Lifestyle
Reflections on James Baldwin's magnificent life from those who knew him
American writer James Baldwin photographed on January 20, 1986.
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James Baldwin was born 100 years ago, on Aug. 2, 1924, in Harlem Hospital. He wrote in 1955, “I love America more than any other country in this world and exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.” Baldwin died on Dec. 1 at the age of 63 at his home in the south of France. NPR asked four people for their reflections on the writer.
Eleanor Traylor, scholar: “There was splendor before me.”
Eleanor Traylor takes a break in the comfort of her three-story brownstone in Washington, D.C. She is a literary critic, a scholar and retired chair of English at Howard University. She has written before about Baldwin in academic journals. Her home reflects a lifetime of collecting books, art and friends. Traylor will contribute to a new book about Baldwin due later this year.
I hope that since I met him, I’ve been like him, in any way that I could be, you know, small or large.
She first met the him in the late 1970s. Traylor was visiting his sisters, Paula and Gloria, at 137 W. 71st St. on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, in an apartment building Baldwin bought for his family.
Dr. Eleanor Traylor at her home in Washington, D.C. Traylor is a retired professor at Howard University and was friends with literary giants including James Baldwin.
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“There was a knock at the door.”
Traylor answered and found herself face to face with James Baldwin.
“There was splendor before me,” she says. “You know, James Baldwin was not very tall, but he was tremendous looking,” she laughs.
“There was this gleaming white shirt, these eyes, who could rescue you, but who could rain and sunshine at the same time. This wonderful smile. And I just burst into tears. I just sobbed.“
Baldwin did not miss a beat, she says. “He took me up in his arms and he said to me, chuckling, ‘Now what have I done to deserve all this?’ Just magnificent,” Traylor says.
James Baldwin was not very tall, but he was tremendous looking.
Their friendship only grew from there. They would catch up at house parties and other gatherings where Baldwin showed up on his commutes from France.
Traylor retells Baldwin’s story about how his first novel got its title. Trekking the Swiss Alps, where he finished the manuscript, Baldwin took a death-defying leap above a gorge, a shortcut home before complete nightfall. She says he jumped and made it across, trembling. He said a sound came to him. And the sound was that song, “Go Tell It on the Mountain.“
Dr. Eleanor Traylor at her home in Washington, D.C. Traylor is a retired professor at Howart University and was friends with literary giants including James Baldwin.
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Baldwin’s family calls her Aunt Eleanor. They trusted her to arrange the funeral at Cathedral Church of the St. John the Divine in New York City. The two-hour homegoing opened with African drummers and ended with James Baldwin singing the gospel hymn “Precious Lord.”
Today, she still misses her friend. Maya Angelou, Amiri Baraka and Toni Morrison all spoke at his funeral.
“Toni Morrison talked of him as the language that we inherited,” she says. “James Baldwin was the mentor of my generation.”
Baldwin was an inspiration to Morrison and many other writers, Traylor says. “His influence is incalculable.”
Eleanor Traylor wrote in PEN America that Baldwin’s message throughout his books is that the only safety is to dare to love. “He didn’t talk of a utopia, a perfect world,” she tells NPR. “He just said, if you love, you will create the kind of world you wish to live in.”
Cicely Tyson, James Baldwin, guest and singer Harry Belafonte attend To Be Young, Gifted And Black Gala on January 2, 1969 at the Cherry Lane Theater in New York City.
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“He was the kind of person you wanted to emulate,” she says on a rainy afternoon. “I always had him in my mind, in my soul. I hope that since I met him, I’ve been like him, in any way that I could be, you know, small or large.”
Traylor’s eyes well up.
“I’m talking about whatever you hold to be delicious, whatever you hold to be precious,” she says. “There is such a thing as courage. There is such a thing as lovability. There is such a thing as honesty. There is such a thing as genius. All those things are for me,” she pauses, then whispers, ”James Baldwin.”
Richard Goldstein, journalist: “Go where your blood beats.
Richard Goldstein recalls the situation, more than 40 years ago, when James Baldwin did a rare kind of interview with The Village Voice.
“I had heard that he was coming to New York to see his brother.” Goldstein says.” I thought, ‘He’s never actually addressed the question of sexuality, as far as I knew, even though he was a pioneering, openly gay writer.’”
Richard Goldstein appears in a portrait taken in his home on January 31, 2017 in New York City.
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Goldstein is a former Village Voice executive editor. “I was putting together the annual queer life issue of the paper, which I edited for about 25 years.”
