If, however, I worked for the “old company,” as he put it, I would not get the guaranteed money. And he repeated what Jules said, that I could sit and do nothing for the next three years and collect a fat check.
But he had an alternative. I was all ears.
“Stan, I’m part of the Star Channel/MML&J deal myself. I’m leaving Star Channel and joining MML&J Media as their VP of Programming, and I would like you to consider coming with me. I, too, will be based in Tampa.”
I still didn’t understand.
“As Jules probably told you, The Rock is flipping formats but it’s all happened so suddenly that I don’t have the talent assembled yet. Will you consider doing mornings for a few weeks until I can field my team?”
He told me he’d already recruited both a midday guy and someone for afternoon drive. He said he’d picked up an old-timer with some talk experience in the market to cover overnights. But the morning man with whom he was negotiating had not yet come to terms, and in a best case, could not arrive until 30 days after the change in format.
I couldn’t believe my ears. He was both confirming that I was about to get paid nearly a million dollars for sitting on my ass, and asking me to come try my hand as a talk radio host for a month.
So I asked the obvious.
“What the fuck do I know about talk?”
Followed by the essential.
“What’s in it for me if I don’t have to work?”
He answered by first asking if I’d ever heard of Phil Dean.
“Of course, I have. In the same way that any kid pitcher has heard of Nolan Ryan,” I said.
“Well, he’s heard of you” Bernson said. “In fact, more than hearing of you, he has actually heard you. And he was very impressed with your delivery.”
I still didn’t understand.
Bernson told me that Phil Dean was about to come aboard with MML&J to advise them on their acquisitions from Star Channel. He said it was Phil who suggested that I try my hand at talk when he heard that I’d just signed a contract for which I would not have to perform.
“Phil says that your formatics are great, and he can school you on what you need to develop for content. He also likes your interview style and that’s a key part of doing good talk.”
Bernson went on, “He said that you know how to play the hits and that is all talk will require of you. You’ll still be playing the hits, but instead of playing the usual songs, you’ll be offering the tried and tested sound bytes. Same formula, just different material. And he will personally guide you once he’s on board.”
It was intriguing, but I still wasn’t convinced. “Why would I take that gamble?”
“Because it’s a ‘no risk’ experiment. If you suck, then Stan Powers gets retired and you sit back and collect your pay anyway.”
“Who the hell is Stan Powers?”
“You are. And your new program is called Morning Power on WRGT.”
“WRGT?”
“That’s the new name for The Rock. I told you. The plan is for the station, all the MML&J stations, to become right wing, conservative talk.”
I didn’t reply. While I wasn’t entirely sure what a conservative was, I was pretty certain I wasn’t one.
“Chances are you will only do this for 30 days. But if it works, you can be bigger than any DJ could ever be. Look at what Limbaugh is making.”
The prospect of making that kind of dough might make my decision easier to swallow. Pittsburgh was great, but if I couldn’t have my old time slot, I wasn’t going back to my old employer for one-third the money of what I was about to make in Florida. I felt that I’d already peaked in that market and wanted a new challenge. I knew and liked Tampa. Plus, the idea of returning to my home state and earning big bucks for a career that began there in a dive bar gave me a sense of accomplishment, a feeling of closure and self-worth that I very much wanted to experience. Still, the new format was intimidating, and I wasn’t sure I could—or wanted to—make such a drastic transition.
Mulling over the decision while hanging in my new, tiny apartment, I decided to pour myself a cold one. Then I grabbed a “welcome to the neighborhood” package left by my rental agent, and moved out onto the deck, which had a view of the water only if I craned my neck. Inside the envelope was an assortment of coupons for free car washes, pizza discounts and maid service, as well as the latest issue of Tampa Bay Magazine. On the cover, smiling and looking radiant, was Susan Miller. It was then that I called Jules and told him I’d give it a shot.
After hanging up, I sipped my beer and said out loud, “This is Stan Powers and you’re turned to WRGT.” Funny, it didn’t feel right from the first time.
