I lornIio Alger in llic slicks Or, how I rose from tractor driver to TV director in just seven panic-stricken months By Gary W. Jorn When I was 16, my family became neighbors with a television station. This event was a bit miraculous, since our "neighborhood" was the wooded hills near the town of Jonesboro, Ark. I immediately turned in my ax and en- tered the glorious, show-biz world of a S20-per-week photogra- pher assisl nes rise and fall quickly in the television industry, but nowhere with more frequency and unexpected- ness than in small-market TV stations. This explains why I found myselt pro- moted to Channel 8's chief photogra- pher with my television career only four days old. equally instantaneous panic—an un- derstandable reaction, considering the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. Characteristic of my flair for fumbling ineptitude was my habit ot streaking out to photograph an assign- ment, only to meet with darkroom dis- to terms with all the mysterious chemi- cals that confronted me daily amid (he inky environs of our broom-closet- turned-darkroom. Although my trial-and-error method of processing meant that I wasted much time remixing, pouring, cranking and rinsing, my photo fiascoes were most embarrassing when 1 had to skulk back to the client and ask to reshoot the pictures. "You here again, kid?" became a painfully familiar refrain. If I had not been a much better photographer than I was a laboratory technician, I would have been back baling hay in short order. Luckily, how- ever, I had a knack for composition and telling a story pictorially, so I began trying my hand at studio camera work. Since I had no worry about processing, electronic photography and studio production seemed a more ex- citing—and safer—area in which to 37 One day the station's only director (ailed to report for work As a result, I got another on-the-spot promotion. From tractor driver to television di- rector in seven months—it could only have happened in Arkansas, a state which, atter all, does claim to be the "Land of Opportunity.'' Because our television station was located in one ol the world's smallest TV markets and was challenging estab- lished Memphis outlets for viewers, survival was a daily goal. For a number ol years our station was an independent operation—meaning we had no network affiliation and were forced to supply all programming. This need to fill ai' ti^e'^ade Jones- boro's Channel R a Tfir.rn '.->i amateur country-music singers who^i? hearts' desires were to ' pick and 91 1' on prime-time TV. Tnn only prerequisites for having one's own show were (1} a guitar and (2; a ft end ™ relative with enough money ic ouy a haif hour commercial sponsorship for 13 weeks. The ability to sing was helpful but was by no means necessary. On Saturday and Sunday nights, pick- up trucks from throughout the Ozark foothills would converge on Channel 8. Kids, grandmothers, well-to-do doctors, $40-per-week waitresses and would-be performers from all walks ol life would come to audition for a chance to ap- pear on Hillbilly Hootcnanny, Country Junction and other equally memorable programs. From the opening hoedown the closing hymn. Channel 8's brand of hearsed, unpredictable and packed with hard-sell, "down-home'' commercial pitches. I logged hundreds of hours directing these country-music spectaculars— issuing such commands as: "Camera Two, give me a shot of the sack of flour. . . . Camera One. I need a close- up of the guy with the jew's-harp. That's right, the fellow standing next —» Serious cough medicine in solid form. &«- FORMULA 44 COUGH DISCS Vicks" Formula 44" Cough Discs relieve coughing for hours... and soothe throats irritated by coughs. Coughing: Two Cough Discs contain the same amount ol couL;h suppressant as two teaspoons of Formula 44 Cough Mixture-aeon;^ suiiptessan'. as effective as codeine, but not narroiir. You get hours of rel ief from coughs due to colds or flu. Throat irritations from coughing: Formula 44 Cough Disc;: ( or--ta:n ingredients to soothe throats roughs l upbyaiughin;.; In seconds your irritated throat feels smoother, less scratchy. Formula 44 Cough Discs. Take them anywhere—but take them seriously. to his bird dog. . . . Two, swing over to the photograph of the cotton picker. . . . One, tell the banjo player either to find a spittoon or get off the set. . . . Two, lock down your camera on a shot of the steel guitar and get a microphone for the guy who just walked in rolling the tractor tire. .. . One, give me a wide cover shot of the entire south end of the studio. I think I've just lost control of the show. . . ." Of course, my seat-of-the-pants di- recting was constantly being aided by on-camera advice from the performers themselves. "Son, turn that big Kodak there around on Orval and his git box so as he can light into a little 'Wild- wood Flower'. . . . And if you folks out there got any dedications or re- quests, you just call up our directors to let us know." Despite Channel 8's popularity with area country-music fans, the station had difficulty in attracting community support and interest. A major reason for this was that the studio and offices had been built out in the woods far from town. The place was so remote that our visitors were mostly hunters or wandering Boy Scout troops asking for directions back to civilization. An old logging road was our only physical link with the outside world. And since the station's power came from a rural electric cooperative, Channel 8 was knocked off the air each time too many electric milking machines were plugged in along the line. Because of the station's struggles to survive economically, we rarely pro- duced a program—regardless of length or complexity—with more technical per- sonnel on duty than two cameramen, an engineer and one hapless soul who functioned as director/switcher/audio man/projectionist/telephone operator. A television control room—with its monitors, meters, communications cir- cuits and electronic gadgetry—is al- ways a hectic place to work, even when the operation is fully staffed. But Chan- TV GUIDE NOVEMBER 20. 