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

cards for a living. When she secured a consulting job in Chicago, we decided to move to the Windy City together, and I would look for freelance work as a writer there.

Before we left for Chicago, on several occasions I had filled in for the evening host, who eventually left the show for the business world. The bosses liked my style and for almost a year, they flew me in from Chicago on Sunday nights, then jetted me home on Wednesdays. I was hosting the show three nights a week.

I don’t recall exactly why QUBE took a chance with me, but I think that, like my teaching job, I was the beneficiary of being at the right place at the right time . . . when the people in charge were desperate.

Columbus Alive reached only a small audience, but because the technology was unique, so state of the art, it was not uncommon for reporters from all over the world to be in the control room watching the show. I became a master at what was called a PQ, also known as an interactive question. “Do you think gays should be allowed to teach school?” I asked the audience during a related debate. Then I would proclaim: “touch now,” which meant the home viewer could push the appropriate button and register his opinion. Once, during a particularly boring interview, I polled the audience, asking if it was time to excuse my guest and go on to the next portion of the show. The viewers voted. The guest was soon history. And I made a little history. Had something like this ever happened before on a television show? I’m sure not.

One of my first guests on the evening show was Jack Hanna, director of the Columbus Zoo and now a regular with Larry King and David Letterman. So nervous was Hanna on his first TV interview that when I asked him whether the snake he had wrapped around my neck was poisonous, he just stared at me blankly. During the pause, my eyes widened in mock fear. Timing is everything. The crew broke into laughter. I told Jack after the show, “That’s a funny bit. Just pretend you’re not really that informed about the animals ... be a little surprised by what they do.” Almost thirty years later, Jack is still doing that very act. Is Jack pretending he’s clueless or is he acting? You’re never sure. That’s what makes Jack Hanna so much fun to watch.

The show was like my classroom. There was no live audience, but I often imagined there was a roomful of kids in front of me. It worked. In fact, it worked so well, I became the first cable talk-show host to win a regional Emmy.

We wanted kids, but not quite yet. How about a dog? Enter Sabra, a terrier mix from the Humane Society. She was our first dog together and soon became the central focus in our lives.

Sabra must have always wanted to be a mother because after being spayed, she would steal socks out of our laundry hamper, distribute them on the floor, and guard them as if they were her puppies. If we approached her, she snarled. Socks only a mother could love.

Sabra did fill a void in our lives. We were past twenty-somethings, but an immediate plunge into parenthood did not seem advised given the uncertainty of the TV business. Caring for a dog might give us a little confidence that we could be good “parents,” or at least provide some comfort we could move on to the next level of parenting.

In 1980, I received an Emmy Award for Best Talk Show Host in a three-state region of the Midwest. This was the first time in history that the prize had gone to a cable host, as opposed to someone in traditional broadcast TV.

Within weeks, a Boston network affiliate offered me a job as a late-night host, moving me from the tiny Columbus market to the number-five station in the country. While Mary Ellen was off to Bean City searching for an apartment, another call from Burt. “Dick, WABC in New York just called me. They want you to audition for their morning show.”

This program, along with its counterpart in L.A., was the number-one local morning show in the country. As a New Yorker, I knew the time slot had a history of turnover after the exit of host Stanley Siegel, a certified neurotic who had left television, probably for long-term therapy. He was a therapist himself, so he probably spent the next few years just talking to . . . well, himself.

Dozens of hosts from around the country had tried out for the gig. But the spot was still vacant.

Incredibly, I was not the least bit nervous during the live on-air audition. I had a firm job offer in Boston, and I was getting the hang of this talk-show thing. And what did I have to lose?

My first guest that morning, a flamboyant fashion designer from Manhattan, was demonstrating the proper beachwear for the summer. He placed a huge sombrero on his own head and said, “No sun will ever touch me.” I did a take to the audience, then: “No son of mine, I’ll tell you that.” Laughter and applause from the spectators and crew. But it was better than that. My mother loved it, too.

The next day I was offered the job on Good Morning, New York. My salary was five times what I made in Columbus. But something didn’t seem right. And for the next six months nothing was right. My career in the Big Apple was brief, less than a year. Big stars like Woody Allen, Mickey Rooney, James Mason, and Louis Armstrong sat across from me promoting their books and movies. But overall, it was a painful experience. Lots of politics and backstabbing. And not the TV market where they give you much time to grow into the job.

Memories of those years have faded, but