Jimmy Fallon, Nick Kroll, America's Computer Chip Manufacturing

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You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, host of the Wondery show Business Movers. In our latest series, an intrepid lawyer turned fast food executive named George Cohan creates an ingenious and wily scheme to sell Big Macs behind the Iron Curtain in the middle of the Cold War. Listen to Business Movers The McDonald's Invasion on Amazon Music or wherever you get your podcasts. Good morning.

I'm Jane Pauley and this is Sunday Morning. Made in America. For years it seemed the phrase had lost its luster, what with so many corporations outsourcing manufacturing to other countries.

By some estimates, the United States imports about 90% of the goods we use. But change is in the wind and one vital industry is leading the way. David Pogue takes us to the front lines of the chip wars. When the pandemic interrupted the supply of computer chips made in East Asia, it was bad news for Americans. The chip shortage in the auto sector alone was estimated to have cost carmakers several hundred billions of dollars in lost sales. But now our government is spending more than $50 billion to kickstart an American chip making industry.

Coming up on Sunday Morning, America's very big bet on very tiny chips. And then Mo Rocca will check in with Jimmy Fallon, not only the host of The Tonight Show, but also a game show that you might say puts him in a real jam. I love it. I love music. I always have. For Tonight Show host Jimmy Fallon, that love is evident at work. He insisted that there would be two tambourines. I could say he sang with Mickey Dolenz.

And at home. I have everything. I have comedy up here, soundtracks and Broadway here. Okay, that is my jam.

Ahead on Sunday Morning, jamming with Jimmy Fallon. Lee Cowan this morning remembers Sparky, the nickname of the great Charles Schulz, the legendary cartoonist behind the beloved comic strip, Peanuts. Snoopy and the gang look pretty good for being 73.

They haven't aged a bit. They are deceptively simple looking though. If you've ever tried to draw one of them yourself, you know it's not easy. Sparky used to say, every line in the strip has a purpose. Every line he draws has a purpose.

And that purpose was, more often than not, to make us think about ourselves. The magic of Charles Schulz on display, later this Sunday Morning. And much more besides. Susan Spencer introduces us to a woman whose mission is to break the lethal connection between guns and suicide. Ben Mankiewicz is in conversation with actor and comedian Nick Kroll. With Luke Burbank, we'll meet some talented musicians with an astonishing skill. Plus Nicki Batiste on the double murder trial of Alec Murdaugh, a story from Steve Hartman, commentary from Michelle Miller, and more. It's a Sunday Morning for the 5th of March, 2023.

And we'll be right back. A few days before Christmas, Janelle Matthews disappeared from her home. There were no signs of a struggle, no eyewitnesses, no DNA recovered.

But what if the answer had always been there? What if a true crime fanatic who'd been talking about the case was more than just an obsessive fan? The groundbreaking true crime podcast Suspect is back with a new story that attempts to separate fact from fiction and one man's true crime obsession from a motive for murder. He says, don't fuck with me, Officer Edgerton. I've buried more people than you'll know. He's providing information that hadn't even been released to the news yet.

At least it's a good liar that he can convince the juror that he wasn't involved. Follow Suspect wherever you get your podcasts. Hey Prime members, you can binge the entire series ad free on Amazon Music.

Download the Amazon Music app today. Every year we become more dependent on advanced computer chips for all kinds of things in all kinds of ways. About 90 percent of them are made in East Asia, which is why when the pandemic disrupted the supply chain, we all felt the pain. But the United States has embarked on an urgent mission to change that.

David Pogue tells us about the players and the stakes. You probably realize that there are computer chips in your computer and in your phone. But you may not realize just how many other things in your life rely on chips. Our demand for silicon chips is only going to grow as we find new ways to make new devices smarter. Chris Miller teaches at Tufts University's Fletcher School and is the author of a book about the chip industry published by our sister company Simon & Schuster.

And so here's the big one. Where is the chip industry? Most of the manufacturing happens in East Asia and Taiwan manufactures 90 percent of the world's most advanced processors.

It's true. Over the last 30 years, the world has put almost all of its silicon eggs into one basket. Together, we define the future. A single company called TSMC, the Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company. It's now the world's biggest chip maker. Doesn't that mean our entire economy is a sitting duck? Well, it's an extraordinary risk.

We learned that the hard way during the pandemic. As people started working from home, they bought new PCs, companies started upgrading their data center infrastructure, and chip companies struggled to keep up. A limited supply of sedans and SUVs is driving prices sky high. The reason was the chip shortage. A typical car contains hundreds of chips. Just a single delayed component could cause a car to sit in the factory floor unfinished for weeks or even months as they waited for the chips they needed. But pandemics aren't the only threat to our chip supply. The biggest risk is geopolitics. As tensions between China and Taiwan escalate, there's more and more concern that China could try to disrupt chip supplies out of Taiwan by blockading the island or even attacking.

The economic impact would be felt over many years and the cost would be measured in the trillions of dollars. Since the 90s, America's share of global chip making has dropped from 37 percent to 12 percent. Today, American companies like Apple, AMD, Nvidia, and Qualcomm design their own chips, but they all hire TSMC to make them. TSMC even makes some of the chips for Intel, the American company that pioneered the semiconductor. The number one driver was government policies. Al Thompson runs Government Affairs for Intel. He says that the East Asian chip industry flourished thanks to financial help from their governments.

