from. They're called slugs. We're on twice a day. We do the noon news from twelve to one and the nightly news from ten to eleven. When I tell you which stories I want to run with, you'll put them together and make everything sound so exciting that the viewers can't switch channels. The tape editor will feed you video clips, and you'll work them into the scripts and indicate where the clips go."
"Right."
"Sometimes there's a breaking story, and then we'll cut into our regular programming with a live feed."
"That's interesting," Dana said.
She had no idea that one day it was going to save her life.
The first night's program was a disaster. Dana had put the news leads in the middle instead of the beginning, and Julia Brinkman found herself reading Michael Tate's stories while Michael was reading hers When the broadcast was over, the director said to Dana, "Mr. Hawkins would like to see you in his office. Now." Hawkins was sitting behind his desk, grim-faced. "I know," Dana said contritely. "It was a new low in television, and it's all my fault." Hawkins sat there watching her. Dana tried again. "The good news, Tom, is that from now on it can only get better. Right?" He kept staring at her. "And it will never happen again because" she saw the look on his face "I'm fired.
"No," Hawkins said curtly. "That would be letting you off too easily You're going to do this until you get it right. And I'm talking about the noon news tomorrow. Am I making myself clear?"
"Very."
"Good. I want you here at eight o'clock in the morning." "Right, Tom."
"And since we're going to be working together you can call me Mr Hawkins."
The noon news the next day went smoothly. Tom Hawkins had been right, Dana decided. It was just a matter of getting used to the rhythm. Get your assignment... write the story ... work with the tape editor .. set up the TelePrompTer for the anchors to read.
From that point on, it became routine.
Dana's break came eight months after she had started working at WTE
She had just finished putting the evening news report on the TelePrompTer at nine forty-five and was preparing to leave. When she walked into the television studio to say good night, there was chaos Everyone was talking at once.
Rob Cline, the director, was shouting, "Where the hell is she?"
"I don't know."
"Hasn't anyone seen her?"
"No."
"Did you phone her apartment?"
"I got the answering machine."
"Wonderful. We're on the air" he looked at his watch "in twelve minutes." "Maybe Julia was in an accident," Michael Tate said. "She could be dead." "That's no excuse. She should have phoned." Dana said, "Excuse me ..." The director turned to her impatiently. "Yes?
"If Julia doesn't show up, I could do the newscast." "Forget it." He turned back to his assistant. "Call security and see if she's come into the building." The assistant picked up the phone and dialed "Has Julia Brinkman checked in yet... ? Well, when she does, tell her to get up here, fast." "Have him hold an elevator for her. We're on the air in" he looked at his watch again "seven damned minutes." Dana stood there, watching the growing panic. Michael Tate said, "I could do both parts." "No," the director snapped. "We need two of you up there." He looked at his watch again. "Three minutes. Goddammit How could she do this to us? We're on the air in " Dana spoke up. "I know all the words. I wrote them." He gave her a quick glance. "You have no makeup on. You're dressed wrong." A voice came from the sound engineer's booth. "Two minutes. Take your places, please." Michael Tate shrugged and took his seat on the platform in front of the cameras.
"Places, please!"
Dana smiled at the director. "Good night, Mr. Cline." She started toward the door.
"Wait a minute!" He was rubbing his hand across his forehead. "Are you sure you can do this?"
"Try me," Dana said.
"I don't have any choice, do I?" he moaned. "All right. Get up there. My God! Why didn't I listen to my mother and become a doctor?"
Dana
"Right."
"Sometimes there's a breaking story, and then we'll cut into our regular programming with a live feed."
"That's interesting," Dana said.
She had no idea that one day it was going to save her life.
The first night's program was a disaster. Dana had put the news leads in the middle instead of the beginning, and Julia Brinkman found herself reading Michael Tate's stories while Michael was reading hers When the broadcast was over, the director said to Dana, "Mr. Hawkins would like to see you in his office. Now." Hawkins was sitting behind his desk, grim-faced. "I know," Dana said contritely. "It was a new low in television, and it's all my fault." Hawkins sat there watching her. Dana tried again. "The good news, Tom, is that from now on it can only get better. Right?" He kept staring at her. "And it will never happen again because" she saw the look on his face "I'm fired.
"No," Hawkins said curtly. "That would be letting you off too easily You're going to do this until you get it right. And I'm talking about the noon news tomorrow. Am I making myself clear?"
"Very."
"Good. I want you here at eight o'clock in the morning." "Right, Tom."
"And since we're going to be working together you can call me Mr Hawkins."
The noon news the next day went smoothly. Tom Hawkins had been right, Dana decided. It was just a matter of getting used to the rhythm. Get your assignment... write the story ... work with the tape editor .. set up the TelePrompTer for the anchors to read.
From that point on, it became routine.
Dana's break came eight months after she had started working at WTE
She had just finished putting the evening news report on the TelePrompTer at nine forty-five and was preparing to leave. When she walked into the television studio to say good night, there was chaos Everyone was talking at once.
Rob Cline, the director, was shouting, "Where the hell is she?"
"I don't know."
"Hasn't anyone seen her?"
"No."
"Did you phone her apartment?"
"I got the answering machine."
"Wonderful. We're on the air" he looked at his watch "in twelve minutes." "Maybe Julia was in an accident," Michael Tate said. "She could be dead." "That's no excuse. She should have phoned." Dana said, "Excuse me ..." The director turned to her impatiently. "Yes?
"If Julia doesn't show up, I could do the newscast." "Forget it." He turned back to his assistant. "Call security and see if she's come into the building." The assistant picked up the phone and dialed "Has Julia Brinkman checked in yet... ? Well, when she does, tell her to get up here, fast." "Have him hold an elevator for her. We're on the air in" he looked at his watch again "seven damned minutes." Dana stood there, watching the growing panic. Michael Tate said, "I could do both parts." "No," the director snapped. "We need two of you up there." He looked at his watch again. "Three minutes. Goddammit How could she do this to us? We're on the air in " Dana spoke up. "I know all the words. I wrote them." He gave her a quick glance. "You have no makeup on. You're dressed wrong." A voice came from the sound engineer's booth. "Two minutes. Take your places, please." Michael Tate shrugged and took his seat on the platform in front of the cameras.
"Places, please!"
Dana smiled at the director. "Good night, Mr. Cline." She started toward the door.
"Wait a minute!" He was rubbing his hand across his forehead. "Are you sure you can do this?"
"Try me," Dana said.
"I don't have any choice, do I?" he moaned. "All right. Get up there. My God! Why didn't I listen to my mother and become a doctor?"
Dana
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