“Baldwin was an immensely prophetic figure, always, in the lives of queer people,” Goldstein says.
He called himself a witness to the gay community, not a member.
Baldwin’s novel Giovanni’s Room was controversial and influential with its publication in the 1950s. “If I hadn’t written that book,” he told Goldstein, “I would have probably had to stop writing altogether.” For Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room was an exploration of what happens when you fail to love someone.
The AIDS crisis and the 15th anniversary of the Stonewall gay rights uprising were the backdrop for their conversations. They talked over several afternoons in Greenwich Village, at some places Baldwin had frequented during his youth.
“One of his favorites was the Café Riviera, which is almost across the street from the Stonewall (Inn).”
James Baldwin was openly homosexual, but also very private about it. Baldwin did not refer to himself as gay. “He came up before there was a strong sense of that community,” Goldstein says.
Identity for Baldwin was complicated. “It was both public and that it was political and private, and that it was personal. This was an era when feminists were also discovering that the personal is political. And I think he was aware of all of that.”
James Baldwin smiles while addressing the crowd from the speaker’s platform, after participating in the march from Selma to Montgomery in support of voting rights, Alabama, March 1965.
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“He called himself a witness to the gay community, not a member, but a witness. And I think that distinction really describes his position.”
Baldwin’s interview led the June 26, 1984, issue, “The Future of Gay Life.” Goldstein asked his advice to someone coming out. Baldwin didn’t know the term, but once Goldstein explained, he thought one day it would be unnecessary.
“Oh, I am working toward a New Jerusalem, “ Baldwin told Goldstein. “I won’t live to see it, but I do believe in it. I think we’re going to be better than we are.”
“Best advice I ever got,” Baldwin continued, ”was an old friend of mine, a Black friend, who said you have to go the way your blood beats. If you don’t live the only life you have, you won’t live some other life, you won’t live any life at all. That’s the only advice you can give anybody. And it’s not advice, it’s an observation.”
Goldstein says the two men shared their anxieties about the world, discussing sin, anger and rage.
“To me, that was the most memorable part of the interview,” Goldstein says. “Hearing him relate his own life to my own anxieties.”
American author and playwright James Baldwin as he sits backstage at the American National Theater and Academy Playhouse in New York, New York, April 1964. He was there to attend the opening of his play ‘Blues for Mr Charlie.’
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“He really influenced my gay politics. And one of the things that really was kind of a revelation to me was when I asked why it is that white gay men are so enraged and that Black gay men, in my experience, didn’t have quite the same degree of rage. And he answered that it’s because Black people, from the moment of their birth, are in danger, whereas white people, especially white males, grew up thinking that they were safe. And then, when they came out, they were deprived of that safety.”
Goldstein considers his interview with Baldwin the most meaningful of his career, and he says it guided his later thinking and writing as an activist for a certain kind of gay politics.
“I began to think, what would Baldwin say about this? What contradictions can I find in this book that he would have found?”
Suzan-Lori Parks, writer: “… To walk in his company”
Suzan-Lori Parks is the first Black woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for drama for her play Topdog-Underdog. She was a fourth-grader, singing songs and playing with words who announced one day to her parents, “I want to be a writer.”
“They gave me The Fire Next Time for Valentine’s Day,” she says, cracking up. “I’m sure it was their way of saying, You know, ‘So you want to be a writer? So, here’s a writer we admire quite a bit. You got to step up. Here you go.’ ”
Suzan-Lori Parks attends 76th Annual Tony Awards – Arrivals on June 11, 2023 at United Palace Theater in New York City.
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Baldwin’s 1963 book bears witness to how racism ravaged America. It was a lot for an 11-year-old Black girl living in rural Vermont in 1973. More than his words, Baldwin’s face on the dust jacket was a potent message for her at the time.
“And I would look at it often,” she says. “You know, his beautiful eyes, his gaze, how handsome he was. And I thought, OK, this is what a writer looks like.”
For me, to see them interact with the great writer, to see them hang out with Mr. Baldwin gave me such joy.
A decade later, Parks was selected to take a creative writing class with Baldwin.
“Mr. Baldwin was in the room. I should have been cooler or more chill, but I was just thrilled that I had an opportunity. And so I was very performative in my delivery of my stories.”
She says she was very over the top in her readings.
“At the end of the semester, he said, “Miss Parks? Have you ever considered writing for the theater?’ in that beautiful voice he had.”
Parks feared her fiction disappointed Baldwin.
