Arsenio Hall

shapes our lives, how are we spending too much on other people's weddings, the social media bad for your mental health, we're here for your right to be curious, one big question at a time. Follow It's Bene Minute wherever you get your podcasts. This is Fresh Air, I'm Tanya Mosley.

“That's how America was welcomed into the party that was known as the Arsenio Hall Show.”

His name stretched out the way his mother used to call him into the house when he was a kid growing up in Cleveland. During its run in the late '80s and early '90s,

time magazine called Arsenio, hip, brash, and the new generation. And some of the most important

moments in American culture happened on Arsenio's couch. Magic Johnson chose the show as the first place to speak after announcing his HIV diagnosis. When Los Angeles burned after the rotting King verdict, executives wanted the show to go dark, but Arsenio went on anyway. And one night, a charming governor from Arkansas, running for president, showed up with a saxophone.

“That appearance would go on to be credited as a turning point in the '92 presidential election,”

strengthened in Clinton's hold on young and black voters who helped carry Clinton to the White House. I was a teenager and Detroit, staying up past my bedtime to watch. And I was not alone. At its peak, the Arsenio Hall Show was syndicated on nearly 200 stations, running second in the late night ratings to Arsenio's idle, Johnny Carson, an unthinkable feat at the time. And then just

like that, poof, the show was gone. But here's what I never knew until I read Arsenio's new memoir.

The show wasn't canceled. Arsenio quit walking away from a dream he'd been rehearsing since he was 12 years old. The reasons were distinctly American. White audiences thought the show was too black and black audiences thought it wasn't black enough. And it wore him down in ways he's never told fully until now. His new memoir is simply called Arsenio. And Arsenio all welcome to fresh air. Well, thank you very much. Wow, what an intro. Oh, Arsenio, you know,

you have talked about the decision to leave the show before. But this book, it really names things. I haven't seen you name before. You say this thing that was really poignant to me. You said, you felt incisively black and profoundly alone. Take me inside of that. To be 100% yourself, and still that self be rejected. Yeah, you know, when I came up,

I could watch a show like Johnny Carson or Merve Griffin. And for weeks at a time, maybe never see

a minority perform. And you know they're out there. So my dream was to when they grow up and show the other side of show business. Unfortunately, you can't get the kind of numbers doing my show like to be on a network. You know, you can't be on CBS ABC or replace the King when he leaves on NBC. Johnny Carson. Yes, yes. So I created this show in syndication, which did very well in often. Paramount thought it was too black because they wanted to kind of dangle a care in

front of me and say, if you do the right show, you could be the guy to get Johnny's audience when he leaves. But one of the reasons Johnny liked me is I didn't want Johnny's audience. And I didn't want to do his show. When you launched, there were essentially three players. There was Johnny Carson who was the King and then Letterman who was tucked away after midnight. And then you were this

“scrappy syndicated show with no network. What was Paramount actually asking you to be that you weren't?”

I guess, you know, the example I like to give people was when Michael Bevin's of new addition first call me and told me he found this group and they're called boys to men. And I said, what do they like? He says, they're like the temptations, but it's four of them. And I said, hey, I got the temptations coming on this week. Bring the guys by. If they're albums not finished,

performing in the center of my stage. And I don't know how to describe it other than there's

“you know, one black person in the mix makes it look too black. That's we we've had research”

that points to that in our society. And I wanted to do a lot of buster rhymes and I had hammer on

a lot. I had everybody in the culture on and unfortunately in America you're never going to be

number one, if you have this insatiable desire to do Tony Brexton instead of Dolly Parton. And by the way, I tried to do both. I tried to mix it up. I would put Dolly Parton on and then have something for the culture after it. I wanted to do the show that didn't exist when I was a kid. And I knew the talent was out there. You know, I found Bruno Mars and put him on the show when he was too feet tall. I wanted those things that Johnny didn't do. And the things that you did,

I mean, while you weren't number one, I mean you were a close number two and in many, you know, in many instances over those years, you over indexed on an audience under 35. And one of the one of the things that you write about in the book is as you were receiving these messages from Paramount that you were too black that you needed to have different type of guests on and you were competing against this growing late night ecosystem. It eventually broke through an air.

There's a moment on the show when activists from queer nation heckle you during your monologue and they yell, why don't you have any gay guests on your show? And at first, you answer politely. You say, like, I have a lot of gay guests. Maybe they just aren't out. Maybe you just don't know their orientation. But then they continue to push and then you become more agitated and then something and you just snaps. And I want to play a clip from it. Let's listen. This is my show.

