On the Tuesday afternoon before his final 60 Minutes broadcast on May 30, 2004, Don Hewitts belongings are being removed, against his will, from his corner office. All of his possessions have been packed away: his Emmy statuettes, his framed, autographed photographs with presidents from Truman to Bush, his Thomas Kent wall clock, even his huge, glass-topped office deskthe one at which hed lately been telling everyone he wanted to die. After returning from lunch, the 81 -year-old Hewitt had been summoned to Screening Room 164 for what he thinks will be his last look at a 60 Minutes segment. Instead, the correspondents and a few dozen staffers greet him for a champagne toast out of plastic glasses. It is a sad, surreal surprise party hastily arranged to commemorate his final day of work at the show he created in 1968 that has earned $ 2 billion in profits for CBS, the network that has now removed his personal effects to make room for a new generation. The end of his 36 -year reign as executive producer has finally come.
This was Hewitts screening room; these were his hallways, his offices, his editing rooms and telephones. These were the men and women who worked tirelessly, day and night, to execute his vision. Here on the ninth floor of a nondescript office building on New Yorks West 57 th Street near the Hudson River, above a BMW dealership, he ruled over a show that shook up televisiona show that took viewers into the private worlds of Katharine Hepburn and Lena Horne, that opened a window into the minds of Richard Nixon and Bill Clinton, that got Lenell Geter out of jail in 1983 and put dozens of others behind bars. For just another few hours, this remains the kingdom of Don Hewitts creation; he is the ruler of all that he surveys.
When Hewitt enters the screening room, his eyes mist up as he recognizes the reporters he has alternately loved and loatheda Mount Rushmorelike gathering of the 60 Minutes correspondents, lined up against the wall to say good-bye. There stands 86 -year-old Mike Wallace, looking dapper in a gray business suit, flanked by Lesley Stahl in a pink leather jacket and Steve Kroft in an open-collar shirt. At the other side of the room stands Ed Bradley in his usual dark T-shirt. Morley Safer is away on vacation in Spain.
Im not going anywhere, Hewitt says, after a brief round of applause dies down. Im going downstairs. He is referring to the spacious office directly below his current one that will be his new home as an executive producer of CBS News, the consulting gig the network gave him in return for letting go, at last, of his estimated $ 7 -million-a-year full-time job.
You gonna put a spiral staircase in? asks Bradley.
Im never coming up here again, Hewitt says.
Youve had it with us, says Stahl.
Ive seen the last of this floor, Hewitt agrees, and looks around the room, tears glistening in his eyes. Gee whiz. I dont know what to say.
Ordinarily, Don, in the screening room, Wallace quickly rebuts, you know what to say.
Wallace is referring to the countless tempestuous, screaming battles between Hewitt and his correspondents that have defined life at 60 Minutes and, in particular, the dysfunctional, passion-filled 36 -year marriage between Hewitt and Wallace. The two men have been yelling at each other since they first began working together in 1968 , the improbable pairing of a rough-edged whiz kid from New Rochelle and an elegant, well-spoken former Broadway actor from a leafy Boston suburb who together produced some of the most memorable journalism of the twentieth centuryand some of the most legendary fights in this room.
I dont know about you, Stahl interjects with sarcasm. Hes wonderful to the rest of us.
It has been over a year since Hewitt reluctantly signed the contract that forced him to at last cede control of his show to Jeffrey Fager, a comparatively mild-mannered, 49 -year-old former 60 Minutes producer. The agreement followed months of battling between Hewitt and CBS executives, with the correspondentsfrustrated by Hewitts weakened physical condition and his continued tantrumsstruggling between their loyalty to their boss and their desire to protect the shows future. Privately, several of the correspondents expressed a desire to see Hewitt move on; they knew it made no sense to have a tired old man, now only working three days a week, as executive producer. But now that the day has finally come, their conflicted emotions surface as they see Hewitt still stewing over CBSs decision to remove him.
Without you, none of us would be here, says Josh Howard, Hewitts genial 49 -year-old second-in-command, sensing the need for someone to express some actual gratitude to Hewitt. And there are a lot of cars and houses and college educations that we have you to thank for.
The moment of sincerity is short-lived. Psychotherapists as well, comes the crack from an unidentifiable voice behind the correspondents.
Do you want to tell that to Andrew and Betsy? Hewitt says, referring to CBS News president Andrew Heyward and his deputy, senior vice president Betsy West, the architects of the succession plan. They have a different idea about this whole thing.
Stahl steps forward and faces Hewitt. Theres just sort of this unreality about all this, she says, standing on the spot where she and Hewitt have shouted at each other so many times over the last 13 years.
But it is, Hewitt says. Thats the way they wanted it.
Youre dead, songet yourself buried, the journalist J. J. Hunsecker counsels Sidney Falco in Sweet Smell of Success. Only a few yards away from the screening room, workmen are applying Hunseckers advice to Hewitt; cartons of papers sit outside his office waiting to be moved downstairs, where CBS News has stashed him in digs befitting an exiled king. Hewitt knows he is being cast off but desperately wants to keep anyone from thinking of his career as finished. That, perhaps, is why he has chosen this moment to announce to his 60 Minutes family his latest idea for a TV shownews he has shared with no one else until now.
Im going to be doing something right now that the network has bought lock, stock, and barrel, Hewitt says. Were going to start nineteen shows on the nineteen owned and operated affiliatescalled 30 Boston Minutes, 30 New York Minutes, 30 San Francisco Minutes, 30 Dallas Minutes, 30 Miami Minutes. Instead of saying 60 Minutes, itll say 30 Minutes. And Im going to do the pilot in San Francisco, probably in about two weeks. (As usual, Hewitt has exaggerated; in fact, CBS has authorized the making of the pilot but will not approve the launch until it sees the results.)
Theres a moment of stunned silence in the room as everyone collectively considers the latest improbable notion of a man who has had several million of them in his careermost notably, of course, the idea for 60 Minutes itself.
Stahl finally breaks the silence. Thats fabulous, she says. Whos going to be on camera? The laughter that follows has something to do with Stahls well-known desire for face time on television, and with the fact that only days earlier shed reportedly lost a part-time job as host of 48 Hours Investigates that had been supplementing her 60 Minutes exposure and salary. Hewitt explains that local correspondents will be filling the on-air jobs.
