Nighttime's Master of the Mike

By Richard Zoglin

It is shortly after 2 in the morning, and Larry King is just hitting his stride. He has already spent an hour on TV grilling Negotiator Herb Cohen about the hostage crisis in Lebanon, and two more on radio talking with Jonathan Coleman, author of a book about the murder of Utah Millionaire Franklin Bradshaw. Now he is fielding phone calls on any and all subjects from his late-night radio audience. A New Yorker wants to know if the Yankees' recent winning streak might lead to a pennant. ("I don't think their pitching is good enough," King replies.) A man asks King to recommend a doctor who can advise on the pros and cons of surgery for a separated shoulder. (King obliges with the names of two former guests.) Another call consists only of a disembodied recording of the opening theme from a 1960s TV series. (King identifies it: Combat, starring Vic Morrow.) All in a night's work.

The broadcasting world increasingly seems like a tower of babble. News inter viewers pose tough questions for high Administration officials; ex-game show hosts lob softballs at starlets plugging their latest movies; snarling radio talk-meisters shout angry opinions on everything from Ronald Reagan to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Amid this flood of verbiage, King provides a refreshing strain of intelligent, graceful conversation. For 71/2 years, that conversation has been largely confined to the middle of the night, on the Mutual Radio Network's Larry King Show. Now King has ventured into prime-time TV as host of a nightly talk show on the Cable News Network: Larry King Live.

A former Miami broadcaster who never went to college and mismanaged himself into bankruptcy in 1978, King does little or no research for guests and works without notes. "The best interviewers," he insists, "are those who know least about a subject. I hate to ask questions I know the answers to. And I've never been afraid to ask what might be a dumb question." This deceptively simple formula is the basis of King's great achievement as an interviewer: he approaches his job as an informed layman, intensely curious about virtually anyone who appears across his desk. He is obviously well read, a passionate sports buff and a sophisticated student of politics. Yet to an amazing degree he manages to set aside ego and loosen up guests with empathetic, probing but never baiting questions. "What I do best is create a sense of intimacy and comfort for the guest," says King. "Larry listens to his guests," says ABC Newsman Ted Koppel, one of his many fans. "He pays attention to what they say. Too few interviewers do that."

Radio is King's chosen medium, and the transition to TV has not been easy. Two years ago, he made his national TV debut on a misconceived syndicated program on which he was placed in front of a studio audience and forced to race through four to five interviews a show (on radio he spends two hours with each guest). Says he: "They were trying to make me Merv Griffin."

CNN has done a better job of reproducing the intimate intensity of King's radio program. He appears on a starkly decorated set, sitting directly across from guests who are shot in what may be the tightest close-ups on TV. King's warm radio baritone is less enveloping on TV, and the mere sight of the technology needed for his phone-in segments (buttons popping, lights blinking) destroys the illusion of control that radio creates. Still, King has made an effective outlet of the new format. He has discussed politics with former U.N. Ambassador Jeane Kirkpatrick, questioned House Speaker Tip O'Neill about old age, delved into the world of X-rated films with Porno Star Seka, and probed Jim Palmer, the former Baltimore Orioles pitcher, about his relationship with Manager Earl Weaver. In his first five weeks, King's ratings have surpassed those of his predecessor, Sandi Freeman, who was replaced when CNN decided not to renew her contract in May.

King, 51, is enjoying the fruits of a long climb up the broadcasting ladder. Born Larry Zeiger in Brooklyn, the son of a neighborhood bar-and-grill owner, he broke into radio literally at the bottom, sweeping the floors at a small station in Miami. He soon became a disk jockey and by age 25 was doing his own morning talk show from Pumpernik's restaurant. A variety of financial problems interrupted his radio career in the early 1970s. But in 1978, Mutual offered him a job as host of a fledgling all-night talk show. Starting with just 28 stations, the Washington-based Larry King Show became one of radio's most phenomenal success stories. It is now heard on 265 stations nationwide and has nurtured the most savvy and articulate band of call-in listeners on radio.

The major danger facing King these days seems to be spreading himself too thin. Along with his two nightly talk shows, he is host of a worldwide call-in program on the Voice of America, writes a weekly column for USA Today and does color commentary for a regional cable sports network. To lighten the load a bit, King has cut his Mutual show from five to four hours a night. That means he can usually get to bed by 4:30 a.m. at the Arlington, Va., condominium he shares with his daughter Chaia, 17. (King has been divorced three times.) The talk-show veteran is confident that he will recognize the signs of burnout if and when they show up. "I hope I never lose my curiosity," he says. "I hope I don't start interviewing myself." Knowing King, even that might be worth tuning in. --By Richard Zoglin. Reported by Carol Honsa/Washington

With reporting by Reported by Carol Honsa/Washington