It was the game show answer that nearly broke the Internet: Tavaris Williams, eager to solve one of the word puzzles on Wheel of Fortune, gave an answer that wasn’t quite ready for prime time. The board looked like this: _ _ _ _ I _ T _ E B _ _ T!

His guess for the correct phrase? “Right in the butt.”

But while some in the audience gasped – and one of Williams’ competitors said, incredulously, “Whaaat!?” – host Pat Sajak simply answered “no,” smoothly moving on to the next contestant, who figured out the correct answer. (The solution was, for the record, “This is the best!”)

That incident aired on the show less than two weeks ago, going viral on social media and giving Williams enough visibility to land on Jimmy Kimmel Live, where he complimented Sajak for making him feel better and joking about it all, despite such an embarrassing flub.

But that’s been Sajak’s secret weapon over 41 seasons and more than 8,000 shows hosting the TV version of a Hangman-style wordgame. He leverages an easygoing, affable nature that helps move the show easily past any rough spots — whether it’s a contestant who loses thousands of dollars after mispronouncing an answer or a competitor who knows the show so well, he solves the puzzle and grabs his reward with no prompting from the host. (Sajak quipped, “There’s really no need for me at all.”)

On Friday, Sajak appears in his last new Wheel of Fortune episode, retiring from a job he began in 1981, as the longest-running host of a single game show in modern TV history. He told daughter Maggie in an interview also featured on Good Morning America that he could probably still keep hosting awhile, but “I’d rather leave a couple of years too early than a couple of years too late.”

While it’s true that Sajak’s departure is the end of an era for Wheel of Fortune, it’s also a pivotal moment for TV game shows in general.

Because Sajak is the last of TV’s old-school game show hosts.

Pat Sajak and Vanna White prepare to tour cities across the country in 1987 aboard the Wheel of Fortune Express.

Judy Sloan/AP

hide caption

toggle caption

Judy Sloan/AP

Advertisement

The rise of the traditional game show host

Game show fans with short memories might not remember decades ago when hosts like Sajak filled the TV dial. Jeopardy‘s Alex Trebek. The Price is Right‘s Bob Barker. Let’s Make a Deal host and co-creator Monty Hall. Original Wheel of Fortune host Chuck Woolery. The Hollywood Squares‘ Peter Marshall. Tic-Tac-Dough’s Wink Martindale.

They were of a type. Generally middle-aged white men with the kind of telegenic, affable charisma found in local TV anchors – it’s no surprise Sajak was a weatherman at KNBC in Los Angeles before Wheel of Fortune creator Merv Griffin called – these hosts were studiously inoffensive and positioned for appeal to viewers in middle America.

Many of them were former radio hosts or fledgling actors. But their primary fame came from leading viewers through amusing contests on television.

“There was this sense of an almost lab-created broadcaster, whose job was to direct [the show’s] traffic in a sense,” says Robert Thompson, director of the Bleier Center for Television and Popular Culture at Syracuse University. “The contestants were really the show’s rotating cast … The hosts came from what I like to call the Wink Martindale School of Broadcasting.”

On paper, the job was simple. Introduce the contestants, explain the game, make a little small talk to turn the participants into characters viewers might invest in, and handle the occasional moment when an errant guest might say something bizarre or, um, explicit.

But watching the cavalcade of celebrities guest host Jeopardy in 2021 after Trebek’s death – names like quarterback Aaron Rodgers, talk show personality Mehmet Oz and broadcaster Joe Buck – it’s obvious there’s a secret sauce to leading such shows successfully.

Hosts must be knowledgeable without looking like know-it-alls; empathetic without looking too invested in any one player. They must explain the game in ways the players and the TV audience can follow, while also being fun and funny.

And they have to handle the reactions of average civilians under pressure – calming down the folks who get over-excited and pumping up people so intimidated they might shut down on camera.

For viewers of a certain age, old-style game show hosts like Sajak were comforting buddies – fun personalities to make you feel better while sitting at home sick from school or puttering around the house, watching daytime TV. Or, in the case of shows like Wheel and Jeopardy, which often air on TV stations after the network evening newscasts, their hosts are a relaxed presence easing you into the night.