It really provided an attractive incentive for companies to do more manufacturing in East Asia. So now we're in a pickle. Pandemics, natural disasters, or geopolitics could disrupt our supply of chips at any time. Why doesn't our government do something?

Well... The future of the chip industry is going to be made in America. The CHIPS Act is a law developed by the Trump administration and signed into law by President Biden last August.

And I would dare you to find an issue that had the support from two different presidential administrations and two congresses that passed with bipartisan margins. The CHIPS Act could be a huge deal for America, both for our economy and for our national security. It includes $13 billion for research and development, $39 billion for building new plants, and about $24 billion in tax credits to attract private investors. As Intel CEO Pat Gelsinger puts it...

This is the most significant piece of industrial policy legislation since World War II. If it works, this act will spark an American chip-making boom in massive fabrication plants called fabs, like the two that Intel is building in Arizona totaling 650,000 square feet. Now, to just put that in perspective, that's like six large football fields.

Kayvon Esfajani is Intel's Global Operations Director. So how much does it cost per fab? It's a little over $20 billion. Is it accurate to say that some of that money came from the CHIPS Act? Well, that's absolutely our expectation.

Okay, there you go. One reason fabs are so expensive? They contain some of the most sophisticated equipment on earth. I have to say, I've never felt more dustproof.

The air here is a thousand times cleaner than a surgical room. An eyelash, a speck of dust, or even the wrong color light could ruin these delicate silicon wafers. They basically get cut off and then you put them on a chip and then you send them to customers all around the world. The smaller you etch the circuitry, the faster the chip. There are billions of transistors into each one of these chips, hundreds of billions of transistors.

How thin are those layers? Oh, they're at the angstrom levels. Like atoms?

That's right, at the atom level. The people who work on these, they must get terrible eye strength. Now, the CHIPS Act isn't popular with everyone. One reason is the fine print. For example, to receive the government's money, a semiconductor company must promise to pay its employees a market wage and offer child care. You have to turn your company into a social welfare operation. You have to join this brave new world, whether you like it or not. But Intel's Kavon Esforjani says that tech companies have to offer good pay and child care anyway if they want to attract talent.

None of this bothers us. In fact, if anything, it's very aligned to how we operate. We want to create an environment that is very enticing, where we are going to grow the talent. For author Chris Miller, the bigger concern is that $52 billion won't be enough. I think the CHIPS Act is an important turning point, but on its own, it's not going to be enough to revolutionize the chip industry or to dramatically reduce our dependence on chips manufactured in Taiwan. But no matter what the critics say, an American fab-building boom is underway. Intel has broken ground on what could eventually be eight immense factories on 2,000 acres in Ohio. In fact, with the prospect of grants from the CHIPS Act, 14 companies have either announced or broken ground on 22 new chip factories in America, including two more in Arizona being built by our old friends from Taiwan, TSMC. Altogether, that's $160 billion of spending and 28,000 new American jobs, not even counting the boom in suppliers, housing, and infrastructure around each plant.

We have a really amazing opportunity as a country to basically regain that manufacturing share in partnership with the U.S. government in a way we've never seen before. Charles Schulz, the creator of Peanuts, died 23 years ago last month, yet his beloved characters live on as youthful as ever. Lee Cowan takes us to his hometown. Relax here a while, Charlie Brown. We'll solve this problem together. Some people use a diary to pen their innermost thoughts.

Charles Schulz, though, he had peanuts instead. There's no better emotional outlet than kicking a football. It was a release for his emotions. This time I'm really going to kick it. I'm going to kick the habit. This is the end of all my faults.

He drew because he had to do it. Gee, I got a candy bar. Boy, I got three cookies. Hey, I got a package of gum.

I got a rock. Was he a happy person? Um, I think he was. His widow, Jean Schulz, paused.

Well, because it's a complicated question. She married him back in 1973, but she says it wasn't until after his death, 23 years ago last month, Really all you need is about four or five pens and a pencil. that she realized the simple lines of those oh-so-familiar characters were actually quite complex. I've spent the last 22 years doing my penance, and my penance is learning how hard he worked. Was he a workaholic, you think?

He pretty much was, yeah. Schulz created a world unlike anything we'd seen in the funny pages. Peanuts wasn't so much a comic strip as it was a mirror. A tale of adult angst told through children who never aged and a dog who imagined he could be anything. Peanuts first appeared in 1950 in only seven newspapers. It may not be art with a capital A, but it provides an awful lot of pleasure. By the 60s, the gang was on the cover of Time magazine.

Apollo astronauts even named their spaceships after them. Charlie Brown, Houston, over. Schulz had knocked it out of the park. I got a hit! I got a hit! I finally got a hit! I mean, think of the comics before then. They were all slapstick.

People getting hit over the head or paused. This was something saying, hey, I'm not happy. I wonder if you're not happy. I'm feeling lonely.

I'm feeling anxious. I'm heartbroken. Peanuts had all of that. Stephan Pastis is the mind behind the popular syndicated comic Pearls Before Swine. This is Rat.

