turk. If that squirrel was still alive Nation TV would give him his own show – prime time.
“You won that battle, and you’ll win this one.”
“I’m not optimistic,” Jill said. “But I’m not going to oblige the network by falling on my sword. I’ve been a journalist for over twenty-five years. I want to leave a legacy. If this Ridgeway story is half as hot as I think it is, I’ll be able to force Nation TV to admit that investigative journalism has a place in network television.”
“That’s the Jill I know and love,” I said. “And I have an idea about where you can start. You have the video of Zack’s press conference. Hang on to everything that was filmed but didn’t make it to air. When Zack talked about ensuring that the foundations of the Rose Street houses were firm, he was responding to a question from an old woman quoting the Bible. As soon as Zack started in, Ridgeway’s campaign manager, Slater Doyle, jumped for his cell. I’d pay good money to know who he called.”
“Save your money,” Jill said. “I’m still on salary at Nation TV , and that means I’m free to ask questions, follow leads, and keep on digging until we hit pay dirt.”
“All of a sudden I can’t stop smiling,” I said. “Jill, I can’ttell you what it will mean to me to have you here. Lately I’ve been feeling like Sisyphus, rolling my boulder up the hill and just standing by as it rolls back down again.”
“From now on there’ll be two of us to push the boulder,” Jill said. “It’ll be like old times. I’ll call you as soon as I know what time I’ll be arriving in Regina.”
“Try to book a flight that will get you here in time for dinner tomorrow,” I said. “Howard Dowhanuik and the kids are coming for brisket. Zack loves a full table.”
“And tomorrow is Ian’s birthday,” Jill said. The ache in her voice was unmistakable. “Jo, I miss you all so much.”
“We miss you too,” I said. “But tomorrow we’ll be together. And on Ian’s birthday. He would have gotten a kick out of that.”
The second-hour slot on
Quinlan Live
was good placement for Zack. Although the studio was in Saskatoon, the show was broadcast provincewide between 8:30 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. and rebroadcast at night. By the end of the day, much of the province had heard Jack Quinlan’s voice: badgering, teasing, empathizing, pontificating, enthusing, consoling.
Quinlan’s politics were as far to the right of mine as it was possible to be, but I liked him. Over the years, I’d been on
Quinlan Live
dozens of times as an academic whose views on the politics of foreign takeovers, culture, race, poverty, and a host of other issues lit up the phone lines. Jack was often outrageous, but he was always fair, and I knew he’d give Zack a chance to talk freely.
The flight to Saskatoon took only thirty-five minutes, but that was still thirty-five minutes too long for me. I didn’t exhale until the plane touched down and then it was back to business. On the cab ride to Quinlan’s studio overlooking the Saskatchewan River, Zack and I talked about questions that might prove problematic. With live radio the nutbarfactor is always high, but the producer of
Quinlan Live
was adept at using the cut-off button.
When Zack did his pre-broadcast mike check, the board was already lit up. Quinlan turned to Zack. “Ready to rock and roll?” he said.
Zack slipped on his headphones and gave him the thumbs-up. Zack had a good radio voice: deep, intimate, and assured. His précis of his relationship with Cronus and of the effect that relationship might have on his campaign was comprehensive but concise.
And then it was the listeners’ turn. Call-in shows are a landmine for candidates. As a rule, there’s some judicious stagemanaging beforehand, but the agreement Slater Doyle and I reached meant that Zack was flying without a net. My pulse quickened as soon as the first caller came on and didn’t slow until the hour was almost
“You won that battle, and you’ll win this one.”
“I’m not optimistic,” Jill said. “But I’m not going to oblige the network by falling on my sword. I’ve been a journalist for over twenty-five years. I want to leave a legacy. If this Ridgeway story is half as hot as I think it is, I’ll be able to force Nation TV to admit that investigative journalism has a place in network television.”
“That’s the Jill I know and love,” I said. “And I have an idea about where you can start. You have the video of Zack’s press conference. Hang on to everything that was filmed but didn’t make it to air. When Zack talked about ensuring that the foundations of the Rose Street houses were firm, he was responding to a question from an old woman quoting the Bible. As soon as Zack started in, Ridgeway’s campaign manager, Slater Doyle, jumped for his cell. I’d pay good money to know who he called.”
“Save your money,” Jill said. “I’m still on salary at Nation TV , and that means I’m free to ask questions, follow leads, and keep on digging until we hit pay dirt.”
“All of a sudden I can’t stop smiling,” I said. “Jill, I can’ttell you what it will mean to me to have you here. Lately I’ve been feeling like Sisyphus, rolling my boulder up the hill and just standing by as it rolls back down again.”
“From now on there’ll be two of us to push the boulder,” Jill said. “It’ll be like old times. I’ll call you as soon as I know what time I’ll be arriving in Regina.”
“Try to book a flight that will get you here in time for dinner tomorrow,” I said. “Howard Dowhanuik and the kids are coming for brisket. Zack loves a full table.”
“And tomorrow is Ian’s birthday,” Jill said. The ache in her voice was unmistakable. “Jo, I miss you all so much.”
“We miss you too,” I said. “But tomorrow we’ll be together. And on Ian’s birthday. He would have gotten a kick out of that.”
The second-hour slot on
Quinlan Live
was good placement for Zack. Although the studio was in Saskatoon, the show was broadcast provincewide between 8:30 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. and rebroadcast at night. By the end of the day, much of the province had heard Jack Quinlan’s voice: badgering, teasing, empathizing, pontificating, enthusing, consoling.
Quinlan’s politics were as far to the right of mine as it was possible to be, but I liked him. Over the years, I’d been on
Quinlan Live
dozens of times as an academic whose views on the politics of foreign takeovers, culture, race, poverty, and a host of other issues lit up the phone lines. Jack was often outrageous, but he was always fair, and I knew he’d give Zack a chance to talk freely.
The flight to Saskatoon took only thirty-five minutes, but that was still thirty-five minutes too long for me. I didn’t exhale until the plane touched down and then it was back to business. On the cab ride to Quinlan’s studio overlooking the Saskatchewan River, Zack and I talked about questions that might prove problematic. With live radio the nutbarfactor is always high, but the producer of
Quinlan Live
was adept at using the cut-off button.
When Zack did his pre-broadcast mike check, the board was already lit up. Quinlan turned to Zack. “Ready to rock and roll?” he said.
Zack slipped on his headphones and gave him the thumbs-up. Zack had a good radio voice: deep, intimate, and assured. His précis of his relationship with Cronus and of the effect that relationship might have on his campaign was comprehensive but concise.
And then it was the listeners’ turn. Call-in shows are a landmine for candidates. As a rule, there’s some judicious stagemanaging beforehand, but the agreement Slater Doyle and I reached meant that Zack was flying without a net. My pulse quickened as soon as the first caller came on and didn’t slow until the hour was almost
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