June, right after Kelly had made it through the all-important May “sweeps” ratings period before taking her first maternity leave from the show. Then, two Februarys later, their second son, Joaquin, was born—yes, the little guy that “Uncle Regis” accidentally dropped on the floor (
he was fine, and it wasn’t my fault, I swear!
) when Gelman later cooked up a taped bit where I actually babysat for all three of the Consuelos children one evening so their parents could go out for dinner. Anyway, while I’m on this subject, it was mid-November 2001 when Kelly—and a bunch of our
Live!
staffers—went on the Letterman show to deliver a list of the Top Ten Things You Hear in a Typical Working Day with Regis. And it was Kelly who gave the Number One payoff entry: “Have you noticed how his cohosts keep getting pregnant?” Like I had anything to do with it! What, am I supposed to be some sort of fertility god? Then again, she
did
start referring to me on air in the very early going as Big Daddy, which I kind of liked. But that, I think, had more to do with a kidding sweet respect . . . I think? Meanwhile, I’d nicknamed her “Pippa” pretty quickly, which I still call her to this day. Besides the fact that the word suited her to a tee, another reason for it is that her real name begins with
K,
and it tricked me a little too often into mistakenly calling her “Kathie Lee”—and David Letterman has never stopped jokingly referring to her as “Kelly Lee” just to keep me all the more off-kilter.

(By the way, because you’re probably wondering, I might as well tell you that among other entries on that Letterman Top Ten List were Numbers Seven and Six, “Regis, stop annoying people!” and “Does he ever shut up?” from our producers Mariann Sabol and Elyssa Shapiro—thank you, ladies—as well as Number Three, “Regis, put on your pants!” which came from Gelman, who you should know has never let me dress in privacy before the show throughout all our years together! He says it’s part of his job as executive producer, since he’s prepping me for the hour ahead with random last-minute details while I get myself suited up. But sometimes I wonder. . . .)

Anyway, from the start, Kelly’s work ethic was strong—and it always stayed that way. At
All My Children,
where she continued in her long-running role of Hayley Vaughan until the end of 2002, she was used to putting in twelve-hour-a-day shifts. Even now, after ten years and counting, she still can’t get over the fact that her primary job as cohost at
Live!
is finished, more or less, after only one hour each morning. By strange coincidence, though, back when she was maintaining double duties on our show and on the daily megahit soap series, I also happened to be hosting four prime-time hour-long episodes of
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire
every week. That added up to nineteen weekly broadcast hours the two of us were filling for the network. She joked on her first day, “I think it’s an ABC policy—you must work two jobs!” I said, “Between the two of us, we’ve got forty percent of the schedule covered. If we go down, ABC is over.” (For a while there, it wasn’t far from true that the
Millionaire
quiz show had given the ABC evening lineup such enormous ratings that it returned from the near dead to become a powerhouse reborn—which, of course, prompted me to remind everyone who crossed my path that Regis had single-handedly saved the network! How could I resist?)