Rat is kind of the star of the strip, along with Pig. Pastis was an attorney who so wanted to follow in Charles Schulz's pen strokes that he tracked him down here. So this is it, huh?

Yep, this is it. At the Warm Puppy Cafe in Santa Rosa, California, where Schulz spent every morning having coffee and an English muffin. And I knelt on one knee by the side of the table, and in the worst opening line of all time, I said, Mr. Schulz, my name is Stephan Pastis, and I'm an attorney.

And he turned white because he thought he was getting served with a subpoena. That moment turned into an hour of encouragement. Sparky drew this for me. Pastis says it was a kindness that Sparky, as his friends called Schulz, shared with others, too. If you did a cartooning tree, you would see we all come from that common trunk, and that trunk is Sparky. How many people do you think he influenced? All of them. You think?

Yeah. This is from 1958, and here we see Snoopy on top of the doghouse. Benjamin L. Clark is the curator of the Charles M. Schulz Museum and co-author of a book, celebrating the centennial of Schulz's birth with a look through 100 artifacts, like the Peabody Award that Schulz won for this. A Charlie Brown Christmas first aired right here on CBS back in 1965. Schulz had carefully curated the look of his characters, but now he had to figure out how they sounded, and he insisted they be voiced by real children. Charlie Brown, you're the only person I know who can take a wonderful season like Christmas and turn it into a problem. And he said, no, let's get some real kids in here.

And it'll sound like kids. Like, okay, Sparky. Schulz always went to bat for the good of his characters, one especially.

Hey, guess who just walked in over here? It's Franklin. Franklin first appeared in print in 1968, at a time when some states were still fighting desegregation. When he showed Franklin in class with Peppermint Patty and some of the other kids, that's when the real pushback came. Newspapers threatened to drop him. But he didn't back down.

He did not back down. Not one bit. You print it the way I draw it. Over the course of 50 years, Schulz lovingly crafted nearly 18,000 peanut strips, so many in fact he nearly wore a hole clean through his drafting table. How does that happen?

I mean, I don't know. God, to think of all the strips that came off that, man. The very last strip Charles Schulz ever drew may have been the only one that made his fans cry. It was a formal goodbye filled with gratitude. And then he left us too. He dies as that last strip is on the presses. He dies in the middle of the night. It's so poetic and crazy, almost as though there wouldn't be a hymn without the strip.

His table at the Warm Puppy Cafe sits empty now, forever reserved for the man who somehow distilled all our fears and foibles and frustrations into a group of kids and one beloved beagle. He said if you can draw something that strikes people and means something to them, that's a wonderful thing to be able to do. In recent weeks, we've been taking a closer look at gun violence in America. And with mass shootings almost a daily occurrence, that's what captures the headlines.

But as Susan Spencer tells us, the majority of shootings in this country don't make the headlines. They're self-inflicted solitary acts. Katrina Breeze credits her love of art to her whimsical, talented mother. For more than a decade, the two worked side by side, producing parades in New Orleans. You have a lot of fond memories.

Just her dancing in a parade, just her feeling the music, feeling the audience, giving love. But the person who seemed so carefree was a tormented soul in a constant battle with bipolar disorder. This is a letter that she wrote to her psychiatrist. Dear doctor, it has been nine months since this episode began. I am not doing well.

How long must I endure this? Her mother answered her own question just a few days later. This is a copy of my mother's suicide note. On June 26, 2018, she bought a gun and fatally shot herself. She did it beneath the Tree of Life, a New Orleans landmark. It was the most special spot she could choose.

In what way? It's where many of our friends have had weddings, we've had funerals there. The space is so sacred, it feels to me like she laid herself on the cathedral of our community and died there. But more devastating than where she did it was how she did it. She didn't like guns, she was scared of guns, there were no guns in our family.

It was so unlike her. Why do you think she chose a gun? When you look at tools for the job, that's the best tool for the job. And that's what the information online will tell you. Most other methods, folks survive. Intentional overdose, only two to three percent of the folks who attempt suicide using an overdose die. Almost 95 percent of folks who use a firearm do.

They don't get a second chance. Which is why any conversation about saving lives has to start with guns, says Professor Mike Anestas. He heads up the New Jersey Gun Violence Research Center at the Rutgers School of Public Health. Are guns the main cause of suicide deaths? Yes, more than half of all suicide deaths in any given year are caused by self-inflicted gunshot wounds. So that's somewhere in the vicinity of 25,000 firearm suicide deaths in the U.S. every single year. Even more staggering, the majority of all firearm fatalities in the U.S. are suicides. Suicide accounts for anywhere from 60 to 65 percent of all the gun deaths in the United States in any given year.

Whoa. That may be the most shocking statistic in all of this. In 2020, there were 66 gun suicides every day, which is more people than died in the worst mass shooting in U.S. history. And we don't see it. It doesn't make the news. It happens one person at a time, unless it's a celebrity.

We just don't hear about it. But University of Alabama law professor Fred Vars is trying to change that, raising awareness while pushing for new gun legislation. Is there any correlation between stricter gun laws and fewer suicides? Yes, absolutely.

He's working with Katrina Breeze on something called Donna's Law, named after her mother. It would allow potential gun buyers to put themselves on a do-not-sell list. An individual would have the opportunity to suspend their ability to buy a gun.