She knew and loved Greek plays, Shakespeare, Edward Albee. Ntokzake Shange, Adrienne Kennedy and Amiri Baraka were great writers, she says, but back then, she didn’t think of herself as a theater kid.
James Baldwin in Paris on April 27, 1972.
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“I got over it quick,” she laughs. Parks began writing her first play on the bus back to her dorm. That same semester, Baldwin invited each student separately for dinner, a meal he would prepare. When it was her turn, she brought her parents.
“And the three of us had dinner with Mr. Baldwin. For me, to see them interact with the great writer, to see them hang out with Mr. Baldwin gave me such joy. I can still see it in my mind’s eye.”
She still calls him Mr. Baldwin, and points to her upbringing. Her mom is from Texas, and her dad was a career Army officer. “It’s a respectful thing, and it’s a sign of love. It’s a gentle bow of the head.”
“Every day, I really work to walk in his company,” Parks says. “And in gratitude for the ways he demonstrated how an artist can show up for the world.”
Karim Karefa-Smart, nephew : “… Continue to read your Baldwin.”
Karim Karefa-Smart says James Baldwin has always been a presence and a special part of the family, a public figure who lived in the south of France.
“We have a saying, ‘Uncle Jimmy is ours, but he also belongs to the world.’ ”
“Before everything, he was Uncle Jimmy.”
Karim Karefa-Smart poses for a portrait in Meridian Hill Park in Washington, D.C. on July 31, 2024.
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Karefa-Smart grew up with siblings, cousins, his Aunt Paula and grandmother Emma Berdis Jones in the four-story apartment building that his Uncle Jimmy bought with profits from his books during the 1960s. Reportedly, Baldwin’s family helped support him in Paris when he struggled to become a writer.
“We owned the building, so we weren’t paying rent to anybody. And we didn’t have to worry about getting put out,” Karefa-Smart says. “And then we had tenants. God bless them, because they had to live through a lot of very noisy and raucous family celebrations.”
I remember him speaking to you directly. You knew that he loved you.
Baldwin was often around at the holidays, which was a special time because of his grandmother’s birthday. Uncle Jimmy’s mom’s birthday fell on Christmas Day.
The nieces and nephews were “very much the apples of his eye,” Karefa-Smart says. His Uncle Jimmy did not have children of his own and loved seeing his nieces and nephews whenever he came to town. “I remember him speaking to you directly. You knew that he loved you, you know, and that was very, very important.”
His mother, Gloria Karefa-Smart, handles matters for the Baldwin estate, ensuring his books remain published worldwide, She used to manage their apartment house on West 71 Street, which they no longer own. He lives in Washington, D.C., where his work involves music concerts and other events.
James Baldwin signing books in a crowded book store, 1980. (Photo by Afro American Newspapers/Gado/Getty Images)
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Karefa-Smart will be 50 next year. He still talks about Baldwin’s books with his cousins and siblings.
“Sometimes, I read his work and I find that I have to put it down. Every other word is a bomb — and a sentence, it’s like a booming cannon. It resonates with you,” he says. “I believe a lot of people who read his work have the same exact reaction.”
He’s currently reading Baldwin’s 1985 book, The Evidence of Things Not Seen, which considers the Atlanta child murders. “But he also uses it as an examination of how America treats its children and how people are treated in society,” he says. “And it’s just one of those books where you just have to read it more than once.”
On the 100-year anniversary of his uncle’s birth, Karefa-Smart offers a suggestion. “I would just say to people to continue to read your Baldwin. Connect with his work and the work of other notable authors who, you know, want a change in the world that is better for our children and our children’s children.”
“If you have, you know, oxygen in your lungs, and you’re above ground and you’re moving? You have an opportunity to make a difference, a positive difference and have a positive impact, you know, in someone’s life.”
American author James Baldwin at Hampshire College, Amherst, Massachusetts in 1985.
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Lifestyle
'By Natives, for Natives': This new L.A. hub is drawing in the young, artsy and Indigenous
On a sweltering July afternoon in Echo Park, Miranda Due approached a table topped with a trio of flavored syrups and a spread of toppings: diced pickles, Kool-aid powder and gummy bears. Behind it, Dria Yellowhair pulled a pre-filled cup of crushed ice from a cooler, and asked Due what flavor she wanted. Upon requesting blueberry, Yellowhair doused the ice with fluorescent blue syrup and loaded the treat with a generous serving of each fixing.