Sajak channeled that inoffensive style well – even when news broke in 2019, amid the country’s increasing political polarization, that he was named chairman of the board of trustees for Hillsdale College, the private, conservative Christian school.

When he was paired with actress and model Vanna White in 1982, the two had chemistry like a charismatic couple leading a game among friends.

So, what are we losing, now that the last of the old school game show hosts is leaving the job?

New hosts with celebrity cachet

These days, thanks to network TV’s shrinking appetite for scripted TV series, there are more game shows than ever – from revivals of classic formats like Family Feud and Password to new inventions like Beat Shazam and The 1% Club. But the old school hosts have retired and/or died, like Trebek on Jeopardy, Barker from The Price is Right and Richard Dawson from Family Feud.

In their place are leaders who have already earned fame as performers elsewhere, bringing their fame, fanbase and persona to the screen. Consider Glee alum Jane Lynch on Weakest Link, actor/standup comic/musician Jamie Foxx on Beat Shazam or The West Wing alum Rob Lowe on The Floor. Even new Jeopardy host Ken Jennings was a champion on the program before he began hosting it.

Stand-up comics and improvisational performers accustomed to thinking on their feet have done well here, including Drew Carey, who succeeded Barker on The Price is Right, Let’s Make a Deal’s Wayne Brady and Family Feud’s Steve Harvey, who Syracuse University’s Thompson says is the king of game show hosts now – for his ability to inject personality and humor without derailing the game.

Old-school hosts were never expected to be an audience draw and even Wheel of Fortune‘s success has seemed a bit of a happy accident. Paired with Jeopardy in many TV markets, the two shows have become ratings juggernauts together, with the tough, intellectually challenging questions of Jeopardy balanced by the easy wordplay on Wheel of Fortune.

And who can resist solving a good word puzzle?

Given all that, it makes a certain kind of sense that Sajak’s replacement would be the closest modern equivalent of an old-school game show host: radio personality and American Idol host Ryan Seacrest, who has amassed his own endless list of hosting gigs.

Thompson expects the show’s popularity to keep chugging along when Seacrest takes over the show alongside Vanna White in September.

“If Barker and Trebek can be replaced… then Sajak can,” he adds. “I think the formats on these shows have become the star now. All the hosts have to do is stay out of the way and keep things moving along.”

As a child, I hated nothing more than waiting in line at school. I remember not being able to go back to class from the school yard unless we were in a perfectly straight, unnaturally silent line. “Why?” I found the courage to ask my seventh grade math teacher once. She smirked with 30 years of knowledge on me and said, “Trust me. You will always have to wait in line.” Of course, Mrs. Willis was right, and at the time I thought she put a curse on me. But I’ve come to accept lines, especially in L.A., where they’ve become a part of the city’s social architecture.

From Mindless Behavior concerts at The Novo to Maru Coffee to Born X Raised Sadie Hawkins, I’ve found myself reeling in ridiculously long lines, planning my days and outfits around them, gawking at them when I couldn’t be bothered.

In the words of Virginia Woolf, “Time, unfortunately, though it makes animals and vegetables bloom and fade with amazing punctuality, has no such simple effect on the mind of man.”

People reveal the best and worst parts of themselves while waiting in a queue. For sample sales, for example, I get a little competitive. Surely, no one likes this brand like I like the brand. Except, of course they do. Why else would we make ourselves a part of a spectacle to passersby on a sunny Sunday afternoon on Fairfax?

Once that fact settles after hours, a sense of community is formed. We’re all eavesdropping on our line neighbors. We all hope that the coveted item from five drops ago is 70% off. We all need our spot saved to refill the parking meter. We’re marveling at how folks have assembled pieces we were either too broke or unsure to buy. It’s inspiring, even comforting.

In L.A., lines wield a transcendent power to reveal who we are, our desire to be seen and what we’re willing to do for them.