Voluntarily, confidentially put their name into the already existing background check system. And if they attempted to buy a gun, that transaction would be denied. Do you have confidence that people who are suicidal would voluntarily request not to be sold a gun? During a suicidal crisis or depressive episode, I think it is unlikely that anybody would sign up. But there are a lot of people who've been in that dark place, who come out the other side, and know they're a danger to themselves. It's more like an advanced directive.

Here, while I'm feeling better, let me prepare myself for that, right? And just get the gun out of the equation. He says the law would be especially helpful to people who, like Katrina's mother, have bipolar disorder, roughly 15 percent of whom die by suicide. But it would help others, too. Anybody for any reason can put their name on the list.

You could have an anger problem, you could have an addiction, you could have recently lost a job. There are other reasons people attempt suicide that don't involve mental illness. So far, Donna's law has gone nowhere in Congress, but three states have passed it, and Maryland recently held hearings. This bill would give people prone to suicidality the agency to make decisions about their own access to guns when they are not actively suicidal. That's mental health advocate Brian Barks, testifying in favor of the law.

Barks, who struggles with bipolar disorder, says she learned firsthand a few years ago why this legislation needs to pass. I remember it being a beautiful season. It was spring in D.C. The flowers were blooming, the sun was out, and I was deeply suicidal. And I had been thinking, what would happen if I bought a gun? I knew every reason why someone who struggles with suicidality should never own a gun.

But that day, I didn't care. And I found myself actually Googling, where can I buy a gun? I imagined how that gun would feel in my hands, cold and heavy, and I knew that it could easily end my life. She doesn't remember exactly what stopped her, but she ended up hospitalized under psychiatric care. That moment really haunts me because I know that a lot of people in the United States have Googled that exact same thing and not had the same outcome that I did, whether I feel I can be safe.

Barks, whose journals chronicle years of struggle, says she will put herself on a do-not-sell list immediately if her home state of Maryland adopts Donna's law. I don't want the version of myself who doesn't see the value of my own life to be able to buy a gun in those moments. I want the version of myself who is thinking clearly to be able to preempt that crisis and say, no, she doesn't need to have a gun when she's at her most suicidal. I think this is an easy way to save lives. Nobody is having their gun rights taken away. Certainly no one's having their gun taken away. We're just allowing people to exercise in advance and protect their decision not to have access to a gun because they know they're not safe with one. And Katrina Breeze says stopping even one suicide would make her uphill fight for Donna's law well worth it. It's such a horrific, debilitating thing to have happen, and I can't imagine any other way to process it other than to change it. The beat goes on to quote the song Lyric, and Luke Burbank this morning has proof.

Just so you know, there's nothing wrong with your TV. What you're seeing and hearing is coming from ordinary human beings with an extraordinary talent. Beatboxing is what it's called, and Kayla Milady is one of the best at it in the world. Beatboxing is just talking, but you're articulating the letters of your speech, right? Milady started beatboxing when she was just eight years old, and now, at the age of 30, co-organizes the American Beatbox Championships, which, last year, gathered people from all over the world in Atlantic City, New Jersey, to compete and appreciate this sometimes misunderstood art form that uses the human voice, lungs, and mouth as the instrument.

Milady also provides the beats and rhythm for Lin-Manuel Miranda's rapping improv show, Freestyle Love Supreme, first on Broadway and then in places like this one, The Venetian in Las Vegas, where the show recently wrapped up a residency. Can you talk about some of the misconceptions around beatboxing? When you meet someone in the airport and they say, what do you do, and you say, professional beatboxer. People think that beatboxing is a party trick that is a gimmick, but beatboxing is one of the most incredible art forms of all time. An art form Milady says anyone can actually learn.

Why don't you try? Even a middle-aged correspondent for Sunday Morning. Right? So, say pancake. Pancake. Say party. Party. Easy, right?

So, the same way that I say... You put a little bit more pressure on the side and it becomes a kick drum sound. Say taco. Taco. Tuesday. Tuesday.

Yeah, easy, right? Third sound is a snare drum. It sounds like this. So, say cake. Cake. Kangaroo.

Kangaroo. You're already doing it, right? So, you put it together. It's P-T-K. Yeah?

Aye. See? You're ready. That's it.

My daughter is so mortified right now. I'm sorry, Addie. You know what?

You'll pick this. La-di-da-di. We like to party. Beatboxing started, most say, in New York City in the 1980s, just as hip-hop itself was emerging. I'm telling you, it's a whole other level of communication. Beatboxing vibrates, I think, at a completely different frequency to rap, like you feel it. Dougie Fresh is known as the original human beatbox. He says he started making the sounds with his mouth after his Brooklyn high school canceled its music program due to lack of funding. And I didn't have no more trumpet, but I was still doing all of the exercises. Even when I do the beatbox now, I'll... I move my hands as if like I'm playing the trumpet.

And he practiced as he walked home from school. And the music is just out in your neighborhood, and you're just playing along with it. Here in the bass line, doom, doom, doom, doom, doom, doom. So you start humming it, and you'll say, okay, let me put the beat to that. Now let me put something else to that.

