Corporate Fall Guy
Or
The Ups and Downs of a
TV Anchor/Skydiver
by Arch Deal
Published by Arch Deal Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright © 2011 by Arch Deal.
Third Edition. September 2011.
___________________________________________________
With thanks to my friend in the sky, Richard Bach, who gave me the desire to write but did not give me his talent.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 2 - How It All Started
Chapter 6 - Farewell to Walter
Chapter 10 - First Lonely Leap
Chapter 18 - Venimos con Amistad
Chapter 20 - The Next Malfunction
Chapter 21 - It Happened Again!
Dedicated to:
Karen, Shari, Doug, Diane and Michelle by a proud father
photo by Tony Hathaway
My city, Tampa where I was a local TV anchor for 20 years.
“Me and a few friends doing a weed-wacker.”
In Corporate America, the so-called ”fall guy” is the person who always gets the blame if something goes wrong!
In my case, however, it was to the contrary.
I was honored for 10 years to be the ”fall guy” for Miller Brewing Company.
And, believe me, it was one of the highest honors bestowed upon me.
The Corporate Fall Guy was the Miller Lite All Star/Miller Celebrity who made hundreds of the grandest entries into football fields, baseball diamonds, NASCAR and Indy racetracks….
Skydiving in,
under a beautiful Miller-logo canopy.
This is my story
Chapter 1 - My Story
Doing a narration in Turkey
Perhaps some may consider me the luckiest man alive! Obviously not lucky in love, you’ll learn, but lucky in so many other ways! Can you believe, for instance, surviving a fall from three thousand feet…when both of my parachutes failed? I was later named a Miller Lite All Star: one of 35 of the greatest athletes in the nation along with NFL stars, baseball greats, NBA basketball stars, soccer and hockey greats, and a famed author to be bestowed with such a distinction.
I was the corporate “fall guy”…the only skydiver named to join this gathering of greats…among them four-time world surfing champion Corky Carroll and the man who held the long-jump record for almost 20 years, Bob Beamon. For me, gravity did all the work! Step out of an airplane and gravity takes over…plunging you earthward at some 120 miles per hour while you trust a large piece of nylon to slow your descent and land you safely (usually) on your designated target.
To be associated with all these super athletes and personalities was one of the greatest honors I could have dreamed of achieving. It even surpassed a career as a TV anchor that gave me the opportunity to interview everyone from presidents to rock stars. In fact, anyone who made the news was available to face the camera and answer questions.
Not to belittle the newsgathering profession, those were wonderful days even though times have changed dramatically for the media over the years! Reporting the news put me in a position of telling the facts, not opinions. I always felt opinions were for editorials! Telling the stories without sensationalism was always the desire of any dedicated news reporter. Somehow, this has changed! As a reporter I was a registered Independent…and remain one. This way, no one could call me a “darn democrat” or “darn republican.” I am neither. I am a conservative!
Communicators and editorialists give you their personal opinions. It should always be accepted as such when it is so labeled. Talk radio hosts will tell you that they are not reporters, they are entertainers. You have the right to turn them off anytime.
Don’t believe what your eyes are telling you. All they (the current news media) show are cramped by limitation. “Look with your understanding, what you already know, and you’ll see the way to fly,” is one of my favorite (yet distorted) quotes from Richard Bach’s “Jonathan Livingston Seagull.”
The dream of flight: The ethereal feeling of falling when you’re wrapped in dreams. Perhaps that was one of the motivations that faced a land-locked journalist: writing and presenting the news while dreaming of flight.
Later, Bach and I would become kindred spirits in the sky. I was honored to be mentioned as his “mentor” in skydiving!
Did you ever have one of those days when nothing seems to go right? No matter which lane you’re in (on the highway or in the grocery store), it moves the slowest. The teller for whom you’re next in line suddenly breaks for lunch! You know, no matter what you do, it isn’t right.
