Social event of the week, or so it seemed: the funeral for Richard Pratt, one of Australia's richest men.
The wealthy industrialist died of prostate cancer on Monday night, and according to Jewish custom, had to be buried as soon as possible, as a mark of respect for the dead.
Even for a billionaire, he had a contact book to die for. Very few people could draw the A-list that he did - especially at a day's notice - when they held his funeral service at a small suburban synagogue in Kew.
A severely wizened Bob Hawke, 80 this year, but looking about 97; John Howard, his yarmulke perched ridiculously high on his skull, giving him the appearance of an elderly cub; Lindsay Fox in a fetching camel overcoat and blue giggle hat; Frank Lowy; John Elliott, incongruously teary; Steve Vizard; the McGuires, Frank & Eddie; former Carlton skipper, Rhodes scholar, AFL Commissioner and millionaire financier Mike Fitzpatrick; America's Cup skipper John Bertrand; Dame Elisabeth Murdoch, magnificent at 100, pushing her own walker around; AFL CEO Andrew Demetriou; Lillian Frank; Tony Barber; Molly Meldrum, hat on and clutching either a skull cap or a hot cross bun - something religious, anyway; Daryl Somers; Jeff Kennett; John Brumby; Steve Bracks; Bob Carr; Simon Crean; Michael Kroger and Ann Peacock (separately); Rod Kemp; the entire Carlton footy club, by the look of it; steelmaker David Smorgon; Michael Gudinski; Tottie Goldsmith; Ivan Deveson; John So; Bill Shorten, and many more, including more than 50 members of the Melbourne media.
Plus, of course, the remaining Pratt family itself: matriarch Jeanne, a delightful person, by all reports, but a tragic reminder of the hazards of excessive plastic surgery; son Anthony; and daughters Heloise and Fiona.
Lifetime friend, former political journalist, and Pratt Foundation boss Sam Lipski spoke eloquently at the service of Pratt's many facets. And he condemned with cold anger what he believed was Pratt's persecution by the corporate cops at the ACCC. Pratt was cast, as he put it, in a play that should never have been produced; unjustly conceived, and unjustly pursued.
Like hundreds of others, there was no room for me inside the synagogue. They stood ten deep on the footpath outside, hearing every word on four big screen TVs and a PA. (I caught snatches as best I could, but was preoccupied serving up two live crosses into Seven's morning programs) A busy day, the greatest challenge, deciding what to leave out of the story for 6pm.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
How Time Flu
Oh-oh.
Someone sneezes in Mexico City and I catch swine flu. Story of the day, probably the week, globally. It's going to be a long day - I start at 7am and this is obviously going to be the lead story, requiring a live cross.
The hospital spokesman seems surprised that we are interested in chasing the story. News judgment spot-on as always. By just after lunchtime we have interviewed federal Health minister Nicola Roxon, Premier John Brumby, state Health Minister Daniel Andrews, plus the people at the frontline of the local effort to analyse and fight the bug.
Material is pouring in from across the world. It's overwhelming. I cannot possibly view it all, let alone include it in my story. I grab the best bits, write and voice the package, and head back out to the airport for a live cross, to deliver the latest angle: health checks for off-colour passengers arriving from the Americas.
Like an infected nose, this one is going to run and run.
Someone sneezes in Mexico City and I catch swine flu. Story of the day, probably the week, globally. It's going to be a long day - I start at 7am and this is obviously going to be the lead story, requiring a live cross.
The hospital spokesman seems surprised that we are interested in chasing the story. News judgment spot-on as always. By just after lunchtime we have interviewed federal Health minister Nicola Roxon, Premier John Brumby, state Health Minister Daniel Andrews, plus the people at the frontline of the local effort to analyse and fight the bug.
Material is pouring in from across the world. It's overwhelming. I cannot possibly view it all, let alone include it in my story. I grab the best bits, write and voice the package, and head back out to the airport for a live cross, to deliver the latest angle: health checks for off-colour passengers arriving from the Americas.
Like an infected nose, this one is going to run and run.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Riding the Rails
People at work tell me the boss loves stories about Melbourne's embattled train network. And why wouldn't he? It's a staple, a constant, and it allows you to be instantly relevant to a huge swathe of your viewers.