Now let me add something else to that. You start going crazy with it now. Grandmaster Grandmaster Grandmaster Grandmaster Grandmaster. Around this same time, the legendary DJ Grandmaster Flash had been using a beatbox machine. So this is what I used to do when I jumped off my turntables. That would mimic drums and snares, inspiring Dougie's friends to name this new sound. You should call that the human beatbox because it was similar to what Grandmaster Flash was doing, but it wasn't a machine, it was me.

As with so many things, the internet has radically changed the world of beatboxing, connecting people from all over the world with this very American sound. Could you ever have imagined where this is all led, like this thing that you were doing because you didn't have a trumpet, and now they have championships of people doing it performatively? It's unbelievable, man. It's unbelievable, and it's a beautiful thing. For Kayla Malady, the impact has been profound. From a musical technique that some might dismiss as a party trick, she says she's found her voice.

Switch! I think it's a wonderful tool for self-expression, and I'm saying that as someone who truly was terrified to use my voice. If you try to get me to sing, no way. I would clam up, I would get so nervous. So I know if I can do it, anybody can do it.

It's changed my life in a really beautiful way. Come on! Piss off, everybody sing. The murder trial of Alec Murdaugh has riveted the nation for weeks. At long last, a verdict.

Here's Nicki Batiste. Aside from that token fiery red hair, it was hard to believe the towering lean somber man who was paraded into this South Carolina courtroom for the past six weeks and was bold enough to testify in his own defense. I didn't shoot my wife or my son anytime, ever. Is the same person as this heavy-set jovial-looking dad smiling next to his wife and two sons a few years ago? The question remains, who is Alec Murdaugh? Guilty verdict. The jury's answer on Thursday, after just three hours of deliberations.

He's a double murderer, guilty of shooting to death his wife Maggie and younger son Paul at the family's estate in June of 2021. Judge Clifton Newman, who has known Murdaugh for years, told the jury he agreed with the verdict. It might not have been you.

It might have been the monster you become. The irony in seeing Murdaugh in a jail jumpsuit handcuffed is that the 54-year-old once tried cases in this very courtroom as a civil lawyer. He hailed from the Murdaugh family dynasty, which wielded power and influence over South Carolina's low country for a century. Prosecutor Creighton Waters. It doesn't matter who your family is, how prominent you are, if you do wrong, if you break the law, if you murder, then justice will be done in South Carolina. From the get-go, prosecutors painted Murdaugh as a manipulator.

Do you recognize those documents? Who conned clients and friends out of millions of dollars for years. I can say I did wrong, I stole money that wasn't mine, and I shouldn't have done it. Prosecutors argued he killed his wife and son in an attempt to distract from those alleged financial crimes.

Those crimes were about to be uncovered after Paul Murdaugh was charged with boating under the influence in a crash in 2019 that killed 19-year-old Mallory Beach. I did not tell them that I went to the kennel. Here's where it all unraveled. Murdaugh told police it was only after his wife and son were murdered that he went to the dog kennels on his estate where the shooting happened. He claimed he found the bodies later after visiting his ill mother.

I knew they had been down here before I left to go to my mom's. But prosecutors had a mountain of circumstantial evidence centered on his cell phone, along with those of Maggie and Paul. Cell records led them to believe Maggie and Paul were shot to death at 8.49 p.m. That's when their phones locked for the final time.

Prosecutor Waters zeroed in on four minutes just after that when Murdaugh's phone logged 283 steps. So what were you so busy doing? Going to the bathroom?

No, I don't think that I. Did you get on a treadmill? Went to the bathroom. No, I didn't get on a treadmill.

Jogging place? No, I didn't jog in place. Did you do jumping jacks?

No, sir, I did not do jumping jacks. But it was this video captured on Paul's cell phone at 8.44 p.m., minutes before investigators believed the murders happened that caught Murdaugh in a bold-faced lie. What's going on? Witnesses testified that voice was Alec. Ultimately, he admitted he'd lied. Were you in fact at the kennels at 8.44 p.m. on the night Maggie and Paul were murdered? I was. Did you continue lying after that night? Did you not? Well, once I lied, I continued to lie, yes, sir.

Why? You know, oh, what a tangled web we weave. But once I told a lie, I mean, I told my family, I had to keep lying. Murdaugh blamed his lies on a 20-year secret opioid addiction.

He says he took up to 60 pills a day. It was Murdaugh's own choice to testify. Prosecutor Waters believes he was his own worst enemy. Do you think Alec's testifying helped you?

Oh, absolutely. I started out by getting him talking. I intentionally left pauses because he couldn't help himself.

He would start talking again. And the more he did that, the more he looked that jury in the eye, the more he kept hanging himself and kept telling lies. A portrait of Murdaugh's grandfather. In his day, a powerful attorney hung in the courthouse until the judge took it down for the trial.

Now, the enduring portrait of Alec Murdaugh might be this one, that fiery red hair shaved off by jailers, preparing to spend the rest of his life in prison. Steve Hartman has the story of love lost and found again. To me, some of the saddest tombstones are the incompletes, the couples where one has passed, but the other still present, buried above under a mound of loneliness, such as the case of Blossom the goose. Last August, Blossom lost her mate, Bud.