This is my show. This is my show. This is my show. This is my show, man. You think you think I haven't had somebody on the show because they're gay? What's wrong with you? Man, I'm black. I'm black, man. I'm black, man. I'm black, man. I'm the biggest minority you know about. I don't want to hit a gay trash, man. I got gay friends up head on the show because you don't

“know them or they who you run on the show. You got a problem with it. If you want to book it,”

get this up and show. That's it. So I can do the show. You can't just say it up head, man. Got it seems so long ago. I think you become more angry and you become stronger when you realize you are right because a huge part of my staff was gay. Many of my guests were gay, but it was at a

time when you didn't always know it. So the gay people on my show couldn't even come to my

defense. Ellen couldn't come and say, oh wait a minute, you guys don't know. You know, because she hadn't come out yet. Right. And Rosie was on the show a lot. And a lot of people that may be still in the closet. So I won't mention their names, but it wasn't my job to say ladies and gentlemen balladier and homosexual put your hands together. You know, it wasn't my job to introduce a singer that

“way. And I think part of my anger was at that point. I'm being told by the black community”

that it ain't black enough. I'm being told by the Paramount executives that it ain't white enough. And now the gay community is going to attack me during the show. You're going to take money out of my wallet and food off my family's plate in the middle of my job here when you don't know what you're talking about. You're going to blame me for something that is absolutely not true. And I think I was sick of being criticized by everyone because everyone wanted it to be something else.

It's hard being the first black anything in late night. Do you remember the moment when you said to yourself? I know it was a it was a slow coming to a decision. But when that moment when you said, you know, that is a silver. I don't have anything in front of me, but this part of my

chair of the chapter of my life is over. You know, I remember always thinking out my life. And

of it. I'm sick of trying to do the right thing and trying to create something that I didn't have when I was a child and getting nothing but criticism from everybody. And he would tell me to stay in it, hold on the same time to leave, plus you got a contract. But I do remember this moment when I felt okay, I'm nearing the end of a contract when I can leave about year five or six.

“And I think I realized I can't go any higher. I don't do the kind of show that can be at a”

network because I refuse to not let my show be a showcase for my culture first. And for the world second, any business that you start, you look for a void in some area and you try to feel that void. That's the way to succeed in life. And I saw a void in a show that didn't put on enough women and enough minorities. So I wanted to do that show and I realized I couldn't go any

higher. And I always said, when I ended, I want to go out on top. So I wrote this letter. And as the

kids say, let me see the receipts, the good thing about writing this book is me and my woman went into garage and we ripped a garage apart looking for that one piece of paper, the resignation that I wrote to Paramount. And I put that in the book. For those who will read the book, you've got so many stories that that are really take us to what was happening behind the scenes. Did it take a lot of that kind of excavating? You literally going into your garage and

pulling out stuff. Oh yeah, I had to go through pictures and find pictures for the book. I had to talk to my mom more than I want to because, you know, my mom's in her 90s,

but she has an incredible memory. And I was able to go through a lot of things with my mom

to explain in the book, who I am. You know, you know, one of the most interesting stories in the book, there was a night when I met Jay Leno's house after we come from working at the comedy store. And we're standing in his yard and he's showing me stuff about his yard. He had a new house and a pool. And we see down the street, there's smoke coming from my house. And Jay says, I think that's a fire. And he says to his wife, "Mavis, call the fire department. We went down the street. It was a fire.

And older couple was in the house sleep. We kicked in the door and pulled this couple out. And I forgot that story." The other part of that story was that you all busted in the house

“to save that couple. But then in that split second, you looked at Jay and said, "But you should”

wake them up because I don't want them to see a black man." In the middle of their room, waking them up. Yeah, because I understand America, I understand society. If you're a white couple, I don't know who lives in this house. And if you're a white couple and you look up and it's me, you might have a different reaction to Jay saying, "Hey, it's Jay Leno. Wake up." You know, I think that was necessary. You and Jay, you formed a friendship really early on when you arrived in Hollywood,

just to set a little bit up. You grew up in Cleveland. Your mom moved to Chicago. You lived with her for a moment and you were doing comedy. And then you decided, "I'm going to take this step and go to LA." And you guys became fast friends. By the way, Jay Leno, who I met in Chicago at a club called the Comedy Room, WOMB, where comedians are born. That was the hook. I meet him and he says, "Somebody told me you opened for Nancy Wilson and you're doing really good." You know, and he said,

“"I'm going to watch you tonight." And he watches me and he says, "You should go to Hollywood”

because you'll never know if you have it unless you go out there. You don't want to be a big

fish in a little pond." And he said, "When you come there, call me. He talked me in to come in to Hollywood." So he was like a big brother figure to me because he was already famous. And Jay and I have been to hell and back. We've been big brother, little brother. We've been competitors, dog and each other into press. And now we're back to being partners on the road, doing an act called Kings of Late Night. So, I mean, but the middle part, we were can and able without the death.

