Chapter 9: You Gotta Start Somewhere

It took me two months to find a job but, when I did, it was worth it. Getting there was another matter. I had sent out at least twenty résumés, each containing a picture and my educational background. Amazingly, my former employer had written a letter of recommendation, even though I didn't ask for one. When I talked to him on that Monday he was very understanding, telling me that politics wasn't for the faint-hearted. He might have added ethical but didn't.

I was called in for six interviews, three with newspapers, one with a weekly magazine, and two with radio stations. Each of them wanted to dwell on my experience in the political environment rather than my writing ability. I didn't hold out any hope that even one of these interviews would generate a job. There just didn't seem to be enough interest.

I was looking into other outlets when I got a phone call one morning. It was Conrad Thompson, news director for Channel 4, one of the top three stations in Ottawa.

"Ben Cross suggested I give you a call, Mr. Berglund. I wonder if you could find the time to come in and talk to me. I've got your CV in front of me and we might have something to discuss."

"I'd be happy to, Mr. Thompson. What would be convenient for you?"

"Tomorrow at nine am okay?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, just let the receptionist know that I'm expecting you. Our editorial meeting should be over by then."

"Thank you, sir, I'll see you tomorrow at nine."

I was pumped. Ben Cross had written the letter of recommendation and, by the sound of it, he and Conrad Thompson were friends or at least acquaintances.

I identified myself to the receptionist and she pointed me in the direction of the newsroom. I'd been in a couple of them before but not one for a television station. However, they were almost always a beehive of activity at this time of the day. I looked around and was about to start searching for Mr. Thompson when an attractive young woman approached me.

"Can I help you?" she smiled. Nice smile too.

"Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Thompson."

"Follow me. I'll take you to his office. He's still in the editorial meeting but he shouldn't be long. Can I get you a coffee or something?"

"No thanks, I'm fine. Thanks for your help," I smiled. She was cute and made no secret of giving me the once-over.

I sat in the chair facing his desk unable to see out the door behind me. I got up and watched the activity in the newsroom. There must have been at least a dozen computer terminals, most occupied, along with what looked like some kind of projection units. I had no clue how television worked although I could see two large cameras over on the other side of the room and recognized one of the sets that was used on the evening news. It seemed a lot smaller than it appeared on TV.

"Are you Hal Berglund?" I heard as a burly man in his early fifties approached me.

"Yes, sir. Are you Mr. Thompson?"

"That's me. Have a seat," he said, after we shook hands. He had a suit coat on a hanger in his office but his sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to the elbows, and his collar and tie had been loosened. He didn't waste any time with chitchat.

"Ben tells me you left the party over a 'moral issue.' Is that right?"

"Yes, sir. I was upset that they were planning to use the disaster in the U.S. to make brownie points for their party. Looking back on it, I guess I'm a little too naïve for that business."

He nodded. "I understand. Ben also says you're a good writer. Who trained you?"

"Well, I took journalism courses in college but I was writing for a small local paper before that. The editor showed me how to compose a proper news story and how to make it fit the space available."

"Your editor did you a favour. What he taught you is even more important in radio and TV. Time is what we sell, so time is what we work with. In this business the first thing you have to learn is how long it takes to tell a story. We only get 22 minutes to tell the public everything they need to know in a half hour program, and that includes weather and features."

He slipped a piece of paper across his desk.

"Here's a proposed contract, Hal. Essentially, it's a try-out for you. Some guys can cut it and some guys can't. We'll find out soon enough if you can make it in this business. If you're interested you can start next Monday. I'll have someone work with you to show you the ropes but I hope you're a fast learner. We don't have a lot of spare bodies for training."

I looked at the sheet of paper and saw the proposed salary. It was slightly more than I was making at the party headquarters.

"I'd like to give it a shot," I said. "What time Monday?"

"Five am. We've got a six o'clock newscast to prepare, so you might as well see us at our worst. Only the old pros get to work the afternoon shift," he smiled. "Think you can handle it?"

"I'll damn sure give it a try," I promised.

We rose, shook hands once more and I headed out of the newsroom with a sense of optimism.

"What's that grin on your face all about, Hal?" Steve asked.