Piccadilly — an icy, sweet treat that includes pickles, gummy bears and topping of Kool-Aid powder — served at a recent Chapter House event in Echo Park.
(Katie Janss)
This was Due’s first piccadilly, a delicacy whose origins are debated, but can be traced to either the Navajo, the Tohono O’odham Reservation, or the Hopi village Moenkopi. Wherever they came from, they exploded in popularity on the Navajo reservation around 2018. Yellowhair, who is Diné — the word Navajo people use to identify themselves — grew up in Downey, but has family on the reservation and visits frequently. She was introducing the sweet treat to visitors at a new Indigenous community center and exhibition space called the Chapter House.
After taking a bite, Due contemplated the flavor.
“It’s sweet, and a little bit sour, and salty from the pickles,” she said. “It’s a nice combination of all the flavors. It’s fantastic.”
Due, 31, is Cherokee and a member of the Pawnee Nation of Oklahoma. The nonprofit worker, who lived in Los Angeles for five years before moving to Tulsa, couldn’t miss an opportunity to check out the Chapter House on her latest visit to California.
The teal building is located on a noisy stretch of Glendale Boulevard just off the 2 Freeway. In its front room you can find the center’s summer art exhibition, “Diary of a Native Femme(nist)” by artist Kimberly Robertson. But it’s the building’s tranquil, shaded outdoor space out back where most community gatherings take place. The day I visited, about a dozen Indigenous Angelenos compared the colors of their tongues, newly dyed blue and red from their piccadilly syrup, as music from native bands like Redbone and The Halluci Nation drowned out the cityscape. A gaggle of small children waved bubble wands and ran circles around a kid-sized, Barbie-pink Cybertruck.
A May 6 exhibition opening at the Chapter House. The building’s tranquil, shaded back outdoor space is where most community gatherings take place.
(Anthony Chase In Winter)
A group photo from the opening of the Chapter House’s most recent art exhibition, “Diary of a Native Femme(nist),” including artist Kimberly Robertson, center, and Chapter House founder Emma Robbins (Diné), right.
(Anthony Chase In Winter)
“I went to school out here for a while, and I was always hoping for more community,” Due said. “I think it really came to life once I left town.”
Nearly 400,000 people in Los Angeles County identify as partly American Indian or Alaskan Native, according to the 2020 census. That makes it one of the largest urban Indigenous populations in the nation.
“We’re all unique, and we’re all from different tribes, different nations, but we all were craving the space to come together, recharge and heal.”
— Emma Robbins, Chapter House founder
Despite this, Chapter House founder Emma Robbins (Diné) says there are very few places for the Indigenous to gather socially in the city. The Gabrielino/Tongva people, the original people of Los Angeles, are not yet a federally recognized tribe, and therefore do not have a reservation nearby that could function as a centralized hub.
Before the Chapter House opened, Indigenous Angelenos would see each other at a handful of annual events at the Autry Museum of the American West, like the powwow hosted by the nonprofit United American Indian Involvement. UAII also provides social services for the urban native population, and community members would sometimes bump into acquaintances while waiting for a doctor’s appointment at the clinic. But the events at the Autry were too infrequent to nurture a sense of belonging. And other Indigenous L.A. residents interviewed for this story said that they found it too awkward to connect in the UAII’s waiting room..
For the record:
11:49 a.m. Sept. 9, 2024The sentiment that it was awkward to connect in the USII’s waiting room was incorrectly attributed to Emma Robbins. Other Indigenous L.A. residents, including Joey Clift, shared this view.
Though UAII also offers community programming for families, youth and elders, there aren’t as many events geared towards young, creative natives. To fill this gap, Robbins sought to create a casual, artistic community space with year-round programming.
The Chapter House was founded virtually in 2020 by Robbins, who grew up on the Navajo Reservation, which sprawls across Arizona, New Mexico and Utah. There, the center of social life takes place at so-called chapter houses, community centers unique to the Navajo nation. They are where people distribute food and water, facilitate town halls, see art, experience cultural celebrations, throw parties and hold funerals. 110 chapter houses are distributed across the reservation, and Robbins jokes that the Los Angeles Chapter House, which opened its physical space in the fall of 2023, is the 111th.
“Navajo rez is what I know,” Robbins said. “But I think working with California natives — specifically Tongva and Chumash folks from the area — is really important because, although we are Navajo or Diné-led, it’s important to be inclusive of all Natives.”
Emma Robbins points to a town on the Navajo Nation map during community “Refresh Day” to help touch up the space.
