

But wait, wait. Tardiness is hardly a routine occurrence for the amiable Mr. Kasell, 73, who recently celebrated his 30th anniversary at NPR. (The company took due note of the milestone with a party and the presentation of an impressive fully stocked picnic basket.) Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, at the top of every hour from 5 a.m. through 11 a.m., he delivers a tidy, precise news update without going so much as a syllable over his allotted eight minutes and 30 seconds, and without so much as a glance at the clock by the microphone.

And, in fact, there was a very good reason for the delay. Mr. Kasell, who'll be moonlighting next week as the announcer for the 30th annual "Kennedy Center Honors" broadcast, was recording an answering machine message for a "Wait, Wait" winner. Such is the highly coveted prize for callers who triumph in events like "Listener Limerick Challenge," "Bluff the Listener," and "Who's Carl This Time?" -- wherein Mr. Kasell delivers highly flavored imitations of newsmakers from Paris to Britney to George W. and all points and poobahs in between.

"I don't usually do the messages one at a time," he said. "But this one was for a couple that's getting married, and they needed it this weekend: "Hello. This is Carl Kasell at NPR News," he recited. "[So and so] aren't home now to take your call. But," he continued, executing -- in both senses of the word -- the song that Tom Jones made famous: "What's New, Pussycat? Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh."

Mr. Kasell got the announcer's gig on "Wait, Wait," then in development, when an NPR programming executive heard his off-the-cuff cutting up at an in-house event. "I like to say they brought me into the show to add dignity. I've brought dignity, stability and class," he deadpanned.

Offering up the veteran newsman's steady baritone as a trophy for successful contestants was the result of a brainstorming session -- and a small budget. "We were just starting the show and needed to come up with a prize," recalled "Wait, Wait" 's creator and executive producer, Doug Berman. "Someone on the staff suggested it almost as a joke, and I remember thinking great! It was something you couldn't get anywhere else, and it was incredibly simple for us to do. It's a prize that's invaluable and worthless at the same time."

In the almost 10 years that "Wait, Wait" has been on the air, Mr. Kassel has cheerfully abased himself for the cause. Several answering machine messages have featured his renditions of the aforementioned "What's New, Pussycat?" "Oklahoma!" and a Peggy Lee-inflected "Fever." On other messages, all recorded on CDs so they won't be inadvertently erased, Mr. Kasell has lamented about "a man of my stature being given away as a prize. You don't see Bob Edwards give his voice away or Terry Gross or even Daniel Schorr. I feel so cheap."

Mr. Kasell will go along with almost any script provided by a winning listener -- so long as it doesn't have the whiff of a commercial. "If the message is for a business, I'll say 'you've reached B & H Construction.' But I wouldn't run down a list of services the company provides or give an endorsement," he said, a stance that's consistent with NPR policy. "They won't even let me do a funding credit here."

The oldest of four children, Mr. Kasell grew up in Goldsboro, N.C., where barely out of rompers he was fixed on his career path. Routinely, he would crawl behind the cabinet housing the family radio and pretend -- prophetically -- to be broadcasting a quiz show or, with the aid of his grandmother's Victrola, play at being a disc jockey.

"I would announce the song coming up and make up commercials," recalled Mr. Kasell, who as a teenager was part of a group that built a radio station in the projection room at the back of the high-school auditorium. While the drama teacher, a fellow named Andy Griffith, encouraged young Carl to pursue acting, radio it was and radio it was going to be.

At the University of North Carolina -- he still avidly follows the fortunes of the Tar Heels' basketball team -- Mr. Kasell helped launch station WUNC with fellow student Charles Kuralt. "But doing serious news was something I never wanted to do. I wanted to be an entertainer."

Nonetheless, after a stint as a DJ and announcer at a station back in his hometown, Mr. Kassel moved to Washington and worked his way up from weekend announcer to news director at WAVA in Arlington, Va., where one summer he hired an intern named Katie Couric. "I got to like news because it was an interesting period. We had all these Vietnam demonstrations, the Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King assassinations, and Watergate. And I got into the flow," said Mr. Kasell, who through a good friend and good timing was tapped by NPR to be a part-time news announcer in the mid '70s and came on full time in 1977.

The 1 a.m. brrrrrring from the alarm clock -- no problem. "I've always loved working in the morning," he said. "You're waking up in Washington, D.C. You're looking out the window and watching this sleeping giant wake up. And I'm right in the middle of it, starting people's days with things they need to know."

The duality of his existence seems to please Mr. Kasell mightily -- delivering the news and edifying listeners during the early part of the week, having fun with the news and with those same listeners on the weekend.

"Carl is the world's greatest straight man. Bud Abbott has nothing on him," said "Wait, Wait" 's host, Peter Sagal. "All these years, he's been this calm, imperturbable voice reporting the news, and it turns out that this warm unflappable voice has a sense of humor. It's like finding out that Santa Claus is real."

Mr. Kasell, who goes to Chicago almost every Thursday morning to tape "Wait, Wait" (there are also occasional road shows), now has "premier executive" status at his airline. Of almost equal value is his new-found status as a sex symbol, complete with groupies. Take that, Ira Glass.

"Women -- and not just women, young women -- swarm him," observed Mr. Berman. "There are shrieks in the audience when he's introduced. Whatever it is, Carl's got it. Peter is insanely jealous. But," he admitted, "I haven't yet seen anyone throw underwear."

The hottie -- one mustn't be fooled by his spectacles and striped seersucker shirt -- takes it all in stride. "I just want to keep going to work," said Mr. Kasell, who's about as likely to retire as to fumble a word in his newscast. "I tell Daniel Schorr," NPR's 91-year-old political analyst, "that he's an inspiration to us kids."

This kid's very limited spare time is devoted to practicing his magic act (his bag of tricks includes sawing colleague Nina Totenberg in half) and fielding questions from fans who want him to record a message on their answering machines (Call 1-888-WAIT WAIT to become a contestant, he advises) or who want to know about the voice on Mr. Kasell's own home answering machine.

Wouldn't you know? It's his wife's.