1971 nel 8's two-man control room not only sharpened a director's reflexes, it tugged at his sanity. Besides the usual director's respon- sibilities of making decisions and issu- ing instructions, I was also required to select video sources with my right hand while flipping audio switches and con- trolling sound levels with my left hand. At the same time I had to scurry back and forth juggling slides and loading film projectors. Jogging was a neces- sary exercise in the Channel 8 control room long before it became a popular national pastime. Needless to say, Channel 8's pro- gramming continuously teetered on the verge of complete chaos. And when it tottered too far, disaster might ensue in the form of a rollicking series of audio/visual goofs or in an extended telecast of the director's favorite station identification or "technical difficulty" slide. During moments of directorial catas- trophe I had a bad habit of getting my cameras (all two of them) confused. I would yell for Camera One to get a shot but would push the button for Camera Two instead. I soon learned that this recurrent camera miscom- mand of "Ready One, Take Two . . ." was certain to treat viewers to un- scheduled glimpses of elbows, ear- lobes, and fuzzily kinetic camera work. The various station managers who took the helm at Channel 8 were al- ways encouraging directors and en- gineers alike to exercise their imagi- nation and ingenuity. This is a positive way of saying that there were never any production budgets and seldom any equipment working properly. For example, the Channel 8 concept of set designing was to figure out today how to rearrange the same background flats, curtains and set pieces we had used yesterday and the day before. One particularly unkempt plastic potted plant—affectionately dubbed "Matilda" —was shown so many times on dif- —> 41 to his bird dog. . . . Two, swing over to the photograph of the cotton picker. . . . One, tell the banjo player either to find a spittoon or get off the set. . . . Two, lock down your camera on a shot of the steel guitar and get a microphone for the guy who just walked in rolling the tractor tire. .. . One, give me a wide cover shot of the entire south end of the studio. I think I've just lost control of the show. . . ." Of course, my seat-of-the-pants di- recting was constantly being aided by on-camera advice from the performers themselves. "Son, turn that big Kodak there around on Orval and his git box so as he can light into a little 'Wild- wood Flower'. . . . And if you folks out there got any dedications or re- quests, you just call up our directors to let us know." Despite Channel 8's popularity with area country-music fans, the station had difficulty in attracting community support and interest. A major reason for this was that the studio and offices had been built out in the woods far from town. The place was so remote that our visitors were mostly hunters or wandering Boy Scout troops asking for directions back to civilization. An old logging road was our only physical link with the outside world. And since the station's power came from a rural electric cooperative, Channel 8 was knocked off the air each time too many electric milking machines were plugged in along the line. Because of the station's struggles to survive economically, we rarely pro- duced a program—regardless of length or complexity—with more technical per- sonnel on duty than two cameramen, an engineer and one hapless soul who functioned as director/switcher/audio man/projectionist/telephone operator. A television control room—with its monitors, meters, communications cir- cuits and electronic gadgetry—is al- ways a hectic place to work, even when the operation is fully staffed. But Chan- TV GUIDE NOVEMBER 20. 