Well, you don’t want to be skydiving, driving a racecar or disarming a bomb on one of those days. We’ve all had those kinds of days. Mine was at Cypress Gardens, among the first great tourist attractions in Florida. It is now Legoland. I was skydiving on that hot summer day and nothing seemed to go right for me, except one thing: I lived! Seems a small accomplishment but I lived after falling for more than three thousand feet, when both parachutes failed to open.
Many people ask, “What broke your fall?” I simply reply straight forward, “The ground!” In fact, few people can add definitive proof to the adage, “Of three thousand feet of fall, it’s only the last inch that hurt.” It’s not the fall; it’s that sudden stop! I suppose I really got Richard Bach interested in the sport of skydiving! He was one of the first to visit me in the hospital in Winter Haven, Florida.
Point of impact — Cypress Gardens, Florida
After my transfer to a Tampa Hospital, another close friend, the late Floyd Glisson (former Vice President of Eckerd Drugs) saw to it that a fresh beer was delivered to my hospital bed every night! It was not exactly what the doctor ordered but it was very nice indeed! After all, I was much later to become a corporate spokesman for Miller Brewing. Floyd also came to be a “close friend in the sky” as well as on the ground!
Wife #2, Lillian, and my “nurses
”Perhaps more amazing is how this country boy from North Carolina, always shy and introverted, came to be in a parachute harness. Moreover, how did he, with this timidity and a supposed speech impediment, come to be a television news anchor in the nation’s 14th largest TV market? The two are actually connected. One led to the other.
Almost everyone at some time or another has awakened in a cold sweat, having dreamed of falling through space while at the same time falling from the bed. The fear of falling is apparently an innate part of all of us. It is one of the fears from within. Perhaps it is fear of the unknown. It is a fear that this reporter came to know firsthand. Oh, not that I didn’t have the same nighttime dreams about falling. Rather, I was fortunate enough to experience that thrill firsthand.
Chapter 2 - How It All Started
As a child I had my head in the sky most of the time...dreaming of being a greater ace, then the many exploits of Walter Mitty. Perhaps hundreds of classroom hours flew past as a young boy daydreamed about having his hands on the controls of a hot fighter plane. It was reflected in his less than stellar grades.
In spite of those daydreams, I somehow made it through high school and college before I began to experience the thrill of flying. Coincidentally, I also fell in love with broadcasting, the thrill of riding another type of air: the airwaves. It provided a lot of satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment. It’s not illegal, immoral or fattening! Recently, I saw a bumper sticker that stated: “Remember when sex was safe and sky diving was dangerous?”
As a kid, I was known as the shy guy of the class. For the one with a presumed speech impediment, this was really an accomplishment. After all, except for NBC’s former anchorman Tom Brokaw, I was one of the few to make it into the ranks of anchormen without the ability to say “three.” Perhaps my teachers thought it was cute or maybe the ABC’s and ‘rithmetic were more important. (Apparently arithmetic and spelling are no longer paramount in our schools). I avoided the word (or number)! How I got rid of that problem and how I became a broadcaster is another story; but it does involve SEX.
Actually I started out in electronics, taking apart radio and television sets and putting them back together. I had much more success in taking them apart than in reassembling them.
As a would-be engineer, I came in contact with an entrepreneur in my little hometown of Hickory, North Carolina (we’ll call him Sam). Sam had his eye on making money in public address broadcasting. It was back in the time when people flocked to see even Class B baseball. This, I believe, was double ‘A.’ Seems Sam needed a young guy to handle the sound gear for his PA broadcasts. It meant lugging a lot of equipment and running the controls. As long as it didn’t require any appearance in front of the microphone or having to speak into it, things were OK. We had a pretty good working relationship. Sam would announce the games while sitting with a pretty young girl and I would handle the controls.
As fate would have it, one night about the seventh inning Sam appeared ill. In fact he began to perspire so heavily I thought he would actually sweat. Suddenly, he looked at me in desperation and shouted “take over!” “Me? You don’t mean me in front of the microphone, no way.” Sporting a high fever and an unsteady hand, Sam, with young lassie in tow, headed across the roof of the building and shakily down a flimsy wooden ladder.