Courage Bagels, 10:06 a.m.

You can smell everything from down the block. The everything, that is — salt, onions, garlic, poppyseeds — all on a hot, freshly baked bagel.

I’d driven by Courage Bagels numerous times — on my way to afternoon open mics at the Lyric Hyperion or to a group show at Guerrero Gallery. And I used to roll my eyes and ask myself, what could possibly draw someone to want to wait in line first thing in the morning?

Contrary to the stereotypes, the city’s pace can be chill, but it’s not languorous by any means. So for many Angelenos, waiting in line for breakfast on a Saturday morning is a chosen moment of pause. It can be as much a retreat from the churn of the week as a weekend trip to San Diego.

Over the course of an hour, a Courage line stander is almost in a meditative state. Here, there’s an understanding that experiencing every second is what grants access to the next and eventually the ultimate boon: staring down that handwritten menu in the window. And folks have come ready for battle: securing allyships (couples and friend groups yap the hour away), wearing a suit of armor (Gymshark set, Moncler cap and New Balance sneakers on) and expecting the unexpected (a light removable layer in case of inclement weather).

Even Shen wears Acne Studios jacket, Brandy Melville skirt, Bode T-shirt, the Row shoes, the Row purse.

Even Shen, fashion data analyst

Position in line: Seventh.

Time spent in line: 1 hour.

How often do you find yourself waiting in line in L.A.?

A lot, actually. We just came from this cafe in the Melrose area called Community Goods. I think we were probably 20-30 minutes for a cup of drink there. Every popular spot, you need to wait in line. We even got those portable stools.

At what point do you feel like you’ve had enough of a line?

On the weekends, I don’t have any events to go to anyway, so it’s fine to just chat with friends in line because the food is actually good. I feel like it’s worth it.

Michael Manos wears Maui Jim sunglasses, SeaWorld T-shirt, Arc’teryx pants, Salomon shoes.

Advertisement

Michael Manos, graphic designer

Position in line: 14th.

Time spent in line: 40 minutes.

I overheard your friend say that he’s not a “line guy.”

Yeah, my friend said, ‘Oh, I’m not a line guy.’ And I said, ‘Who is a line guy?’ I don’t think anyone’s dying to go wait in the line. I think it’s worth it, what’s at the end of the line. I’m a bagel guy. I’ll wait in an absurd line for a good bagel. I also think I’m an idiot.

Besides the destination, what’s the best part about waiting in line?

The line here is famously long, but I think anyone who comes to Courage knows what they’re getting themselves into. It’s almost part of the order. To get your bagel, you get a long line. If you come here alone and wait in line alone, it’s not gonna be that fun. But if you come here with your friends, it’s not a bad experience. It’s part of the experience.

The Courage line is misunderstood, kind of slept on. I’ve had some good memories in the Courage line. There was one time this guy came [down the line] just high-fiv[ing] everybody. True story. I think there’s some camaraderie to it, sitting in some insane line for a bagel.

Jeff Forrest wears a Buck Mason T-shirt, Bleu de Paname button-up, Universal Works pants, Industry of all Nations underwear, Adidas Stan Smith shoes, Luum Jewelry necklace and ring. Charles wears a Marfa, Texas, Gift Shop bandana.

Jeff Forrest, designer

Position in line: 24th.

Time spent in line: 45 minutes.

What’s been your experience waiting in line in L.A.?

We’re happy to wait in line. We meet really interesting people in line. Because of the dog, we get a lot of attention, and chat with other [dog] owners and talk about the city.

L.A. is a really closed-off city. I come from Toronto, and a lot of my work is in New York, too, so I’m used to the hustle and bustle of being around people. When I’m here in L.A., I don’t get that a lot. We live in Studio City. Silver Lake is a little bit of a different story. But we don’t have random run-ins a lot of times, like we would in a walking city. So when we come to Silver Lake, we like it because it reminds us of back home, and the line is kind of the epicenter of it, in a way.

The line outside the Gustaf Westman pop-up.

Gustaf Westman pop-up shop, 1:22 p.m.

