Scott Stone had fewer years in news than I did, but he was the epitome of ambition and confidence. He always contributed ideas, always gunned for the best assignments and didn’t ever take anyone else into account. If I slipped, even at all, he’d be there to take the food right off of my plate. So, he was the other reason that in spite of puffy eyes and completely melted mascara, making me look like a raccoon on its worst day, with a head spiraling with proclamations of my failing fertility and worst-case scenario flashbacks of a terrifying police interaction, that I still womaned up before I put my hand on the door knob to walk in the conference room. I knew I had to. Because if I didn’t, he’d use the opportunity to throw me under the bus. So, with a shield of concealer and a fresh coat of lipstick, I marched my way into the newsroom meeting only 15 minutes behind schedule. It was no surprise that when I walked in, Scott was the one talking, but I shored up my bravest face.
Our boss and the executive news director, Chris Perkins was an old-school news guy. Over his multi-decade career, he had made his rounds at several stations and was known in the industry for being tough, but fair and had shepherded some of the best careers in the business. Plus, he got ratings. He was deathly pale, pudgy, balding and short, but he had a commanding presence, and could certainly run a meeting. The glassed-in conference room, with its light grey conference table and standard-issue pocked acoustic tile on the ceiling, would always take on a new life as every corner and crevice filled with the energy of the brash discussions that we, reporters, anchors, news staff researchers, lent to the discussion of “what next?” On the best day, it was like the most spirited family conversation around a Holiday dinner table—except spanning all the topics you should avoid if you wanted to keep the peace: politics, religion, you name it. I’d normally spend days preparing for these meetings—what to wear, how to say the exact right thing, not too much, not too little—how to get it just right, with as much focus as an opening night theater performance.
Sitting around the table, we’d review ratings and discuss new stories. Reporters like Scott and me who were up for promotion to the more senior positions would try to get placed on support teams for the best assignments. The visibility and ultimately good ratings were known to be positive tick marks in your column for the one-up. So, for all of these reasons, it was critical for me to be there—because my absence would be like the sky opening up and the heavens above smiling down directly on Scott.
I walked in the room with my hurried “sorry I’m late Guys,” and headed toward an open seat in the ring of chairs encircling those at the table. Scott of course didn’t stop talking, but everyone else shifted their eyes to study me as I crossed the room. I was never late and I was never not perfectly presentable. I realized that on today, my cream silk blouse was wrinkled and not even close to being neatly tucked into the back of my black pencil skirt. My concealer was doing its best work though, hiding those bags and circles under my still-bloodshot eyes. My only pair of red-bottomed black stiletto pumps dug their way across the standard-issue office carpet as I made my way to my intended chair. From the usual agenda, we had already gone over the ratings and it looked like we were well into brainstorming with a list of team stories on the board. Everyone got an opportunity to pitch and then the best of those made the board to be assigned by Chris to a senior reporter and a team. We sometimes informally called this portion of the meeting the “gauntlet” because it could get pretty brutal. An open session like this meant that everyone was allowed to speak freely without the constraints of regular meeting decorum. Chris seemed to feel like it fostered better creative energy that way. All I felt was embarrassment for being late and anxiety about doing well.
Because I was up for the Senior Reporter role, my contributions to this portion of the newsroom meeting were all that much more important. Chris told me in my last review that to be successful there, on that news team, he expected my ideas and team assignments to reflect my insight and skill for identifying news, but at the same time to connect to our audience and most important, to draw ratings. Our news team was competitive all the way around—everyone was trying to move up in some way.
I took a look at the white board. The topics had already been thrown out and assignments were being made. I was disappointed to know for certain that I’d have no choice but to hold on to my ideas until the next meeting. I still had a chance to get placed on a good story though, so I studied closely what was left:
LA Mayor Race
School Lunches—Nutrition Concerns
New Football Stadium—Progress and Displacement
LA Real Estate Trends—Who’s Buying and Is it Enough to Avoid Another Crash
What does Silicon Beach offer to LA’s Women and Minority Population
The Newest Developments in Cosmetic Surgery
Assignments had already been made for school lunches and local politics. That was fine with me because for this meeting, I really wanted to investigate the story of how a changing LA was making real estate unaffordable for the minority communities being pushed out of their homes by one or another type of development. The new football stadium was a prime example. It was great for the new residents of Inglewood and those who could afford to grow along with the increasing economic base. But for others, what was happening to the longtime residents who weren’t beneficiaries of the economic boon? Yep, this new stadium was a story I could really sink my teeth into and it was just coming up for discussion as I walked in the door. Even though Scott was talking, there was still time for me to get staffed on the team.
Chris, standing at our white board, addressed the room of us, congregated like petals around the long oval conference table. “So right now, we have Marlee as Senior Reporter, Drew and that leaves room for one more on the reporting team for the Stadium topic. Who’s in?” I shot my had up almost as soon as my butt hit my seat—I’m sure it looked like I was half standing like kids in a classroom “ooh, Ooh, OOH!”-ing for the teacher to call on them when they were certain they had the right answer. I wanted that assignment. As I felt myself catch Chris’ eye, out of the corner of my peripheral vision, I also caught the one and only Scott Stone looking at me, and raising his hand as well. Of course.
Chris continued, “Ok, Scott, Tabitha—make your pitch for the spot. What’s your perspective on the topic.” Oh crap. Sometimes Chris would do this “Thunderdome”-style run off when more than one person was vying for the last open position on a reporting team—he said that it built and showed enthusiasm within the team for the news that we covered. Ordinarily, I’d be all over it, but after the morning I’d had, I was kind of spent. No matter how I felt, I still wasn’t going to just hand it over to Scott without any effort.
“I think that this is a great opportunity to wrap in some of the surrounding Los Angeles neighborhoods that have been traditionally minority-dominant, and see how the character is changing. What is the new stadium bringing and maybe more importantly, what, or who is it leaving behind?” I offered, pleased with myself.