Carl Kasell, veteran newscaster for National Public Radio’s “Morning Edition,” was stretched out atop a grand piano striking a pose that was intended, however vaguely, to recall the alluring posture of Michelle Pfeiffer in “The Fabulous Baker Boys.”
Seated at the piano was Peter Sagal, the host of “Wait, Wait … Don’t Tell Me,” public radio’s current-events quiz show, which features Kasell in the far less serious role of scorekeeper.
As Sagal tells the story of this publicity photo shoot, Kasell turned to Sagal and said, “You know, I’ve always wanted to do this.”
“And that’s the secret of Carl Kasell,” Sagal said, laughing at the memory. “For years, he did the news in this no-nonsense way. He became this trusted, Walter Cronkite-like figure. And lurking inside the guy was this class clown, this guy who wants to entertain the world.”
Who knew?
Since “Morning Edition” went on the air in 1979, Kasell has been in charge of the five-minute newscast at the top of the hour, his straightforward delivery and solid baritone providing a reassuring measure of stability in the face of both triumph and disaster. During the week, the guy’s unflappable.
But on the weekend — watch out. Since “Wait, Wait” went on the air in 1998, Kasell has revealed an unbuttoned side. In the “Who’s Carl Now?” segment, he does a variety of silly voices and impersonations as he reads quotes from the week’s news. He’s also the show’s only prize: Callers who successfully navigate the show’s news quizzes get to write a greeting for their answering machine for Kasell to record.
“It’s perfect for public-radio listeners,” Sagal said. “It’s both priceless and worthless. You can’t buy it, and you can’t sell it.”
“Wait, Wait,” a co-production of NPR and Chicago Public Radio taped weekly before a live audience in Chicago, has been a remarkably successful, if highly unlikely, second career for Kasell, 73, who this week marks his 30th anniversary at NPR. But to hear Kasell talk about it, maybe his weekly transformation from newsman to entertainer isn’t so surprising. Like many children of the pre-television age, he was addicted to radio as a boy in Goldsboro, N.C., from entertainment to news, and recalls playing disc jockey with his grandmother’s wind-up Victrola.
“I fantasized doing something like ‘Wait, Wait,’ ” said Kasell during an interview on the second floor of NPR’s headquarters.
Deeply involved in high-school drama classes, Kasell started his radio career at age 16, when he auditioned to read the news on the high-school station. After graduating from the University of North Carolina and a stint in the U.S. Army, he worked for many years as a disc jockey and newscaster in Goldsboro and, later, Arlington, Va.
By the mid-1970s, Kasell was working for an all-news station when a friend of his at NPR offered him a job as a weekend news anchor. He made the jump to NPR full time in 1977, and two years later, got the newscast on the network’s new morning news show, “Morning Edition.”
His routine has remained the same through the years. He arrives at NPR’s studios on Massachusetts Avenue, the Washington Convention Center, by 2 a.m. and starts planning his first newscast at 5 a.m. Eastern time.
“I’m not interested, myself, in personality news,” Kasell said. “I was kind of challenged to make our newscast sound different from the other newscasts. So I shied away from doing a lot of short stories. I wasn’t interested in that. I’ll go long on a story, 45 seconds or up to a minute, depending on what it is.”
Ellen Weiss, NPR’s vice president for news, attributes his longevity to his ability to deliver the news without drama but still sound like a real person.
“Carl has been a companion over all these years,” said Weiss. “That’s the best word I can come up with. He speaks slowly, not too slowly, but in a way that enables you to capture every word. And there’s a kind of warmth in his voice.”
After his final newscast at 11 a.m., Kasell heads home to sleep for about three hours in the afternoon; gets up and has dinner with his wife, Mary Ann Foster, a psychotherapist; then goes back to bed from about 10 p.m. until 1:05 a.m.
Why 1:05?
“Because I like to sleep in,” he deadpans.
Over the years, he’s heard plenty of complaints from other “Morning Edition” staffers about the odd hours required, but he doesn’t join the carping.
“The secret is, don’t be so concerned about it, just get up and do it,” he said.
For the last 9 years, his routine has been even more discombobulated by the taping schedule of “Wait, Wait.” After doing the “Morning Edition” newscasts from Monday through Wednesday, he flies to Chicago, or wherever the show is being taped, Thursdays, arriving in time to read through the script with Sagal and the show’s writers.
Kasell likes to say that his joke about sleeping in until 1:05 a.m. got him the “Wait, Wait” gig. He told that one and several others during an appearance at a broadcasting convention in Boston, and afterward, Sandra Ratley-Lewis, then the head of NPR’s arts and cultural programming, said his unexpectedly funny side could come in handy on a new show that was in the works.
The show’s writers had to work out the right role for Kasell.
At first, they gave him all the jokes, but then they hit on the idea of having him be closer to a straight man to Sagal, with funny voices as an added bonus.
“Carl is funny when he’s not trying to be funny,” Sagal said. “When he’s trying to do Britney Spears, he’s really trying to do Britney Spears as well as he can. And that’s what makes it funny.”
Kasell records phone messages for the show’s winners once or twice a month during one of his stays in Chicago. He’s game for just about anything, including singing versions of “Oklahoma!” “What’s New, Pussycat?” and Peggy Lee’s “Fever.” As he notes, the show’s motto is, “NPR without the dignity.”
Only once has he refused to do a message, for a winner who wanted Kasell to read a spiel for the person’s business. It was too close to advertising, he thought.
The middle-of-the-night existence and a weekly commute halfway across the country do not seem to be growing old for the septuagenarian. He has no plans to give up the “Morning Edition” newscast or the “Wait, Wait” gig anytime soon.
There’s no mandatory retirement age at NPR?
“No, Daniel Schorr is still here,” Kasell said, referring to the NPR commentator. “And he’s 90.”
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soswanson@tribune.com
You can listen to “Wait, Wait … Don’t Tell Me” on Saturdays at 10 a.m. and 9 p.m. on WBEZ-FM 91.5.
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At the tone …
Carl Kasell has recorded messages such as these on winners’ home answering machines:
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THE NEWSCAST:
“From NPR headquarters in Washington, I’m Carl Kasell. At this hour in Casper, Wyo., Ann and Scott aren’t answering their phone. Experts disagree whether they’re simply gone or are at home screening their calls since they’re too cheap to buy caller ID. You’ll need to leave a message so they can decide if they want to talk to you. I’ve been trying for a week now, so don’t get your hopes up.”
THE LIMERICK:
“From this message it’s perfectly clear
That we’ve risen in status this year
Carl Kasell’s the voice
And you’ve got just one choice,
Leave a message ’cause no one is here.”
AND THE ONE-LINER:
“Hello, I’m Carl Kasell from NPR. Jennifer and I have eloped. Please leave your message at the beep.”
IN THE WEB EDITION
See a short video interview with Carl Kasell at chicagotribune.com/kasell.