Suddenly I was alone (much the same as being alone in a haunted house at midnight). Just me and my chrome Shure Microphone... a remnant of the 50’s…the type you would always see in the hands of the King, Elvis Presley! It was up to me. What would happen if number “FREE” (3) came to bat. What if he gets FREE strikes or FREE balls on him... or, if he grounds out to the FIRD (third) baseman?! Even worse, what if the Fird Baseman’s number is FIRDY-FREE? Man, what a predicament.
Not since the days of Mudville or the strike out of Mighty Casey did the people of Hickory hear such a pitiable announcer.
Sam, however, was the sympathetic sort. He learned of my speech oddity from almost everybody in my little hometown. You know, little hometowns live on gossip! That’s not a slam at Hickory. It was and is a wonderful part of North Carolina, in the Piedmont Section. I was grown before I realized the French influence in the Carolinas! Piedmont is French for “foot mountains.”
Sam and I talked for a while and in a few minutes, he taught me what no other teacher had even bothered to attempt, how to roll my r’s! With a lot of practice, I got better. It was the only direction I could go.
Amazingly, I overcame some of my shyness. I had to, because the malady that stuck Sam seemed to be reoccurring. Fortunately, the young lady stuck by his side like a pilot fish.
Almost every night at the game, about the same time, Sam would begin to breathe heavily! He’d shove the microphone to me and, dashing down the ladder, away he’d go.
One night, I discovered the apparent cause of Sam’s strange malady. While running some cables under the announce booth, I couldn’t help but notice the blonde’s hand provocatively resting on Sam’s thigh. As the game progressed, so did the movement of her hand. Inevitably, Sam was beginning to overheat and was racing from the game!
The season ended and Sam went on his way to another, more profitable, business. Never did know what happened to the blonde. That was my entrance into the field of broadcasting.
I always tell people that it was SEX that got me into broadcasting. If the two lovebirds had been more patient or had enjoyed baseball more, I would never have wound up as a television anchor. More likely, I probably wouldn’t have wound up in a citrus grove beside an old, mature Grapefruit tree. Thanks Sam, you started me on a wonderful ride! (Sam’s name was changed to protect the guilty!)
Chapter 3 – Radio Days
A much younger Arch at the mike
Working in some capacity on the radio was something I considered with much trepidation. The little house of horrors for this timid soul was a local radio station (WHKY, Hickory, NC). Walking in with all the confidence a little boy could muster, like wandering at midnight through a graveyard, the first specter was the station manager. Tall, gaunt and without emotion, he produced a raft of papers gleaned from the wires of the Associated Press. “Here, read this,” he commanded, pointing to an ancient WEBCOR wire recorder and a microphone. Reading this (while pretending to be Walter Winchell or some other great air personality) was not without great difficulty. Then came the glare of the station manager who commanded, “Listen to this!” It was not a pretty sound: an awkward kid trying to sound like an experienced air personality. Even worse was the admonition from the station manager, “Would you hire this person?”
Thoroughly humiliated, the kid (like a scolded puppy with his tail between his legs) somberly trudged out the door, never to be seen again, at least not by that station manager.
At that time the first tape recorders were making an appearance nationwide and some entrepreneurs were opening studios where those with supposed confidence could pay to record their voice, either as a singer or a speaker. Now, this was an opportunity waiting to be seized.
Apparently no one truly realizes how their voice sounds to others. Coming out of your own body apparently makes the difference. Once you have heard yourself through recording over and over, one begins to realize how you sound to others. Compiling news stories, make-believe commercials and spending hard-earned money to record announcement and news stories on a Brush tape recorder was a good start!
Finally, with enough unwarranted confidence. this novice announcer tried to get into another radio station. WSIC in Statesville, NC was willing to give a beginner a rare chance. It seems no one would hire someone who had no experience. You couldn’t get experience unless you could first get a job in broadcasting. It was a “Catch 22.”