"I have a job. Or at least I have a tryout for a job."

"Really? Where?" Renata asked.

"Channel 4 TV. I'm going to have to learn to write news stories that fit a certain time slot. This is all new to me but I'm going to give a real good try."

"Wow, that's terrific," Steve said. "It didn't take that long to find a great job after all."

"I'm on trial but I'm hoping I can catch on quickly. I'm going to spend some time this weekend learning to read a story in the paper and mentally try and time it. If I can get some sort of concept of how long it takes to say something I should be able to do this."

"You'll be fine," Bruno smiled. "You're a sharp guy. You'll figure it out. The next thing you know, we'll be seeing you on the news reading your own stuff."

"That would be so cool," Renata enthused. "Then we could say we knew you when."

I laughed at all the enthusiasm around the table. My friends were all convinced that this was a foregone conclusion and that I was going to succeed. Well, I would try my damndest to prove them right. My parents were also delighted with my opportunity, and were just as confident as my friends that I would succeed.

I spent hours that weekend trying to understand how many words per minute I could have to tell a story. I timed several newscasts and discovered a lot of the stories were less than a minute, or very little more. It would be impossible to tell a complete story in that short period so I started to analyze which parts of the story made the news and which parts didn't. I also read some background in the paper to see if any essential parts of the story were missing. That was an eye-opener.

I'm one of the fortunate people who can legitimately call myself a morning person. I was awake before my four am alarm went off and was in the Channel 4 newsroom almost ten minutes early. There was very little road traffic at that time of day. Hardly anyone was around and I wondered who would be my guide on this first day. I was about to ask one of the nearby men when I felt a hand on my arm and turned to see a smiling, attractive and familiar face.

"All ready for your new job?" she asked. It was the young woman who had led me to Conrad Thompson's office last week.

"Yes, I'm anxious to get started. Can you tell me who I'm supposed to see?"

"Me. I'm Sylvia Potvin. I'm an intern which is another word for gofer," she laughed.

"Hi, Sylvia. I'm Hal Berglund," I said, extending my hand.

She not only had a lovely smile but a firm handshake as well.

"Let me show you to your desk," she said, leading me to an area on the fringe of the office.

There were two chairs at the desk in anticipation of our arrival. Sylvia sat to my left and showed me how to log on to the system, set up my user name and showed me the daily password. I wasn't to use the unit for anything other than practice for the first two days. When the time came, I would be given specific assignments with a time frame for each. I didn't have to be exact but I needed to be close.

I watched as she demonstrated how to set up a story and then self-edit to make it fit the frame. There was a simple clock timer on the desk that we could use to calculate how we were doing. By late morning, I had a crick in my neck from looking at the screen and then the timer as we wrote and re-wrote stories. We quit at eleven o'clock for a lunch break.

Sylvia led me to a small but fully equipped lunch area with coffee machines, vending machines, a microwave, sink and full-size refrigerator. I had brought my own lunch and it sat on the desk until we left for our break.

"So, where did you go to school, Sylvia?"

"Algonquin College. I want to be a field reporter but the only way I could get on was as an intern. You're much better off. You must have something the boss wants."

"I have some newspaper experience and I worked with a political party for over three years helping write press releases, some speeches and generally sitting in on policy development."

"Wow! No wonder Conrad wants you on the team. How did you get that job?"

"Just luck. I started as an intern, just like you. Very little money but, as I learned the ropes, I got sucked in a little further. I started in municipal politics, moved to provincial, then federal."

"So ... why are you here? That sounds like a dream job."

"Sometimes you have to recognize if you're cut out for certain kinds of jobs. In this case, I realized I wasn't cut out for politics ... at least from the inside. I was pretty naïve and saw and heard some things that I couldn't handle so I left."

"Dirty tricks stuff?" she asked.

"Something like that. I'm hoping I won't run into that kind of stuff here."

"You won't if Conrad has anything to say about it. He's old school. We don't do editorials. We report the news and you'd better get your facts straight," she announced, trying to sound like the gravel-voiced Thompson."

"I can deal with that," I chuckled. "If there is a need for an editorial, it should have a flashing sign at the bottom of the screen saying that's what it is."