Past the brunch rush, the sunlight starts melting the clouds away. Ceramics enthusiasts file in for the Gustaf Westman pop-up shop in Echo Park, pressing themselves against the store to hide away from a nosy sun.

The Swedish designer’s first solo pop-up shop graces Sunset Boulevard, beckoning hundreds of local fans to score the TikTok-famous cups, plates, mirrors and seats found in the homes of Yung Lean, Emma Chamberlain, Reign Judge, Matilda Djerf and Tyler, the Creator.

“If you know, you know, and we definitely know” is definitely the vibe here.

“What’s the line for?” a Patagonia-vested tourist asks, and a Miu Miu bag-touting baddie completely ignores him.

Within the first two hours of the shop opening, the sunk-cost fallacy is in full effect. “Dude, let’s just go,” mutters a guy to his friend. Excitement grows into restlessness. There’s only so much satisfaction you can glean from watching people pose with their pink paper bags in triumph.

Sometimes, it’s not just about the journey. It’s what you have to show for it.

Rico Nasty wears AKILA x Bricks and Wood sunglasses, Maison Margiela top, Maison Margiela pants, Maison Margiela Bag, Louis Vuitton boots and Apple Airpods Max Headphones.

Rico Nasty, rapper

Position in line: 12th.

Time spent in line: 1 hour, 40 minutes.

Are you a patient person?

No. I was complaining the entire time. [Her friends] were like ‘Oh, this is what your fans do for you.’ And I was like, ‘Wow.’ I don’t know how they love me so much, but I definitely see them in a different light. My legs hurt.

You are Rico Nasty. Why are you in line?

I don’t know [Gustaf Westman]. I just feel like it shows respect. Like, I respect him. I just feel like you can wait in line for s— sometimes. Everything doesn’t have to be, ‘Hey, I’m a celebrity. Let me in.’”

Nicole Duque wears Celine sunglasses, the Frankie Shop dress, Nike x Bode Sneakers and Porter-Yoshida and Co. bag. Matthew Yuguchi wears a Nike Supreme hat, Nike x ACG shirt, Moscot glasses, Goros and Miansai necklace pendants, Vintage pants, Tom Sachs x Nike shoes. Theo Yuguchi wears Adidas soccer jersey, shorts, socks and shoes.

Nicole Duque, fashion merchandising buyer, Matthew Yuguchi, executive creative director, and Theo Yuguchi, aspiring soccer star

Position in line: First.

Time spent in line: A little under 2 hours.

How does it feel to be at the front of the line?

Nicole Duque: Ready to go. We’re really excited to head in.

How often do you find yourself waiting in line?

ND: I grew up here and so it’s not something that I love to do. Rarely do I actually have the patience to do it. But there’s a really cool vase in there, also maybe a little book stand. There’s also a table stand. Those are definitely some of the items that piqued our interest.

How’d you guys pass the time?

ND: Well, they went to eat. I stayed here [Laughs].

Amelia Moore wears Tigran Avetisyan dress, Urban Outfitters hat. Quartz sunglasses. Dr. Martens shoes, Simon Miller purse, Acne Studios and Flea Market rings. Ti’lien Dallas wears a Vintage shirt. Vintage pants. Asics shoes, Flea Market rings.

Ti’lien Dallas, administrative assistant, and Amelia Moore, musician

Position in line: On the other side.

Time spent in line: 2.5 hours.

What was your line strategy?

Amelia Moore: I got here 15 minutes before it opened, and the line was down the street already. I was planning initially to get here earlier, but I just got lazy and got a coffee to make myself not hate myself in line. But we waited. We committed.

What did you guys get?

Ti’lien Dallas: I didn’t really come to buy something today. I just came with her. If we have small tasks to do we usually just meet up, grab food and run all errands, chitchat. I just think there’s no better feeling than having to do nothing with friends.

Outside the Firmé Atelier show.

Firmé Atelier’s “Til Death Do Us Part” show, 7:27 p.m.