Most of the news reporters and announcers were hired strictly by the depth of their voice and mine was yet to fully mature. Now, with the conglomerate corporations that own more than a thousand stations, it is even more difficult to break into broadcasting. The jobs are fewer and harder to get but my break finally came. It meant getting up at 3:30 every weekday morning and trying to act awake at sign-on time (5AM), sometimes coming straight from a late night date. It also gave this announcer time to squeeze in courses at Mitchell College in Statesville. It was a beginning experience that only whetted my appetite for more.
Believing (over-confidently) that I was moving up the ladder of success, I accepted an announcer’s position in Rock Hill, SC. It was becoming a difficult time. Not only because I was trying to become a ‘hot’ air personality but also because I was concerned with some four thousand young ladies encamped at Winthrop College, located in the small town. So, you see, I had to split my time. After all, I was single. So many beautiful ladies and not enough time! It didn’t afford much sleeping time.
It was a time in which “Bebop” was making the rounds in music, well ahead of hip-hop or rap. In fact, one young intern at the station inherited the name “Bebop.” It sort of fit with his wavy hair and popularity with the fairer gender. The situation was looking up for awhile but it was in the 50’s but things were reaching the boiling point in a section of the world known as Korea.
The military draft was starting up and soon we would hear about battles called “Heartbreak Ridge” and about an almost imaginary parallel which we were not supposed to cross.
I FEEL A DRAFT
As the draft drew closer, I chose the U.S. Air Force. My hat’s off to the men and women of the Army, Navy and the Marines but my dreams of flying into combat were not to be. During the first 30-day leave from the Air Force my high school sweetheart, Margaret Lutz, and I were married. Talk about putting off things until the last moment, we got hitched the last day of my leave. Then, it was off to a little base in Arizona while assignments were being passed out. I felt, as many younger people, that I should be flying in Korea. This, however, was not to be.
I was stationed in Southern Germany and enjoyed the countryside, the people, brats, its beer and Rhine wine while others served in the freezing muck that described Korea. I “fought the battle” in Deutschland… learning about their great beers and wines, particularly Liebfraumilch (a white Rhine wine translated loosely as “lover’s milk”).
Fortunately for me, no North Korean MIGS flew into my area in Southern Germany.
Those who served in that hellhole of Korea could ever have been adequately commended. My brother Charles, also a journalist, probably wished he had been sent to Germany. Instead, as a reporter for the Air Force Times in Korea, he had seen the awful reality of war there; particularly when he had to rapidly withdraw from the Chosen Reservoir from 27 November to 11 December, 1950. Battling desperately night and day in the face of almost insurmountable odds, throughout a period of two weeks of intense and sustained combat, the First Marine Division, reinforced, emerged from its ordeal as a fighting unit with its wounded, its guns and equipment and its prisoners. It had decisively defeated seven enemy divisions. For that, the unit received The Presidential Unit Citation. But the men who were there can tell that story far better than this reporter. To tell a story and to tell it accurately, you had to be there.
After Korea, it was back to work in civilian life and that, of course, was radio. A devout newsman, Ed Smith built a radio station in the little hometown of Hickory. It’s an area formerly best known for furniture factories and hosiery mills, along with a host of friendly people. Fresh out of the Air Force, I was added to the staff as an announcer. Such an assignment sounds “romantic” but it had many duties associated with it. Among them was a regular “chewing-out” from Smith if anything went wrong. You must learn early not to throw gasoline on a raging fire.
Not yielding to such a temptation, Smith would come back later to apologize for the loss of temper and things would be back to normal (for a while).