1971 nel 8's two-man control room not only sharpened a director's reflexes, it tugged at his sanity. Besides the usual director's respon- sibilities of making decisions and issu- ing instructions, I was also required to select video sources with my right hand while flipping audio switches and con- trolling sound levels with my left hand. At the same time I had to scurry back and forth juggling slides and loading film projectors. Jogging was a neces- sary exercise in the Channel 8 control room long before it became a popular national pastime. Needless to say, Channel 8's pro- gramming continuously teetered on the verge of complete chaos. And when it tottered too far, disaster might ensue in the form of a rollicking series of audio/visual goofs or in an extended telecast of the director's favorite station identification or "technical difficulty" slide. During moments of directorial catas- trophe I had a bad habit of getting my cameras (all two of them) confused. I would yell for Camera One to get a shot but would push the button for Camera Two instead. I soon learned that this recurrent camera miscom- mand of "Ready One, Take Two . . ." was certain to treat viewers to un- scheduled glimpses of elbows, ear- lobes, and fuzzily kinetic camera work. The various station managers who took the helm at Channel 8 were al- ways encouraging directors and en- gineers alike to exercise their imagi- nation and ingenuity. This is a positive way of saying that there were never any production budgets and seldom any equipment working properly. For example, the Channel 8 concept of set designing was to figure out today how to rearrange the same background flats, curtains and set pieces we had used yesterday and the day before. One particularly unkempt plastic potted plant—affectionately dubbed "Matilda" —was shown so many times on dif- —> 41 to his bird dog. . . . Two, swing over to the photograph of the cotton picker. . . . One, tell the banjo player either to find a spittoon or get off the set. . . . Two, lock down your camera on a shot of the steel guitar and get a microphone for the guy who just walked in rolling the tractor tire. .. . One, give me a wide cover shot of the entire south end of the studio. I think I've just lost control of the show. . . ." Of course, my seat-of-the-pants di- recting was constantly being aided by on-camera advice from the performers themselves. "Son, turn that big Kodak there around on Orval and his git box so as he can light into a little 'Wild- wood Flower'. . . . And if you folks out there got any dedications or re- quests, you just call up our directors to let us know." Despite Channel 8's popularity with area country-music fans, the station had difficulty in attracting community support and interest. A major reason for this was that the studio and offices had been built out in the woods far from town. The place was so remote that our visitors were mostly hunters or wandering Boy Scout troops asking for directions back to civilization. An old logging road was our only physical link with the outside world. And since the station's power came from a rural electric cooperative, Channel 8 was knocked off the air each time too many electric milking machines were plugged in along the line. Because of the station's struggles to survive economically, we rarely pro- duced a program—regardless of length or complexity—with more technical per- sonnel on duty than two cameramen, an engineer and one hapless soul who functioned as director/switcher/audio man/projectionist/telephone operator. A television control room—with its monitors, meters, communications cir- cuits and electronic gadgetry—is al- ways a hectic place to work, even when the operation is fully staffed. But Chan- TV GUIDE NOVEMBER 20. 1971 nel 8's two-man control room not only sharpened a director's reflexes, it tugged at his sanity. Besides the usual director's respon- sibilities of making decisions and issu- ing instructions, I was also required to select video sources with my right hand while flipping audio switches and con- trolling sound levels with my left hand. At the same time I had to scurry back and forth juggling slides and loading film projectors. Jogging was a neces- sary exercise in the Channel 8 control room long before it became a popular national pastime. Needless to say, Channel 8's pro- gramming continuously teetered on the verge of complete chaos. And when it tottered too far, disaster might ensue in the form of a rollicking series of audio/visual goofs or in an extended telecast of the director's favorite station identification or "technical difficulty" slide. During moments of directorial catas- trophe I had a bad habit of getting my cameras (all two of them) confused. I would yell for Camera One to get a shot but would push the button for Camera Two instead. I soon learned that this recurrent camera miscom- mand of "Ready One, Take Two . . ." was certain to treat viewers to un- scheduled glimpses of elbows, ear- lobes, and fuzzily kinetic camera work. The various station managers who took the helm at Channel 8 were al- ways encouraging directors and en- gineers alike to exercise their imagi- nation and ingenuity. This is a positive way of saying that there were never any production budgets and seldom any equipment working properly. For example, the Channel 8 concept of set designing was to figure out today how to rearrange the same background flats, curtains and set pieces we had used yesterday and the day before. One particularly unkempt plastic potted plant—affectionately dubbed "Matilda" —was shown so many times on dif- —> 41 One day the station's only director (ailed to report for work As a result, I got another on-the-spot promotion. From tractor driver to television di- rector in seven months—it could only have happened in Arkansas, a state which, atter all, does claim to be the "Land of Opportunity.'' Because our television station was located in one ol the world's smallest TV markets and was challenging estab- lished Memphis outlets for viewers, survival was a daily goal. For a number ol years our station was an independent operation—meaning we had no network affiliation and were forced to supply all programming. This need to fill ai' ti^e'^ade Jones- boro's Channel R a Tfir.rn '.