So what can you expect out there in the real world？ Let me tell you. As you leave these gates and re-enter society， one thing is certain： Everyone out there is going to hate you. Never tell anyone in a roadside diner that you went to Harvard. In most situations the correct response to where did you to school is，“School？ Why， I never had much in the way of book larnin‘ and such.”Then， get in your BMW and get the hell out of there.
Y ou s ee， you ’ r e in for a lifetim e of “ A n d you wen t to Harvard？”Accidentally give the wrong amount of change in a transaction and it‘s“And you went to Harvard？”Ask the guy at the hardware store how these jumper cables work and hear，“And you went to Harvard？” Forget just once that your underwear goes inside your pants and it’s “and you went to Harvard.”Get your head stuck in your niece‘s dollhouse because you wanted to see what it was like to be a giant and it’s“Uncle Conan， you went to Harvard！？”
But to really know what‘s in store for you after Harvard， I have to tell you what happened to me after graduation. I’m going to tell you my story because， first of all， my perspective may give many of you hope， and， secondly， it‘s an amazing rush to stand in front of six thousand people and talk about yourself.
After graduating in May， I moved to Los Angeles and got a three week contract at a small cable show. I got a $380 a month apartment and bought a 1977 Isuzu Opel， a car Isuzu only manufactured for a year because they found out that， technically， it’s not a car. Here‘s a quick tip， graduates： no four cylinder vehicle should have a racing stripe. I worked at that show for over a year， feeling pretty good about myself， when one day they told me they were letting me go. I was fired and， I hadn’t saved a lot of money. I tried to get another job in television but I couldn‘t find one.
So， with nowhere else to turn， I went to a temp agency and filled outa questionnaire. I made damn sure they knew I had been to Harvard and that I expected the very best treatment. And so， the next day， I was sent to the Santa Monica branch of Wilson’s House of Suede and Leather. When you have a Harvard degree and you‘re working at Wilson’s House of Suede and Leather， you are haunted by the ghostly images of your classmates who chose Graduate School. You see their faces everywhere： in coffee cups， in fish tanks， and they‘re always laughing at you as you stack suede shirts no man， in good conscience， would ever wear. I tried a lot of things during this period： acting in corporate infomercials， serving drinks in a non- equity theatre， I even took a job entertaining at a seven year olds’ birthday party. In desperate need of work， I put together some sketches and scored a job at the fledgling Fox Network as a writer and performer for a new show called “The Wilton North Report”.I was finally on a network and really excited. The producer told me the show was going to revolutionize television. And， in a way， it did. The show was so hated and did so badly that when， four weeks later， news of its cancellation was announced to the Fox affiliates， they burst into applause.
Eventually， though， I got a huge break. I had submitted， along with my writing partner， a batch of sketches to Saturday Night Live and， after a year and a half， they read it and gave us a two week tryout. The two weeks turned into two seasons and I felt successful. Successful enough to write a TV pilot for an original sitcom and， when the network decided to make it， I left Saturday Night Live. This TV show was going to be groundbreaking. It was going to resurrect the career of TV‘s Batman， Adam West. It was going to be a comedy without a laugh track or a studio audience. It was going to change all the rules. And here’s what happened： When the pilot aired it was the second lowest- rated television show of all time. It‘s tied with a test pattern they show in Nova Scotia.
So， I was 28 and， once again， I had no job. I had good writing credits in New York， but I was filled with disappointment and didn’t know what to do next. I started smelling suede on my fingertips. And that‘s when The Simpsons saved me. I got a job there and started writing episodes about Springfield getting a Monorail and Homer going to College. I was finally putting my Harvard education to good use， writing dialogue for a man who’s so stupid that in one episode he forgot to make his own heart beat. Life was good.
And then， an insane， inexplicable opportunity came my way . A chance to audition for host of the new Late Night Show. I took the opportunity seriously but， at the same time， I had the relaxed confidence of someone who knew he had no real shot. I couldn‘t fear losing a great job I had never had. And， I think that attitude made the difference. I’ll never forget being in the Simpson‘s recording basement that morning when the phone rang. It was for me. My car was blocking a fire lane. But a week later I got another call： I got the job.
So， this was undeniably the it： the truly life-altering break I had always dreamed of. And， I went to work. I gathered all my funny friends and poured all my years of comedy experience into building that show over the summer， gathering the talent and figuring out the sensibility. We debuted on September 13， 1993 and I was happy with our effort. I felt like I had seized the moment and put my very best foot forward. And this is what the most respected and widely read television critic， Tom Shales， wrote in the Washington Post：
“O’Brien is a living collage of annoying nervous habits. He giggles and titters， jiggles about and fiddles with his cuffs. He had dark， beady little eyes like a rabbit. He‘s one of the whitest white men ever. O’Brien is a switch on the guest who won‘t leave： he’s the host who should never have come. Let the Late show with Conan O‘Brien become the late， Late Show and may the hostreturn to Conan O’Blivion whence he came.” There‘s more but it gets kind of mean.
Needless to say， I took a lot of criticism， some of it deserved， some of it excessive. And it hurt like you wouldn’t believe. But I‘m telling you all this for a reason. I’ve had a lot of success and I‘ve had a lot of failure. I’ve looked good and I‘ve looked bad. I’ve been praised and I‘ve been criticized. But my mistakes have been necessary. Except for Wilson’s House of Suede and Leather. That was just stupid.