Let's talk a little bit about the Arsenio Hall in its prime. The show had its own signature,

that was your executive producer, Marla's idea. And she had to fight you to get rid of the

desk, which is quintessential late night host, you know, sitting behind a desk. Why did she need to convince you so much? Okay. Marla killed Brown. My partner in crime, the executive producer, partner of the show, I saw Johnny with a desk all my life. I idolized Johnny, how are you going to take my desk away? And she had seen me do stand up. And she talked about how I moved and how free I was. She wanted me to be able to get up to touch a guest,

to decide to sit next to a guest. She felt, and she was right, the desk was the shield. The desk was something I was hiding behind. This desk was protective. And she wanted to take it away from me. When I took over for Joan Rivers, they let me host the Joan Rivers show and she quit. And she had a desk. So at Fox, I'm sitting behind the Joan Rivers desk. And Marla said,

“why don't you try it without the desk? I think you're like it. I would love to see you”

without that desk. And we tried it. And I had to admit she's right. Yeah, yeah, I have to listen to Marla more often. Did that give a different feel? Could you see it in the way that your guests

responded to you? Absolutely. It worked really well. When I watched it the first time, I knew it.

To be able to lean into a guest and not have something between you. I remember doing an interview with Rosie Perez when the Spike Lee movie came out and Rosie starts the movie dancing to the public enemy song "Fight the Power." I remember doing an interview with her. I held her hand during the interview because she was nervous. I remember an interview where Diana Ross kissed me. You can't kiss me with the desk in between us. It created a different visual.

When you got to Hollywood, Richard prior took you under his wing. And then multiple sclerosis took hold and you became the one looking after him. You would go to his house a couple of times a week loading his wheelchair into your range of over and taking him places. Tell me what those

“visits were like for you. And is there anything he said to you during those visits that you still carry?”

Wow. You know, it was at a time when I wasn't doing the talk show. So I had time. And I was available. And I found out that Richard was alone a lot. Watching television. And I would just stop by the house and watch TV with him. I only did with Richard. What I would hope someone who loved and admired me would do if I was alone. Richard had been so special to me. You know, when I first opened for Chaka Khan at the

Universal Ampitheater, I told Richard at the comedy star one night. And instead of saying, that's great. And keep it moving. Richard stopped and he said, "That's wonderful. I want to come see you." And I'm like, "Really?" And I left him tickets and he came. And he came early. And he watched me. And as Chaka was walking on, he was walking to my dressing room. So he really, really came to see me.

So the bottom line is that year, my mission was to spend time with Richard, a man who believed in me.

At a time when it was much easier for comics to be intimidated by new young talent or to not give knowledge and share knowledge. Because the game can be very competitive even when it's the OGs and the young kids, you know.

“But Richard was different. And I appreciated it. And I tried to remember it.”

I wondered about that, like that benevolence. Because now year of age, year of the guy that all the young comics look to now. Wow. You know, when I get off the plane and walk to the front of L.A.X., my woman Natalie will be standing there. And I thank God every day that I have her. Because that's who I'll watch the Steve Harvey show with. When I can no longer leave the house and stand up, can't stand up.

Can I ask why you crying?

and thinking how lucky I am that I have someone I love and who loves me.

“Our guest today is actor, talk show host and author, Arsenio Hall. We'll be back after a short break.”