->i amateur country-music singers who^i? hearts' desires were to ' pick and 91 1' on prime-time TV. Tnn only prerequisites for having one's own show were (1} a guitar and (2; a ft end ™ relative with enough money ic ouy a haif hour commercial sponsorship for 13 weeks. The ability to sing was helpful but was by no means necessary. On Saturday and Sunday nights, pick- up trucks from throughout the Ozark foothills would converge on Channel 8. Kids, grandmothers, well-to-do doctors, $40-per-week waitresses and would-be performers from all walks ol life would come to audition for a chance to ap- pear on Hillbilly Hootcnanny, Country Junction and other equally memorable programs. From the opening hoedown the closing hymn. Channel 8's brand of hearsed, unpredictable and packed with hard-sell, "down-home'' commercial pitches. I logged hundreds of hours directing these country-music spectaculars— issuing such commands as: "Camera Two, give me a shot of the sack of flour. . . . Camera One. I need a close- up of the guy with the jew's-harp. That's right, the fellow standing next —» Serious cough medicine in solid form. &«- FORMULA 44 COUGH DISCS Vicks" Formula 44" Cough Discs relieve coughing for hours... and soothe throats irritated by coughs. Coughing: Two Cough Discs contain the same amount ol couL;h suppressant as two teaspoons of Formula 44 Cough Mixture-aeon;^ suiiptessan'. as effective as codeine, but not narroiir. You get hours of rel ief from coughs due to colds or flu. Throat irritations from coughing: Formula 44 Cough Disc;: ( or--ta:n ingredients to soothe throats roughs l upbyaiughin;.; In seconds your irritated throat feels smoother, less scratchy. Formula 44 Cough Discs. Take them anywhere—but take them seriously. to his bird dog. . . . Two, swing over to the photograph of the cotton picker. . . . One, tell the banjo player either to find a spittoon or get off the set. . . . Two, lock down your camera on a shot of the steel guitar and get a microphone for the guy who just walked in rolling the tractor tire. .. . One, give me a wide cover shot of the entire south end of the studio. I think I've just lost control of the show. . . ." Of course, my seat-of-the-pants di- recting was constantly being aided by on-camera advice from the performers themselves. "Son, turn that big Kodak there around on Orval and his git box so as he can light into a little 'Wild- wood Flower'. . . . And if you folks out there got any dedications or re- quests, you just call up our directors to let us know." Despite Channel 8's popularity with area country-music fans, the station had difficulty in attracting community support and interest. A major reason for this was that the studio and offices had been built out in the woods far from town. The place was so remote that our visitors were mostly hunters or wandering Boy Scout troops asking for directions back to civilization. An old logging road was our only physical link with the outside world. And since the station's power came from a rural electric cooperative, Channel 8 was knocked off the air each time too many electric milking machines were plugged in along the line. Because of the station's struggles to survive economically, we rarely pro- duced a program—regardless of length or complexity—with more technical per- sonnel on duty than two cameramen, an engineer and one hapless soul who functioned as director/switcher/audio man/projectionist/telephone operator. A television control room—with its monitors, meters, communications cir- cuits and electronic gadgetry—is al- ways a hectic place to work, even when the operation is fully staffed. But Chan- TV GUIDE NOVEMBER 20. 1971 nel 8's two-man control room not only sharpened a director's reflexes, it tugged at his sanity. Besides the usual director's respon- sibilities of making decisions and issu- ing instructions, I was also required to select video sources with my right hand while flipping audio switches and con- trolling sound levels with my left hand. At the same time I had to scurry back and forth juggling slides and loading film projectors. Jogging was a neces- sary exercise in the Channel 8 control room long before it became a popular national pastime. Needless to say, Channel 8's pro- gramming continuously teetered on the verge of complete chaos. And when it tottered too far, disaster might ensue in the form of a rollicking series of audio/visual goofs or in an extended telecast of the director's favorite station identification or "technical difficulty" slide. During moments of directorial catas- trophe I had a bad habit of getting my cameras (all two of them) confused. I would yell for Camera One to get a shot but would push the button for Camera Two instead. I soon learned that this recurrent camera miscom- mand of "Ready One, Take Two . . ." was certain to treat viewers to un- scheduled glimpses of elbows, ear- lobes, and fuzzily kinetic camera work. The various station managers who took the helm at Channel 8 were al- ways encouraging directors and en- gineers alike to exercise their imagi- nation and ingenuity. This is a positive way of saying that there were never any production budgets and