Who Ever Said Comedy Had To Be Fun?

If anything solidified Burnett's place as Letterman's go-to guy, it was Letterman's decision in 1996 to replace his longtime executive producer, Robert Morton. The Tonight Show With Jay Leno had overtaken The Late Show in the ratings, and morale -- particularly Letterman's -- was down. Letterman fired Morton and asked Burnett, who was developing the Ed pilot, to put the project on hold. "For the first time in Dave's career, he was getting beaten up in the press," says Burnett. "After he hosted the Oscars, it was open season on him, and it was very difficult for him and me and everybody. The show was in free fall, but we managed to recover, largely because of Dave. When he's comfortable out there, it doesn't matter what material you give him. He's the funniest man in the world."

Several years ago, Letterman stopped giving interviews to the press. Burnett does the talking for him now. After Letterman's sudden open-heart surgery in 2000, it was Burnett who provided the public updates. During last year's tug-of-war between CBS and ABC over Letterman, it was Burnett who explained Letterman's side of things, Burnett who eventually told ABC thanks but no thanks, and Burnett who told CBS that Letterman was staying put.

Unlike some long-standing colleagues whose relationship with Letterman has remained purely professional, Burnett has become friends with his boss. "We're like war buddies," he says. "We've been through a lot together."

Letterman has had Burnett over for dinner and taken him to an Indy 500 race. They communicate almost daily -- by phone, never by email. They share not only the same sense of humor and high standards, but also the same conflicted feelings about their chosen profession. "He's not a showbizzy guy, and neither am I," says Burnett. "For some people, show business comes naturally. Not me. I have always been shy about it, and it creates this little tempest inside. You have the urge to write things and put jokes out there in front of millions of people, but you're embarrassed to be drawing attention to yourself. Dave feels that way too."

Of Laughs, Life, and Legacies

[Exterior. Parking lot -- night]
Frankie: Peter Evashavik seems kind of pathetic, doesn't he?
Ed: I don't know if he's pathetic. He's made sacrifices.
Frankie: But you always think of people like that -- with tons of talent and success -- as having these great lives. But you can see he's miserable.
Ed: True, he's miserable, but he's leaving something behind. He'll be remembered.

Early on in Show 315, Ed researches his family in hopes of finding relatives who lived beyond the age of 83. Later, he receives a scrapbook from someone who had known his great-grandfather Samuel H. Stevens, who lived to be 101. He wasn't rich, famous, or powerful, but "where others sipped at life," the woman writes, "Samuel gulped it." He was married for 53 years, he was beloved, and he was known for a Friday-night tradition: Neighbors came over to stomp grapes. "The wine was never much good, but it didn't matter," she goes on. "Samuel created a life where all that mattered was the stomping."

As Ed thumbs through the scrapbook, you hear the woman reading the letter. As she finishes, the camera lingers on a photo of bare feet ankle deep in grapes -- the money shot. Ed picks up a notepad, where he has sketched Peter Evashavik's tombstone, along with the epigraph, "His art was his life." Inspiration strikes, and Ed jots down his own: "His life was his art."

The show ends with Ed gathering his friends in the Stuckeybowl parking lot at midnight. He unveils a kiddie pool filled with grapes. Everybody jumps in. Everybody stomps.

The episode airs the Wednesday before Valentine's Day. As usual, Burnett is in Northvale, doing rewrites with Beckerman. At 8 PM, though, Burnett turns on the TV in his office. He wants to see the words "Directed by Rob Burnett" before getting back to work. But he keeps watching, and the more he watches, the more flaws he spots. A scene needed rewriting. The woman in the photos didn't look old enough to be Ed's great-grandmother, despite her wig. The music didn't swell enough at the end.

He calls Busfield, who tells him that he is being a typical first-time director. "The show looked great," he says to Burnett. "You should feel proud." The next day, Letterman tells him the same thing.

But the call that matters most comes at 9:01 PM on Wednesday, right after the photo of Samuel H. Stevens and his fellow grape stompers dissolves into a photo of Ed surrounded by his friends in the kiddie pool, which fades to black. It's Burnett's wife, Eunice, on the line. "She was crying and laughing," he says. "It was very sweet. It was one of those few moments of pure satisfaction."