(Michael Blackshire / Los Angeles Times)
“We’re all unique, and we’re all from different tribes, different nations, but we all were craving the space to come together, recharge and heal,” Robbins said. “We also bring things to our community that we might not historically have had access to, like art shows, or yoga classes or even just good Wi-Fi,” Robbins said.
Robbins founded the Chapter House on four pillars: wellness, community, art and nature. In addition to the frequent piccadilly socials, they’ve held events like a Métis (Michif) finger weaving lesson, plant medicine workshops, screenings of the new seasons of Netflix’s Indigenous-forward animated children’s show “Spirit Rangers” and drag story hour with Landa Lakes (Chickasaw) and Lady Shug (Diné.)
Joey Clift, a Cowlitz comedian and television writer, first discovered the Chapter House in July 2023 through a bolo tie-making workshop, which helped him transform a hand-beaded Garfield medallion, made by Cree beadworker Sweet Grass by Heather, into something he could wear.
I feel like I don’t have to try to be something that I’m not. We all uplift each other, and inspire each other, and help each other.
— Burgandi Trejo Phoenix, Yaqui actress and Chapter House visitor
He said the Chapter House reminded him of a bygone era of 1930s Hollywood that he had read about, in which the Indian American Art Shop, located across the street from the Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, was the unofficial hang out spot for Native American actors like Jim Thorpe, member of the Sac and Fox Nation, and a gold medalist Olympian turned Western star. Until Clift found the Chapter House, he could only dream of these spaces from the past. Clift would go on to join the community center’s board, with hopes to reignite the young Indigenous creative scene.
“I think that there are a lot of really great spaces for elders in Los Angeles to participate in and practice culture,” Clift, 40, said. “But I don’t feel like there are a lot of spaces for Native millennials and zoomers. That’s something that really excited me about the Chapter House. It’s for all ages, but it really does feel like it’s on the pulse of the really great artistic gains that Native folks are doing now.”
Alyssa Musket, right, looks through directions to build a cabinet as she receives help from Piñon “Pinny” Robbins, left, during community “Refresh Day.”
(Michael Blackshire / Los Angeles Times)
A visitor views “Diary of a Native Femme(nist),” an art exhibition by Kimberly Robertson that opened at the Chapter House on May 4th.
(Anthony Chase In Winter)
The space also is helping young Indigenous people connect to their culture for the first time. Burgandi Trejo Phoenix, an Yaqui actress who voices a character named Squash in “Spirit Rangers,” first connected with the Chapter House when it screened the Season 4 finale of the kids show in April. She immediately felt embraced by the community, even though she wasn’t brought up with her Yaqui traditions.
“I feel like I don’t have to try to be something that I’m not,” Phoenix said. “We all uplift each other, and inspire each other, and help each other.”
Through promoting events at UAII, on Instagram and through word of mouth, Chapter House is building a loyal following. Their events, which are always free and open to the public, regularly attract around 20 to 25 people — but 200 packed the house for the La La Land Back Tour drag show they co-hosted last November. While most people who come identify as Indigenous, Robbins emphasizes that the Chapter House is welcoming of allies, too.
“This is definitely a Native space by Natives for Natives,” Robbins said, “We want people to come, learn, and experience what it’s like when we come together and build this beautiful Indigenous future.”
Taylor Tomlinson says her on stage presence isn’t a persona or a character: “It’s just the best version of me.”
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Comic Taylor Tomlinson was just 16 when she caught the stand-up bug. That’s when she started performing at open mics in church basements in Orange County, Calif., where she grew up.
“It’s not a cool story,” Tomlinson says. “But … church audiences are very supportive — as long as you don’t say anything dark, edgy or blue.”
Over the years, Tomlinson’s material has shifted, with topics ranging from the perils of dating on apps to finding out she has bipolar II disorder. Though she was initially unsure about talking about her own mental health on stage, she says it’s helped her connect with the audience.
“I got such amazing feedback from people who had been struggling with their mental health, … how it made them feel seen and less alone and made them feel better about their own journey,” Tomlinson says.
Tomlinson describes her on-stage presence as “the sharpest, quickest, wittiest, most confident version” of herself: “When I started doing stand-up in high school, it felt like more of a persona, … like the version of myself that I knew I could be and wanted to become, but wasn’t yet,” she says. “And I think over the years, who I am off stage and who I am on stage have come together where I do feel that I am the same person everywhere.”