seldom any equipment working properly. For example, the Channel 8 concept of set designing was to figure out today how to rearrange the same background flats, curtains and set pieces we had used yesterday and the day before. One particularly unkempt plastic potted plant—affectionately dubbed "Matilda" —was shown so many times on dif- —> 41 One day the station's only director (ailed to report for work As a result, I got another on-the-spot promotion. From tractor driver to television di- rector in seven months—it could only have happened in Arkansas, a state which, atter all, does claim to be the "Land of Opportunity.'' Because our television station was located in one ol the world's smallest TV markets and was challenging estab- lished Memphis outlets for viewers, survival was a daily goal. For a number ol years our station was an independent operation—meaning we had no network affiliation and were forced to supply all programming. This need to fill ai' ti^e'^ade Jones- boro's Channel R a Tfir.rn '.->i amateur country-music singers who^i? hearts' desires were to ' pick and 91 1' on prime-time TV. Tnn only prerequisites for having one's own show were (1} a guitar and (2; a ft end ™ relative with enough money ic ouy a haif hour commercial sponsorship for 13 weeks. The ability to sing was helpful but was by no means necessary. On Saturday and Sunday nights, pick- up trucks from throughout the Ozark foothills would converge on Channel 8. Kids, grandmothers, well-to-do doctors, $40-per-week waitresses and would-be performers from all walks ol life would come to audition for a chance to ap- pear on Hillbilly Hootcnanny, Country Junction and other equally memorable programs. From the opening hoedown the closing hymn. Channel 8's brand of hearsed, unpredictable and packed with hard-sell, "down-home'' commercial pitches. I logged hundreds of hours directing these country-music spectaculars— issuing such commands as: "Camera Two, give me a shot of the sack of flour. . . . Camera One. I need a close- up of the guy with the jew's-harp. That's right, the fellow standing next —» Serious cough medicine in solid form. &«- FORMULA 44 COUGH DISCS Vicks" Formula 44" Cough Discs relieve coughing for hours... and soothe throats irritated by coughs. Coughing: Two Cough Discs contain the same amount ol couL;h suppressant as two teaspoons of Formula 44 Cough Mixture-aeon;^ suiiptessan'. as effective as codeine, but not narroiir. You get hours of rel ief from coughs due to colds or flu. Throat irritations from coughing: Formula 44 Cough Disc;: ( or--ta:n ingredients to soothe throats roughs l upbyaiughin;.; In seconds your irritated throat feels smoother, less scratchy. Formula 44 Cough Discs. Take them anywhere—but take them seriously. to his bird dog. . . . Two, swing over to the photograph of the cotton picker. . . . One, tell the banjo player either to find a spittoon or get off the set. . . . Two, lock down your camera on a shot of the steel guitar and get a microphone for the guy who just walked in rolling the tractor tire. .. . One, give me a wide cover shot of the entire south end of the studio. I think I've just lost control of the show. . . ." Of course, my seat-of-the-pants di- recting was constantly being aided by on-camera advice from the performers themselves. "Son, turn that big Kodak there around on Orval and his git box so as he can light into a little 'Wild- wood Flower'. . . . And if you folks out there got any dedications or re- quests, you just call up our directors to let us know." Despite Channel 8's popularity with area country-music fans, the station had difficulty in attracting community support and interest. A major reason for this was that the studio and offices had been built out in the woods far from town. The place was so remote that our visitors were mostly hunters or wandering Boy Scout troops asking for directions back to civilization. An old logging road was our only physical link with the outside world. And since the station's power came from a rural electric cooperative, Channel 8 was knocked off the air each time too many electric milking machines were plugged in along the line. Because of the station's struggles to survive economically, we rarely pro- duced a program—regardless of length or complexity—with more technical per- sonnel on duty than two cameramen, an engineer and one hapless soul who functioned as director/switcher/audio man/projectionist/telephone operator. A television control room—with its monitors, meters, communications cir- cuits and electronic gadgetry—is al- ways a hectic place to work, even when the operation is fully staffed. But Chan- TV GUIDE NOVEMBER 20. 