They'd lived on the pond here at Riverside Cemetery in Marshalltown, Iowa. And according to cemetery staff, after Bud died, Blossom's grief was as evident as any human's. Her behavior was just, it was quite a change. General manager, Dori Toman says Blossom started hanging out near the front office, always staring at herself in the glass or the model tombstones. She wanted company. Even if it's just a reflection? Yeah. And that's when Dori got a crazy idea, a hysterically lovely, crazy idea. She posted a personal ad that read in part, "'Lonely widowed domestic goose seeks life partner for companionship and occasional shenanigans.

I'm youthful, adventurous, and lively." And what are the odds you're gonna find some goose, a male goose? Oh, in Iowa? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Apparently this state is lousy with bachelor geese. So the phone rings? Mm-hmm. And what do you hear? Honk honk honk honk honk honk.

No, I didn't hear anything like that. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Instead, she heard humans, Deb and Randy Hoyt, owners of a widower goose named Frankie. He needed a mate.

Yeah, and plus he's so lonely. You know, I thought, well, that'll be great, you know? And so they set up a blind date where Blossom welcomed Frankie with open wings.

They started walking off together and they haven't really left each other's sides since. A loving reminder that until your last day is etched in stone, don't ever give up on finding goosebumps. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Here he is! Jimmy Fallon! Hey, hey, hey, hey! Jimmy Fallon just marked his ninth year as host of The Tonight Show.

But Mo Rocca tells us that Fallon is branching out with his love of music leading the way. Look at this. You can hold it. You can open it. You can read it like a book. You can see photos of what- The pictures.

They look like. It's not an act. Here, you can use this thing if you want.

It's when it's a Lornier. Jimmy Fallon really loves music. Oh, I got some good stuff.

Dude, Annie Get Your Gun with Doris Day. So much so, he's got a whole room in his house dedicated to his vinyl collection. All right, check this out.

This'll be good. It's here where he dutifully dusts his LPs. There's definitely fingerprints on here. This looks like there's peanut butter and jelly on this one. Cleans his needle. And you tap the needle onto the jelly thing. I tell you about my baby.

Sometimes he'll make his own music here. And she come around. About a five feet four. From the Hiddlogram.

This was from my high school collection. I love this. And if the mood strikes- Let's hear Downtown. This is so good. That sound, yes. All hell breaks loose. That love of music is evident on The Tonight Show.

It's the last thing it's all about. Which he's hosted for nine seasons. Jamming alongside pop music's biggest names. And now on his musical game show, That's My Jam. Where artists like Kelly Clarkson and Ariana Grande have a little fun while reminding us what makes them superstars. Kelly and Ariana can really sing.

And they were like going for it. When Kelly is singing Whitney Houston, the places melt. Like you almost don't even need microphones. It's amazing when you get to see that type of talent on the show. Fallon describes himself as the most overly entertained human on the planet.

As much a fan as a host. He chose. I saw Kim Kardashian post these earposals like they were organic eggs. That's just telling eggs. We sat down with him at Electric Lady Studios in Manhattan. You've been accused of acting like you like everything.

How do you answer this grave charge? I want everything to work. And I know people come on my show, they're selling something. I have to sell their thing. And I know how much work goes into it. And you do a movie. And it's four months of shooting. And then two months of selling it. So it's like half a year of your life.

I want it to be a hit. So I always root for everything. The cheerleader in Jimmy Fallon may be a legacy of his mother Gloria, whom he describes as his biggest booster. My mom passed away five years ago now.

But it's interesting to find all the clippings of every single thing. I was in any newspaper, any TV guide, any mention of me. My mom would cut it out and keep it. She would call me and be like, you're on Ellen or whatever. I go, yeah, I know. I'm me. Of course, you're telling me I'm on Ellen. Yes, of course, I know I'm on Ellen. But she would remind me that I'm on.

Yes. Went, went, went, went, buh, buh, buh, buh, buh, buh, buh. Fallon has almost always worked clean. That may have something to do with how he was raised.

In a middle class household in Saugerties, New York, the cast included mom and dad Jim Fallon Sr. And Jimmy and his big sister, also named Gloria. Were your parents strict? My parents were very, very strict. Irish Catholic. No dirty words.

No sexy anything. We used to videotape Friday night videos. My dad would watch them the next day on the weekend and actually splice and go VCR to VCR just to give us the videos we were allowed to watch.

So he was editing these shows to do a kid-friendly version. I had a Rodney Dangerfield album, No Respect. And my dad used a car key to scrape out any dirty words in the album.

So I used to listen to Rodney Dangerfield. And I totally missed the punchline. And I thought that was funny. I was like, I'll tell you, my wife, you know, it's you. And then people are clapping. Yeah, that's a good joke.

I missed the whole joke because they cut everything. He scratched it out with the key. Do you think that that was a good thing or a bad thing when you look back at it?

I think it's a little crazy. But also, I don't know, it didn't seem to affect me that much. I mean, I never, ever really worked dirty.

I've done it a couple of times. And I remember my grandpa took me to a gig once. And I said the F word. And it just felt so weird. And the drive home was very quiet. Yeah, I was like, I'm sorry.

I did that. It wasn't even a, I didn't even get a laugh. There were rules. But the family also knew how to have a good time. They would do a duet, my mom and dad. They would lip sync, but also sing over, you don't bring me flowers.

