by Jay Onrait
Seconds later I was called into the circle of hosts. Literally. All the other hosts including a pregnant Melissa gathered around in a circle and joined hands and said a little motivational prayer, something that had never happened to me before in my near twenty-year career in television. It was kind of nice. I decided I would have to try it with Dan sometime—only it would just be the two of us holding hands and staring directly at each other. Might be a tough sell.
Not surprisingly, the topic of discussion that day had taken a recent and rather shocking turn. Whatever the gaggle of super-cute producers had originally planned for the show had been thrown into a large trash bin behind 299 Queen and replaced with Rob Ford, Rob Ford, and more Rob Ford. At least this was a topic I could speak somewhat intelligently about, having just had two years of hard work swept aside by a mayor who had a little problem controlling his appetites. This was actually going to be fun. The studio audience seemed to consist of about seventy-five or so moms and their best girlfriends and one slightly familiar dude sitting in the back row. Where had I seen that guy before?
We got a nice standing ovation from the crowd and we were off. Melissa kept things rolling along with questions and talking points. She was always a great host at CP24 and now she was really in her element. The Social is perfectly suited to her strengths, and I was so happy she had achieved her goal of getting her own show on the air. I managed to get a few laughs for my story about Mayor Ford interrupting my interview on CP24 earlier that day. The crowd seemed to respond well to my Anchorboy stories, and I think I might have even sold a few books. I knew my own mom was watching at home and was probably pretty happy. In other words, everything was going well.
But who was that lone guy in the back row?
At one point during the discussion about Ford, right before the first commercial break, Melissa asked the audience members if any of them had an opinion about the recent Ford revelation, and a couple of the show’s producers (there seemed to be about twenty of them) stood by with handheld microphones, ready to leap into the crowd for instant interaction. The man in the back row was the first to raise his hand and I suddenly realized who he was.
He was there to see me, and this was about to get weird.
Dana McKiel is a man who never ages. He looks the same today as the first time I met him back in 1994. I had known the man in the back row for twenty years, and I probably owed him as much credit for my career as anyone. Dana was a lifer at Rogers Community Cable channels all across Ontario, but mostly in the Toronto area. He had been an on-air host for Rogers Community Cable for longer than anyone in the province. He was a huge part of their Ontario university, college, and high school sports broadcasts, either doing play-by-play or hosting.
Dana was an incredibly friendly and chatty character who dressed a little bit like a used car salesman and probably would have been great at selling just about anything. But he also loved sports. I mean loved sports. It takes a pretty special person to continue to follow and maintain a passion for amateur sports for so many years beyond just following the exploits of your own kids. Dana was a man who was truly born to be a host on his channel. He was really perfect, and Rogers was very lucky to have him.
Just a month or so into my first year at Ryerson I saw a posting on the bulletin board in the audio laboratory, where we spliced together reel-to-reel tape and hosted radio shows. The posting asked for a reporter for Rogers Community Cable live sports events throughout the Toronto area. An actual on-air position while you were attending broadcasting school—albeit not a paying one. I was almost vibrating, I was so determined to get the job. I knew there were several other people at Ryerson, not just in my class but second- and third-year students as well, who would be just as desperate to get the job as I was. Ultimately, what sealed the job for me were two things: volunteering at ITV News in Edmonton during my second year at the University of Alberta, and more importantly, asking the nice crew at ITV News to allow me five minutes of on-camera reading from the teleprompter. This awkward, stiff, and rather robotic performance formed the basis of my very first demo tape, of which I carried at least five VHS copies around with me at all times. I mailed a copy of the VHS demo to Dana and about a week later got a message on my answering machine in my dorm room on the sixth floor of Pitman Hall.
“Hi, Jay, it’s Dana McKiel calling from Rogers Cable 10. We’d like to bring you on board, big guy!”
I went sprinting out of my dorm room and leapt over a couch in the common area of the senior suite I was sharing with four other students, like I was a young Perdita Felicien during Canadian Olympic trials. My friend Allan Thrush, who now works as a freelance editor and producer in Calgary, says it was one of the funniest things he has ever seen in his life, watching me prance around like a gazelle and scream “Yes!” while double-pumping my fists in the air. I was oblivious to how ridiculous I looked at the time. In my mind, then and now, it was this break that truly got my career started. Even my first real on-air paying job at Global Saskatoon didn’t carry the same weight that this volunteer reporter job carried. And having to compete with my fellow would-be sports broadcasters who were just as determined to break into the business and get started made it all the sweeter. I will always be grateful to Dana for choosing me to come report for him.
The job involved several different responsibilities. I would put together two- to three-minute reports for Dana’s show Sports Week Magazine, which featured news about amateur sports around Toronto and Southern Ontario. I would also serve as the sideline reporter on live events that Rogers Cable was broadcasting, like Ontario women’s university volleyball games and high school hoops tournaments.
