Some years ago a young man I knew from the basketball courts
graduated from college with a degree in communications and asked me
how he could get a job at CBS News. Although no longer with CBS, I told
him the person who hired desk assistants was a good friend, and I could
put him in touch with her.
After explaining what DAs did and mentioning they normally started
on the overnight shift, it was immediately obvious he wasn't fascinated at
all about the prospect of going to work in the middle of the night. As best I
can recall, we never had another conversation about CBS News or the
news business. Instead he turned to drugs. He became a salesman for a
pharmaceutical company.
Memories about life on the overnight were triggered recently when I
came across a letter written in the summer of 1981 to a journalist friend at
Radio Free Europe. Here's part of it:
"Dear Trevor,
"We're both in the same boat now: broke and on the overnight. One of
the guys at work is in the hospital (and probably won't be back for another
two months or more), so the pitch was made for me to take over the 3:15
a.m. editor's shift. (You can't really say no 'cause they try to impress you by
pointing out our early morning newscasts have the biggest audiences and
they need a 'strong editor' to handle them.) It means going to bed around
5:30 p.m. and getting up at 12:15 a.m. to catch the 1:14 a.m. train to
Manhattan.
"Don't get me wrong. There are rewards. I'm off at 10:15 a.m., home by
11:20, have lunch at noon followed by writing or piddling by 1:30 p.m. or
so. About 4 I have my usual beer of the day while listening to some
country music or reading a magazine and then off to bed. There is also
more money. I clear about $20 more a week, which figures out to 50 cents
an hour extra." (That sentence was followed, as it should have been, by an
expletive.)
The letter tells of the intriguing people you see on the early train,
their interesting clothing and hair and their captivating conversations. I
cite as an example an argument one morning about money between a
young man wearing earphones and a young woman wearing earphones.
He said, "I don't need this" several times until he switched to "this is a very
unhealthy relationship," which he also repeated several times. Whether the
woman heard a word he was saying with her earphones on is anyone's
guess. You don't get that kind of drama and depth, Buster, if you're stuck
every morning riding the 8:04 into Manhattan.
The letter continues:
"And the CBS canteen at 2:15 in the morning also has its rewards. I sit
there for 20 minutes reading the paper before I go up to the newsroom.
My companions at that hour are security guards, cleaning people and four
members of the maintenance crew, all of them chunky fellows who bring
their own lunches, complete with thermoses. One of them, who always
seems to sit the closest to me, needs some chewing lessons. He's a real
smacker of the lips and doesn't let small things like a mouth full of
salami, lettuce and wheat bread get in the way of talking. The four of them
all march in together, and the other morning they were all whistling when
they made their grand entrance. I got the feeling I was watching a scene
from Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs."
The four whistlers were smart to bring their own food. At 2:15 a.m. the
choices available at the CBS cafeteria, or any cafeteria, look a wee bit
different than they did at noon the day before. Noon's tempting, crisp fried
chicken is wilted and sad by the time an overnighter sees it. And the gravy
next to it? Almost any nasty description you can think of fits.
All my employers except RFE stuck me on the overnight for various
periods, with UPI sentencing me to a year once without a break. There are
people who volunteer for these dreadful hours, and almost always one big
reason they do so is to avoid face-to-face contact with managers and their
stupid questions and ridiculous suggestions.
During my first stint on the overnight at CBS News, back in the 70s, I
rode my bicycle in the dark to the train station, a trip highlighted by
vigorous pedaling over a Long Island drawbridge. If I were on the bridge
and looked to my left and saw the train was already moseying along the
railroad trestle over the water, I was in deep trouble. I still had to get off
the bridge, cross a major thoroughfare and lock my bike to a fence before
racing for the platform. I usually made it, thanks to a combination of loud
yelling (me) and good hearing (various LIRR conductors). Thanks, Gents.
While this may sound shocking, it's been my experience that most of
those who willingly stay on the overnight for long stretches are, in a word,
odd. Without identifying any particular news outfits or individuals, these
are a few of the folks I have met and shared cold food and cold coffee with.
- A guy who said he loved the hours and resisted all efforts by
management to give him a better shift. I met his wife once. She was
stunning. Only one conclusion was possible - he was insane.
- Technicians and journalists who viewed the shift as a great
opportunity to catch up on their sleep. Some of these fellows had a second
job or a little business on the side. One guy always had something for sale
- shirts, small household appliances or gadgets - and would alert you a
week in advance on what he would have available next. As far as I know,
the police never showed up at work to ask him where he was getting the
stuff.
A few technicians turned off the lights in their studio and were
offended if a newsperson came in to make a phone call, listen to a tape or
dared to ask them to make a cut. Imagine, being asked to work on the
overnight? If a technician were asleep in a studio right before a broadcast,
standard newsroom protocol required a desk assistant to handle the
problem, either through repeated calling of his name or intense shouting,
or, if there was still no response, actual touching. Poor DAs. I'll bet they
weren't making a magnificent extra 50 cents an hour like I was.
- Journalists who didn't sleep on the job but still never got anything
done. Why? Non- stop talking and gossiping with correspondents and
producers in the field, fellow writers and editors, anchors, technicians
(only the ones who were awake), desk assistants, janitors and desk people
at affiliates.
Anyone who has ever been on the graveyard shift comes away with
lots of stories. The above are only a few of mine, but let's make room for
two other overnighters who quickly came to mind after I re-read the letter
to Trevor. One was a desk assistant who hated his job and who announced
one morning he was headed for Greenwich Village on his lunch hour. He
never came back. Not even a week or so later to pick up his final check.
Wonder what he had for lunch.
The other was an old guy in blue jeans in need of a shave who plopped
down on an 8:40 a.m. train in Manhattan headed for Long Island. Once
seated he pulled the ring off the top of a tall can of beer for that always
refreshing first drink after work. If any of the other passengers at that
hour thought he was on a binge, he didn't care. That was several years ago,
my last tour of overnight duty.