BACK TO SCHOOL
At the same time, this reporter was back at the books at Lenoir-Rhyne College, a small warm and friendly center of learning in Hickory. It has since become a University. Deciding to finish college as rapidly as possible and to keep the tax-free GI Bill checks flowing in, I carried 18 semester hours constantly while working a full 40 hours at the radio station. That load was increased when Smith suffered a minor heart attack and had to cut back on his hours. The news assignments were offered to me, increasing my workload to about 60 hours per week while continuing the full college load. It meant getting up at 3:30 every morning and getting to the station at about 5:00. Then, the newsgathering began: calling all the sources, listening to police radio scanners and gleaning the wires of the Associated Press for news. After preparing the news, I presented it at 7:45, ending at 8:00 am, and then dashed across town for the first class at 8 o’clock; of course, I was always late!
The race continued at 11:25 each morning. Leaving class, I would scramble to the apartment that my wife, Margaret, and I shared only several blocks from the college. After gulping down a quick sandwich and giving a kiss to the wife, I raced downtown again to arrive at the station at noon.
That shift continued until 7:00 pm, when I would buzz home for dinner when I was not covering a city council meeting or the like and hit the “sack” by 9:00 or 10:00 each night to be ready for that 3:30 am call the following morning. It was tough but it worked and eventually I got that college degree. By golly, I got it the “old fashioned way.” I worked for it.
One morning, a long, lanky kid was pounding on the outer glass of the radio station’s studio. This was back before we had to lock the doors and place security guards. With a record in place I went to the door to ask the kid what I could do for him. Well, in his drawling Carolina accent he said, “Ahm (I’m) a student at the University of Nawth Caroliner at Chapel Hill, and I got this here recording I would like you to play.” Could you imagine getting a record played today, with the monopoly that a few huge corporations have over radio? “Well,” I asked, “what’s it about?” Continuing in his heavy drawl he said, “It’s ‘bout that country boy who’s from so far in the hills he ain’t seen much of nothin’ when he comes upon this rectangular field. Wal…” he continued, “…these men are wearing leather helmets and playing with an oblong-shaped ball, and when it would hit the ground, they would commence to jump on top it! So, I got myself an RC Cola and a Moon Pie and I commenced to watch.” What it was was football! So, in a very small way, my playing this first big hit helped launch a multi-million dollar career for ANDY GRIFFITH! I haven’t seen him since!
Andy Griffith
I’m not making fun of the North Carolina accent! I was raised there and it took years and years trying to hide the accent to be on the radio. And now, accents are more desirable than ever. How sad it would be if everyone sounded alike. So, don’t say anything about rednecks! I used to be one!
North Carolina was the “hotbed” of NASCAR racing! Lots of drivers got their early experience racing down mountain roads at night with questionable cargoes!
During all of this “spare time” between 18-semester hours at college and working 60 hours a week, Margaret and I welcomed our first little one into the world: Karen Theresa. Truly a “bouncing baby,” Karen soon had three chins (at least) and controlled the household as babies usually do. Fortunately, considering my early hours, she began to sleep through the night when she was only a month old. Like clockwork, another bundle of joy, in the form of Diane, was born in 1956. She made life more exciting every evening for six months with a bout of old fashioned colic. Nevertheless, she was loved. Karen had great musical talent, apparently a gift from her mother, an accomplished church organist.
In later years, Karen kept me busy chasing the boys away. Her musical talent developed to the extent she played keyboards for a number of bands, eventually playing with the Mod Squad in Tampa.
Marty Balin
This eventually led her and the band to do a ”lead-in” to the famed Jefferson Airplane, with lead singers Marty Balin and Grace Slick. That led to romance, marriage and a sweet little off-spring called Delaney! The history of the Airplane, and later the Starship, was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1996.
Ever wonder how the band got the moniker of “Jefferson Airplane?” An early band member had a dog with that name! Reminds me of a former neighbor who had a dog named Boozer. I passed her on the street one morning as she was calling her dog! “Lose your husband?” I joked! I think I lost a neighbor then!
Actually daughter Diane was to be a TV star before her father. The once very popular Candid Camera show came to Tampa…and dropped in on her kindergarten class. The kids were to paint their names on a glass pane, while the TV crew filmed from the other side. Diane strode to the glass, and quickly painted D-A-N-E ….. then with tongue in cheek, painted in the missing ‘I’ and dotted it.
