It is literally true to say that they just about broke the mold after Ed McMahon left “The Tonight Show” with host Johnny Carson in 1992.

Just think about the late-night talk shows of today. They have practically abandoned the idea of having a traditional sidekick like McMahon on the couch nightly to laugh at the host’s jokes, briefly chat about the day’s events or relieve the tension when making light of personal troubles (like Carson and McMahon’s ability to collect ex-wives).

The shows’ band leaders are around today to make very brief, small talk with the hosts, so there is hardly a need for a sidekick to fill a seat on the guest couch.

David Letterman uses bandleader Paul Shaffer, Jay Leno used bandleader Kevin Eubanks. Conan O’Brien rehired his former “Late Night” sidekick, Andy Richter, to join his version of “The Tonight Show,” but Richter is officially listed as an announcer.

This isn’t to say that McMahon— who died Tuesday at age 86—didn’t serve an important function as Carson’s announcer and sidekick. He earned his pay just by the boisterous way he said, “Heeeeere’s Johnny” at the start of the show. McMahon also was essentially playing the role of best friend on the couch. Viewers got the sense that his warm relationship with Carson was genuine.

In announcing McMahon’s death on his syndicated morning show Tuesday, Regis Philbin, who was Joey Bishop’s sidekick in another life—cleverly envisioned Carson introducing his sidekick in heaven by saying, “Heeeere’s Ed.”

Some nights late in Carson’s 30-year run, McMahon didn’t really do much more than say, “Heeeere’s Johnny.” When I wrote about my last visit to Carson’s show in his final year, 1992, I noted that comedian Paula Poundstone was so funny “she almost gets a reaction from McMahon, who hasn’t said anything since ‘Heere’s Johnny.’”

McMahon, who worked with Carson for five years on the game show “Who Do You Trust?” before joining him on “Tonight,” was valuable as Carson’s laugh track, security blanket and straight man in scripted segments— like the one in which Carson played the psychic “Carnac the Magnificent” —and some unscripted moments.

On my last visit to Carson’s show in January 1992, scenes of some classic “Tonight Show” bits were played for the studio audience. In one, McMahon was doing a dog food commercial for a sponsor, something that was done on the show back then. As McMahon delivered the lines, the dog ran away. Carson came in, pretended to be a dog and started eating the food.

McMahon also was quite a pitchman away from “The Tonight Show.” He may have been best known in his post-“Tonight” days for his ubiquitous commercials for a publisher’s sweepstakes. If McMahon had a dime for every time a writer cracked a joke about the joys of McMahon knocking on some-one’s door with a check, he would have been a multimillionaire.

Of course, McMahon knew he had won the lottery by working with Carson, and most fans assumed his 30 years as the sidekick made him a multimillionaire and he was financially set for life. What were as shocking as they were sad were headlines a year ago about the possibility that McMahon stood to lose his multimillion-dollar house because he couldn’t pay his mortgage.

After all, it wasn’t as if Mc- Mahon hit the unemployment lines after his “Tonight Show” run ended. In hindsight, his post-“Tonight” career suggested that he might have needed the money.

In 1997, McMahon played an antiquated co-host of a fictional morning show in a WB series, “The Tom Show,” which starred Tom Arnold. I didn’t love the show but wrote, “McMahon is quite good as a sexist co-host.”

In 2001, he got another shot as host of “The Next Big Star” on PAX. It was an obvious attempt to duplicate the success of “Star Search,” a forerunner of “American Idol.”

But by far, McMahon’s greatest post-“Tonight” role was as the voice who put the host’s legacy in perspective. When Carson died in 2005, CNN reprised an old interview with McMahon that included the day’s best line about Carson’s legacy.

“If television was ever invented for someone, it was invented for him,” said McMahon.

The role of sidekick may have been far from the most important TV invention. But no one filled the minimalist role better than McMahon.