For a variety of reasons, it’s taken me longer than I’d hoped to update this blog with some impressions of the last few nights – after watching the man host shows for some 33 years – of the “Late Show With David Letterman,” which ended about 10 days ago in a burst of fanfare and media commentary.

I’d been watching – and live-Tweeting – the final stretch of shows, each one filled with its own laughs, tears and memories. I got emotional over Adam Sandler’s song, but I thought Nathan Lane came off a little flinty. The flirty moments with Julia Roberts and Sarah Jessica Parker and others were full of their usual charm. On the second-to-last show, it felt like Bill Murray was trying too hard and Bob Dylan wasn’t trying at all. I thought the final show itself was a gem; the “Top 10” celebrity one-liners, the clips of Dave-in-the-street remotes and the behind-the-scenes video they put together were all superlative. I wish we had been privy to more of that earlier in the run.

I was impressed, as ever, with Letterman – especially on his final night. People who thought he was suddenly going to burst open with raw emotion don’t follow the man regularly. I saw it as a professional broadcaster landing his last show. They teach you in broadcasting that the broadcast is most important – that you’ve got to rise above the unpleasant or emotional and be a pro. Dave demonstrated this trait when he returned after Sept. 11, when he had his heart surgery, when his boy Harry was born, when he got caught in a sex scandal. He never failed to show up and communicate clearly and directly with his TV audience. Why would that last night be any different?

“All right. That’s pretty much all I got,” Dave said, eyes square on the camera. “The only thing I have left to do, for the last time on a television program: Thank you, and good night.”

Dave was less emotional than I was in that moment, I can tell you with great confidence. And in the days since, I’ve finally had some time to reflect on one of the most singularly influential pop cultural figures in my life. And I don’t say that ironically. I know it as fact. (There are the Beatles. There is “Star Trek.” There are the New York Yankees. And there is Dave.)

I realize that might sound a little dramatic, especially when you don’t have context, so I’ll provide some here. I don’t know Letterman personally and only saw him do his show in-person once, a little more than 20 years ago, in April of 1995. But I feel like he’s been part of my family for much longer than that, especially given the 6,000 or so shows of his I’ve at least been aware of (no, I didn’t watch every single night, but quite a few of them, and I always knew Dave was there. It’s making his absence even more profound in these past few nights. What do I do now when the news is over?).

It started for me in the summer of 1980, when Dave was doing the ill-fated (and as a result, somewhat mythological) “David Letterman Show” in the mornings on NBC. It ran for something like four months, but they were crucial months for me. I was on summer break before starting high school, in the months between my 9th grade and sophomore years. I had been a fan of Letterman and his humor from his frequent appearances on the “Tonight Show” with Johnny Carson (both as a guest and as one of Carson’s frequent guest hosts). While I considered myself a Johnny guy, from the earliest days, Letterman’s particular whimsy and sensibility (he always seemed to be making fun of himself while he was doing whatever he was doing) appealed to me. And, from the very first minutes of his opening morning show, all of that came shining through.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yRoaG_AmqrI

There are a couple of funny things I think when I look back at the clip of Dave in the mornings. The first is oddly sentimental. I was born in a town called Newburgh, NY. It’s where my mother was from, my parents met and my grandparents lived their entire lives. It’s where my mother, sister and I would visit every summer, often for what turned out to be the entire month of July, for years.

In the summer of 1980, away from my usual life for a few weeks, I had plenty of time to sit around Nana Pucino’s house and watch Letterman in the morning. I would lie on the floor on my stomach, with a pillow underneath my chin and stare into the TV every morning (I believe his show started mid-morning and ran for 90 minutes, so something like 10:30 a.m. – 12 noon on the East Coast live) from a few feet away. These were the days when there was only one TV in a home, and only three or four channels to choose from. My grandmother, just retired, was also spending a lot of time around her house that summer. She was in her early ‘60s, and not at all interested in this doofy David Letterman, his oddly scheduled morning show or his sense of humor.