I'm Tony Mosley and this is Fresh Air. Hi, this is Molly C.V. Nespert, digital producer at Fresh Air. And this is Terry Gross, host of the show. One of the things I do is write the weekly newsletter. And I'm a newsletter fan. I read it every Saturday after breakfast. The newsletter includes all the week shows, staff recommendations, and Molly picks timely highlights from the archive. It's a fun

read. It's also the only place where we tell you what's coming up next week and exclusive. So subscribe at WHy.org/FreshAir and look for an email from Molly every Saturday morning. You know, you mentioned about holding a guest's hand and something that kept coming up in the book where guests who were nervous in ways that surprised me, you tell the story of my angelow coming to your dressing room before the show. She needed like two shots of Crown Royale

just to walk out there and patty the bell. Yeah, the night you introduce Prince, she was gripping your hand so hard. Yeah, and she has these nails. I still have a mark in my hand from patty the bell. I mean, that's stuck out to me because it comes up so often in the book. These are people who had performed for thousands and had been performing for a long time at that point.

What was it about your stage or you? First of all, I mean, one of the things that Paramount

hated is my audience would be predominantly black and young. I don't know if that had anything to do with it, but it was a different kind of show. Maya Angelow came to my room to talk to me and she came down and she told me I'll nervous. She wasn't. I offered her. I said, I got a bar and I opened his cabinet and she says, oh, baby, I wouldn't mind having a little bit of that. And so we had

“a drink and I think it was the time that we talked about hip hop and how it was poetry set to music,”

but it was poetry of different poets. She was so articulate and being able to describe it. I hope that episode is on the internet because she was special. She was wonderful. You know that the thing about the nerves, I mean, maybe that's just something that happens and we just don't see it, but there's something about that that I think maybe there was an environment that you were providing that allowed these guests to show a more true or fuller version of themselves. And I want to play

another clip from an interview you did with Tupac in 1993. At the time, he was promoting his new album and the film poetic justice with Janet Jackson and you asked him about promoting violence.

Let's listen. When we were talking at the top of the show, first of all, you did a little rep and

it contained the word nine. Now on the street, that's nine millimeter. All right, we're going to get some letters. Yeah, yeah. And I'm wondering, are you concerned that possibly it'll affect box office or record sales because you're too close to the edge? You're too hard. It's like this. The masses, the hungry people, they outweigh the rich. So, as long as I appeal to the hungry and the poverty, stricken people, it's all good. I'm going to have a job for life.

It's these rich people who worry about the fooling the poor people. Everybody knows crime out there. Everybody know what type of situation we're in and the streets are all going to show you and tell

“you, you know what I'm saying? Why I get mad at the brother that bring you the news?”

Get mad at the person that's making it happen. Film it. It's like you know. You know, there's a there's a weird game that goes on because now as a result of your art, you'll be coming one of the rich. Yes, not rich, but they give me checks more often. That's too much a core on the art studio hall show in 1993. And you know, this is kind of a serious moment. You're asking him a real question, our scenario. But throughout the interview,

here's a two-pock is smiling. The two of you are giggling through so much of it and watching it. I kept coming back to something that I can only describe as black boy joy. It's something that we've been talking about lately, like over the last few years. And so then I start watching all of the YouTube videos, Will Smith, Prince, Sammy Davis, Jr. Muhammad Ali, Michael Jackson, Eddie Murphy. It goes on and on. There was a gittiness, this looseness, a side of these men that we didn't see

Wow, there might be a different answer to that question for each artist. Like two-pock and I,

we had a lot of history. The first time I met two-pock, he was with Jada Pinkett. It was way,

way back. And he was a dancer. The next time he came, he came as a rapper. The next time he came, he came as an actor. I remember him calling me and wanting to come and just talk once, because he said that he was about to do poetic justice and they wanted him to take an AIDS test. And he said, "Our senior, am I wrong? I shouldn't have to take an AIDS test unless I'm going really have sex with Janet." Janet Jackson. And it was funny, because now when I look back,

now you may go on Instagram live or you may tweet something. Back then, we didn't have the internet, we didn't have the blue bird, we had the black bird. That was me. I was the place you come and talk

“and air out your grievances and say what's on your mind. I think people knew it was that place,”

so you get that boy joy, you get that other side that you've never seen. Plus, you know,

when a person goes on the tonight show, that kind of freedom wasn't given to you. Maybe it's those guys knew we were kindred spirits. I remember iced tea coming on when he had an album I would call cop killer. And I really wanted him to explain it because when I used those two words together, it sounds horrible. And the nine millimeter conversation with Tupac, but these were poets from the inner city trying to give you a poem a little different than EE Cummins. And I remember

iced tea saying you watch a sorts of nigger movie, but you don't think he's really the Terminator. You don't think he's really killing people, right? I am like that. This is art. I'm telling you about a problem that my people have in the inner city with cops. And that's one thing I loved about the show is the masses. Why do America, let's say, in the safety of their home, could look in

