I don’t know if this is one of those “strangely-believe-it” situations, but consider this: the name of former Boston WEEI News radio 59 reporter “Chip” Whitmore came to me this morning in one of those transitional stages of slumber. Fully awake now, I write to let you know that Henry “Chip” Whitmore passed away in a traffic-helicopter accident, 1977, over the Boston area. Ironically, he and the pilot were standing-in that day for the regular traffic reporter and pilot — on vacation at the time. I cannot explain why “Chip” Whitmore’s name should come to mind all these years later. I did not know him. I had been working at the radio station only for a couple of months and had been working during a different part of the day. Something very evident in the days following the tragic circumstance though was that Whitmore was very popular among colleagues and other Boston broadcasters. I had to do a “Web-search,” this morning because I could not recall the exact date of the accident — December 27, 1977. However, I learned also of an interesting coincidence — Whitmore’s birthday just passed a couple of days ago, August 28. He would have been 66 years old. On a personal note, his untimely death led to my transition from freelance to staff anchor/reporter at WEEI Radio, that year – a promotion I could not celebrate.

I returned to “The World” 45 years ago, today after a year circling the globe, courtesy of the U.S. Navy. It was my first shipboard tour-of-duty, and by way of random chance it gave me opportunity to visit 10 countries in Asia, Africa and Europe — not to mention some special time in the Gulf of Tonkin and Da Nang Harbor in March, during Tet ’69. The Tet Counter-offensive ended in June. However, by then we were well into drinking cervezas in Rota, Spain and making a good effort to avoid the attention of General Franco’s Guardia Nacional (nice hats, by the way). Back in New York City, my plan was to surprise the family in the Bronx with an unannounced return. But I was the one who was surprised. Nobody was home. The family was on a road trip out-of-state. It was a good thing that I had my house key or I might have had to sleep on the porch on my Sea Bag. That evening, two younger cousins (Gregory and David) just happened to be passing by; saw the lights were on and stopped in. At least they were surprised to see me and kept me company for a while. While talking about this and that, they told me that there was some kind of big-deal, week-end concert and festival taking place upstate that began the night before, in Bethel, New York. Well how big-deal could that have been? Right?

What I am about to tell you took place about this time of the year,  in 1977 on a Sunday morning – meteorologically very similar to this morning.  While it was not a cold morning, I am reminded by today’s weather that it was a damp, misty and uncomfortably chilly central Connecticut morning.

It has now been 37 years since my first professional on-air radio news job, at WPOP in Hartford — which was really in Newington, outside of Hartford.  However, WPOP News radio 14 was a Merv Griffin-owned station and a CBS affiliate – a hopeful beginning to a track back to WCBS News radio.  Spoiler-alert: I never made it back to WCBS — my career ended as a news writer and copy editor at ABC News radio.

Among my duties at WPOP, besides my regular reportorial and anchor duties, was the responsibility of being the Director of Community Affairs.  And by community affairs, I mean giving broadcast forum to urban issues and sources from the minority communities – Black, Hispanic.  That responsibility required me to produce and host a pre-recorded legacy Sunday-morning public-affairs show called “Hear Here Greater Hartford.”  I describe it as a legacy because I did not come up with the name of the program; I don’t know who came up with that name?  It was the name of the show which I had inherited from my predecessor Lloyd Wimbish – a hard-charging radio reporter who introduced me to the hit-it-and-quit-it interview technique before he departed for WTNH-TV, channel 8 in New Haven.  Wimbish showed me how to get to the gist of the topic at hand and move on to the next news story news source as quickly as possible.  When you are the lone reporter for your radio station at a particular time of day and covering a lot of ground, that technique comes in handy.

“Hear Here Greater Hartford” was a 45-minute pre-recorded public-affairs show that aired on Sunday mornings.   Normally, it was taped on Saturday -if not before- at WPOP studios.  In those days, I worked a six-day work-week, from Monday to Saturday and was glad for the opportunity.

One particular weekend, I recorded the show on Saturday afternoon.   A Hartford school official had facilitated the interview with three or four male and female high-school students from the community.  While I do not recall the exact topic of discussion, I do have a recollection of having several of pages of questions to pose.  That in itself turned out to be fortuitous.   With the number of questions I had, I had believed I should have been able to fill out the 45-minute show time.   It turned out that I needed every one of those questions to fill in the awkward silences and – for the most part- the one-word answers the young people were giving me.

My hope had been to gather up some thought-provoking responses and commentary from them.  I mean, wasn’t that why they were chosen by this official?  Wasn’t that why they were there?  This was my first professional on-air job and at 29, I was relatively young, myself.  In retrospect, probably they were nervous to be on the radio and maybe I had expected too much from them.  You know that old cliché, “It was like pulling teeth?”    What can I say?  If the cliché fits…

By the end of the session, I had an hour-and-a-half of tape-reel time from which to extract 45 minutes of useable material for broadcast.  The problem was there was not an hour-and-a-half  of content.   It was just that an hour-and-a-half had gone by when I decided to pull the plug on the increasingly difficult effort and work with what I had.

