Andy Ihnatko:

[Clips don't] present a typical "The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson" in its entirety. The last two shows are endlessly entertaining but the true power of Carson was the routine. The day-in, day-out shows when his guests were the star of an NBC sitcom that you couldn't stand and a singer you'd never heard of. He was so damned good because he wasn't a comic or an entertainer: he was a broadcaster. That's why his brilliance doesn't come through in a series of clips. You just can't get him unless you see him reacting to a live audience for an hour, and guiding two or three guests through their interviews. When the opening theme ended and Carson stepped onto the stage, he was like a downhill racer blasting through the starting gate. You didn't watch his "Tonight" show for the guests or the acts. Night after night, the you tuned in to watch Carson navigate from the top of the monologue to the bottom of the show, reacting to bumps and powering through straightaways as he went, emerging victorious every single time. Carson was never about the material or the guests: he was all about was the broadcast.

James Wolcott:

After three decades as host of the Tonight show, Carson quit at the top and never glanced back or sideways, preserving the memory of a comedian in his silvery prime and making everyone who came after him look primitive. His poise, his polish, his precision, were unsurpassed. I was dispatched to LA to catch one of his last shows for Vanity Fair and what struck me sitting in the audience--something that one didn't come through simply watching at home--was the power of his presence. He was taller than one expected, and when he popped through the curtain, he projected a physical force that one didn't expect.

Andy again:

One of the most-played tapes in The Ihnatko Video Archives is of a week's worth of "Late Night"s that Letterman taped in LA. Early in the week, Carson made a quick cameo — literally, a drive-by — in a video piece that had Dave and Paul touring the streets of LA.

It was just a year after Carson retired, and the crowd went nuts. A couple of shows later, David ended his monologue by asking the audience to welcome a surprise visitor: "Mr. Johnny Carson." And out came Calvert DeForrest, continuing a running gag that had been going on all week. Everyone knew what was coming, but there was still that moment when, clearly, you hoped that maybe it'd really be him.

DeForrest crossed the stage and waved. And then Mr. Johnny Carson himself made the exact same entrance, and the audience quite simply died. The studio sank three inches into the ground as the entire audience leaped to their feet and then landed back on the floor. The audio engineer scrambled to his bank of sliders, to no avail: every mic was pegged into the red.

Johnny sheepishly acknowledged the crowd and slowly crossed to Dave's desk. As for Letterman himself, this clearly was the happiest moment of his life. It wasn't the fact that Johnny was appearing on his stage instead of Leno's. It was the simple fact that he was sharing a stage with Carson at all, being a witness to the tectonic waves of noise that were being fired at his mentor and idol.

This was hard news to bear just four days after learning that Johnny was still writing jokes for David Letterman. Rest in peace, Mr. Carson - you were already missed.