None of it was funny to her.

I also think about how she would have much preferred watching her soap operas or news programming or anything else that might have been on at the time. Anything else. You could easily do that now. I’d just be in another room, watching online. Not so in those days. And we argued all the time, that whole summer.

But, being my loving grandmother – and this is another indelible memory, for she passed away unexpectedly and suddenly that following February, meaning July of 1980 was the last time I got to spend with her – she let me win every day. I got to watch the early Dave. But she didn’t do it without letting me hear the running commentary about how ridiculous she thought he was. And not in a good way.

Didn’t matter. It cemented it for me. I was caught up in the self-deprecating manner Letterman could make something out of nothing. No one else – not even Johnny – could do that. Letterman almost rejoiced when things did go wrong, in front of or behind the cameras, and took great glee in tweaking the men and women of his staff when things would veer off the rails. Those moments were priceless. It was like we were getting to see a show about a show. That Dave was also endearing. One day he showed up after a particularly buzz-filled trip to the barber. “It was haircut day at Yankee Stadium,” he said.

By the time Dave got to his “Late Night” show, at NBC, it was February of 1982, and I was much of the way through my junior year in high school, at Olympus High in Salt Lake City.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PsRDBGOzn8

It’s strange to watch it now, even for a few minutes, because all of it seems so familiar. And it’s not just because I watched versions of Letterman’s shows for the next 33 years. It’s because, even in his first shows, even on first nights of first shows, Letterman’s manner and mannerisms are something that became entirely engrained in my own sense of performing, timing, talking, presenting, storytelling and humor. That’s what’s just weird, even to me.

Countless articles over the past few weeks have been about the Letterman Legacy, and his impact on scores of comedians, broadcasters and artistic talents, many of whom paid personal visits (or made special tributes) to the great man himself in his show’s last weeks, including those who seem obvious (Conan O’Brien, Jimmy Kimmel, Seth Meyers) and those who you can see it when they say it (Tina Fey, Ben Stiller, Adam Sandler, Keith Olbermann). Unlike anything anyone ever said about Jay Leno (sorry, Jay), you got the feeling people really cared about Dave much because he made a major difference in lives, and style and content and culture and perception and commentary and all the things that matter to anyone who’s ever appreciated another person’s work or substance.

Dave was an original, yes. But he inspired so many, many talented people, and for generations to come.

http://deadline.com/2015/05/keith-olbermann-david-letterman-retirement-appreciation-1201429400/

http://www.ew.com/article/2015/05/20/conan-obrien-pays-tribute-david-letterman-bottom-my-heart-thank-you

What I find so funny about reading these tributes is I agree, of course. But I agree because it could have come from me, too. My early Letterman years were probably most akin to Kimmel’s experiences. As the CNN link reiterates, Jimmy wore a Letterman varsity jacket, had a “Late Night” birthday cake and had a Letterman vanity plate for his car.

http://www.cnn.com/2015/05/20/entertainment/jimmy-kimmel-david-letterman-feat/

I’d like to say I wasn’t quite as bad, but I was close, at least by time I got to college, at the University of Utah in the mid-‘80s. I didn’t wear a Letterman jacket, but I did embrace the Letterman look of the period – Khaki pants, Oxford shirts, sometimes a tie but always tennis shoes – for a number of years (you can still see influences of that look in my wardrobe today). I developed a habit of smoking cigars (a Letterman vice he’d eventually bury because of his own health problems later in life) not because I particularly enjoyed it (though I would develop a taste), but because it seemed the thing to do. Dave did it. It was cool.