Afterward, I was a bit tired and needed fresh eyes.  Instead of staying and editing the show that evening, I decided to use my Sunday day off  to complete the task; come in a couple of hours before the show was to air,  that  morning,  and approach the editing job with a fresh perspective.    It was a simple plan:  I would come in; cut and splice for about an hour and voila!   I would be finished by eight a-m and the show would air on time at ten a-m.  That thought process turned out to be the rookiest of rookie mistakes.   Little did I know what was to take place, Sunday morning?

It was right around this time of the year –  near the end of March, early spring, when it all hit the fan and I thought my budding could be in jeopardy.   I had not been working at WPOP  for that long – having started in February.    I had not found an apartment yet, so I was staying at motel on the Berlin Turnpike, about four miles from the radio station.

Sunday morning.  Overcast.  A damp day.  Not raining,  just a but misty and chilly.  I went out to my car,  a  green 1970 Pontiac Le Mans with a vinyl roof that I had purchased in Norfolk, Virginia, in 1971, where  I had been stationed  for the last three  of my six years in the Navy.   The car would not start.  It would not start!  The car refused to start!?!   Argh!!  ‘What to do now,’ I am thinking?   Concerned?  That would be the least, to say the most.   I had to get to the radio station!  I had to get the show edited and in the can,  ready for air!

Four miles to the radio station.  ‘Well, that cannot be that bad,’ I’m thinking.  By the way, at that hour on  misty Sunday mornings in Newington, Connecticut,  nobody is out and about.   And my being new to the area, I knew nobody other than my news-radio colleagues whose phone numbers I did not have.    I don’t think I would have called them even if I had phone numbers.  I mean,  seven o’clock, Sunday morning!  The new guy?  What kind of impression would that be?  I decided that I had to “hoof it.”

So, I am walking and walking and walking and then I am remembering  — parting words I received from  Jane Tillman Irving,  veteran news reporter for WCBS News88  -where I got my first break and the recommendation set-up for this Connecticut job.  Jane said to me on my last day and send-off at WCBS  to this the first professional on-air job of my budding career, “Don’t fuck it up.”   And then she smiled.  Not only was that great advice,  at the same time it was shocking and hilarious to hear such a to-the-point, down-to-Earth,  and somewhat profane bon mot out of the mouth the proper Jane Tillman Irving.  “Don’t fuck it up!?!”   That was great.   And you better believe  I took it to heart.

With that incentive urging me on, I continued to walk through the mist and the chill and the four miles up-and-down hills – with the exception of the occasional car passing in the wrong direction, not a soul in sight.

I walked and walked and from time to time, looked at my watch and thought, ’four miles is becoming a long way to go.   What am I doing?   I have  to get there before it is too late.’    I mean look, I had worked out on  quarter-mile track runs when I was younger.   I knew what a quarter-mile was like.  I knew what a mile around the track was like as well – just four times around the track.  Big deal, you know what I mean?  So, how bad could four miles be on a Connecticut road?  How long could it take?  Dog-gone-it, four miles was a long walk!

I reached the radio station, finally – about eight-thirty maybe, more like a quarter to nine.   I was cutting it too close.  I was not quite sure I had enough time and had hoped there was enough audio material to fill the air time– but I had to start editing.  I began the process of cutting and splicing and trying to piece together something useable.  Reel-to-reel tape machines were used in those days.  It was not digital editing, it was analog editing – actually cutting and splicing tape with a razor blade and adhesive tape.

Finally, I squeeze a useable 45 minutes out of the hour-and-a-half bulk of raw audio.    I completed the task with about ten minutes to spare before the show was to air.  Unbelievable — 45 minutes worth of word-stingy teens and mostly my voice, posing questions and filling the gaps.  Somehow, it worked.  It was a reasonably-decent show. It must have been because I heard no complaints from the bosses.  I would like to believe that, rather than to believe they had not heard the show.

The experience was a difficult lesson, not so much about preparation but about anticipating the unexpected.    I had seen the  high standard-bar on studio interview-preparation — that coming from observing WCBS entertainment critic Jeffrey Lyons’ approach the task.  Lyons was always well-prepared, well-researched before interviewing a guest.   Sometimes, he would surprise  them with a thoroughly-researched question about themselves that they had not expected he would know to ask.    I have never reached that high bar over the years,  but I always kept the standard in mind when I had a scheduled studio interview.    In some ways that also went to the expecting the unexpected — by way of preparation.    Somehow,  that even leaches into  the antithesis interview approach,  the hit-it-and-quit-it,  reporter-on-the-run  news-gathering effort.    Preparation time is a luxury then.  It’s quick-read, pose the questions, digest and report.   Then unexpected happens more often.

Getting the show on air that day came as a great relief.   Subsequent shows were more routine.   The lonely walk in the mist and chill because  the car broke down unexpectedly at the worst possible time would have been no excuse for failure.   That’s like to dog ate my homework excuse.   Neither would have been and excuse for failure the attempt to  construct a show with meager and difficult material.   It had to be done.   Failure was just not an option at  your first professional on-air job.

So that’s what this, overcast Sunday morning in 2014 reminded me of – a similar, raw Sunday, during the same time of the year, in 1977.