Used to be so natural. Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond. And at the end, we had these fake flowers in our living room. And my sister and I, we would throw the roses at them.

And they would bow and stuff. And you would just do this as kids. For no one, yeah. For just us, yeah.

These family dynamics, it really does sound like you're describing a bit that would be on your show. But this was normal for us. We would do it numerous times. That would be a bit.

We would say, are you going to do the you don't bring me flowers bit? Let's do that again. That's good.

We all have our bits. That's what we would do. The 48-year-old Fallon has his own family now. He married producer Nancy Jovanen in 2007.

They have two daughters. How long would you like to see him in this job? To me, this is a lifelong job because of this. I think. Whoa. Like the pope? Like the monarch? Well, not quite.

Maybe. Well, here's why. I'll tell you why. So whatever he feels good about. But why I say that is this. He, every day, is like creating. So it's like, I want to do this. And he's singing.

And it doesn't matter who's there. He's making up songs just for me, for the kids. And so to have this avenue, this venue, this sort of place outlet, I love that for him.

I don't know where that energy goes if this goes away. Because this is the gig of a lifetime if you like it. So he's in the perfect job for him. To me, yes. We're a teeny weeny beanie while I'm singing to Jolene.

Teeny weeny beanie. And as long as he can help it, Jimmy Fallon's tonight show will stay playful. I promise. You don't swear.

I know. You're a clean teen. I'm a gentleman. That's why I like you. Boop.

I got boop. Funny. My derby hat was designed by Elon Musk. It's a drone.

And summer. And I don't even have to put it on. It just hovers over my head. It was tough doing the show after my mom passed. But what are you going to do? You have a job to do. And you'll hear a song or something. And you're like, ooh, I'm going to cry.

But you can't. Because I don't think you want to see the host get upset. I'm curious why you thought that you shouldn't get weepy. Because as a host, aren't you kind of a little bit like the proxy for the audience? No.

Those are the moments of the show I really don't like. I just really want to just be the outlet of joy. Oh! This should be an hour where you don't have to think. And you go, look at this idiot.

He's doing something ridiculous. And then you fall asleep. That would be my best reaction from any of my fans. You're like, thank you.

Thank you for being silly so that you can make me not think about my problems. Our commentary comes from CBS Saturday Morning's Michelle Miller, whose memoir, Belonging, soon arrives in bookstores. At the age of 24, I was surprised when my father urged me, go find your mother. Because as far as I knew, she'd given birth to me, handed me to dad, and walked out of my life forever. Daddy's side embraced me with love. My mother's side, to my knowledge, to this day, doesn't even know I exist.

I grew up with longing and struggled to find a sense of belonging. Two decades later, I would finally meet the mother who abandoned me. I would learn that her proud working class Latino family had vehemently opposed her even dating a black man. To them, what possible life could he ever offer her?

Never mind that he was the chief of surgery at a prominent Los Angeles area hospital. As a result, I am, to this very day, my mother's secret, hidden in plain sight, a fact that's haunted me. I've spent my whole life searching for that sense of belonging. I now know it's been with me all along, and I embrace it, knowing that no matter where I am, Los Angeles, the place of my birth, or New Orleans, where I met the love of my life, Marc Morial, and started a beautiful family, or right here at CBS News, that wherever I am is where I belong. It was here, covering stories from Hurricane Katrina to the murder of George Floyd, that I found my space sharing the perspectives of many of you, often left out of the story.

I could speak your truths because you were visible to me. Perhaps that semi-orphan kid's need to be seen was at the heart of my need to tell your stories. Identity is shaped as much by those who are absent in our lives as by those who stay beside us. I've learned to prize the ones who stay, to give them my heart, and to never let them go. I deeply appreciate the life I have, not the one I might have wished for. And to my mother, if you're watching right now, know this. Just like this conflicted nation of ours, grappling with a history some may refuse to acknowledge, even if you never proclaim me as your own, I will always be your daughter. I can tell by your wide-eyed stares and slack and jaws that you've never been taught by a caveman before. So let's go through the basics, shall we? Do I hunt and kill my own food?

No, I shop in an organic grocery store and pay too much for heirloom tomatoes. That's actor and comedian Nick Kroll in the short-lived TV series, Caveman. Now Kroll is tackling a new role with ancient roots and a truly legendary pedigree. He's teaming up with Mel B. Brooks on the history of the world, part two. Nick Kroll is in conversation with Ben Mankiewicz. Where are you guys at with Trump?

Honestly, are you guys here? Because here's the thing. There's just like something fishy about that guy. Nick Kroll working on another recipe for jokes in the comedy kitchen. I'm like, I don't know if I'm going to vote for him again. I'm like, I don't know if I'm going to vote for him again. After a wildly successful stand-up special last fall. And I'm just never going to be the guy who rides a motorcycle.

If I were, I'd be the guy at the back of the pack who's like, oh, no, I'm going to miss the light. He found Kroll back on stage at Largo, one of LA's hippest nightclubs, trying out new yet still unrefined material. I am so excited for tonight's show. We have an insane lineup. You guys, Kanye West is here tonight. Were there a couple of things that you know basically worked that will probably likely show up in the next special, whenever that is?

