Oliver's Twist by Craig Oliver Page A

was off on a binge and not to be found.
    By now the Toronto newspapers were picking up rumours, and management likely considered firing me for insubordination. But that was not an option after a number of high-profile colleagues lined up behind the cause of editorial freedom. To my surprise, senior correspondent Jack McGaw, host Carole Taylor, and producer Mike Maclear all threatened to quit if I was thrown overboard.
    Both sides faced off at an uncomfortable meeting in Chercover’s office. Chercover was nervous, as he always was when confronting a tough decision. He loved the glamour of the television business, but he hated having to deal with intractable issues, including squabbles among his employees. I made my case, but failed to consider the matter strategically. In my inexperience, I had left no room for compromise or a face-saving escape route for either party.
    Chercover came down on the side of the W-5 documentary,which ran unedited the next Sunday. He had done the right thing, backing his editorial staff over his advertising sales department, and the ads never reappeared. But I knew there would be fallout from our stand on principle, and it was not long coming. A reorganization of the news department was announced soon after: Don Cameron, who had surfaced in time for the session in Chercover’s office, was demoted a notch. I was banished to the snows of faraway Ottawa. My superiors decided Ottawa bureau chief Bruce Phillips needed support in managing his three-person operation on Parliament Hill. Apparently, I was expected to resign after the humiliation of being busted to what was in essence a bookkeeping job. Cameron reminded me that pride cometh before a fall, and we decided to hang in together and scheme for his return to power rather than quit the field.
    In fact, the timing was propitious. Being a department manager had lost its appeal and I saw in Ottawa a chance to return to my first love, political reporting. On the personal front, it was likewise time for a change. The woman I had been living with in Toronto took her leave while I was on a northern canoe trip, cleaning out the apartment but forgetting her guitar. When I returned, I put the instrument in the fireplace, finished the last of the rum in my backpack, and fell asleep in my Arctic bedroll to the sounds of snapping guitar strings.

    In the winter of 1974, I pointed my rusting Volkswagen Beetle in the direction of Ottawa, where I was not wanted nor much needed. Bruce Phillips certainly felt that way. For years, he had been one of the country’s outstanding print reporters andtelevision commentators. He had a well-tuned critical mind and ample credibility with viewers. But organizational skills and respect for deadlines were not in his makeup. He was not lazy; he simply believed there were better things to do with his life— playing golf, for instance—than work fourteen hours a day.
    His three Ottawa reporters—Gail Scott, Mike McCourt, and Eric Malling—were experienced pros. During my stint in CTV management, I had hired the tenacious Malling from the Toronto Star . Scott, to the network’s credit, was the first female network correspondent on Parliament Hill. McCourt’s skills eventually took him to ABC as a foreign correspondent. All three were frustrated by the daily uncertainty of not knowing who would be covering what story or when. The assignment desk in Toronto was similarly exasperated by the bureau’s unpredictability and disarray. So I seized the opportunity to take charge or at least bring some order to the chaos. I also broadened the loose mandate I had been granted to get myself back into political reporting and connect with the men and women who made things happen in those exciting years. The Liberals had regained their majority the previous June and appeared to have the momentum and talent to accomplish great things.
    Bruce Phillips and I soon came into conflict over who should have final say