CHAPTER 5
Governor Bob Tobias, former football hero, husband to Susan Miller, and rising Democratic star, had been my radio guest on two prior occasions. Both were short phoners about local Florida politics. This time, Phil was insistent that I bring him into the studio for a face-to-face interview so that cameras would capture the two of us together. He wanted the interview to lead the cable TV news and said that audio alone would not suffice for what we needed. It was essential that we both be in the same video frame.
“Preferably with him leaving pissed,” was how he put it.
This was easier said than done. First off, I didn’t often have many radio guests who were Democrats. Tobias had previously been a big exception because it had suited both our interests. Like every other politician running statewide in Florida, he needed to remain in good stead in the I-4 corridor, and while he was never going to win over my P1s, it enhanced his appeal with independent types if he could tame the otherwise irascible Stan Powers. Meanwhile, I’d had my own reasons for wanting to keep the prior exchanges civil. First, there was a certain prestige that came with having a rapport with the state’s sitting governor, even if he was from the other side of the aisle. That’s because while the mainstays of talk radio are usually heated national issues like illegal immigration, terrorism or federal spending, the state stuff is important for what it means to people’s daily lives. School vouchers, auto insurance, and fishing rights are but a few of the things that come up routinely where the governor gets a major say. Being able to present Tobias to my audience, particularly where he had taken listener phone calls, was important to the brand of the program which billed itself as a news format based on talk. Having him on from time to time made me credible and relevant.
Secondly—never to be uttered on air—I personally liked the guy’s politics. Tobias was a moderate Democrat not tied to the Northeastern, liberal establishment. He hadn’t raised taxes, had opposed giving driver’s licenses to illegal immigrants, and had signed a bill that legalized marijuana for medicinal purposes—three things that made sense to me. And finally, I didn’t want him going home to the governor’s mansion in Tallahassee and complaining to Susan Miller about some asshole on the radio named Stan Powers, even if the name didn’t mean anything to her.
But now, with President Summers suddenly packing it in, things had just gotten a bit more complicated. Preserving the status quo was no longer the aim. Tobias wanted to be president. I wanted a bigger platform. And whether we could serve one another’s goals as we had in the past was now considerably less likely. Nothing would further my career more than thwarting his, or so said Phil.
When Alex had initially invited Tobias onto the program more than three years prior, she’d had to swear a blood oath that I would not be a douche bag. His staff was so concerned about how the appearance would go that they’d wanted to know my questions in advance. I refused to submit a list, but did participate in a call with one of his staffers where I shared the broad strokes of what we would cover. Like I said, things had gone well, but that was before his national star took off like a rocket. This time, as Alex tried to work her magic to make it an in-studio interview, Phil was breathing down my neck and ranting about how I needed to lead the insurgency against Tobias’ budding presidential campaign from within his own state.
“The guy is a pothead. He’s waved the white flag on drugs, Stan.”
“No he hasn’t. He’s made it easier for people with debilitating illnesses to get access for medicinal purposes.”
“There you go again. Getting all wordy and defensive. Just say he’s given kids their gateway to heroin.”
Phil was driving me batshit. He was simultaneously demanding that I begin my attack on Tobias before his people had even committed to a face-to-face interview, and requesting twice-daily reports on Alex’s efforts to lure him into my studio. He pretended not to hear but backed down somewhat after I reminded him that Tobias would never cement the invitation if I was already on air saying the things Phil was recommending. Meanwhile, I was kind of hoping that Tobias couldn’t manage to come into the studio now that he was running for president. While I recognized the PR value and knew that the attention could be just the kind of circus that boosts the career of a guy like me, I didn’t relish the idea of confronting him in the way that Phil had in mind. The upside for him would be to show that he could appeal to centrists who would play a pivotal role should he receive his party’s nomination. After all, if Governor Bob Tobias could hold his own on Morning Power, maybe he was the type of fusion candidate who could get the left and right to coexist? Still, I figured the odds of him consenting to an in-studio interview were slim, even after I had been hospitable to his main rival—but then Alex delivered the thunderclap.