Unfortunately there is nowhere I can see that we can take the Herald Sun's story of this morning. A couple of lines lifted from last year's business plan, admitting that the service supplier, Connex, can't fix the rail system problems without help from the infrastructure owner, the state government. Nothing we didn't already really know, but we haven't seen it in aninternal document previously.
Interviews: Premier Brumby, Opposition Leader Ted Baillieu, the Connex PR girl, and the Public Transport Users spokesman. By mid-afternoon I have the lead story. A bit thin, if you ask me, but as I said, the boss loves the train yarns.
Also: a live-cross from Flinders St Station. The cameraman and I hunt around for a location and a moment which has the requisite attributes of a suitable rail backdrop, an absence of intrusive PA announcements, and the right light for 6pm.
We make it in the nick of time. Satisfying.
Unfortunately there is nowhere I can see that we can take the Herald Sun's story of this morning. A couple of lines lifted from last year's business plan, admitting that the service supplier, Connex, can't fix the rail system problems without help from the infrastructure owner, the state government. Nothing we didn't already really know, but we haven't seen it in aninternal document previously.
Interviews: Premier Brumby, Opposition Leader Ted Baillieu, the Connex PR girl, and the Public Transport Users spokesman. By mid-afternoon I have the lead story. A bit thin, if you ask me, but as I said, the boss loves the train yarns.
Also: a live-cross from Flinders St Station. The cameraman and I hunt around for a location and a moment which has the requisite attributes of a suitable rail backdrop, an absence of intrusive PA announcements, and the right light for 6pm.
We make it in the nick of time. Satisfying.
Water, Water, Everywhere
They have released the umpire's decision on where water prices will go for the next four years, and guess what? It's not down.
In fact, depending on where you live, your water bill will rise by up to 60% above current rates by 2013.
We cover the official announcement by Dr Ron Ben-David, chairman of the Essential Services Commission, in the city. He is a smallish, neat man, who begins confidently in front of a phalanx of cameras, and a press conference packed more, I suspect, with ESC staff and PR minders than media representatives. He stumbles a few times whilst reading his statement but regathers himself and backtracks to start his sentence again, cleanly. Neatly. He has been media-trained.
The statement is too long for its intended purpose, and drags, but the pace returns when he takes questions from the floor. Like most, he is more animated speaking on his special subject when unconstrained by a script. He manages to avoid bagging the government and the water companies, despite our best entreaties.
We shoot a standup, using as a backdrop one of the city's few fountains not yet switched off.
Vox pop reaction from punters is mixed. Some admit this will help them curb their water use - a positive. Another is so anti-government that I have to ask three questions before he manages to edit the profanity out of his answer. A bit too much value from him.
Impact on families? Whip out to Hawthorn to grab a Salvos spokesman at his house between meetings. He is lavishly unshaven.
Back to Parliament for a doorstop with Louise Asher, my local member. I last interviewed her when she was Tourism Minister in the Kennett government. I don't have time right now to reacquaint her with what I've been up to this last decade. An old pro, she scores some points at the government's expense.
Back to the newsroom, write it, stitch it up, and off home on time for once. This gig is easier than I'd imagined it would be. It was today, anyway.
In fact, depending on where you live, your water bill will rise by up to 60% above current rates by 2013.
We cover the official announcement by Dr Ron Ben-David, chairman of the Essential Services Commission, in the city. He is a smallish, neat man, who begins confidently in front of a phalanx of cameras, and a press conference packed more, I suspect, with ESC staff and PR minders than media representatives. He stumbles a few times whilst reading his statement but regathers himself and backtracks to start his sentence again, cleanly. Neatly. He has been media-trained.
The statement is too long for its intended purpose, and drags, but the pace returns when he takes questions from the floor. Like most, he is more animated speaking on his special subject when unconstrained by a script. He manages to avoid bagging the government and the water companies, despite our best entreaties.
We shoot a standup, using as a backdrop one of the city's few fountains not yet switched off.
Vox pop reaction from punters is mixed. Some admit this will help them curb their water use - a positive. Another is so anti-government that I have to ask three questions before he manages to edit the profanity out of his answer. A bit too much value from him.