I was generally stiff and awkward, and at one point during a live broadcast of a women’s basketball game between York and Guelph universities I completely froze in what was very likely the single most embarrassing on-air moment of my life. I had never done live television before and simply wasn’t prepared for it. I tried to memorize what I was going to say, which is never a good idea in a live TV situation. At one point when Dana threw over to me on the sideline I said something along the lines of: “Thanks, Dana. The Guelph women’s team has been a formidle . . . a formidable squad throughout the first three weeks of women’s basketball play . . . I . . . York women’s team is three and two coming in . . . I . . . the girls . . . good match . . . back to you.” And then I produced a look on my face that was somewhere between disappointment and shame.
Dana handled it beautifully and pretended that Craig Sager himself had just thrown it back to him: “Great stuff, Jay. Thanks very much!” Upon returning home, my very kind college roommates could not hide their embarrassment at what they had just seen on live television, which was then followed by merciless ridicule, all of which made me feel much better.
Over the course of the next twenty years or so, I ran into Dana randomly at various sporting events around Toronto. He was always in a great mood and super chatty, talking about some new project he was embarking on or some new job he was applying for. I just loved his good-natured personality. He was definitely a talker, perhaps sometimes a little too much. Ultimately, though, I’ve always appreciated that first big break he gave me and so I was always happy to see him.
That day on The Social, however, I had mixed feelings when I saw him in the audience.
“Any thoughts from our audience on Rob Ford’s recent admission on live television that he did, in fact, smoke crack?”
Dana’s hand shot up to the sky and a young producer chased after it.
“I have a few things to say,” began Dana.
I gripped the bottom of my chair tighter. Please don’t mention me, please don’t mention me.
“First of all, I’d like to say congratulations to my good friend Jay Onrait on the publication of his book, Anchorboy. I think it’s terrific and we go back a long way.” The other panel members all glanced my way and I jumped in with a quick reply.
“That’s right. Dana McKiel, everybody! He gave me my firs
t big break in the business.” I looked around nervously, hoping this is where it would end.
But this was live television. And Dana McKiel was on a roll.
Before I could say “crack cocaine,” Dana had begun parrying back and forth with the panel, enthusiastically sharing his opinions on the day’s big news.
Now, in all fairness to the guy, I know he was in the audience to support me. But Dana is a man who loves to talk, and despite his best intentions, his enthusiasm and television instincts won out that day. What began as a few quick one-liners rapidly developed into a full blown discussion about the man of the hour—Rob Ford.
I sat there slowly curling and twisting the copy of Anchorboy that was sitting in front of me, like I was wringing out a washcloth, all the while silently muttering to myself how this was supposed to be about me. Remember my book, guys? Anchorboy? I flew all the way from L.A. for this!
Finally, sensing the audience’s growing disinterest—and my growing discomfort—Melissa stepped in. “Okay, sir. Well, thanks for your time but we have to take a commercial break. We’ll be back with more Social after this.” It turns out they’d used up all the designated audience feedback time talking to Dana and now we were moving on to another segment. Good grief.
Melissa and the other ladies began to chat amongst themselves, while the lead producer of the show approached our table with a disapproving young assistant by her side. I thought she would address the situation with Melissa, perhaps offer some guidance on how to deal with overly enthusiastic audience members who monopolize air time, but instead the producer looked right at me.
“Do you know that guy?” she asked.
Everyone on the panel—Melissa, Lainey, Cynthia, and Traci—turned toward me as I replied, “Yes. I know him.” I explained my connection to Dana as quickly as I could. Time was of the essence here.
The producer was visibly irritated. “He showed up and we were going to let another lady into the audience, but we let him in because he said he knew you.”
Great. Not only had my previous interview been sabotaged, but now I had unknowingly sabotaged Melissa’s show because of my past connections. I looked out to the back row of the audience and Dana gave me an enthusiastic wave. I waved back tentatively. Soon this would all be over. In fact, sooner than I realized. I thought I would be on as co-host for the entire show, but in fact I was actually on for only the first half-hour—a built-in fail-safe in case one of their guests turned out to be an unequivocal disaster, like me. I bid goodbye to Melissa, Lainey, and the many producers, and I was off.
As I was walking out of the studio, Dana called out to me. “I’ll see you at your book signing!”
I did my best to avoid eye contact, but I couldn’t hold back a smile. This trip could not possibly get any more weird, could it?
The next day, the trip got weirder.
Chapter 13
The Anchorboy Press Tour, Part 3: The Iron Sheik
Throughout my life, I have always had a complicated relationship with the CBC. Growing up, it was a huge part of my household entertainment, and as I detailed in Anchorboy, CBC Edmonton and its local sportscasts were a big part of why I decided to become a sportscaster in the first place. When you live the first nine years of your life in a prairie town of only 700 people, and the Internet has yet to be invented, the CBC is your lifeline to the world.
I watched the CBC in the morning as a little kid, starting every day with the familiar recorder-accompanied theme song to The Friendly Giant, a show that consisted of a friendly giant who lived alone in a castle with a rooster and a giraffe. It seems like an odd interspecies relationship looking back now, but everyone I knew was keen on the giant’s signature phrase: “Look up, waaaay up, and I’ll call Rusty.” Rusty, in this case, was the rooster that the giant may or may not have been having an inappropriate relationship with at the time. Rusty “lived” in what appeared to be a burlap sack hanging from the wall. I have no idea how he got out of there to poo or have a bite of a sunflower seed or two for sustenance.