“this box and hear people talk and hear thoughts that they didn't hear in their homes. And that's why”

I thought the show was important. You know, another thought that came to mind is the big moment that we all know happened on the show. And that's when Magic Johnson, after he announced that he was HIV positive, came on your show. And you're right. Today, he might have gone to his social media account and spoke directly to us, but he called you. And then he chose your couch to speak from and, um, man, this was such a moving part of the book because you write that you sobbed on the

phone with him. And this was 1991. So if we put ourselves there, HIV was still considered a death sentence. I actually want to play a clip from that night and then we'll talk about it on the other side. Let's listen. I know when I was little, I used to think my dad was a preacher. He said, "Dad, why does God let bad things happen to good people?" And, you know, and he's to try to explain

“things to me. Have you at any point said to yourself, "Why me?" Well, I think you always say that”

when it first happened, but it only took me five to ten minutes to understand why. You know,

through basketball, God put me here for that. And I've been able to hopefully ruin that myth of after these dumb jobs. And they seem that I've taken what I've accomplished on the court and turned it into great business interests. And so, whatever happens to me, I mean, right now, I don't have to work a day in my life ever. You see, my wife will be well taken care of that whole thing. So, God said, "Okay, we did that. We educate the athletes in

terms of telling themselves, hey, you can be an athlete, but also have a brain." And getting to business, now, he's taking me to say, "Okay, this educate the public on what's going on, which is HLB virus." And so, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not down, I'm here to say, "Hey, I got it, but I'm gonna live on." And you don't have to run from me like, "Oh, here, come magic, uh, you don't have to do all that." That was our senior hall in Magic Johnson, November 1991.

you about it. And at the end of that interview, our senior, you too embraced. And I remember watching

that as a teenager and feeling something shift because at the time, people were afraid to be in the same room as someone who was HIV positive. And that hug said something. Did you know in that moment what you were doing? Well, for starters, Irvin, I call him Irvin, Magic Johnson. He was a friend, and he called me because I had been worried about him. And he called me that morning, and one of the things I remember most is he was afraid of losing friends, losing the love

of friends and family. I remember the sentence I want people to still give me my hugs.

Because Magic is a woman fuzzy guy. I hugged him to show him I love him and I care. I had heard a comic do a AIDS joke, um, and it was a very homophobic type joke about having AIDS people touch you. And we were so ignorant. We didn't even know the rules of how you get it. And there were

“basketball players who didn't want to play with Magic. So I don't know, I think God gave me that hug”

or the inspiration to do that, to show people we don't have to be afraid. Let's take a short break. My guest is talk show host, actor, and author, Arsenio Hall. This is fresh air. I want to talk a bit about just how purpose-driven you were as a young person from a very

young age, even in the single digits. You host at your first talk show in your apartment building

basement when you were 12. And your musical guest was a kid from down the street singing along to a temptations record. Yeah, junior brown and seven kids showed up as your audience. Absolutely. And I used a folding card table as my desk. So even then, I was determined to have a desk and, you know, I had a little record player. So I was like, Junior's going to sing, get ready. And I put the needle on the record and it started playing. And junior, saying, "Get ready."

And then I interviewed him. And I had seen a comedian open for Al Green when I was a kid. And

“all he had was a towel on a stool and a glass of water. And I was like, God, I think”

I could be a stand up because sometimes when I would talk during my magic act, I could get laughs. And one time my dad was preaching a wedding. My dad was a Baptist preacher. And I said something during the wedding and got a laugh from the audience. But my dad was mad at me because we were there. He brought his son to do a wedding. And I'm trying to get laughs. The bride and the groom kissed. And it lasted a little longer than normal. And I had five years old screamed out,

"Kiss her, don't kill her." And I got a laugh. And it was like a drug that I chased the rest of my life. And I'm still chasing. I love the laugh. Your father, as you mentioned, was a preacher. And he thought that show business was the devil's business. But you write about watching him preach. I mean, and if we know preachers, they're prowling the pulpit, they're whispering and shouting. And women jumping up and down and dancing

in the aisles. That's like a real sanctified type church. And you, so in many ways, we're watching

“a performer in your dad. Do you think he ever saw himself that way?”