Impact on families? Whip out to Hawthorn to grab a Salvos spokesman at his house between meetings. He is lavishly unshaven.
Back to Parliament for a doorstop with Louise Asher, my local member. I last interviewed her when she was Tourism Minister in the Kennett government. I don't have time right now to reacquaint her with what I've been up to this last decade. An old pro, she scores some points at the government's expense.
Back to the newsroom, write it, stitch it up, and off home on time for once. This gig is easier than I'd imagined it would be. It was today, anyway.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Live vs Pre-recorded
Travelled up to Whittlesea where the community is holding various events to build some spirit in the wake of the bushfires. A Lions Club has arranged a family fun day for the emergency service volunteers.
Jumping castles, big slides, face painting, games... you get the picture. Pretty average but we'll wrap it with similar events being covered by the ABC at Knox and Pakenham.
Schoolkids from Sunshine have been wrangled onto stage to sing the national anthem and make a speech thanking the firies.
The anthem goes well despite the efforts of the sound guy who manages three separate and distinct blunders in a few bars of music. Then the two designated 10 year olds step forward for the speech. Kid Two has her words clutched in front of her on a script. Kid One elects to rely on memory.
Big mistake. Huge.
She gets two pars in, and freezes. She is blank. Her mates can't help her and she is dying on stage. She presses bravely forwards but her words trail off. She repeats a line but is utterly, irretrievably lost.
The audience is deathly quiet, feeling for her, but struck silent. One of the organisers shouts encouragement, then gently suggests she pass the mic to her companion. She does so, then covers her face with her little hands.
It is heartbreaking.
Kid Two delivers a sweet, word perfect speech. The ceremony concludes; the kids scatter. Some gather to comfort their wounded mate.
I can help in only one way. I take her aside and interview her, one-on-one, for my story. She speaks beautifully, sincerely, without the pressure of recitation.
About 50 people saw her stumble on stage. 494,000 saw her shine on TV. I hope she was one of them.
Jumping castles, big slides, face painting, games... you get the picture. Pretty average but we'll wrap it with similar events being covered by the ABC at Knox and Pakenham.
Schoolkids from Sunshine have been wrangled onto stage to sing the national anthem and make a speech thanking the firies.
The anthem goes well despite the efforts of the sound guy who manages three separate and distinct blunders in a few bars of music. Then the two designated 10 year olds step forward for the speech. Kid Two has her words clutched in front of her on a script. Kid One elects to rely on memory.
Big mistake. Huge.
She gets two pars in, and freezes. She is blank. Her mates can't help her and she is dying on stage. She presses bravely forwards but her words trail off. She repeats a line but is utterly, irretrievably lost.
The audience is deathly quiet, feeling for her, but struck silent. One of the organisers shouts encouragement, then gently suggests she pass the mic to her companion. She does so, then covers her face with her little hands.
It is heartbreaking.
Kid Two delivers a sweet, word perfect speech. The ceremony concludes; the kids scatter. Some gather to comfort their wounded mate.
I can help in only one way. I take her aside and interview her, one-on-one, for my story. She speaks beautifully, sincerely, without the pressure of recitation.
About 50 people saw her stumble on stage. 494,000 saw her shine on TV. I hope she was one of them.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
The Caravan Moves On
The detectives from Task Force Phoenix have set up an information caravan in the main street of Yea, in the heart of the country ravaged by bushfire ten weeks ago today. With my crew, I drive nearly two hours to join them.
Naturally, the cops want further scraps of information from the locals, to help them consolidate the case they are already building against the man they believe lit the fire that destroyed thousands of hectares, dozens of lives, and the town of Marysville.
The man in the frame for arson is said to be a CFA firefighter. This stains the CFA, but is hardly a great surprise. Arsonists are attracted to fire.
This one started - was started - at the abandoned Murrundindi Sawmill, 20km to the southeast, whcih we visit later in the day. It is a Hollywood backlot disaster scene. Blackened, burned and twisted, huge iron walls swinging in the breeze, utterly silent, and hemmed in on all sides by massive, heavily timbered mountains bearing the black and brown scars of a recent hell.
The media are - to put it mildly - excited at the prospect of an arrest.
