Most people are happy to mark their impending retirement with a couple of glasses of flat Cava, an office whip-round for a present they can auction on eBay and the delicious thought that never again will they have to brave the 7.27 from Sevenoaks.
Not so Oprah Winfrey, the billionaire American chat show host. Over 25 years, the “Oprah effect” has launched everything from diets to fragrances to novelists to presidencies. Next Wednesday, it will be dramatically dimmed when the 57-year-old hosts her final show, the details of which remain a closely guarded secret.
If it’s anything like the penultimate and third-last shows, which were filmed this week in Chicago, it promises to be a corker. In front of a live audience of 13,000 screaming fans, Oprah was joined by the likes of Tom Cruise, Tom Hanks, Will Smith, Madonna, Stevie Wonder, Simon Cowell, Beyoncé and Michael Jordan.
Oprah’s long goodbye – her website dubs the current shows “the farewell season” – is an interesting reminder of the difficulties faced by others in the public eye, from media stars to sportspeople to politicians, as they attempt to orchestrate their final curtain call.
A leaked memo from Tony Blair’s office in September 2006 famously advised the Prime Minister to “leave with the crowds wanting more”. Visits to “iconic locations” were mooted, the necessity stressed of “embracing the arts” and being interviewed on Blue Peter. By the time Mr Blair had eventually shuffled off the Westminster stage nine months later the crowd, such as it was, had long packed up and gone home.
“Going,” he once observed, “is the most difficult thing in politics.” Gordon Brown, his successor, certainly showed himself similarly reluctant after his first and last election defeat. “Why, when I contemplate the physical removal of Gordon Brown from Number 10, am I put in mind of my wife trying to put our cat into its carrier for a trip to the vet?” wrote one letter-writer to the Telegraph during the Coalition’s negotiations.
Even popular prime ministers, undefeated at the last by the British people, have found it difficult to go. Gladstone, Churchill, Margaret Thatcher – all outstayed their welcome.
Successful sportsmen – blessed and cursed with the same competitive drive – face a similar dilemma: retire at your peak or endure the inexorable slide into mediocrity and regret. Shane Warne, David Beckham – even Roger Federer – have all continued playing beyond their prime. Michael Schumacher returned from retirement, and probably now wishes he hadn’t. Martina Navratilova, perhaps the greatest ever tennis player, retired twice, eight years apart, and then went and ate insects on reality television. “The second time you say goodbye, the applause isn’t so loud,” wrote one fan.
When it comes to timing, showbiz stars seem to have a better innate sense of when to pack up their bags. After first joining the Radio 2 breakfast show in April 1972, Sir Terry Wogan retired with trademark dignity and good humour in December 2009. His final show featured a tribute from both political party leaders, a visit from the Director-General and the playing of Anthony Newley’s The Party’s Over. “No senior moments,” he promised his listeners. “And no blubbing.”
Sir Michael Parkinson, perhaps the closest Britain has come to an Oprah, ended his 26-year career with a roll call of British A-listers: Sir Michael Caine, Sir David Attenborough, David Beckham and Dame Judi Dench, who sang Thanks for the Memory. Even Jonathan Ross, who was pushed out by the BBC, reminded his millions of viewers in his final show why they’d liked him in the first place.
Oprah, after 4,561 episodes and strong, if slightly declining, ratings is clearly leaving at a time of her choosing. It won’t, of course, be the last we see of her. She has already launched her own television channel – the Oprah Winfrey Network – which will include a new show later this year: Oprah’s Next Chapter.
The next chapter for those who’ve lived in the public eye rarely involves tending the rose garden. Frank Sinatra officially retired in 1971 and then staged two decades of “farewell tours”. Sir Terry and, to a lesser extent, Sir Michael continue to work. Even politicians, whose job these days is sometimes indistinguishable from show business, are increasingly reluctant to remain quietly in the wings for too long.
“There are no second acts in American lives,” wrote F Scott Fitzgerald. Today’s breed of international celebrity, of whatever ilk, seem to find upon facing a reluctant retirement that there’s little to distinguish Act II from Act I.