Warrior Pose by Brad Willis Page A

now the executive news director of NBC News. He wants my permission to offer you a job.”
    NBC News. A rush of joy explodes throughout my entire body. This is it. I’ve finally made it.
    Then I remember the network always seeks to cultivate good relations with its local affiliates, especially a powerhouse like WBZ-TV. If Stan tells Don Browne he’d rather keep me in Boston, there won’t be any job offer.
    â€œYou’re a top reporter,” Stan says. “You have a great career here. I’d like you to stay around.”
    My heart starts to sink, but then he smiles again.
    â€œBut I’m not going to hold you back. Do you need time to think about this?”
    About as long as it takes to exhale. “Stan, you’re the best news director I’ve ever worked for, and a great friend. You’ve supported me in every way, even put your career on the line for me. I’ll never forget it, but this is the only thing I’ve wanted since I first set foot in a newsroom.”
    â€œI thought so,” he replies. “I already told Don it’s okay to move forward. Here’s his number. Go give him a call.” I wisely repress the urge to jump up screaming with delight and run back to my desk, bad back and all.

    It takes a month before Don Browne can see me at NBC headquarters at 30 Rockefeller Center in Manhattan. It’s the longest month of my life and I get antsier by the minute until the day finally comes. The shuttle flight from Boston to New York is always a quick trip, but I want to ask the pilot to step on it. As the New York skyline comes into view from my window, it feels like the plane will never land. I anxiously deplane at La Guardia airport, rush down the endless corridors, and see a chauffeur holding a little white sign with my name neatly printed on it as if I’m someone important. It’s almost impossible for me to believe what’s happening.
    The driver is clad in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. He takes my luggage and politely guides me to his sleek, black limo sedan, opens the back door for me so I can slide onto the plush seat as he places my bag in the trunk. We listen to classical music as he cruises toward Manhattan. As we cross the Triborough Bridge, I feel a rush. I’m so close to fulfilling my dream I can taste it. As we pull up to the Omni Berkshire Palace Hotel on West 52nd in Midtown, just a few blocks from NBC, I almost float out of the limo.
    The Omni is a hotel of understated elegance, dignity, and decor. The impeccable concierge lets me know that the room, meals, and incidentals are covered by NBC and to call him if I need anything. He tells me to enjoy the stay, and I almost blurt out “No problem,” then remember how dignified this place is and politely thank him. A bell captain promptly guides me to a luxurious suite. I’d love to go out on the town, but I order room service instead to save my back for the big meeting in the morning. Then I click on the TV just as NBC Nightly News begins.
    â€œGood evening. I’m Tom Brokaw. Topping the news tonight…”
    I can hardly believe this is really happening. I’m a kid from a middle-class family who fled the suburbs, tried to drop out of the whole world, went to an obscure state college, and one day drove into the parking lot of a small-market TV station on a whim. I’m now in a swanky hotel in the Big Apple, awaiting filet mignon with gorgonzola sauce, julienned carrots with green beans, and a pricey bottle of vintage cabernet, on the cusp of a dream-come-true.

    It’s a beautiful, crisp East Coast morning as I walk the few blocks from the Omni to NBC News. Down West 52nd Street. Right on Avenue of the Americas. The city is bustling. Traffic is bumper-to-bumper. Endless honking. Crosswalks are thronged. Magnificent skyscrapers tower over it all like massive redwood trees of stone and steel. I can feel the energy of the city in every cell