I always wanted to be Johnny Carson. Ever since I was 10, at least. Friday nights at 11:30 PM I was glued to the TV because there was no school the next day and JOHNNY was on. The King of Late Night.

As we all know by now Johnny died today. I asked The Teenager tonight if she'd heard Johnny Carson had passed. Of course, I already knew her precise answer: "Who?"

Who indeed.

Like I said, I always wanted to be Johnny Carson. And once, for a brief, shining moment, I actually got my wish.

Senior year. 1973. We didn't know it yet, but Carson who was in his 11th year as host of The Tonight Show, was just getting started. Who knew the guy had 19 years left in him?

Our Speech and Debate team was looking for a way to raise funds for the upcoming State tournament that didn't involve baked goods or sponges and soapy water. We kicked around a lot of ideas. Slave auction? It had been done. Selling mascot-ladened waste baskets? No one was buying.

Suddenly a budding, young comic talent spoke up from the back of the classroom: "Why not do a parody of The Tonight Show?"

A collective gasp sucked nearly all the oxygen from the room. When we awoke from our group blackout I--er, the budding young comic talent--was roundly congratulated on such a spirited idea.

The sets were built. The script was forged. The actors cast. When the dust settled, the Foothill High School Forensics Team was advertising and selling tickets for "The Johnny Carsick Show."

I was Carsick.

Playing Johnny, being him if only for an hour, was one of the great experiences of my life. Then or since. Walking out from behind that curtain to deliver a devastating monlogue at the expense of administration, faculty and BMOCs was a confidence-building experience this fairly shy young man would never retreat from.

So I'm driving home from church this afternoon, listening to the radio, when I hear the news my comedic hero has, once and for all, left the stage.

Thanks, Johnny, for all the laughs. Thanks for the stunning example that sometimes the funniest moments in life are the ones unscripted.

You always wore well. You showed us it was OK to go gently and with good humor into that good night. Sometimes we forgot ourselves and talked to you on the street as if we were friends, as if we had been intimates for years.

I would have liked to have known you, but I was just a kid . . .

Good night, Johnny. Good night.