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I left CBS News to move to the side of a volcano on Maui. More about that later.

I've joined a new group, Indie Debut 2010, made up of first-time authors whose books will be published by small presses. I'm excited to have the opportunity of sharing the journey through the world of publishing and promotion with this group of interesting, talented writers. My eyes have already been opened to a slew of possibilities that, until now, I've been clueless about. They all know how to do magical things with their computers, too. Boy, have I got a lot to learn! Please visit the website to learn more about these authors and their books.

http://indiedebut2010.blogspot.com/

About that move to Hawaii. High on the side of Haleakala crater on the island of Maui, is a town named Kula. When I lived there in the early 1970s, it was a very small place in the country. The neighboring town of Pukalani, was where the Hawaiian cowboys would gather on Saturday nights. Each morning I walked up the road and into the "woods" to a huge flat rock where I would sit alone and watch the sea far, far below in the distance. Sometimes, in winter, flurries of snow fell on me as the sun shone on the beach many miles away. I spent hours on that rock, thinking and dreaming and making up stories to entertain myself. Never wrote those stories down. But, I did share them with a buddy of mine. A cow. My route back to the lodge where I lived and worked, took me past a field fenced off with barbed wire. The sole occupant of that pasture was one lone cow. The first time we met, she was trying unsuccessfully to stretch her lips to a clump of yummy-looking grass just out of her reach. In this case, the grass WAS greener on the other side of the fence. I picked a handful for her and after she munched it, she stuck out her big, warm tongue and covered my face from chin to eyebrows with one hurge slurpy kiss. We were fast friends from that time on. Her soft brown eyes never left mine as I regaled her with my stories. I named her Estelle. What an audience!

CBS News

After I left Channel 9 in Washington, D.C., I accepted a position on the production staff of the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite at the Washington Bureau. It was the CBS News heyday. Dan Rather was at the White House, Roger Mudd on Capitol Hill, Bob Schieffer at the Pentagon. Connie Chung was there, as was Bernard Shaw. In fact, Bernie Shaw read a poem he wrote for me at my going away party. In those days, everything was on film. Film crews were sent out on assignment and while the film was being edited, the reporters and correspondents would write their scripts. The final pieces couldn't be put together until the film was developed and cut. Many times I found myself running through the studio much like the character in Broadcast News. At that time, Bob Schieffer was the number two man at the Pentagon. He would call in every day, and usually had a new joke to tell me. He also always typed his own scripts, even when he became number one.
During the Holidays, I'm often reminded of how excited I was to be included in the invitation to the White House Christmas party for the press. I took my mother as my guest and still remember the thrill of standing in the Red Room, and sipping tea and munching cookies in two chairs by the fire in the Green Room. I had a long chat with David Eisenhower, President Eisenhower's grandson, and was amazed that he was excited to be talking with someone who knew Walter Cronkite.
At CBS, it was a tradition to show the President's Christmas card on the news broadcast. Each year, they used my hand to hold the card and open it to the verse inside. How great was that! My hand was famous!


"Leaving for Christmas" update. I'm on chapter 23. It's difficult to end the book. I'll miss my characters.

Ed Sullivan, Ann-Margret and Danny Kaye

Channel 9, CBS affiliate in Washington, D.C.

Ed Sullivan was booked as a guest on our local TV talk show called Cadence. I worked in the production department. Everyone was so excited about our famous guest. Lee Shephard, the host of Cadence, and I greeted Mr. Sullivan and escorted him to the studio. Just as we were getting on the elevator, someone called Lee aside and told him we had to stall. The elevator doors closed and we asked our guest if he liked ice cream. Oh yes, of course, he said. I got off at the cafeteria and bought a little cardboard cup of ice cream. It came with a flat wooden spoon. I returned to the elevator and gave it to Ed Sullivan. Up we went. There was still a delay. Back to the cafeteria. Another cup of ice cream. Catch the elevator before the doors close. Here we go again. We rode up and down in the elevator for quite some time. Lee made small talk with Ed Sullivan while I fed him ice cream. He never questioned what was going on, but chatted quietly, smiled (in his own way) and ate ice cream. What I remember most is how tall he was, what a long face he had, and how very patient and kind he was...and how absolutely amazed I felt to find myself riding in an elevator with Ed Sullivan, watching him lick ice cream off of a flat wooden spoon.

That same year, Ann-Margret was booked as a guest on Cadence. Long story short. She ripped her pantyhose. I gave her mine - a brand new pair that cost a fortune. In those days, even the cheap pantyhose were expensive. She smiled and thanked me, then off she went to her next appearance. I remember thinking how gorgeous she was. Nice, too. And she was wearing my pantyhose!

What a year that was for me. We were invited to have breakfast with Danny Kaye at his hotel dining room. I believe it was the Shoreham Hotel. There were eight of us at a round table. He regaled us with humorous anecdotes. He also dished on a few well-known people in Hollywood. He told us that Katherine Hepburn ran on the beach every day...and ate a pound of chocolate candy. Now that's impressive! He was charming and funny. And his eyes actually twinkled...just like in the movies.

