As I exited the Hell's Kitchen studio to the Bay City Rollers
song, I crumpled. "I'd wanted to tell Trevor ... My brother is in Hawaii, I haven't seen him in four years (sniff sniff), and he said he'll (sniff sniff) just miss having Trevor make sense of the news every night."
"Oh, I know," the blonde female staffer consoled.
Why was I choking back tears? Somehow, missing my brother dovetailed with the stark realization that the moment was precious, that I had twice witnessed a rare star here in Trump's and now Let's-Hope-Not-Again-Trump's-America.
His last show will be December 8.
How to sum up lightning in a bottle? The obvious: He is humble, funny, dimpled, penetrating and engaging. The not-so-obvious: he needs time off to rest, connect with himself and family, to revisit or return to his roots ... and this is why he is so loved.
Thirty-eight-year-old Trevor Noah was born when I was completing my undergraduate coursework at San Francisco State. He's a Millenial and I am either an old Gen Xer or a young Boomer, depending on which chart Google brings up. And yet, like his other fans, I feel he gets me in a way other comics/talk show hosts do not.
I had gone alone in May 2017, shortly before my move to Falls Church, Virginia. I thought it fitting to do something New
Yorky. I was elated when Trevor called on me to ask a question. I was nervous and all I recall is asking about his interview with President Obama, which had happened not that long before. Oh how I wish I had a YouTube clip of that, as they make now!
That night, his guest was Valerie Jarrett, Obama's former senior advisor. As he did last night with Chelsea Manning, Trevor asked insightful questions in a charming style. My one quibble with him is the ease with which he converses. He puts a proper journalist to shame. The art of an interview is not obvious unless it is done clunkily, and Trevor makes every conversation feel like coffee at home.
But the best part of the night was watching Michael Costa's face in the shadows as he saw his friend tear us up with a wicked MLK Jr. Gone Wild impression or Trevor riffing on the twentysomething who said he had watched him since 16. Trevor, low voice, mock angry: "Now I'M a grown ass man and you are still here. Ever heard of personal growth?!"
If I have one wish for Trevor - after he takes that rest he told that young audience member he'd take - it is grace, the grace to just be without any goal, to ponder his navel or the poetry of an unexpected ladybug that lands on his tuna sandwich at lunch.
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