Yeah, or yes, or at least be the base of operations that will be tent poles that I'm like, OK, that joke works well enough to put here. 44 years old. Her wife is drunk, she's babbling nonsense. Kroll has had an enviable last decade in show business. The Supreme Court has agreed to hear our case. Producing, writing, and acting. Reservation, Larry David.

And I requested a table by the window. Those were all jobs, good ones, too. But his vocation hasn't changed.

I'm sorry, but we cannot honor that request. He's a comedian. It's like whenever you tell someone, I'm a comedian, before you're well known, or when people are like, I'm dating a comedian or I'm a comedian, they're like, oh, how's it going?

You know, it's actually going pretty well. He forged his identity early, growing up just outside New York City, the youngest of four. My impression of your family, they wouldn't be surprised at your career path.

No, I think they were. So I was always performing for them. I remember being with my family and just reciting Andrew Dice Clay jokes to them when I was like 11. When do you come out to LA, 2006? 2007, I live in the Oakwoods with a bunch of child stars. Not child stars, children aspiring to be stars. They had a little deli, and there's all these 150 headshots of brooding seven-year-olds.

Just kind of like, I live there. I went on like, I don't know, 30 auditions for pilots. And the final one I went on was for this show called Cavemen. It's so easy to use Geico.com, a caveman could do it. Inspired by the popular Geico commercials.

Not cool. The ABC sitcom Cavemen failed to evolve. Hi, coffee and a donut, please. Excuse me?

He wants a Americano and a beignet. Canceled after just seven episodes. Beloved commercials, despised show. It has moments. It's not bad. No, it's not bad at all. No, it's funny. I mean, it's like, I'm like, I still stand by.

I'm like, that's as funny as any other show. Nothing to be ashamed of at all. Right. So it didn't feel like failure to you. Well, it didn't feel like personal failure.

It felt like I'm participating in a failure. Yeah, right. Which is different.

It's different. Kroll is philosophical about failure. My dear friend Maya Angelou said, if you don't pick up the compliments, then you don't have to pick up the criticisms. So it's like, how much do you let in? If you don't let in all the good stuff, if you just don't let other people's opinions sway you too much.

Is there enough room for some mayonnaise in this lady's sandwich? Kroll kept working. Free shot.

I'm not even touching the Fussenschaften. With a steady diet of supporting roles on TV. Along the way, he found a strength writing and playing outlandish characters. From a crass lawyer playing fantasy football with his friends in the league. Darren Sproles. Good pick.

Great job. Darren Sproles, no. No, no, no, no. That's who I was going to pick. Who cares? He picked Darren Sproles. He could have picked Bill Shatner.

He doesn't know what the difference is. I think of myself as like a very cool, very white Jay-Z. To a tacky, overconfident entrepreneur. OK, I'm Bobby Bottle Service, AKA Bobby Bottle Service.

Bobby Bottle Service eventually became a fixture on Kroll's self-titled sketch comedy show. In a related note, excuse me, are you 9-11? No. Because I could never forget you. I'm going home.

You guys are repulsive. Kroll Show ran for three seasons on Comedy Central. It was easier to be a character. It's like you could put on silly sunglasses and a funny shirt and silly pants and become someone else.

For breakfast, we'll do something cool, like have a cigarette and like a bar of chocolate. So that if someone didn't like it, it wasn't like they didn't like Nick Kroll. And it gave me a freedom and confidence to say things and do things that worked harder for me to do as myself. Oh, hello. These days, Kroll is putting the final touches on his latest sketch comedy show for Hulu, History of the World Part II, a limited series sequel to the 1981 Mel Brooks comedy. Get your mud pies from me, schmuck mud men, made with the abject suffering and eczema of the Jewish diaspora.

It's the same sketch style with an updated cast, including Wanda Sykes and Ike Barenholtz. Who is this? It's your mama. If you're my mother, what is your last name? Mel. It's my mother.

That confirms it. For Kroll, it's a chance not only to collaborate with his friends and peers, but to work with his comedy hero, Mel Brooks. How important was Mel Brooks to young Nick Kroll?

It's Mel Brooks in Saturday Night Live. But Mel Brooks' movies, to me, we owned History of the World on VHS, we owned Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles, and The Producers. Talk about bad taste.

I watched The Producers basically every day as I became a teenager for like three or four years. There's a school of thought in Hollywood these days. Hey, boys. That Brooks' brand of comedy isn't 2023 friendly.

Hey, where are the white women at? Movies like Blazing Saddles couldn't be made today in an era when comedians like Kroll have to watch what they say. But I don't think it's limiting. I just think it's like anything else. There's just challenges that have to be figured out. And the ones who are the best figure out how to continue to shock and surprise and also be mindful of the time and place that we live. Some call me Jesus Christ, son of God.

Some call him broken corny. That woman is enchanting. However we can figure out how to keep that connection with an audience where you are surprising them into laughter is the ultimate goal. If this was on Netfish, I would cancel my subscription. The journey is figuring out how to do that. Thank you for listening. Please join us when our trumpet sounds again next Sunday morning.

Hey, Prime members. You can listen to CBS Sunday Morning with Jane Pauley ad-free on Amazon Music. Download the Amazon Music app today. Or you can listen ad-free with Wondery Plus in Apple Podcasts. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at Wondery.com slash survey.