Mornings With Barney by Dick Wolfsie (reading books for 4 year olds .txt) 📗

I convinced to let me create a late-night show, not unlike the one I had been offered in Boston, to feature what I called fringe people, locals who didn’t usually get much air time because of their out-of the-mainstream lifestyle and beliefs.

It was quite a ride for over a year. I interviewed Holocaust deniers, professional wrestlers, and the KKK. Pornographers, transsexuals, transvestites, gay teens, prostitutes, they all appeared on Night Talk. But the show aired only once a week. Lots of mayhem. No money.

It was time for action. The $10 million project to refurbish the old downtown Indianapolis Union Station as a festival marketplace was about six months from completion. I looked at the building and realized it would be a perfect place for a morning TV show, something Indy had not had in several years. Something I hadn’t had in a few years myself.

Using a little New York chutzpah, I managed to convince both the local TV affiliate and the Union Station developer that the idea had merit. Incredibly, they agreed. I would be host and producer of this morning TV show.

AM Indiana held its own for almost five years—quite a long run in the talk business. But it was a bad time to be in the talk business on a local station. After five years, the combined competition of Oprah and Phil Donahue, airing at the same time on different stations, buried us. I ended up with more awards than viewers. Out of work again. I was getting good at this—losing my job, that is.

What was I doing wrong? Why did every TV position I ever had start with a bang and end with a whimper? I didn’t know it then, but my career breakthrough was six months away. This time it would begin with a whimper.

So You Think This Is Funny?

There were only two kinds of meetings I had ever had with a general manager: the kind where I got the job and the kind where I lost one. So it will come as no surprise that I was a bit nervous when I was called into General Manager Paul Karpowicz’s office. I didn’t bring Barney with me, although Paul was such a nice guy that I thought it would have been hard for him to look into the beagle’s deep brown eyes and tell him his career was over already. Of course, I had a fair amount of experience in this area, so I prepared for the worst.

“Sit down, Dick.” Always a bad sign, I thought. “Did you think that was funny the way the dog urinated on the TV monitor?” he asked sternly.

Paul’s question was an awfully good one. I did think it was funny . . . but did he? He didn’t ask me if I thought he thought it was funny. He asked me what I thought was funny. Now I was so flustered I opted for something against my better judgment: the truth.

“Paul, I thought it was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” I held my breath.

“So did I, Wolfsie, so did I. The dog will be a great addition to the morning news.”

“Even though he peed on a TV in front of all our viewers?”

“If the ratings go up, he can take a dump in my office.”

Two weeks later, that’s exactly what Barney did—right next to Paul’s prized ficus plant, after a station meeting.

At that point, Barney and I were on Paul’s good list. But it hadn’t always been that way. When I was originally hired as the morning reporter, it was, I later discovered, not without some clear reservations on his part. My short list of potential news stories had included segments on how the corned beef was delivered each morning to Shapiro’s, the local eatery that had a reputation for being as close to New York (and heaven) as any delicatessen in Indiana. I also included a possible segment where I would sit in on a conversation with a small group of Jewish men, including several Holocaust survivors, who for thirty years had huddled at the deli every morning at 6 AM to kibbitz about the world while they gobbled lox and bagels. Oh, and it would be cool to show how they make bagels. Oy, what a mistake.

When Karpowicz saw the list, he told news director Lee Giles that he was concerned that I was obsessed with Jewish things. He wondered if I would be able to expand my horizons and find other kinds of segments. He had a point. The Jewish population was not exactly a big demographic in Indiana. I submitted a new list that was more ecumenical, and I ultimately got the job. And, with Barney and a little luck, I would keep it.

Months after that incident in Paul’s office, Barney had what you might call an encore performance. I did a Daybreak segment just outside the PR firm Caldwell Van Riper on Meridian Street in Indianapolis. We were highlighting a sports mural that had been painted on the side of their building, showcasing the Indiana Pacers.

Right next door to Caldwell Van Riper is WRTV Channel 6, the ABC affiliate, one of Channel 8’s rival stations. Normally, I’d do everything possible to prevent their sign and logo from being seen on our program. But as the live shoot began, I noticed that Barney had roamed away from me and was sniffing along the grounds of the Channel 6 property.

What I saw next required an immediate journalistic decision, a judgment call that put into play all of my experience as a broadcast professional. Should I tell Carl Finchum, my new photographer, to pan over to the Channel 6 lawn and get a shot of Barney? Sure. Why not? “Carl,” I said on camera, “show the viewers what Barney thinks of the competition.”

The camera panned . . . and . . . you guessed it: tens of thousands of loyal Channel 8 viewers watched as my lovable beagle squatted next to the