“Oh there’s a line?” I hear on three separate occasions at the door of the Firmé Atelier show at John Doe Gallery. Inside, the atelier is showcasing a meticulous couture bridal collection in a museum-style exhibition. The line isn’t exactly inconspicuous. It casually flows under scaffolding. 11th Street is lined with sleek lowriders and old friends have reunited as the DJ spins ‘90s and 2000s R&B. It feels like a really well dressed block party. Whether asked in oblivion or in jest, once they step back to notice the queue of people behind the bouncer what follows is one of three outcomes.

Outcome 1. Look for your homie to get you in. While curious passersby and fans of the brand wait, friends of the atelier met with the line are escorted to skip it.

Outcome 2. Cut someone: Alfonso Gonzalez Jr., who did not have to wait in line, commented, “You can cut, but there’s a respectful way to cut.” You have to have the audacity. Be stealth and steadfast. Commit. Go for it.

Outcome 3. Just go to the end of the line. A few folks who come straight to the door are turned away and asked to wait. In actuality, getting sent to the back of a quickly moving line isn’t as bad a condemnation as it seems. But I would be lying if I said we didn’t enjoy seeing people getting turned away and doing a kind of walk of shame to the end of the line.

NoNo wears a Lilith Paris top, MSBHV bottoms, Moschino jacket, Frye boots, and Luar bag. Isaías Cabrera wears a Common Market top, Louis Vuitton bag, Levi’s jeans and Maison Margiela shoes.

Isaías Cabrera, a.k.a Blondchyna, president of Somos Loud LA, and NoNo, addiction and mental health professional

Position in line: Second.

Time spent in line: About 3 minutes.

So you just cut the line. I’m assuming you’re not ones for waiting.

Isaías Cabrera: To be honest, not to be conceited, but no.

NoNo: I mean, if these people behind us trip, I’ll just get out of line.

IC: I think it’s gonna be OK.

What are the rules or best practices for cutting the line?

IC: Go to the front of the line, and live in opulence. You own everything.

What if someone cuts you?

IC: I let them. Because I do the same.

Is there anything worth waiting in line for?

IC: I was just in line for a Heaven bag. I love Heaven. I love Marc Jacobs. I think it’s worth it.

Which bag was it?

It was the Blumarine collaboration.

Any other thoughts about waiting in line?

IC: We work hard. What are we doing lines for?

Alex Palma wears a Selfdestrct shirt, Selfdestrct pants and The Last Conspiracy shoes. Juan Carlos Palma wears Selfdestrct pants, Zam Barrett hoodie, Yeezy 950 boots.

Juan Carlos Palma, designer, and Alex Palma

Position in line: Fifth.

Time spent in line: 20 minutes.

What brings you out tonight?

Juan Carlos Palma: I follow the page @firmeatelier. I’m from New York/New Jersey and my brother lives out here in California and I came here because he graduated. I said, “Let me see some fashion events out here. Let me pop out.” I’m tired of streetwear to be honest, and this is really haute couture level.

How has your experience been waiting in line?

JCP: It’s cool. Because you see people with different styles. It’s interesting seeing L.A. fashion because I’m usually in New York. I just observe. What else can you do?

Alex Palma: I think the most interesting [thing] is how people style themselves to fit their personalities and say, “Let me show it through the outfits.”

Robert Aubert wears Sinners Saints hat, Sinners Saints jacket, Sinners Saints pants, Christian Louboutin shoes, Nouvintage sunglasses.

Robert Aubert, designer

Position in line: Fourth.

Time spent in line: “Too long.” (Couldn’t have been longer than 15 minutes.)

I saw you get turned away from the front. How does that feel?

I didn’t know there was a line. I was here earlier, then they told me I had to get in line. I helped with the production on the shirts, so I should be inside. I’m just kidding. But no, I’m here to support the show. I’m out here as a rider. It doesn’t matter how long I wait.

Would you consider yourself a patient person?

Absolutely not. It’s killing me to stand in line.