He had to know. And he was part of my dream. My dad, when I was four years old, he took me holding my hand into the pulpit because you could get to the church pulpit from his office or as they called it, the pastor's study. And he sat me behind him. So my POV was this church and this crowd. And I watched how he moved them with just his voice, with just the gospel and his ability to entertain and preach. It was scary because now when I look back,

eventually in coming to America, I got to be a preacher because he always wanted me to be a preacher.

“He wanted that to be the family business. And I think he would have enjoyed Reverend Brown”

in coming to America. You write, that's all I wanted. And now I want it my dad to be proud of me. Do you think that the Arsenio show was in some way for him? You know, I've never thought about that angle. I've never had anybody ask me that, but

maybe you're right. My father was not a part of the secular world. He, like I said,

he didn't even want me to go to Hollywood because he thought that just Hollywood was a horrible place. And I get where he was coming from, which is probably why I've tried to live my life in a way that would make him proud. And I've fallen off the wagon and tripped from time to time. But for the

“most part, I think he would be proud of me. And I think every parent just wants the child to be”

happy and happy is often success. It's hard to be happy and content in this world we live in.

Thank you, Arsenio. It's been a pleasure. Thank you. Talk show host and author, Arsenio Hall. His new memoir is called Arsenio. Coming up, jazz historian Kevin Whitehead marks the hundredth birthday of the composer, Randy Weston. This is fresh air. Today marks the 100th birthday of jazz pianist and composer, Randy Weston,

“who had a 60-year recording career during which he lived in the U.S. Morocco and France.”

He was influenced by Duke Ellington's regal bearing and cosmopolitan charm as much as Duke style in the piano. But Weston had his own style. Early on, he wrote the jazz standards, high-fly and little nails. And later he composed an autobiography, African rhythms. Jazz historian Kevin Whitehead gives us this quick character sketch. Randy Weston's classic tune "Little Niles" from 1956, written for his young son.

Weston came up in a Brooklyn neighborhood chalkful of ambitious musicians. His West African father instilled in him a fierce sense of pan-African pride. Getting to know pholonious monk, opened Randy's ears to the pianos' sonic possibilities and the need to develop an individual style. Monks timing left to mark, but Weston found his own ways to make the piano hammer's ring with a springy touch and dancing phrases. His high spirits are contagious.

When Randy Weston was young, Brooklyn bars and clubs featured lots of blues bands. And looking back later he was surprised how many blues he'd written. Early on, he'd accompany jazz history lectures, prompting him to develop sturdy, left-hand moves like the old masters. He plumbed grand pianos extreme low notes for sub-basement most players avoid. At six and a half feet tall, Randy Weston had a long reach the better to swipe both ends

delight in a mood or suggest a kid's perspective. 1963's Congolese Children was orchestrated by

“Trombonist Noble Liston, who'd arranged Weston's large bands for five decades. Her own”

centennial was in January. In the early '60s, Noble Liston arranged Randy Weston's LPs, Uhu, Africa and High Life,

music from the new African nations. Such music led to him touring North and West Africa,

sponsored by the U.S. State Department. He got such a warm reception in Morocco. He moved there in

“1967. In Tangier, his African rhythms club was a regular tourist stop into the early '70s,”

and Weston often revisited the continent later. His trans, Saharan travels and form his epic

1989 take on the Elington Standard Caravan. Randy Weston later called it the first song I learned to play

about Africa. Randy Weston was appropriately lionized in later years, with multiple honors, a reliable touring

“group and recordings with big bands and distinguished peers from jazz and beyond. Whatever he played,”

he made diverse pan-African traditions unlike facets of one big thing, all within easy reach like the high and low ends of his keyboard. After a globe trotting life, Randy Weston died back home in Brooklyn in 2018 at 92. Jazz Historian Kevin Whitehead On tomorrow's show, Comic Jeff Ross is known as the roast master general. He's produced in hosted celebrity roasts and dealt out hilarious insults. In his new Netflix comedy special,

he gets personal. We'll talk about working in his family's catering hall on weddings and bar mitzvas, his parents, their deaths, and his own health issues. I hope you can join us. To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air. And catch our interviews on video by subscribing to our YouTube channel at this is Fresh Air. Our executive producer is Sam Bricker. Our senior producer today

is Theresa Madden. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers and Marie Baldonato, Lauren Crimson, Monique Nazareth, They a challenger, Susan Yacundi, Anna Balman, and Nico Gonzalez-Wisler. Our digital media producer is Molly CV Nesper. Roberta Sharach directs the show. With Terry Gross, I'm Tanya Mosley.