Authors: Arthur Hailey
The GMC truck continued south for five miles, as far as the Cross Bronx
Expressway where it turned west. About twelve minutes later it crossed
the Harlem River and, soon after, the George Washington Bridge spanning
the Hudson River
.
Halfway across the bridge the truck and its occupants left New York State
and entered New Jersey. Now, for Miguel and the others in the Medellin
gang, the haven of their Hackensack headquarters was reassuringly close.
13
Bert Fisher lived and worked in a tiny apartment in Larchmont. He was sixty-eight and had been a widower for a decade. His business cards described him as a news reporter, though in the parlance of journalism he was more realistically a stringer
.
Like other stringers, Bert was the local representative of several news
organizations based in larger centers, some of which paid him a small
retainer. He submitted information or written copy and got paid for what
was used, if anything. Since small-town local news rarely had national
or even area-wide significance, getting something published in a major
newspaper or reported on radio or television was difficult, which was why
no one ever made a fortune as a stringer and most-like Bert Fisher-barely
scraped by
.
Still, Bert enjoyed what he was doing. During World War, as an American G. I. in Europe he had worked for the armed forces newspaper, Stars and Stripes. It had put journalism in his bloodstream and ever since he had happily been a modest part of it. Even now, though age had slowed him a little, he still made telephone calls each day to local sources and kept several scanner radios switched on, thus hearing communications of local police, fire departments, ambulances and other public services. He always hoped that something might be worth following up and reporting to a major chronicler of news
.
That was how Bert heard the Larchmont police transmission ordering an
officer in car 423 to go to the Grand Union supermarket. It seemed like a
routine call until, soon after, the officer alerted police headquarters to
a possible kidnap. At the word "kidnap
,”
Bert sat up straight, locked the
radio on the Larchmont police frequency, and reached for copy paper to make
notes
.
By the time the transmission finished, Bert knew he must hurry to the scene
of action. First, however, he needed to call New York City television
station WCBA.
At WCBA-TV an assistant news director took Bert Fisher's call
.
WCBA, a wholly owned affiliate of the CBA network, was a prestigious local
station serving the New York area. It operated out of three floors of a
Manhattan office building a mile or so from its network parent. Although
a local station, it had an enormous audience; also, because of the amount
of news which New York generated, WCBA's news organization was in many ways
a microcosm of the network's
.
In a bustling, noise-filled newsroom where thirty people worked at closely
clustered desks, the assistant news director checked Bert Fisher's name
against a list in a loose-leaf binder
.”
Okay
,”
he said, "what do you have
?
”
He listened while the stringer described the police radio message and his
intention to go to the Larchmont scene
.”
Just a 'possible' kidnap, eh
?
”
"Yes, sir
.”
Although Bert Fisher was almost three times as old as the
young man he was addressing, he still observed a deference to rank, carried forward from another age
.”
All right, Fisher, get going! Call back immediately if there's anything
real
.”
"Right, sir. Will do
.”
Hanging up, the assistant news director realized the call might be just
a false alarm. On the other hand, big-breaking news sometimes tiptoed in
through unlikely doorways. For a moment he considered dispatching a
camera crew to Larchmont, then decided not. At this point the stringer's
report was nebulous. Besides, the available crews were already on assi
gn
ment, so it would mean pulling one away from an active story. Nor
,
without more information, was there anything which could be broadcast
.
The assistant did, however, walk over to the elevated newsroom desk where
the station's woman news director presided, and tell her about the call
.
After hearing him out, she confirmed his decision. But afterward a
thought occurred to her and she picked up a telephone that connected her
directly to CBA network news. She asked for Ernie LaSalle, the national
editor with whom she sometimes exchanged information
.”
Look
,”
she said, "this may turn out to be nothing
.”
Repeating what she
had just heard, she added, "But it is Larchmont and I know Crawford
Sloane lives there. It's a small place, it might involve someone he
knows, so I thought you'd want to tell him
.”
"Thanks
,”
LaSalle said
.”
Let me know if there's anything more
.”
When he hung up the phone, Ernie LaSalle momentarily weighed the
potential importance of the information. The likelihood was, it would
amount to zero. Just the same . .
.
On instinct and impulse he picked up the red reporting phone
.”
National desk. LaSalle. We are advised that at Larchmont, repeat
Larchmont, New York, the local police radio reports a
possible kidnapping. No other details. Our friends at WCBA are following up and will inform us
.”