Astrid Kayembe is a writer from South-Central Los Angeles covering style, food, art and L.A. culture. She was a 2022-23 reporting fellow at the Los Angeles Times. Her work has appeared in USA Today, ABC7, L.A. TACO, The Memphis Commercial Appeal and Refinery29.

There is a strange kind of novel that, more than a central plot, revolves around life itself. These novels are hard to pull off because they often deal with ineffable feelings — loneliness, love, guilt, grief, heritage, family — as well as everyday events presented under a new light.

Morgan Talty’s Fire Exit is one of these rare novels, and it works wonderfully well. At once a touching narrative about family and a gritty story about alcoholism, dementia, and longing, Fire Exit is a novel in which past and present are constantly on the page as we follow a man’s life — while it also entertains what that life could have been.

Charles Lamosway is always looking across the river that divides Maine’s Penobscot reservation. On the bank across from the small house he built with his stepfather lives Elizabeth, the mother of Charles’ daughter Mary, with whom he doesn’t have contact. No one in the reservation knows about this, but the lack of contact has done nothing to mitigate Charles’ attention or the love he has for Mary. But now Charles hasn’t seen Elizabeth in weeks, and he’s worried.

Charles has enough going on — he’s struggling to take care of his mother Louise, whose dementia is getting worse, and he’s also trying to care of his alcoholic friend Bobby. But worrying about Elizabeth and Mary is constantly making him think about the past: his time as an alcoholic and the damage he did to himself and others during that time, the death of his beloved stepfather in a hunting accident with a moose and the ensuing guilt that has haunted him for years, and the way he has always been in the reservation but also an outsider. Even more than all those, Charles is haunted by questions about his daughter, and he’s no longer sure that keeping everything a secret is the best thing to do.

Fire Exit is a novel about many things. Right at the surface are three big elements. The first is Charles and the relationship he has always craved, but has never had, with his daughter. He tried to talk to her once when she was a toddler. It was fast and it didn’t end well. He kept the stuffed elephant he tried to give her for years, and eventually gave it to his mother hoping that having something to take care of would help with her dementia.

The second element is belonging. Charles has always been an outsider: “My mother and I were not Penobscot.” But he has always felt connected to the reservation and its people, and he knows that place or having two parents who are Native isn’t what makes or breaks an identity: “To think that the reservation is what makes an Indian an Indian is to massacre all over again the Natives who do not populate it.” There are many indigenous people who don’t live on reservations, and it’s great to see fiction that deals with life in a reservation give those indigenous people the recognition they deserve.

Lastly, this is a novel about familial drama that explores how the death of Charles’ stepfather fractured his relationship with his mother and how staying away from Mary didn’t make him forget he had a daughter.

Right underneath those three elements are many more — alcoholism, the way loneliness can shape a life, the need to escape, how not accepting homosexuality can destroy a childhood, and more. Talty weaves all these things together into a poignant tapestry that feels unique while dealing with universal topics. In less capable hands, this novel could have been a mess, but Talty’s voice is always clear and direct, and that makes the story flow.

Some writers speak about writing while not speaking about writing, and Talty does that beautifully in this novel. “Maybe all we are is creation’s translators,” thinks Charles early in the novel, “putting things like granite or oak or elephant or corn in a language they want to be put in, to give them bodies made of sound so they’re measurable.” Fire Exit is about being and not being, about messing up and dealing with the ghosts of the past. None of those things are measurable, but the author finds a way to take measure with his words, and that makes this a remarkable narrative.

“We can complicate things, offer explanations that are as grand as sculpted marble, but sometimes simplicity is best and truest.” This line from the novel describes what Talty’s prose accomplishes in Fire Exit. This is a story about very complicated things that is very easy to read. That beautiful simplicity is no easy task, and the fact that Talty pulled it off in his debut novel undoubtedly backs the statement he made with his superb short story collection, Night of the Living Rez: Talty is an outstanding new voice with a lot to say.

Gabino Iglesias is an author, book reviewer and professor living in Austin, Texas. Find him on X, formerly Twitter, at @Gabino_Iglesias.