I joined the Letterman Fan Club by mail. It was the same one Paul Rudd was talking about on his final appearance on the show, just a few weeks ago. I, too, got the sponge they dunked in water together. I think I still have it somewhere. (In fact, I know I do.)

http://www.people.com/article/paul-rudd-david-letterman-fan-club

But maybe most importantly when it comes to the Letterman influence – and here’s another area where I can surely identify with O’Brien, Kimmel and Olbermann, among many others – is the impact I let him have on my own personality, sense of comic timing and approach. I just didn’t happen to become a famous comedian, talk show host or broadcaster (not that I didn’t try). I did what I do for a living in Salt Lake City, Utah in a variety of permutations. And, over the years, I’ve done some things that could be said were very Lettermanesque. I might never have become a celebrity. But I always brought a little Dave to the party.

In college, for example, I wrote countless columns for the campus newspaper, the Daily Utah Chronicle. A number of them were inspired by Letterman, either in terms of out-and-out pandering (I was obsessed with his reading one of my columns on-air as part of his old NBC “Viewer Mail” shtick) or simply heavy inspiration (I once made up five catchphrases and went around campus to ask people which one they liked the most. I believe “Fire and ice sure is nice” won, but I’d have to look it up. Either way, it was an unabashed Letterman rip-off; the kind of thing I’d do again in a second).

This isn’t to say I didn’t have a sense of humor or like to be the center of attention before I became a fan of David Letterman; like I said, Johnny Carson was always an idol and I was a relatively funny kid. I was doing comic monologues for my second grade class during “Show & Tell.” My own comic persona was influenced by a variety of factors, including “Saturday Night Live” (loved Chevy Chase), the late comedian David Brenner, early Steve Martin and even the TV series “MASH” (I wanted to be Hawkeye. Who didn’t?).

But Letterman, at least in those years, simply brought it all together. He was still too new in my cultural life to have heavy influence on my high school years, even though I was doing things – like emceeing assemblies and hosting the daily morning announcements at Olympus – that were very Letterman-like. (I guess if I went back I could already see some of it seeping through.)

But college cemented it, and it carried on.

By my early professional career, I had become so obsessed with all things pop culture that I talked not one but two newspapers I had associations with into letting me write TV columns for them (the Ogden Standard-Examiner and the Salt Lake Tribune, mainly fueled by my “Late Night” spirit and interest. I was also able to host a few different radio shows – all sports, but that never stopped me from stealing from Dave – in that period, the early-mid ‘90s, right around the time Letterman was leaving NBC and heading to CBS, where he would triumphantly take the reins of the “Late Show with David Letterman” for the next 22 years.

In August of 1994, at the early zenith of the CBS days, my mother and I (it was my idea) stood outside of Dave’s studio doors on 52nd Street in New York City in sweltering East Coast humidity. We’d run around NYC all day with the idea of getting to that block in time for Dave’s show to begin taping. Understand: We had no tickets to the show, and no shot of getting in. But this was in the giddy early era when Dave or his staff would quite regularly pop out of the doors and do some kind of business in the streets, often involving would-be audience members who didn’t quite make the show. I had faith, and my poor mother had patience. We stood outside to no avail, but we were right in the middle of it, and I only too pleased to buy $250 of “Late Show” merchandise at K&L’s Rock America down the street. And, yes, I bought the mugs and sweatshirts from Mujibur and Sirajul.

Nearly a year later, I’d be much more fortunate – when the tickets I sent away for turned up, and I was able to actually go inside the Ed Sullivan Theater and see a taping of “Late Show,” on April 14, 1995. This was big for me, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I had family on the East Coast and I made my cousin go to the show with me. We lined up early, got good seats (in front, near the stage, but sometimes blocked by the cameras) and saw a Friday-night edition that featured Claudia Schiffer, Tim Roth and Slash as guests. It wasn’t exactly a barnburner line-up but it was good enough for me; my man was on his game and true-to-form, especially as he somewhat mocked Slash and teased supermodel Schiffer about her real-life love interest at the time, magician David Copperfield.

My Aunt Susan and Uncle David dutifully waited for the couple of hours we were involved with the taping to go by (more patience from family members; always a Letterman theme with me, I guess) before they came back to get Cousin Greg and I to go to dinner, at Carmine’s in New York City. But before they picked us up they managed to pick up something I still have hanging in my hallway – a framed, autographed photo of Letterman in prime swagger, which they gave me as a surprise. I still treasure it.