Chapter 4 - TV Beckons
It was not long before the opportunities and excitement of moving up in the radio field came to me. It was an offer to move to the so-called “Queen City” of Charlotte, NC. The money was tempting and the larger metropolitan market beckoned! The station, WIST in Charlotte, was to be another stepping stone. In my sight was the new medium of television. It was fascinating and, of course, “everybody” watched the little dots trying to act like people.
By that time Margaret and I had two little ones to care for: Karen, who was our first-born in 1953; and Diane who followed in 1956. I was, and remain, a very proud papa of my little girls. We enjoyed Charlotte, hoping a television position would soon become available. It wasn’t all that far away. It was in the hyphenated city called Winston-Salem, NC, home to most major cigarette manufacturers. There, we had the “very rich” (mostly in tobacco) and the “little people” who largely lived in the Moravian section (Salem). The station was WSJS-TV, named for its owners the Winston-Salem Journal Sentinel.
We moved into a four-room rental house that was complete with knotty pine paneling throughout. Margaret, the kids and I unloaded the dozens of boxes of our possessions and headed for dinner at a local restaurant. Coming back less than two hours later, we entered the rental house and turned on the lights. You can’t imagine our consternation as we viewed tens of thousands of German roaches all over the walls. Apparently, the grooves for the knotty pine gave them a great hiding place. They were everywhere and already infiltrating the boxes we had unloaded. We went to a motel and moved out the next day. After a bout with German roaches, I would look forward to the Florida Palmetto bugs.
WSJS-TV was an invaluable training ground. Between catching glimpses of the “big ones,” Arlene Francis and a young kid named Hugh Downs in the morning, I got the opportunity to do everything. That not only meant doing the newscasts but the sports and weather as well. Talk shows were part of the job and between those more appealing tasks, I found myself running the video cameras or striking a set. As I said, it was a great training ground.
From the beginning, I had my sights on a new TV station that was about to be awarded to contenders in Charlotte, NC. My hopes and contacts were with an impresario named Larry Walker. He told me that when his group got the FCC approval, I would be back with the new station in Charlotte.
It was only a short six months when the nod was given: Walker, a former vaudevillian with a charismatic charm, got the approval and my little family was on the way back to Charlotte where a frantic pace was undertaken to get the station on the air.
To hasten the target date, a studio was added to the transmitter building far out of the sprawling Queen City of Charlotte in Mecklenburg County. When I say far out, it really was! It was a drive in the country every morning getting to the TV station.
Unfortunately, migrating flocks of birds were not informed that a huge TV tower was erected in their flight path. One morning when it was foggy, it was a very sad sight to see all the once-winged creatures dotting the landscape around the TV tower. It was, for many of them, their last migration. It was especially sad for one who loves to fly!
Soon the new station had a grand opening and invited the townspeople of Charlotte to come and see the new facilities. We took turns touring the visitors about the station. I noticed one quiet gentleman standing alone with no one offering to give a tour. I eagerly showed him around the studios and found him to be a very pleasant person. Later, I was told I had just given the tour to the owner of the station.
Charlotte was another great training ground. I worked with many well-known Charlotte personalities like Jimmy Kilgo, Jack Callaghan and rubbed shoulders with some of the greats from our competitor, WBT radio and television, like Clyde “Cloudy” McLain and Arthur Smith.
Then I received an opportunity to further my career by moving south to Tampa, Florida. Eugene Dodson, Manager of WTVT in Tampa, vacationed in the Carolina Hills and made me an offer: Come to Florida!
