The other night I was watching “A Late Show with Stephen Colbert,” his show-from-home, when his stage manager stepped into the frame. It turned out to be his wife, Evvie.
I was so glad to see that. I was even more glad when she added, “This is hard!” Because she was right.
Immense amounts of time, effort and money are usually spent, behind the scenes of every medium, to make sure that all we see is “effortless perfection.” But now, with all the video meetings we are joining, — for work, religion, or family — we have all begun to appreciate the difficulties of lighting, audio, set dressing, and unflattering camera angles.
It reminds me of some lessons I learned while working at WNET.
In 1980, the show I had worked for was over. Our budget was spent, the unit disbanded, and everybody was either laid off or at new jobs somewhere else — except me.
In addition, the station was about to face a strike by the engineering unions that kept it on the air.
I was trying to find another job somewhere at the station, but so far no luck. Then I received an interoffice memo from the VP of Engineering.
I had been “volunteered” to attend a local technical school to learn how to run station equipment in case of a strike.
It was tantamount to a draft notice really and presented me with almost as dire a choice.
First of all, my dyed-in-the-wool-liberal parents did not raise me to be OK with crossing anybody’s picket lines.
Second, even if I were willing, what would happen when the strike was over — as it would eventually be — and I ever again needed something done here? Would any tape I needed copied be “mistakenly” erased instead? Or simply lost, in the bowels of the tape library? Would things mysteriously go wrong for the rest of my days?
On the other hand, if I refused, and ended up fired “for cause,” I wouldn’t even be able to collect unemployment.
Knowing my concerns, a friend put me in touch with the union shop steward, who met with me — not in a darkened parking garage, like Deep Throat in “All the President’s Men,” just an unused edit room.
“First off,” he told me, “everyone knows that you don’t really have a choice.”
“Everyone?”
“And second,” he continued, “You’re maybe going to get a week of training, tops.”
“Three days,” I corrected him.
“Three days vs. professionals who’ve spent entire careers learning their trade. Any one of my guys who feels threatened by someone with three days under their belt doesn’t deserve to be here.”
I felt better…although I wasn’t going to be THAT bad. When the director tells you to push a certain button, you push it; how hard could that be? So I went to my three days in “scab school.”
My first assignment was putting microphones on students playing the host and guests of a talk show. My microphone didn’t fall off its guest until half-way through the show, so I felt like a winner.
My second assignment was running the camera. This was what I had secretly been hoping for.
However, I was not prepared for the amount of chit-chat from the director, right in my headphones. Zoom in, pull out, truck left, pan right — How could anyone possibly keep up?
“OK, Camera One, push in. Camera One, start your zoom. Anytime now, Camera One — who is that anyway? Judy! Zoom in!”
Oh, Camera One was ME? “I hear you!”
“Camera One, you do not have a speaking part in this production! And for the love of God, would you please zoom in before the credits roll!” My resulting herky-jerky zoom did not win any awards. Or praise.
But my star turn came while running the audio board.
At least the audio person is in the control room, with the director, the producer, and the technical director. In other words, not out on the studio floor. This meant at least I could cough every now and then, without it being a criminal offense.
“Good evening and welcome to our show,” said the host.
“Ready, Camera Three on the guest. And… Take Three.”
The student doing video switched obediently to the feed from Camera Three.
“What are they saying? Why can’t we hear them? Audio? What’s going on?”
“I was waiting for him to say something,” I answered.
“And how were you planning to hear him if you haven’t put up his mic?”
Oh. Right. I was waiting, not hearing anything, because the audio person was asleep at the switch. And that audio person was ME.
In short —no matter where they put me, I stank. Either I’m incompetent or these jobs are all very hard.
I know what I believe.