As always, the national editor's words were carried throughout the CBA News
headquarters. Some who heard wondered why LaSalle had put something so
insubstantial on the speaker system. Others, unconcerned, returned their
attention to whatever else they had been doing. One floor above the
newsroom, senior producers at the Horseshoe paused to listen. One of them
,
pointing to Crawford Sloane who could be seen through the closed glassed
doorway to his private office, observed, "If there's a kidnapping let's be
thankful it's someone else in Larchmont and not Crawf. Unless that's his
double in there
.”
The others laughed
.
Crawford Sloane heard LaSalle's announcement through a speaker on his desk
.
He had closed the door for a private meeting with the president of CBA
News, Leslie Chippingham. While Sloane, in asking for the meeting, had
suggested he go to Chippingham's office, the other man had chosen to come
here
.
Both paused until the national editor's words concluded and Sloane's
interest was quickened by the mention of Larchmont. At any other time he
would have gone to the newsroom to seek more information. But as it was
,
he did not want to stop what had suddenly become a no-holds-barred
confrontation which, to the anchorman's surprise, was not going at all the
way he had expected.
"My instinct tells me, Crawf, you have a problem
,”
the CBA News president said, opening their conversation
.”
Your instinct is wrong
,”
Crawford Sloane responded
.”
It's you who have
the problem. It's readily solvable, but you need to make some structural
changes. Quickly
.”
Leslie Chippingham sighed. He was a thirty-year veteran of
TV news who had begun his career at age nineteen as a messenger at NBC's Huntley-Brinkley Report, the premier news show of its day. Even then he had learned that an anchorman must be handled as delicately as a Ming vase and receive the deference accorded heads of state. It was Chippingham's success in doing both which, along with other talents, had raised him to executive producer, then kept him a senior management survivor while other high climbers-including a bevy of network news presidents-were exiled to TV's backwaters or the oblivion of early retirement
.
Chippingham had a facility for being at ease with everyone and making
others feel the same way. It was once said of him that if he fired you
,
he made you feel good about it
.”
So tell me
,”
he asked Sloane
.”
What changes
?
”
"I can't continue to work with Chuck Insen. He has to go. And when we
choose a new exec producer I want the casting vote
.”
"Well, well. You're right about there being a problem
.”
Chippingham
chose his words cautiously and added, "Though it's perhaps a different
one, Crawf, from what you think
.”
Crawford Sloane regarded his nominal superior. What he saw was a towering
figure, even seated-Chippingham was sixfoot-four and weighed a trim 205
pounds. The face was more rugged than handsome, the eyes bright blue and
the hair a forest of tight curls, now mostly gray. Across the years a
succession of women had taken pleasure in running their fingers through
Chippingham's curls, that particular pleasure invariably preceding
others. Women, in fact, had been Les Chippingham's lifelong weakness
,
their conquest an irresistible hobby. At this moment, because of those
indulgences, he was facing marital and financial disaster-a fact unknown
to Sloane, though he, like others, was aware of Chippingham's womanizing
.
Chippingham, however, knew he must put his own concerns aside to cope
with Crawford Sloane. It would be like walking a high wire, as any
colloquy with an anchorman always was.
"Let's quit futzing around
,”
Sloane said, "and come to the point
.”
Chippingham agreed, "I was about to. As we both know, many things in
network news are changing . .
.”
"Oh for chrissakes, Les, of course they are
!”
Sloane cut in impatiently
.”
That's why I have problems with Insen. We need to change the shape of our
news-with fewer quick headlines and more important stories developed
thoroughly
.”
"I'm aware of your feelings. We've been over this before. I also know what
Chuck believes and, by the way, he came to see me earlier this morning
,
complaining about you
.”
Sloane's eyes widened. He had not expected the executive producer to take
the initiative in their dispute; it was not the way things usually
happened
.”
What does he think you can do
?
”
he asked
.
Chippingham. hesitated
.”
Hell, I suppose there's no point in not telling
you. He believes the two of you are so far apart that your differences
aren't reconcilable. Chuck wants you out
.”
The anchorman threw back his head and laughed
.”
And him stay? That's
ridiculous
.”
The news president met his gaze directly
.”
Is it
?
”
"Of course. And you know it
.”
"I knew it once; I'm not sure I do now
.”
Ahead of them both was untrodden
ground. Chippingham eased onto it guardedly
.”
What I'm trying to get through to you, Crawf, is that nothing anymore is
the way it used to be. Since the networks were bought out, everything's in
flux. You know as well as I do there's a good deal of feeling among our new
masters-at this network and the others-about the power of the evening
anchormen. Those goliaths running the parent companies want to diminish
that power; also they're unhappy about some of the big salaries for which
they think they're not getting value. Recently there's been talk about
private, quiet agreements
.”