“I got him,” was all she said, handing me a printout of an email she received at the end of the day’s program. “They heard your interview with Vic Baron and now they want in. And he’s willing to come to the studio.” The fact that she offered no further words told me she shared my dread of what might unfold when he walked through the door. Alex was intuitive like that. I never let her into my thinking, but then again, I didn’t have to. I took the paper out of her hand.
“The governor looks forward to continuing his civil dialogue with Stan Powers,” wrote some media flack in the email. Oh shit.
For a few seconds I contemplated not sharing the news with Phil and scuttling the interview with a fake scheduling conflict. He’d have no way of knowing if I didn’t tell him. Then my ego got the best of me. This was a potential coup on the road to syndication. Phil’s instincts were, as usual, correct in sensing opportunity. Tobias was the newly anointed Democratic front-runner coming from an electorally rich swing state, and the fact that he was sitting down with a regionally important, conservative talk host guaranteed that this would make news. This could be the start of a six-month run that would culminate when the GOP convention came to town and all the print, blogosphere and cable television news outlets wanted interviews with someone on the ground who knew the Florida political scene—and I could be that guy. A major interview now, with a Democrat, would cement that role.
“He’s coming in next Tuesday,” I said on my cell while driving home.
“Perfect,” was Phil’s response.
“You’ve been handed a golden opportunity, Stan. Don’t fuck it up,” he warned before proceeding to assure me that he’d come up with some talking points. My stomach turned as I listened to his plan.
“In a word, religion! You’ve got to expose this heathen.”
I knew instantly what he was thinking.
Bob Tobias had never been one to “Tebow” in order to get elected. Throughout his political life, he’d consistently refused to detail his religious convictions, saying that he believed all faith was “a private matter that has no place in American politics.” That earned him praise from the likes of Bill Maher and Richard Dawkins, both of whom interpreted his unwillingness to play the usual game as a sign of a lack of faith, something Tobias never confirmed. But he’d created a YouTube sensation when someone with a cell phone had captured part of a speech he delivered to a reform Jewish group in Miami where he said that “America was founded on the notion of freedom of religion, and freedom from religion,” emphasizing the latter part of the sentence. The blogosphere went bonkers with speculation that Tobias was an atheist or an agnostic. Ever since, many a Florida barroom conversation had included someone asking: “Tobias, what kind of name is that?”
Fucking Phil was right, of course, in sensing that Tobias’ past proclamations about religion, while they might be sustainable in a swing state election where voters were familiar with the entire package the man presented, could seriously hamper his ability to emerge on a national stage. Being labeled as an atheist before the public knows anything else about you is a nonstarter.
“No religion, no morals. Remember that Stan. He can’t be president without embracing the Judeo-Christian roots of America.”
That was another perennial trope in my line of work. “The Judeo-Christian roots of America.” A great sound byte offered by me and repeated by many but with no real meaning. I don’t think any of the Pilgrims were Jews, and Thomas Jefferson said nothing about Christianity in the Declaration of Independence. But, of course, I said none of this to Phil.
Sensing reluctance from the silence at my end of the phone, Phil followed up by saying, “Do you want to play on the national stage or not?”
That always shut me up. I did, and he knew the strength of my desire. I wanted the attention. I wanted the power. And I wanted the money that would come from reaching a few hundred affiliates. I was already doing a program that I believed surpassed that of many national players, and it would require no more effort on my part to reach millions more people. I just needed a bigger soap box. I had wanted a bigger platform ever since I got my bearings on air in Tampa. I thought of myself as a musician who had built a good set list and had sold out clubs in medium-sized cities. What additional professional effort was required to go sing those same songs in front of a stadium crowd? None. But taking that larger stage was about to come with an escalating personal price.