In response to reporters' questions, the detective superintendent tut-tuts and calls our speculation about a suspect "unhelpful." I like cops, but they do tend to want it all their own way. They deiberately leak information to the media, so we let the public know they are making progress on the case - but when we try to pursue their lead, they purse their lips and reproach us for failing to allow the law to take its course.
The way these things often turn out, within a week or two, the police become confident that their case is strong enough to sustain a conviction, and they will swoop.
But before they do, they must ensure they have squeezed out every reliable drop of information from every available source, and assembled it into a watertight argument. They will have one chance to prosecute the man they suspect of responsibility for dozens of deaths, and property damage measured in the hundreds of millions.
They had better get it right.
The man they suspect must be very uncomfortable.
Naturally, the cops want further scraps of information from the locals, to help them consolidate the case they are already building against the man they believe lit the fire that destroyed thousands of hectares, dozens of lives, and the town of Marysville.
The man in the frame for arson is said to be a CFA firefighter. This stains the CFA, but is hardly a great surprise. Arsonists are attracted to fire.
This one started - was started - at the abandoned Murrundindi Sawmill, 20km to the southeast, whcih we visit later in the day. It is a Hollywood backlot disaster scene. Blackened, burned and twisted, huge iron walls swinging in the breeze, utterly silent, and hemmed in on all sides by massive, heavily timbered mountains bearing the black and brown scars of a recent hell.
The media are - to put it mildly - excited at the prospect of an arrest.
In response to reporters' questions, the detective superintendent tut-tuts and calls our speculation about a suspect "unhelpful." I like cops, but they do tend to want it all their own way. They deiberately leak information to the media, so we let the public know they are making progress on the case - but when we try to pursue their lead, they purse their lips and reproach us for failing to allow the law to take its course.
The way these things often turn out, within a week or two, the police become confident that their case is strong enough to sustain a conviction, and they will swoop.
But before they do, they must ensure they have squeezed out every reliable drop of information from every available source, and assembled it into a watertight argument. They will have one chance to prosecute the man they suspect of responsibility for dozens of deaths, and property damage measured in the hundreds of millions.
They had better get it right.
The man they suspect must be very uncomfortable.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Live and Kicking
Day Two: In contrast to yesterday's anti-climax, I am assigned the story that currently is designated to lead that night's 6pm bulletin, and remains in the spot all day.
The future of the childcare centres formerly run by the collapsed ABC Learning has been revealed. Most to keep operating, a handful to close down for good.
I monitor a series of incoming feeds - the official receivers, the Deputy Prime Minister, the childcare union - and choose grabs for that night's story. Julia Gillard is dreadful talent when she chooses to be - dull, slow, and ponderous, all with the elocution of a wharfie.
I record the voiceover and head out to the western suburbs, to the ABC centre at St Alban's - one of those slated for closure. We are looking for distressed parents to give the story some bite, but our luck is out. The childcare centre is eerily silent. I talk to neighbours, passersby and eventually the centre manager, and discover there is only one child in care. Possibly this is why they have gone belly-up.
We set up for a live cross, involving two camera crews, arc lights, an earpiece so I can hear the broadcast, a three-ton link truck and about two km of cables. All this for fifteen seconds of live TV.
Once we have everything plugged in and wired up, and a live link established - about a quarter to six - the lone parent arrives to collect her child. Of course. We quickly disengage and doorstop her. She obliges with a few grabs, but is only mildly upset at best. "I'll find somewhere else, I guess."
We send back the vision so it can be included in my news story, and hook up again, ready for the link. Everything works. The newsreader throws to me cleanly and I do not stumble. It feels good to be back.
The future of the childcare centres formerly run by the collapsed ABC Learning has been revealed. Most to keep operating, a handful to close down for good.
I monitor a series of incoming feeds - the official receivers, the Deputy Prime Minister, the childcare union - and choose grabs for that night's story. Julia Gillard is dreadful talent when she chooses to be - dull, slow, and ponderous, all with the elocution of a wharfie.
