Goldberg
I was a young news reporter at a TV station in Peoria.
Like most of the young people working at TV stations in Peoria, I hoped to move on to bigger things.
I worked Monday through Friday. I would come in on the weekend, use the receptionist’s desk and typewriter, and work on resumes and cover letters. I was sending out tapes.
How to begin your tape was a matter of debate and probably still is. Some suggested a montage of you doing live shots and stand-ups.
That wasn’t me. I’m a writer and reporter.
“Parking meters look like periscopes,” I said, as the first video appeared. It was a flood story. I was showing that I could write to video.
I got nibbles here and there and thought I saw something here and there. Savannah, Minneapolis, Milwaukee, and so on.
I got an interview in Nashville.
When I got there, News Director David Goldberg met me and then left. He said I should stay here. He was meeting the General Manager. Stay here and he would be back.
So I stood there and time passed. I don’t remember how long it took, but the point came where I was impatient. And then I got to wondering.
Was this a test?
Would I follow instructions and stay here. Or, being a reporter, would I bust out and look around and talk to people?
I didn’t care. I started to work the area and talk with reporters and editors. I sensed unhappiness.
I later got my interview. It was in Goldberg’s office. An assistant intermittently came and went, sometimes staying for a while and sometimes not. He sometimes had an update from the newsroom that never seemed all that valuable.
I’m on this couch. It slouches me back.
Did they cut down the back legs? You were naturally thrown back while sitting in it. You had to work to sit forward.
I realized that when I was laid back, so were they. If I sat forward, they responded.
So I started going from back to forward for the fun of it.
I didn’t get hired.
I did okay. The fellow who hired me in Peoria became Assistant News Director in Houston and got me hired there. A parade of bosses followed.
I’m guessing at least five years later Goldberg appeared. He was the new News Director at KHOU.
The boss was now a guy who interviewed me, but didn’t hire me.
I’m not the type to hide.
“It’s been a few years and you may have a few more gray hairs,” I said to him in the newsroom. “But you still look good.”
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Bill Jeffreys. We interviewed in Nashville.”
He looked me in the eye.
“Parking meters look like periscopes,” he said.
It worked out okay.