Earlier in the year, Tomlinson became the youngest ever late-night host. Her CBS show, After Midnight, has been described as a game show that centers on internet culture. Tomlinson also has three stand-up specials on Netflix: Quarter-Life Crisis, Look at You and Have It All. She’ll soon be traveling the country with her Save Me tour.
Interview highlights
On losing her mother to cancer when she was a child and how that affected her path to comedy
I’m not saying that everybody in comedy or any creative person has to come from this dark place and the only way you’re funny is if you have a darkness about you. I don’t think that’s true. But for me, that changed who I was and who I was going to become. And it changed my sense of humor. And it made me try really hard to prove myself in a way that I don’t think I would have if she were still alive. Because after you lose a parent, you’re still trying to impress them, and you’re still trying to be somebody that they would have liked and respected and loved and been proud of. And you’re hoping other people who knew them tell you that. …
I do rely on other people’s accounts of her, because there’s only so much you remember when you lose somebody at 8 years old. … Like my aunt has said to me, “Oh, your expressions on stage will remind me of her.” … And that means so much to me. And growing up, I wanted to be a writer before I wanted to be a comedian. And they would say, “Your mom was such a great writer.” And there’s so many ways I’m not like her. Like she was an extrovert. She was very bubbly. She was very charismatic. She was gorgeous. … I don’t think I shine brightly as she does and I, in a weird way, feel like my becoming a comedian and a professionally creative person and a writer is like my way of honoring the potential that was wasted by the universe taking her.
On why she left the church after her mom died
I had been told if you believe and pray and stay faithful, God will answer your prayers. And we had so many people praying for [my mom] and she believed she was going to get better. And so to watch your mom die of cancer, even while everybody gathers around her and lays hands on her and supports her and prays for her and then for them to turn around and go, “Well, God did heal her. He just healed her in a different way. She’s healed in heaven.” And I was like, whoa, OK. Like, the rewrite on that is crazy. It made me question everything. And slowly over the next 10 years, I felt like I was struggling to stay in it the whole time I was growing up, and I just felt like I was a bad Christian because I didn’t, in my heart, agree with everything.
On being diagnosed with bipolar II disorder
I tried so many antidepressants and they weren’t working for me, and I was having terrible side effects. … It was certainly a years-long process trying to find what worked for me.
Then when I finally did find what worked for me, I sort of worked backwards from that and was like, oh, this makes sense. … I had so much shame around that diagnosis when I first got it, and I was embarrassed that I felt ashamed because I’ve never judge anybody else who had it. But when it’s you, it’s somehow different, which is why I started writing jokes about it.
On deciding to joke about having bipolar
I remember my therapist said to me, “Maybe we don’t talk about this on stage.” And I was like, “I’ve already done it.” … Once you write one joke and it hits and you really like the joke, you’re like, well, it’s got to go in the act. … But when I filmed [Have It All], I felt great about those jokes and then in the months waiting for it to come out, I started panicking and was like, Oh no, I can’t un-share any of this.
Over the years, I’ve gotten better about editing myself and deciding what is going to go in the act and what I’m just going to keep private. But it’s a lot of trial and error. … The guiding light for me has been even if something kills on stage, do I feel good telling it every night, or do I dread that bit coming up? I have done jokes about very personal things that I took out of the act because I was dreading getting to that part of the hour every night, and I was like, ooh, that’s probably a sign that I’m not ready to talk about this yet. … I also run jokes by family members and friends before I do them, because a joke is not worth destroying a relationship, in my opinion.
Heidi Saman and Susan Nyakundi produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Beth Novey adapted it for the web.
TMZ.com
Ryan Seacrest is living his best life … soaking up the good vibes with his “Wheel of Fortune” co-host Vanna White as they gear up for the new season!
We caught the duo rolling into ABC Studios in NYC … where Ryan declared he’s got zero jitters and is pumped for everyone to enjoy the classic CBS show they know and love.
For her part, Vanna raved about their on-screen chemistry … a huge relief considering she’d previously worried about clicking on-stage with Seacrest after so many years with Pat Sajak.
Ryan later explained to TMZ outside the iHeartRadio studios that Pat himself was fully on board with Seacrest taking his spot on the show — debunking reports he wasn’t the icon’s first choice.
TMZ.com
Ryan shrugged off the speculation, giving a nod to the legend’s unmatched brilliance on the show and making it clear they were on great terms, with Pat sending him a “good luck” text the day before.
Seacrest’s debut as host with Vanna hits the screen on Monday. Get ready to spin into a new season!
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