Chapter 13

Paul was frustrated with his own efforts to research radio/television specialty schools. There was no lack of choice, but distinguishing wheat from chaff was proving difficult. The courses ran from a few weeks to a full year of what was called "post-graduate study" and Paul was at a loss.

Finally, he threw in the towel and asked Lois to seek advice from the appropriate partners at the firm.

Two days later, he got a call from Reuben Weisman, who identified himself as one of Raymond Silverthorn's law partners. "I have a man I'd like you to meet. I think he can help you. Could you come to our offices tomorrow morning?"

Paul said he'd be there, and, after thanking Mr. Weisman and getting information about where to report and the name of the man he was supposed to see, he hung up.

It wasn't a lawyer with the firm that Paul was to see, it was a man from the broadcasting business. The man, one Wendell Jemison, had been described by Weisman as a "radio broadcasting executive."

At 10 a.m. the next day, Paul was ushered into a small conference room by a secretary, where he waited five minutes for the arrival of Jemison. Jemison and Reuben Weisman arrived together, introduced themselves, and the two men chatted briefly with Paul before Weisman left.

Jemison watched gravely as Paul re-took his seat and went through the knee-adjustment process required for him to sit comfortably.

"I hear you're looking for good training for a broadcasting career," Jemison said.

"Yes, sir."

"How would you feel about on-the-job training?" the man said. Jemison was an old fellow; past 75, Paul estimated. He was gray-haired and well-dressed, but not distinguished looking. He looked like someone who'd worked hard, all his life.

"You mean -- working in a radio station?"

"Two-bit station," Jemison said. "I own a bunch of 'em. Little old thousand-watt AM things nobody much listens to. Talk radio, mostly. 'Got all the assholes -- right wing, left wing -- you name it. Assholes talkin' and mostly assholes listenin', out there in Radioland, too!"

"You understand, sir, that what I'm looking to do is to train to be a sportscaster. I'm not sure that what you're describing is..."

"Yessir, I do understand! I really do! I ain't sayin' you shouldn't go to school! But school's school and practical experience is a big help, too. Now, I got this little half-assed AM station in a place called Nutley, New Jersey. It's only a thousand watts and don't amount to nothin', but there's so many people in the listening area that we can sell enough advertising to make a dollar. Now, I need somebody, 'be my man, there. It's not difficult. After a few days, it'll come natural to you.

"You'd be mostly just the bridge between them talk shows we run all the time. Later on, maybe you can do a couple' public service shows, half-hour on Friday evening, when nobody's listenin'. You go down there, you work a couple' weeks, and then my station manager is departin' forever, and when he does, why, you're the new station manager, just like that!"

"Well, Mr. Jemison, I don't know. It doesn't sound like the kind of practical training I'm going to need to..."

"Wait! Wait, I ain't through yet! There's a school, over in Manhattan, is the best trainin' for radio available on the whole east coast, 'swear to God! It's a' easy train ride, from Nutley. You can go in, weekday evenings, go to school there, at night. They got Saturday courses, too, all day long, and you don't got to work, at the station, on Saturdays.

"Now. This school, I kid you not, it's the best! You don't need to take my word for it! I'll give you the names of radio people that know it -- and these are people in radio that even you might know, who they are!

"Now, at my station, you're gonna learn a lot of practical stuff that you just won't get, in a school, anywhere -- even a good one. You're gonna run a radio station by the seat of your pants! You're the announcer, and the fuckin' weatherman, and the sports guy, and you'll read the news from off the AP -- the works!

"And, in a couple' weeks, you'll be the fuckin' station manager! I got a young girl, and a boy, works there, the hours when you ain't gonna be there. Both of them's too young to run the place. But you could! You'll be the manager, 'fore this very month is out, even. Now, how'll that look on your resume? Not too bad, huh?"

Paul wasn't certain that being all-purpose flunky at a thousand-watt AM station was the key to his future as a sportscaster, and this Jemison guy seemed to be a little bit of a fruitcake. Still, Paul didn't think a partner at Raymond Silverthorn's law firm would hook him up with a total lunatic.

"Tell me about the school," he said.

"All I can tell you, it's first-rate," Jemison said. "I know that, for a fact, and I know plenty of people, on the faculty there, and who went to school there, both. But you're interested in doin' sports, right? Here's a guy, went to that school, and is doing sports, right now. You can call him, mention my name, ask him to meet with you, tell you all about it!"

Jemison handed Paul a business card:

Alex Fain

ESPN Radio

The card had an address and phone number in New York City.

"You know who that is?" Jemison said.

"Sure. Fain used to play ball. Giants. Then the Blue Jays, before he retired."

"That's right. And now he does radio, for ESPN. He does color on their game broadcasts; he does his own sports show -- the works. And he was a jock -- just like you was a jock -- before he did radio.

And Fain, he went to this school I'm tellin' you about, in Manhattan. He can tell you all about it. You call him, maybe go see him, even. Fuck, ask him for his autograph. He was a pretty good ballplayer!"

"Yes, he was," Paul said. "Supposing I just wanted to go to the school, and didn't want your job, at the station in Nutley?"

"Well, Hell, boy, I can't force you to work for me! But the station would be good trainin' for you. I'm not shittin' you, boy, about that! And you could live there, in Nutley, a whole lot cheaper than in Manhattan! Whole lot cheaper! Hell, tell you what, I'll rent you an apartment! I got apartments, 'block away from the station! You could walk! Even with them pins of yours, you could walk to work!"

"Let me talk to Fain," Paul said. "Mr. Jemison, you should know that, even if I did take the radio station job, I'd be gone, as soon as this course was over with."

"Oh, hell, I know that!" Jemison said. "If you was there for three months, even, you'd be doin' me a favor!"