The Friendly Giant was followed by Mr. Dressup starring Pennsylvania native Ernie Coombs as a guy who basically sat around his house all day singing songs, drawing surprisingly lifelike pictures, and dressing up in costumes that appeared magically inside his Tickle Trunk—a red steel trunk painted with flowers that sat in his living room. He had a puppet dog Finnegan and a puppet son Casey. Parental status was never really clarified, and we never saw any trace of a wife/mother, or any woman in his life for that matter. Parents were not supposed to question the fact that he was a single man who dressed up in costumes all day that were situated in something called a Tickle Trunk. Or that he was named Mr. Dressup. All of this seemed perfectly logical and acceptable in the ’70s and ’80s.
The CBC primetime lineup was a huge part of my life at the time as well. Beachcombers was a half-hour sitcom about, well, beachcombers who competed for logs and such in Gibsons, BC, starring an Italian man named Bruno Gerussi as a Greek man named Nick Adonidas whose arch-rival Relic wore a famous toque and owned the shittiest boat ever seen on television. This was followed every Sunday night by The Wonderful World of Disney. I watched every single Escape from Witch Mountain movie and Love Bug film, but I prayed every week that we might be blessed with an actual Mickey and Friends cartoon. No Teletoon or Cartoon Network available for this kid. An episode of Sport Goofy was like being given a large bag of gold.
But as I grew older, I started to become aware of how truly terrible a lot of the programming on the network was. The big Monday night anchor during my early teens was Danger Bay, which starred Hollywood veteran Donnelly Rhodes as marine biologist “Doc” Roberts, who was raising two kids while presumably solving crimes that involved whale poaching, all the while hitting on his hot helicopter pilot friend who provided the necessary sexual tension needed to keep the show interesting. My former TSN co-anchor Cory Woron was a child actor in the Vancouver area and actually appeared on the show at least once as the best friend of Doc Roberts’ son Jonah, a feather-haired tennis-playing little douchebag. For years in my thirties, after Cory had relayed this information, I begged friends who worked at the CBC to find the lost Cory Woron footage, but alas, as of now it has still gone unseen by these eyes. More interesting to any heterosexual male my age in the country at the time was Doc Roberts’ daughter, played by Hellman’s mayonnaise heir Ocean Hellman. American teenage boys may have had Alyssa Milano, but we had an Ocean.
As I got older and my cable packages got better, I saw less and less of the CBC, even from a news standpoint. Only the venerable Hockey Night in Canada, the Olympics, and CFL broadcasts kept me coming back to the public broadcaster. I didn’t think about the fact that the CBC was taking a portion of my taxes until I actually entered the television business as an on-air broadcaster in 1999 in Saskatoon. Soon after I arrived in the spectacular Saskatchewan city, I was introduced to Piya Chattopadhyay through my friend and news co-anchor Chris Krieger.
Piya was a born-and-raised Saskatoon girl who went to high school at Marion Graham and attended the University of Saskatchewan. Like me she moved on from there to Ryerson in Toronto and had returned to the province to take her first television job as a reporter with the CBC. Piya and I did not like each other at first for reasons that are still somewhat unclear to me—I was a douchebag? She was a douchebag? Who knows. But we became the best of friends during my year working in the city, and she was kind enough to include me in her circle of Saskatoon pals on regular nights out drinking pint after pint of Sangria downtown at the Black Duck pub (I realize we were not supposed to be drinking Sangria out of pint glasses but we were twenty-four years old at the time).
I also managed to cause Piya some significant stress during my short time living in her city. I was the last person out of her door following a pre-drinking session at her apartment one evening, and I called out to her as she walked down the street, “Do you want me to lock this?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied.
> We’d all had a few drinks but I was certainly sober enough to make a judgment call. Should I just lock it anyway? Nah, I thought to myself. What’s the worst that could happen?
Hours later, several of us returned to her place for a post-drinking session and found the entire apartment empty. Ransacked. They had taken everything she owned. It was as if someone had been watching us leave and immediately backed a truck up to the front door and started hauling everything out casually like movers. Amazingly, she had home insurance at her young age, so she received a nice settlement. Thankfully, I only leave the door unlocked of apartments occupied by responsibly insured adults. She never let me forget the fact that I was last to leave, and it was probably all my fault that she had lost her copy of OK Computer on CD.
Piya seemed rich to the rest of us working in the television news industry in Saskatoon at the time, and that’s because she was a CBC employee in a federal union. Reporter salaries at the CBC were standardized across the country. She was making almost twice what those of us at CTV and Global were making. Years later, I realized that working at the CBC was a little like playing in the CFL. If the salaries were going to be the same all across the country, then it was better to play for Winnipeg or Saskatchewan than Toronto or BC, because your dollar would stretch a lot further.