"Leaving for Christmas" update. Sent two more chapters to my editor. Working on Chapter 16. Acted out a future scene. (I love to do that.) Look for excerpts one of these days.

The First Act(ing)

When I was nine, I wanted to be Elizabeth Taylor. Those clothes, those jewels, the cameras, my name in lights. Black hair, violet eyes. The way she looked in Cat On a Hot Tin Roof. A movie star. As I got older and my hair didn't darken and my eyes stayed green, I gave it up. By the time I got to high school, theater had become my first love. I'd have a career on the stage. Ah...life in the theatah. All that drama. Behind St. Matthew's Cathedral in Washington, DC, there was a small professional theater company. I auditioned and won an apprenticeship there. What a thrill. One step closer to my dream. It was a wonderful program. We learned to apply stage makeup, work the sound and lights, build sets, paint scenery. The works. We even had small non-speaking parts in some of their productions. The highlight of the program was a workshop with a prominent local director. He arrived with a flourish, a fedora and a long black cape. His first priority was to teach us to project our voices. It was theater in the round. We were to sit on a stool lit by a single light in the middle of an otherwise darkened stage and read the prologue to Henry V. Nothing to it. A snap. Oh, yes ... one other tiny detail. With two marbles under our tongues. Ah. Okay. My number came up first. Lucky me. I was ready for this. My time in the spotlight. Literally. The very dramatic director told me to speak from my diaphragm. He read the first line the way he wanted it read. "Oh for a muse of...(deep breath) (from the diaphragm)...fire." Etc., etc., etc. Okay. I got it. And so I began. "Oh for a muse of...(deep breath)..." This was it. I'd shake the rafters with my projection. How impressive I'd be. Ethel Merman who? I didn't make it to "fire." When I inhaled for my big moment, I swallowed one of my marbles. Forget about breathing from my diaphragm, I couldn't breathe at all. My breath finally whooshed out in a giant gasp, causing the other marble to fly out of my mouth and me to fly off the stool . One foot hit the floor, the other landed on the marble. I slid off the stage and out of the theater. My acting career ended with an unforgettably dramatic flair. I lost the theatah, kept the drama.



Book update. Got two more chapters off to my editor today. Spent a lot of time this week in the snowy mountains of the 1800s.

A Brief Note

The death of Sentor Kennedy, today, took me back to 1968, a sad a scary time. I'd been on my first job in television for only a few weeks when Robert Kennedy was assassinated. The whole place went into emergency mode and 24 hour coverage. That meant that all of the commercials had to be rescheduled. They pulled three of us off of our regular jobs to spend the day on the teletype machines typing messages to sponsers. Teletypes were sort of like early computers. They worked through a separate phone line. Some were hooked up to ticker tape machines. Text was sent over the phone lines or wires and printed out on tape on the other end. After the message was received, they cut up the tape and turned it into confetti. That stuff you see in old news footage being thrown from windows onto passing parades.

The Early Days

I got my foot in the door of broadcasting at an all news radio station in Washington, D.C. One of my good friends and co-workers did all kinds of humorous voices and had a contract to do the radio commercials for the Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise. His most popular voice was that of a fiesty old lady. The Joy Boys, on another popular Washington, D.C. station, were sponsored by Col. Sanders Kentucky Fried Chicken, among other advertisers, so every Friday night my friend and I would take a huge bucket of fried chicken to their radio studio. We'd watch them in the booth and on their breaks we'd sit around together eating chicken and laughing. The Joy Boys were Ed Walker, who was blind from birth, and Willard Scott. Yes, THE Willard Scott. It was fascinating to watch the two of them work together. Talk about funny. They had us rolling on the floor. Ed's fingers flew over the braille as he read commercial copy. Willard Scott was as nice off the air eating a chicken leg as he was on the air. And just as funny, too. By the way, did you know that several years ago, Willard Scott wrote a few humorous mysteries set in Northern Virginia? Look for them on Amazon. They're entertaining reading.

There was an interesting on-air personality at the all news station named Alexander Cabot. What a voice he had. It reverberated from somewhere deep in his diaphragm and was as rich and smooth as creamy dark chocolate. I'd been working there for a few weeks before I actually met him. Turns out his real name was Syd Slappy and he reminded me of Santa Claus with suspenders. But, you know, even after I knew what he really looked like, I continued to picture Alexander Cabot as tall, dark and handsome...and, for some reason, wearing a tuxedo.

I'll end with a book update. I'm on Chapter 15 of Leaving for Christmas, a story about a widow and her two little girls, a small town church with a serious problem and a solitary fur trapper who has a surprising impact on all their lives. The story revolves around warm characters who meet adversity with humor and who believe that every kindness no matter how small will one day be rewarded...often in unexpected ways.