Mornings With Barney Dick Wolfsie (best ebook reader for ubuntu .txt) 📖

Rather than being taped at the TV studio, this spot was going to be outsourced to a local video production facility, a big deal because when you go out of house with an ad campaign, it costs extra and your expectations are higher because of the increased production value.

A day before the shoot was scheduled, I received a script from the promotion director, Scott Hainey. I knew Dean Crowe, the videographer we were using; he was a real pro but not known for his patience. Not really a problem, except that the draft of the script was heavily dependent on Barney’s cooperation in a rather complex scenario where the anchors, Dave and Pam, and our meteorologist, Randy, along with Barney and me, would play musical chairs. The idea was for Barney to jump onto the remaining seat each time the music stopped, leaving only Barney in a chair at the end of the commercial spot.

Sure, and I also wanted Barney to get up early and cook me breakfast every morning. It wasn’t going to happen.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny,” Crowe grumbled when he saw the layout of the spot. “I hope I’m home in time for Christmas.” (It was October.)

I didn’t blame him for being skeptical. Whoever wrote the ad had a great idea, but just because it looked good on paper didn’t mean we could pull it off. Dogs don’t know how to play musical chairs. Do they?

Dean had not only underestimated the brilliant theatrical abilities of my dog, he had forgotten the persuasive effect of a hunk of pepperoni. Each time we did a take, the lead anchor cupped a piece of the succulent treat in his hand. Barney kept in close proximity as the Channel 8 talent paraded around the chairs. When the music stopped, everyone sat down, but the anchors always left an open seat next to the pepperoni purveyor. Barney never missed a cue. As soon as the chair opened up, Barney jumped into it, hoping for an opportunity to make a major taste-bud score.

We did twenty or thirty takes, but few, if any, of those retakes resulted from Barney’s failure to perform on cue. It was usually one of the camera crew who had missed a shot or one of the anchors who had blown a line or tripped over a chair.

When we left, about an hour ahead of schedule, Dean Crowe just shook his head. “I love working with animals,” he laughed. “They’re so much smarter than television people.”

The ad was a success. For months people asked how I got Barney to do that. The secret was in the pepperoni and Barney’s experience that an empty chair was an invitation to rest and maybe earn a treat. In Barney’s case, a dry biscuit would have fallen short. We had to bring out the good stuff.

His Station in Life

Along the way, there were various signposts that Barney had arrived: He was in promotional ads; he was doing commercials; he had his own show, Barney’s Bad Movies; he had more air time than most reporters. What was left? What other indicator would clearly demonstrate that Barney was no flash in the pan?

During one remote in the mid-nineties I was on a shoot where several other stations were also broadcasting. I always strived to book segments that were not generally considered traditional news. As a result, it was rare that we would find ourselves in the same venue.

In cases where more than one station is at the same locale, the TV crews have to jockey times and be flexible so that each affiliate has a shot at the guest and no one misses out. While stations are competitive, early morning news people are cooperative so that everyone can get the sound bite or video needed.

One year at the Christmas auto extravaganza at what was then the RCA Dome, photographers were whipping their cameras around, taping the prototype cars, and searching for experts who were roaming the show in preparation for the door-opening later in the morning.

Reporters wear earpieces called IFBs, which stands for Interruptible Feedback, something even I didn’t know for almost twenty years. I do know this: it is the lifeline back to the studio, allowing the producer to communicate to the newsperson in the field, providing time cues and input on the segment. They are notoriously unreliable, sometimes too loud, occasionally too soft, and often they don’t work at all. If you are a careful observer, you will occasionally see a reporter yank the plug out of his ear, usually an indication that a technical snafu has resulted in what’s called a mixminus. Translation: You hear what you just said a second after you said it. It’s not just annoying, it’s virtually impossible to communicate with that kind of feedback in your ear. You are reduced to a bumbling idiot. More so than usual.

That particular morning, Barney was in rare form. We had just shot a commercial with him and he was enjoying his freedom to dash among the new cars, greeting the cleanup crew and early guests who had arrived for interviews. He did make a point of leaving his calling card on a few tires. Barney rarely had an accident, but in all fairness, what the heck was a car doing inside a building?

I was apologizing to the maintenance staff when I saw a fellow newsman from another station yank the IFB out of his ear. His producer wasn’t happy and was sharing those feelings. The reporter had a huge grin on his face and motioned me to walk over to him. He held the IFB up near my ear so I could hear what was being said.

“We can’t use any of that video later in the morning,” he shouted. “That damn Channel 8 dog is in every shot. They will cook my ass and yours when they see that. Move the camera. I don’t even want to see