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Breaking the News Gently Peter Sagal, who hosts National Public Radio's popular quiz show Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me with Morning Edition newscaster Carl Kasell, said tragedy has helped them realize their job as a comedy show. As tragedy after tragedy seems to dominate the airwaves, news and comedy programs like Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me are stepping in to give their listeners a much needed distraction that's informative, original and -- most importantly -- funny. "In any tragedy you have in literature and especially in drama, there's always a comic in the show to break the tension that's mounting as the play goes along, and I think we've served that purpose for a lot of people," Kasell said. "When people tell us very strongly that they needed it, they needed something to break the tension, it's nice to know that." The first tragedy came on Sept. 11, 2001 when the show was just shy of its 4-year anniversary. "We talked about doing a show about amusing news from history just to give you guys a break. But that seemed like a dodge and God damn it, we did a show about the week's news," Sagal said. "In terms of material, the jokes we made and the things we talked about, it was far from our best. There's no question, we didn't have a lot to work with. Our show feeds off the amusing stories, and that was all crowded out because of the serious things. But we did it." Sagal and Kasell learned of another tragedy, which they helped avert, after a live show recorded at Southern Methodist University in Dallas. "This woman came up to [us] and said, 'I've got to thank you, you guys saved my life,'" Sagal said from his office in Chicago. "She said, 'I went through this terrible time, I lost my job, my fiancé, my house, but every Sunday I was able to listen to your show, and it really kept me going.'" In one of NPR's most popular shows, Sagal, a Harvard graduate and award-winning stage director and playwright, and Kasell, who serves as the game's official judge, scorekeeper and grand prize, assemble a rotating panel of regular contestants -- such as PJ O'Rourke, Sue Ellicott, Charlie Pierce, Roxanne Roberts, and Mo Rocca. Then they hand-pick callers for a pop quiz about the week's news… from the serious to the silly. Contestants can win Kasell's voice on their home answering machine message. The show premiered on Jan. 3, 1998, a week before the Monica Lewinsky scandal became the story of the day. "We spent the first year of our show just making fun of Bill Clinton. It was like a gift from God," Sagal said. "Every week, it was constant throughout his impeachment. One of the odd things about radio is if [people] hear something, they assume it's all you've ever done. If they hear a story making fun of George Bush, they assume all we ever do is make fun of George Bush. He's the president. I told people last year, if you want us to stop making fun of George Bush, elect John Kerry. We'll be happy to make fun of him. " Sagal admitted he was a Kerry supporter during the 2004 presidential election. "I think Kerry would've provided a lot of material and a different kind, but the one great loss is (and nobody had any idea until the election started), Carl does an amazingly good John Kerry impression," Sagal said. Kasell often reads quotes from the week's news in his deep news announcer voice as part of the show's games. "It was amazing, everybody just stared at him. And I really began, strictly for professional reasons, rooting for Kerry. Carl could've been the Vaughn Meader of the John Kerry administration." Kasell was asked to join the show after producers saw him introducing several NPR personalities with his own humorous twist during a program directors meeting in Boston. Kasell laughed when asked if NPR newspeople aren't considered to be funny. "You'd be surprised at the NPR newspeople who are funny. At the beginning of the show, we had [NPR people introduce] 'Not My Job' guests on the program and they're funny," Kasell said, referring to a game where special celebrity guests are invited to answer questions on topics they have nothing to do with. "Nina Totenberg, Linda Wertheimer, Robert Siegel, you name 'em, these are funny people." Kasell said his role has always been the same, but the show has changed since its humble beginnings. "It's funnier," Kasell said. "We got a good panel. It's a case of getting in the groove, getting the feel of a show and Peter Sagal, when he came along, he made a big difference as quizmaster. He's a very quick, very talented young fellow... it's a team effort." Sagal, who started out as a panelist before moving into the host's chair, admits it took time for the show to grow. "We had a difficult adolescence that everybody could watch, which was terrifying," Sagal said. "It didn't click for a number of reasons. Usually, radio shows often start in local markets and grow. Car Talk is the best example. They started doing the show on WBUR (in Boston) and were brought national after an adolescence in this one market. We did it national; there was a lot of pressure. People tried a lot of things that didn't ultimately work. I became the host in May of 1998 and we spent most of 1998 retooling it and trying a lot of different things." NPR gives their programs time to grow and develop, and Sagal doesn't think WWDTM could have survived as long as it did in its "Wonder Years" in a commercial radio wilderness where listeners are needed to attract higher advertising revenues. "We're in the business of growing audiences and we want people to listen to the show and we spend a lot of time talking about how we can get more people to listen to the show," Sagal said. "But our relationship is just different. We want people to listen to the show because they will enjoy it, and we want them to have a really good time and get a lot out of it." The one thing that hasn't changed is the coveted grand prize of Kasell's voice, which contestants can put on their home answering machine. Sagal calls it a brilliant prize because it's "both priceless and worthless. You can't buy it. You can't sell it." Kasell said they gave away his voice at first because they couldn't afford to give away tangible prizes. Today, winners get to write their own answering machine message, the more clever of which are posted on the show's website. "These people are very, very creative. They involve sometimes singing, sometimes reading poetry, sometimes doing a limerick. Some are straight and to the point," Kasell said. "Some are quite long, this is what I don't understand but they want it. Some go on for a good for 45 seconds or so. If I had a friend who had a message that long, I may abstain from calling them all the time. That may be the purpose. I can just imagine a telemarketer calling that number and hearing this long spiel." Their recent popularity has brought the show and its hosts to new heights among public radio listeners. WWDTM is recorded live before sell-out crowds in cities across the country during varying times of the year. Sagal said they are so popular, they are planning to do a live version every week at a nearby Chicago theater if "all goes according to plan." Sagal said the show's uniqueness makes it popular in a medium where variety is rare among news and talk show concepts. "The quiz is a way for the listeners to participate either by actually calling and playing or just playing along at home," Sagal said. "We like to think of the show conceptually as a water cooler conversation. We like to create the perfect example. Obviously, we tend towards the funny and irreverent as opposed to the substantive. We're not doing panel discussions on social security reform, we're make fun of people who do panels discussions on social security reform." They've also found fame. The Los Angeles Times described Sagal and Kasell as "rock stars" among regular NPR listeners. "We get a loud reception when we come out on the stage," Kasell said. "I keep telling a lot of my colleagues here that they miss a lot. Sitting in a room, I'm looking at four walls. That's all I see on the air, and to get out and know that there are people listening and that you're contributing something is a good feeling." The show also has brought fame to the panelists. Sagal said he always gets comments from listeners who have their favorite and not-so-favorite regulars -- among whom humorist Roy Blount Jr. is the most "universally beloved." Kasell said the show also brought its stars together as a second family. Kasell said he officiated regular panelist Adam Felber's wedding and it went so well, Kasell's new wife, Mary Ann, asked if Sagal would officiate their wedding two years ago. But as a regular NPR listener, Sagal said the connection WWDTM has with its listeners is no surprise to him. "These voices are with you in your home, your car, your bathroom, your kitchen, your workshop, and they're talking to you on a regular basis," Sagal said. "People are really delighted to see us because we've become a part of their lives. People constantly tell us, 'You're part of our routine.' You become part of their lives, and I don't want to get too sappy about who I am and what I do but it's really kind of a privilege."
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