THE EARLY ANCHOR DAYS
I had reached the point where I was television anchorman at a station in one of the nation’s major TV markets, the Metroplex of Tampa-St Petersburg, Florida. It has become obvious to me over the years that most viewers feel the television anchorman really is the person who has it made. After all, all they have to do is walk into the studio five minutes before the newscast, glance over a prepared script, then read it from a teleprompter. Actually, part of that has become the custom over the past few years, but in its infancy, funny things could and did often happen. I found out early I had to know the story, and keep a copy in front of me… just in case the ‘prompter died or the teleprompter operator fell asleep at the control! Yes, that did happen to me, fortunately only once, but it was enough to get my attention.
As Margaret was in Tampa General Hospital with our newborn son, Douglas Jeffrey, I was onboard the “Jose Gaspar,” a steel, flat-bottom pirate ship used every year to recreate the Gasparilla invasion of Tampa. It was totally unseaworthy but an important part of the Gasparilla celebration! Each year leading business professionals of Tampa dress up in full pirate regalia, complete with make-believe scars, to “loot” the city. The parade is perhaps only second to the Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) and draws hundreds of thousands of spectators to the Tampa waterfront. Finding myself on board that pirate ship, unfortunately, I didn’t have the presence of mind to bring earplugs! The blast of the cannon and blank-loaded six guns left a permanent impression and a temporary, but monumental headache.
It may be more than a coincidence but shortly before my son was born, I met with the “then” hot CBS newsman Douglas Edwards. Should my son become an anchor some day, he would have an effective name: Douglas Deal. At least it sounded good.
My name was always a problem! My full name is Archie. All I needed was a Veronica. Actually I had a lady friend named Veronica for a short while…. but that’s another story. I was often called “R.G. Steel.” It really didn’t help much when I shortened it to Arch. It just seemed a little more formal for TV news. Even then, some called me Art Steel.
It wasn’t long afterwards that Shari Lynne was born, the fourth Deal in our family. The growing family truly kept me and Margaret busy. Television journalism proved to be a job that required all of my energy and resources. While searching for news, and a different angle on the news, you’re constantly battling the rating wars. A few points down and you are history! I always kept in mind the guy sweeping the floors probably wanted my job and he probably feels he could do it better.
Always, I’ve considered a news reporter’s job was to report the news, nothing more, nothing less. We all can have an “off” day. It happens to quarterbacks and wide receivers. Even so, no matter how lousy you feel, or if the wife fussed at you and your dog bit you, you still must do the same job every day. Nobody cares that you’ve had a bad day. As an adjunct professor, teaching television years later at Hillsborough Community College in Tampa, I always tried to instill this principle into my students. In fact, viewers deserve a factual, honest news presentation, not a medical review on the sort of day you may have had!
Imagine, however, that you’re reporting the news while a 20-foot-long Anaconda snake is wrestling with two handlers and apparently the Anaconda is winning the battle. This happened live on Channel 38 from the St. Petersburg Pier, also known at that time as “The Million Dollar Pier.” Burl McCarty, affectionately known as Captain Mac, was ending his children’s show that led up to my news broadcast. The huge reptile was pulled from its sack and box but apparently wasn’t too happy about it. Someone had forgotten to feed the gargantuan creature, which apparently was making dinner plans: two handlers and a news reporter.
Burl (Captain Mac) McCarty
Trying to act totally nonchalant, I continued with the news as the two men were being drawn together by the huge reptile. It was a sight indeed, but somehow the two were able to get the serpent back into the sack without loss of life or arms. Actually the only injury was to the Anaconda. In attempting to bite one of the handlers, it slashed itself. And so the news continued.
McCarty always carried a 38 revolver by his side. However, the end of the barrel was bent from a long hard drop and would not have fired anyway. Worse yet, it could have blown up in his hands. Maybe that’s why he never used it!
Among the most memorable things about this business are the people I worked with and the people I met. Journalists meet presidents, movie stars and the like, as a part of our job. And mind you, it’s not one we complain about.