It’s strange, but you can see Letterman’s influence all over a lot of the work I’ve done over the years, whether it was print journalism, broadcasting, PR, advertising, marketing, teaching, public speaking or whatever else I found myself into. I can literally think of about 111 different examples, with one of the most notable being a public awareness campaign I helped oversee for Utah’s Lt. Governor last fall. It was to promote a website about voter awareness and registration. The Lt. Governor said he’d be up for appearing in the commercials. And, what do you know? We came up with the idea for him to interview normal people on the streets about what they knew about voting and have a little fun along the way. It was a concept – an award-winning bit, as it would turn out – largely inspired by Letterman on the streets of New York City, circa 1994.

That’s how it goes.

It’s odd, because Dave’s retiring coincided with a particularly hectic stretch for me, made all the more strange because I was doing a bunch of different things in my life – both personally and professionally – that were exactly in line with the type of life I’ve led (and the person I’ve become) laced with all that Dave.

For example, a little more than a week ago I emceed a major event for my boss, Tom Love, at the advertising agency for which I work, Love Communications. The staff at Love knows I’ve been stealing inbred Letterman bits for years, right down to portions of the speech I do every week for the employee “Lover of the Week” (“…and please, no wagering,” an old Letterman line). I do a lot of it without even realizing it, but one thing I do (and have done for years) is make momentous “Top 10” presentations at major events, like friends’ weddings, going-away parties, milestone birthdays and other celebrations. It’s been a John “thing” since the early ‘90s, and it is probably the most obvious version of me “doing Letterman” I can point to.

I try to write these “Top 10” lists in Letterman’s ironic, semi-understated style, and I try to read them with the same “Late Show” panache; grouped backwards, funny right out of the gate and then you can live with a groaner or two; reset the premise just before item No. 5; wrap it up with a bang. The only thing I don’t have are the cool graphics.

I’ve done probably 75 “Top 10” lists for various special events (including the weddings of three different friends) over the last 25 years. I’ve had a couple of duds, but nothing embarrassing. And I had a hit a week or so ago – ironically, on the day after Dave’s last show – when I presented the “Top 10 Things We Love About Tom Love” at a luncheon event in Tom’s honor.

Just a few days later – after I started teaching a class at the University of Utah this summer that’s all about media and pop culture, undeniably influenced years ago by my love of Letterman, among the other things I listed above – I was emceeing yet another event, this time for my friends for United Way. It was a car giveaway that they ask me to host every year. Ten people are chosen at random and given keys. One of those keys starts a BMW. It’s a big show, and it’s the way they close the lunch. One of my jobs is to introduce the contestants and try to come up with a way to make people laugh as I try to ad lib along the way.

Usually, I ask them each what they intend to do if they should win the car. This year, at least a couple of the male contestants in the line told me they’d probably go home and “hand the keys to the wife,” or some variation thereof.

I wasn’t prepared for that response, especially the second or third time. I didn’t have anything written, or ready. But a line popped into my head.

“Makes me glad I’m not married,” I said. Got a decent laugh.

Bah dah boom.

Thirty-three years of training with Dave.

https://overcast.fm/+kMbOi9xg

http://billscheft.tumblr.com/

Twenty years ago today, give or take, I saw David Letterman perform live — taping an appearance in his early “Late Show” years at CBS. It was April 14, 1995. I was there because they mailed me tickets I had requested — with no say in the date. It was a truly memorable experience. I made my Uncle David take a picture of me on the street. It was an iconic shot for me; I had seen something similar in Time magazine in the months prior.

Dave’s wrapping things up this month, so I posted this photo on Facebook and got more than 150 “likes.”And I’ll come back to work more on this post. Right now, I’m just trying to figure out how WordPress works.