I record the voiceover and head out to the western suburbs, to the ABC centre at St Alban's - one of those slated for closure. We are looking for distressed parents to give the story some bite, but our luck is out. The childcare centre is eerily silent. I talk to neighbours, passersby and eventually the centre manager, and discover there is only one child in care. Possibly this is why they have gone belly-up.
We set up for a live cross, involving two camera crews, arc lights, an earpiece so I can hear the broadcast, a three-ton link truck and about two km of cables. All this for fifteen seconds of live TV.
Once we have everything plugged in and wired up, and a live link established - about a quarter to six - the lone parent arrives to collect her child. Of course. We quickly disengage and doorstop her. She obliges with a few grabs, but is only mildly upset at best. "I'll find somewhere else, I guess."
We send back the vision so it can be included in my news story, and hook up again, ready for the link. Everything works. The newsreader throws to me cleanly and I do not stumble. It feels good to be back.
Tuesday April 14, 2009: Return to the Word Factory
Day One on the new job. Senior reporter at Seven News, Melbourne.
And already, "specials" duty. The dreaded long-form TV news story which, at birth, exists only in the mind of the producer or chief of staff. No actual hook or angle, and certainly no talent. Nothing more, in fact, than a vague idea on a piece of paper. Usually conceived in panic, to provide the station with something promotable, designed to counteract a perceived ratings threat from an opposition broadcaster.
The popular definition of the TV news "Special" among reporters - those whose job it is to create them - is a news story that takes two or three days to shoot, write, and edit.
My assignment is to examine the issue of older workers who find themselves unemployed and who manage to regain employment, perhaps in another field.
I spread the word among media contacts in the recruitment industry and the union movement. The first to reply is MD of the Slade Group. She delivers two interviewees and agrees to be interviewed herself. She is excellent talent and we knock over the interview in less time than it takes to find a parking spot outside her CBD office.
The first interviewee panics and withdraws when we are literally at her door. The second is happy to talk but is hundreds of kilometres away in eastern Victoria.
We kill time by shooting overlay in Collins St and my first piece to camera in ten years. Two takes - amazingly, word perfect. I still got it! Meanwhile, Slade obligingly finds us a third interviewee who works close to the city, agrees to see us immediately, and speaks well.
I call another contact who sets about finding me another career transitioner - I need one more to really bolster the story. He calls back late that afternoon and we agree to meet for an interview first thing in the morning. Such is the luxury of having more than eight hours to conjure a story from nothing.
An hour before our appointment the next day, he calls to cancel. Coincidentally, moments later, the MD of the company who sourced this former client for me, calls to see if he had made contact. I tell her he pulled out and she is mortified. She sets about finding a replacement.
And already, "specials" duty. The dreaded long-form TV news story which, at birth, exists only in the mind of the producer or chief of staff. No actual hook or angle, and certainly no talent. Nothing more, in fact, than a vague idea on a piece of paper. Usually conceived in panic, to provide the station with something promotable, designed to counteract a perceived ratings threat from an opposition broadcaster.
The popular definition of the TV news "Special" among reporters - those whose job it is to create them - is a news story that takes two or three days to shoot, write, and edit.
My assignment is to examine the issue of older workers who find themselves unemployed and who manage to regain employment, perhaps in another field.
I spread the word among media contacts in the recruitment industry and the union movement. The first to reply is MD of the Slade Group. She delivers two interviewees and agrees to be interviewed herself. She is excellent talent and we knock over the interview in less time than it takes to find a parking spot outside her CBD office.
The first interviewee panics and withdraws when we are literally at her door. The second is happy to talk but is hundreds of kilometres away in eastern Victoria.
We kill time by shooting overlay in Collins St and my first piece to camera in ten years. Two takes - amazingly, word perfect. I still got it! Meanwhile, Slade obligingly finds us a third interviewee who works close to the city, agrees to see us immediately, and speaks well.
I call another contact who sets about finding me another career transitioner - I need one more to really bolster the story. He calls back late that afternoon and we agree to meet for an interview first thing in the morning. Such is the luxury of having more than eight hours to conjure a story from nothing.
An hour before our appointment the next day, he calls to cancel. Coincidentally, moments later, the MD of the company who sourced this former client for me, calls to see if he had made contact. I tell her he pulled out and she is mortified. She sets about finding a replacement.
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