1971 nel 8's two-man control room not only sharpened a director's reflexes, it tugged at his sanity. Besides the usual director's respon- sibilities of making decisions and issu- ing instructions, I was also required to select video sources with my right hand while flipping audio switches and con- trolling sound levels with my left hand. At the same time I had to scurry back and forth juggling slides and loading film projectors. Jogging was a neces- sary exercise in the Channel 8 control room long before it became a popular national pastime. Needless to say, Channel 8's pro- gramming continuously teetered on the verge of complete chaos. And when it tottered too far, disaster might ensue in the form of a rollicking series of audio/visual goofs or in an extended telecast of the director's favorite station identification or "technical difficulty" slide. During moments of directorial catas- trophe I had a bad habit of getting my cameras (all two of them) confused. I would yell for Camera One to get a shot but would push the button for Camera Two instead. I soon learned that this recurrent camera miscom- mand of "Ready One, Take Two . . ." was certain to treat viewers to un- scheduled glimpses of elbows, ear- lobes, and fuzzily kinetic camera work. The various station managers who took the helm at Channel 8 were al- ways encouraging directors and en- gineers alike to exercise their imagi- nation and ingenuity. This is a positive way of saying that there were never any production budgets and seldom any equipment working properly. For example, the Channel 8 concept of set designing was to figure out today how to rearrange the same background flats, curtains and set pieces we had used yesterday and the day before. One particularly unkempt plastic potted plant—affectionately dubbed "Matilda" —was shown so many times on dif- —> One year we received permission irom COS 10 carry a Sugar Bowl game in which Ihe University ot Arkansas Razorbacks worn playing Since we had no AT&T microwave or coaxial television transmission lines the only way for Channel fi lo telecast Ihe game was to pick up the signal Irom Ihe Memphis CDS afliiiate and rebroadcast t*ie picture. Llecironic interference was very had near the studio and transmit- ter Our intrepid engineering department solved the proo'em oy fastening a home TV antenna to Ihe top ot a Vulk-.war^r. bus. driving ihe vehicle far out into Ihe woods, and running a cable back to our control room This Rube Goldberg ar rangement rmghi have worked il it had not rained in Jonesboro New Year's Day and if a passing hunicr had noi gotten his car stuck in the mud Close to Our bus The ignition noise Irom the ception And thousands ol Channel 0 viewers cursed and fumed until our two trusty cameramen sloshed through Ihe woods lo help push out the floundering automobile Once while I was directing a live wrestling show, the combatants decided to continue some real, unscripled vio- lence in my conlrol room ] Quickly or- dered lights and cameras to be turned in my direction and ducked tor safely under the switching console just as the hero administered the coup de grSce with a borrowed chan Nothing helped our wrestling ratings more than honest bloodshed But studios and control rooms were SIMAREST. IT CAN HELP MEAN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SINUS SUFFERING AND FEELING BETTER AGAIN. Sinarest was made specifically for people who get sinus headaches and congestion. It was created by a research scientist who's suffered from sinus headaches nearly all his life. So he made it strong to be effective. And in less than a year it's become a leading brand. The basic idea behind Sinarest is to help relieve your headache pain fast. And to go to work on your swollen sinus cavities. To do this he used a pain reliever that's i easy on your stomach, a decongestant that | helps drain your sinus cavities and an antihistamine. He even added a mild energizer to help keep you from getting drowsy. Sinarest for sinus headache pain and the congestion that causes it. It can help mean the difference between suffering and feeling better again. film production market in Northeast | Arkansas. I was forced to employ an "auteur." or do-it-all. method of news- film production. After shooting the film story (usually a beauty pageant or a cheerleading clinic). I rushed back to the studio and developed the film in a hand-cranked processor. I then dried the wet. dripping mess by stringing the I film from lights in the studio. While j the film dried, I wrote the accompany- ing news copy and prepared to direct | the evening's first newscast. TV sta- tions just do not put together news programs that way any more. My memories of this type of rustic television are a mixture of chagrin, smiles and tremendous pride. During | my four-year apprenticeship in Arkan- sas television. I became an authority | on Wallace Beery movies. Roller Der- by, Veg-a-MatiCS. Highway Patrol re- runs, and chinchilla-ranch promotions. Much more important. I discovered that television in even its most backward, goshawfu! state exerts a powerful com- munications force The TV studio back in Jonesboro is Still out in the woods, but civilization I has begun to encroach in the form of | paved roads and real-estate subdivi sions. Channel 8 is now a prosperous, progressive ABC-affiliate station which | no longer has that quaint, anachro tic charm. And I suppose beginners there are no longer allowed all the mistakes I once made. Today—almost eight years after foul- ing up my first batch ol slides for | Channel 8—1 am still in the "glorious, show-biz world of television." But although my position as a film/video- tape producer for WFAA Productions I in Dallas affords me the opportunity t" use millions of dollars' worth of the I latest equipment, to travel throughout | the world and to work alongside some ot the top professionals in the industry. I sometimes miss the simple satisfac- tions and insanities of my first job back in Jonesboro.