Good guys can finish first: Jay Leno

You probably know Jay Leno, the TV personality and stand-up comedian, but this is not about his TV show or stand-up work. Jay Leno is also an into-the-bone, no-apologies, full-on, serious, committed motorcycle nut. He made a living fixing them in Boston, his ‘wretched day job’ long ago. He now has a huge collection of bikes and cars in an immense hangar in Burbank.

His custom, driving or riding, is to stop and help riders who have a road problem. He likes to hang out at the Rock Store on Mulholland on weekends, with his latest toy (sample: a jet-engined motorcycle—amazing). When I thought about him and my motorcycle-riding/-writing habit, I rolled the dice. Nothing ventured, and all that.

I wrote to Jay at the NBC studios in Burbank and asked permission to interview him. I did not expect to hear back. Celebrities are much too important to answer anyone, ever, right. These days, to paraphrase Leona Helmsley, answering mail or email is only for the little people. Then recall the item I posted recently about John Patrick Shanley, the playwright—he responded instantly. So I kept my hopes up.

Two weeks later the phone rang. “Hey, John. This is Jay.” I had no idea who was calling; I had never expected a call from the man I had written to earlier on a long-odds bet. I stammered, he helped me: “Jay. Jay Leno.” I mumbled something about being surprised to hear from him: “Well, you wrote to me, didn’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Look,” he said, “first I want you to write down my home phone so you can call me when you need to.” I gulped again. “But Jay, that must be valuable and sensitive information!” He chuckled: “Don’t be an idiot, John. If I thought you’d abuse it I wouldn’t give it to you.” Such generosity and trust, from a genuine human being . . . “Come any morning,” he said. “Any time after 9 AM, till noon.”

I went the next Monday, a six-hour drive, worried about invading Beverly Hills in my 12-year-old Honda Civic, probably a vehicle-code violation there. He greeted me at the gates of his mansion; I expressed my concern. He looked each way, furtively, and smiled: “Bring it in, quickly, before they arrest you. I’ll close the gates.”

He served me coffee, then showed me a video of a Space Shuttle launch on an immense living-room screen, sound at maximum volume (“Mavis is out”). The interview, including photographing Jay and his Vincent-H.R.D. Special, was a breeze. He knows a lot about motorcycles; his enthusiasm is genuine and infectious. He doesn’t go for modern sport bikes with their swoopy fairings, as I do. He explained why: “I don’t trust a motorcycle I can’t see through.”

 My editor liked my story and photos, thanks to the kindness of a nice man. Every time his name comes up I tell this true story because I want as many people as possible to know that there is at least one ‘name’ with a heart. He is as he appears on his show: affable, clever and kind, not a trace of affectation or anger, totally without ‘side.’ Months later, Jay was Grand Marshall of a Concours d’Elegance in Santa Barbara at which I was m/c; facing him ‘on mike’ was the same, a delight.

 

I’m amazed that he can survive in that jungle called Hollywood, where most nice guys seem to end up on the cutting-room floor or in a pool of their own blood. You remember the line there: “Once you can fake sincerity, you’ve got it made.” Leno has a big brain, a lightning wit. He’s tough and you know it. But not a ‘celebrity.’ Ever.

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