Katie, Al and us: One big, happy TV family

New York

At just after 6 a.m. on a hideously muggy August day in Manhattan, a family of four joins the line that already stretches well up the block adjacent to Rockefeller Center. “It could be worse,” the husband tells his wife. “It could be raining.”

As tourist attractions go, nothing captures our media-crazed culture better than the thousands making this pilgrimage each year to NBC’s “Today” show, devoting hours to garnering a few fleeting seconds of TV visibility. Set against that yardstick, no wonder so-called reality series contestants lie about little things -- say, their history of mental illness or criminal record -- to gain several hours of exposure.

The “Today” experience is tantamount to Disneyland without the rides, a place where, based on overheard snippets of conversation, enthusiasm rapidly gives way to resignation among the friends and families yearning to see -- and be seen by -- their chatty morning TV friends and families.

This setting fosters various things, including a strange sense of regional pride. “Arizona loves you, Al!” one man shouts to Al Roker when he ventures outside, as if “Today’s” genial weather guy has just claimed all the state’s electoral votes.

Morning television relies on this peculiar sense of intimacy -- the kinship that develops toward the people we admit into our homes during those hours. It’s a time of day that permits goofy banter and playful flirting, embodied by the Jillian Barberie school of news personalities, who dress as if they’re just getting in after being out clubbing the night before. Underscoring that mind-set, the New York Daily News published a “sexiest newscaster” poll last week, with one reader stating that if the local WB station ever sheds his favorite hotties he will “go back to CNN in the morning.”

Not that CNN is entirely immune to such populist impulses, featuring a “window on the world” format on its “American Morning” program to capture gawkers straggling by -- as does Fox News Channel’s giddy “Fox and Friends.” Situated just three blocks from each other on 6th Avenue, you can watch their dueling news tickers from 49th Street, with Fox’s streaming red crawl and CNN’s blue seemingly approximating the political split between “red” and “blue” states during the last presidential election.

“Today” is located between them -- literally and perhaps figuratively -- and hundreds of people have lined up this particular morning, as they do daily. Those seeking a spot up front arrive about 5 a.m., with people camping out at midnight for the show’s popular summer concerts. Most are tourists, but there are locals like Lenny and Manuel (the latter nicknamed “Einstein” for his wild mane of white hair), who have shown up for more than eight years. Asked how they endure five hours in such humidity, Lenny says, “You have to have stamina,” citing his military training.

The crowd members clutch homemade signs, with many people wearing funny hats or outfits as if they were queuing up for “Let’s Make a Deal.” A group of young women, for example, are clad in identical shirts that say “University of Iowa Health Care, Blood Donation Center,” with “I Bleed Black and Gold” (referring to the school’s colors) on the back.

Around 6:40 a.m., the line begins to move. Security goes through the motions of checking the people and their signs, apparently to ensure the latter don’t contain profanity -- or worse, something like “Watch ‘CSI,’ Thursdays on CBS!”

“Hi Katie!” a woman yells at the TV monitor, as a stylist combs Katie Couric’s hair.

Observing Couric’s off-air primping quickly becomes a high point, since nothing much is happening and the weather is horribly uncomfortable. The crowd is packed in doing little more than watching the “Today” show, waiting for those few seconds when Roker appears, furiously shouting and waving before he’s gone again.

By 7:30, people begin to realize that they are props, the commercial bumper in a TV show, and start bargaining with themselves.

“It’s just good to be here,” a middle-aged woman says, as if trying to justify her presence.

“You’re here for the experience,” another woman agrees.

Some of the kids are nevertheless growing restless. After all, they don’t even get to have their picture taken with Mickey or Goofy. “Can we leave now?” one little boy asks, elongating each syllable.

“If we can just get our sign on, I’ll be happy,” a young woman tells her friends.

The crush is thinning a bit by 8:15 or so, but those who remain are still enthusiastic. A few people make cellphone calls, with one asking whoever’s on the other end if she’s visible behind the sign that says “Katie, Can I Have Your Job?”

Even for the talent, the dynamics have changed. Television is usually a one-way medium, but those who attend “Today” provide evidence of the familiarity people feel toward these strangers who visit for a few hours each day. “I can’t imagine doing it any other way now,” says Roker on a break.

“Today’s” much-copied format speaks to the perceived value of this relationship, inspiring “Good Morning America” and “The Early Show” to emulate its approach. Even ESPN, the cable sports network, is getting into the act, announcing plans for a morning show, “Cold Pizza,” blending sports with “pop culture, lifestyle features and consumer advice,” to air live from New York beginning in October. To no one’s surprise, the program promises to let fans “observe production from an indoor viewing area.”

It’s easy to feel superior out here, the same way you can at a science fiction convention. These generally appear to be pretty ordinary folks -- not 43-year-old men wearing Mr. Spock outfits -- but anyone who’s free of the fan gene would probably rather undergo a Vulcan nerve pinch than wait hours for the privilege of yelling “Brentwood loves you!” at Matt Lauer.

When you consider what these morning programs have accomplished, however, it’s really not so strange.

A poster around the corner proclaims the “Today” team “America’s first TV family,” which is precisely what they have become. And with family -- especially the two-dimensional TV kind that demands so little in return -- it’s easy to forgive things, even with a sweat-soaked shirt on your back and the kids begging to go visit the ice rink.

Brian Lowry’s column appears Wednesdays. He can be reached at brian.lowry@latimes.com.