Part of my angst about the interview was that I was expected to play political hitman. But I confess that I was also feeling more than a little unsettled about meeting the man who was married to Susan Miller. The fact that she and I had never crossed paths in the years since I had established myself as a radio host was testament to the political and ideological divide within my industry. I often thought about whether she’d heard my radio program (probably not) or had seen me on television (probably had) and whether she’d recognized that Stanislaw Pawlowski was now Stan Powers (wasn’t sure). But the odds were about to increase that all three questions would be affirmative if her husband came back home Tuesday night and complained at dinner about how some right-wing asshole had set him up on religion.
In the end, South Carolina was unable to turn around a new ballot in time for the Democratic primary, so Florida now would be the first state to go to the polls with the new candidate roster—a big advantage for Tobias. Already, all seven of the candidates were swarming the state and the presumed frontrunner was now coming into my studio.
“Good morning Tampa Bay, it’s 7:35, 35 minutes after the hour, and you’re tuned to Morning Power.”
On the day of the interview, the program began as it always did without any on-air hint of the spectacle that was to unfold. Inside WRGT was a different story. Governor Bob Tobias was about to make his third appearance on my program, only this time he’d be in studio, and with a hoard of media in tow. From the time I’d first gone on air at 5 a.m., there had been a slew of technicians laying cable in and around my studio and a satellite truck parked out front. One of the network morning shows was going to do a live cut-in and simulcast at least a part of the interview. And we’d been told that several members of the national press corps were now traveling with Tobias and would be in tow.
That morning I went through my usual ritual right before the “on air” light went on. After I’d completed my prep, I went to the can down the hall from the studio and splashed some cold water on my face. I usually paused for a moment and stared into the mirror while wiping myself dry, studying the likeness in front of me. Maybe I was looking
for some final assurance that the listeners won’t see the image of the person about to say the things that earn my keep. But I was careful to never allow too much time for second-guessing. Within seconds I’d turn off the light switch, walk ten paces back to the studio and illuminate the “on-air” light that tells a passerby the show is hot.
During the preceding commercial break, Alex had told me that the governor was running 3-5 minutes late, which wouldn’t seriously curtail the interview time, but meant there’d be no private words spoken between us off-air. We didn’t have a green room, and the control area where Rod and Alex sat was too cramped to hold guests for any significant amount of time. In the rare instances when I had an in-studio guest, I’d usually walk out into the adjacent hallway and say hello before we went on air. I’d try to be courteous while keeping the pre-air conversation to a few simple pleasantries, lest they say something interesting and then leave it in the locker room. But there’d be none of that today. With Tobias behind schedule, it meant whatever was spoken between us would all be in front of live microphones.
On my side of the studio glass things were mostly business as usual. I was wearing my standard uniform: an Oxford cloth button down shirt, conservative sport coat, pair of Lucky jeans, and Bruno Magli shoes (no socks). (I stopped wearing them for a few years after OJ, that cocksucker, gave them a bad name. But they’re so damn comfortable that my protest ended after a couple of months and a lot of experimentation.) Normally I sat alone in front of the big electronic bank of blinking lights, knobs and switches illuminated in front me, but today I had the cameraman from the network morning show to keep me company. Notes and newspapers spilled out around me, and on my left were two computer screens, one connected to the Internet and logged on to the Morning Power web site or my Twitter feed, and the other showing me the information that Alex gleaned from callers. “Joe…on a mobile…from St. Pete…thinks you’re a jerkoff.” Across from me sat two chairs for guests, each with its own mic stand and pair of Sony headphones. I’d recommend you get a tetanus shot before you wear ‘em. When I was working in Pittsburgh, we had an old-timer who used to do a weekend Beatles show and he’d come into the studio with his own cleaning supplies and hose the place down, spraying Lysol on the microphone and headphones before he’d start. I used to laugh at him, but no more. The one thing I can’t afford to be in my business is sick.
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