Katie Couric Tells All (Daily Planet email #914)
(“Katie Couric Tells All,” an after-dinner farrago loosely based upon the actual People Magazine headline, “Katie Couric Tells All.”)
In 1904, I was born Emil Saperstein in what is now present-day Poland. My twelve brothers and I worked in the shtetl until the clouds of war forced our family to relocate to East Philadelphia. My nickname was “Smiley.” I caught the theatre bug early in my all-boys’ school production of Guys and Guys and Dolls, earning the lead role of Miss Adelaide because I was the most femme. Eventually, I went all in and identified as female, taking the name of Couric, a Maori term for the part of a sea turtle that is still underwater when it dies. Like a smile, see?
During the first great depression, when we were forced by the Cooperage Union to stop repairing barrels and calling it “tailoring,” my Father taught me the value of a dollar: $1.00. One hundred cents. Twenty nickels. Several quarters. Never forgot it. The forties were a blur for me, what with spying for the Soviet Union, inventing the Slinky, and still finding time to run the U.S.O. At a dinner party in 1957 I met the love of my life, Brigadier Steve Canyon (ret.), with whom I had my four children, Ham, Shemp, Ruby, and Bathsheba.
It was a blissful domestic period, but the times they were a’changing. So in the 70’s I drove a re-painted school bus around to campuses in the Southwest, selling heroin. I wasn’t very proud of that, so I went legit and got a CDL. Wrote some songs with Foghat. Punched up a few Sanford and Son scripts. Changed to peddling pills. It was during that time that I met Matt Lauer.
Matt Lauer. What can I say? He wears a size eleven shoe, can’t punch his way out of a paper bag, and can empty a mini bar in about twelve minutes. I once watched him spend twenty minutes berating a valet for stealing a pair of sunglasses that were right on top of his head. He’s that kind of guy. I’m not saying he’s a scoundrel. He’s just made some choices that any one of us would make if we were a psychopathic, narcissistic, predatory, gaslighting, mendacious reprobate without the brains God gave a boll weevil. JK! Love you lots, Matt! Yes, that is his real hair.
Anyway, Matt and I were hanging out early one morning at a greasy spoon in Del Rio, waiting to see a man about a thing, when we looked up and saw David Hartman on Good Morning America. As I recall, we both turned to each other and said, “I could do that!” What with my smiliness, Matt’s flypaper charm, and Gene Shalit, we’d be unstoppable! So we sold the idea to the lowest-rated network, put on a news show, and took off like a rocket whose payload is infotainment.
Looking back, I have to say the biggest thrill of my career was meeting Elmo. I don’t want to talk out of school, but his legs are just for show, even less useful than FDR’s. My second favorite memory was smashing half a grapefruit into Bill Clinton’s face. I’m not gonna lie to you: My daughters and I are totally into decoupage. A great way to get rid of ants in your house is to sprinkle cinnamon along the baseboards. Have you ever looked down at your toes and thought they looked like Cheetos? Or Fritos, I get them mixed up. I think Chris Robinson is underrated. I carried an M-16. Did you ever look out at a crowd of people and all you can see are their skulls? Maybe it’s the mushrooms kicking in. Did you know Martha Stewart is colorblind? By this I mean that she can’t distinguish between pigments. I don’t know her general policy on skin tone. Larry King was a smart enough guy, but skeezy AF. I never liked Carrot Top.
I’ve lived a long time and had many credos, but I think Tom T. Hall said it best: “Faster horses. Younger women. Older whiskey. More money.”
If you enjoyed reading these candid revelations, there are a great many more in my new book “Going There,” available now at all reputable booksellers and next summer at garage sales everywhere.