My assignment had me set to interview academy award winner William Holden (Sunset Boulevard) at Busch Gardens in Tampa. Halfway through the interview, my cameraman ran out of film (we used 16mm film in those days). As he returned to the news vehicle to fetch more, Holden suggested we take a stroll and enjoy the scenery. Here I was, walking with this great actor when we passed two ladies. One blurted to the other, “Oh, look, that’s Arch Deal!” I could have melted into the cement from embarrassment. Here I, a lowly news reporter, am walking with a famous actor and the ladies didn’t even notice him. Holden laughed and said, “This is your territory…they wouldn’t expect to see me here!” He chuckled at my humbled countenance and we continued on our way. That was the sort of guy he was!
William Holden
After my first successful year as a news anchor, I was honored by two of America’s top cartoonists, Fred Laswell, the creator of Snuffy Smith (who lived and drew the cartoons in Tampa) and Chic Young, the creator of Dagwood and Blondie (who lived in Clearwater, west of Tampa). They honored me with these cartoons:
Skydiving into the famed Brick Yard in Indianapolis was a true delight and an honor…especially when I got to land beside famed actor James Garner. He was chosen several times to be the grand marshal for the pre-race parade. When I landed next to him, I was amazed by the charm and grace of this actor, who gave me a hug when I landed. We traded a few comments on the microphone and I left the track. A year later, he was again standing on the track when I landed my Miller canopy.
James Garner
“Arch,” he asked, “are you still skydiving?” “Sure, Jim,” I replied! “Are you still making movies?” What a guy! Years later, I would get a chance to say basically the same thing to John Elway, two-time Super Bowl Champion on one of my dozen leaps into the famed Mile-High Stadium. “Arch, you still sky diving?” “John, you still playing football?” As a Miller Lite All Star, I had the pleasure of skydiving into the old Mile High Stadium 12 times… always landing on the 50 yard line or thereabouts. This I truly loved. It was a very difficult jump, opening your parachute over a mile and a half above the Mile High Stadium in the thin air, aiming for the center of the field. The fans were fabulous and supportive of their Broncos.
Actually, my first jump into that stadium was for the first USFL (United States Football League) Super Bowl. It was on a very hot July day. The temperature was 100 degrees which, in terms of density altitude, put the stadium, in theory, about 9,500 feet above sea level. Remarkably, I performed a stand-up landing. Then came the hard part: I would gather up my parachute, wave to the crowd and start the climb up the very steep stairs to the top. Along the way, the enthusiastic crowd provided me with hundreds of “high fives” until I reached the very top rim of the stadium. Man that was really tiring! But it was so much fun!
One of dozens of stadium jumps
Chapter 5 - Bill Henry
Among the people I had the pleasure of working with in the Tampa television market was Bill Henry. He came from reporting the racial conflicts of Montgomery, Alabama, to the Tampa market. A true journalist, Bill was a no-nonsense man. Comments and words that commonly get on the air today would never pass the critical eye of Bill Henry. A hard-working, dedicated family man and church deacon, he received the respect of all who served with him. But even though words were carefully chosen, Bill found there would be at least two words he would never use again in news stories.
The first came about when he reported on the successful biological experiment launched on a space rocket from Cape Canaveral. “Today,” Bill announced in the newscast, “a living orgasm was launched into space!”
Another incident came when he was reporting the apprehension of a thug by the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department. “As the suspect was being led to the cell, he suddenly seized one of the deputy’s guns. But, before he could use it, both deputies jumped on top of the man and seduced him.” Bill added, “Anyway, he had head injuries.” “Orgasm” and “Seduced”: two words that Bill studiously avoided in the future. Still, Bill Henry received and deserved the respect of all!
To me, it seems one of the best ways to keep your ratings up is (in addition to presenting the best darn newscast in the area) to keep yourself visible to the public. If news happens, be there. If there isn’t any news, create it.
You create “news” by developing a human-interest story or finding a way to tell the story the others forgot.
Using this system got this reporter patrolling off the Cuban coast in a U.S. Navy submarine during the Cuban Missile Crisis, getting too close on a NATO maneuver off the coast of Greece and digging into a foxhole while bombs and machine gun fire rattled much too close to me.