|
Forks in the Road: Chapter 15 ALONE AT A TABLE FOR TWO It seemed like the nest became empty all of a sudden. Billy, Barbara, Brittany, and Ryan were in Dallas. Tony was working at WTLV in Jacksonville. Marty was in school at the University of South Florida in Tampa. Wendy was at UCF and living in an Orlando apartment. There I was in a big house all alone. I decided to sell it and start a new life, as it were, in bachelor quarters. Luckily I quickly found a buyer for what I thought was a good price. A real estate boom in that area immediately followed, and a year or so later the house was resold for nearly twice as much!
I had acquired a “town house” condo in the Cypress Creek Country Club subdivision. Leave it to me to live on a golf course and never play golf! The condo came completely furnished, even to linens, dishes, and kitchen utensils; it had been used as a guest house for Gulf Oil officials when they visited there during their ownership of the development. I combined my furnishings with theirs, unloaded some on the kids, sold some, and stacked the rest in the garage. I had shelves built in to house my record collection, which now began to grow rapidly as it became my chief hobby. Wendy started coming once a week to take care of my housekeeping.
It was at Cypress Creek that I began giving parties, with a wide range of personalities from radio, TV, theater, politics, sports - a peculiar mix of folks that somehow worked like a charm. Everyone enjoyed these occasions at what was dubbed Windsor Castle. In particular, some fine musicians were always present to enliven the proceedings. At one such party I rounded up two of the other three members of the old Army quartet; both Bus Buskirk and George Kricker were living in Florida and we had quite a reunion, playing and reminiscing together. We did, however, have to mourn the loss of Gomez, who had recently died in Miami. Both Bus and George were professional musicians who excelled on their instruments. Bus had switched to bass and George to guitar, and both had wives who played great piano. George died a few years later; Bus, who lost his wife Vee in the meanwhile, still lives in Ocala. At one of the annual PESO TV auctions, an art gallery donated the services of a portrait painter to do the portrait of the winning bidder, or whomever the buyer might designate. To demonstrate, the artist sat on the set and gradually painted a portrait of me during the approximately eighteen hours of the production. I then bought the result, which is an excellent likeness of me as of that point in time - except that, for some strange reason, he gave me blue eyes! About six months after I lost Mary, I began to enjoy the company of other ladies. She had once told me, “If you go first, I will never remarry; but if I go first, you’ll be married - within a year, to a young blonde.” I’ll admit that I tried to fulfill her prophecy. I played the field.
I threw myself into work with even greater zest than before. Everything was going extremely well at the station, and I was increasingly involved in industry affairs. I was elected to the Board of Directors of the National Association of Broadcasters; at our annual gala meetings, I produced The NAB Follies, a show using talented members of the Board. I was also elected to the Arbitron Advisory Council, which represented hundreds of stations in the audience research field. I served a term as chairman of that Council. I became active in Broadcast Pioneers, membership in which required at least twenty years in the industry. When I became eligible in 1955, I was told I was the youngest to do so at that point in time. I became the founding president of the Florida chapter. The Orlando Area Advertising Federation awarded me its Silver Medal as “Man of the Year in Advertising” for 1977. The Channel 9 editorials won me the prestigious Abe Lincoln Award from the Southern Baptist Convention. My association with the Tangerine Bowl escalated during this period, and I enjoyed traveling on football season weekends to “scout” various college teams that were prospects for our post-season game, which soon changed its name to Florida Citrus Bowl, and has since become one of the top bowl games on New Year’s Day.
I had begun delivering editorials on the air in the early 70s. The first one dealt with the inadequacy of the roads in the Orlando area; the last one, on January 31, 1985, was on the same subject. But these comments on local and state issues were often effective in obtaining results from public response. They earned me several annual awards from the Greater Orlando Press Club for “best column or commentary”. I increased my activity in the Civic Theatre, and in the fall of 1978 played the role of Honore, made famous on the screen by Maurice Chevalier, in its production of Gigi. For years I had been nervous about singing in public and had not performed vocally. I was coaxed into singing at a number of parties, and, although I was scared to death until the final performance, Gigi brought me the rest of the way out of my vocal silence. Now it was hard to get me not to sing! The director of Gigi insisted that I increase the amount of hair on my head in order to do this part, so I was sent to a Hair Clinic where they fitted me with a hairpiece. I never liked the terms “wig” and “toupee”. There were many favorable comments on what it did for my appearance, and the cameramen at the station, who had trouble avoiding reflection of the studio lights on my glasses and head at the same time, urged me to keep it. In the eternal quest for youth, I succumbed. A special fitting was accomplished, and I began to wear the hair full-time. It had mixed results. There were times that it looked natural and becoming, but at other times it looked fake and inadequate. However, I continued to wear it for several years. When I finally threw it out, I grew a beard instead. It’s amazing how a man who cannot grow hair on his head can grow it on his face so rapidly!
I had the privilege in 1981 of serving as chairman of the Walt Disney Community Awards committee. A group of prominent citizens is chosen annually to review the entries of hundreds of non-profit organizations, the selected winners receiving generous financial awards from Disney World. I served two years in this project, since the following year was Disney World’s tenth anniversary and they asked each of the preceding chairpersons to make up the 1982 committee. In 1981 the FCC came out with another so-called “final decision” in the Channel 9 license matter. For the first time, it did not give its preference to Mid-Florida. It named TV-9, Inc. as the first choice, then ranked the others. Comint Corporation was #2, Mid-Florida #3, Central Nine #4 and Florida Heartland #5. This decision, of course, was subject to appeal at the Commission and, beyond that, to the courts, so it looked like the battle would continue for some time. There had been talk, even from the very beginning of the interim operation, of a merger settlement, which was always stymied by Mid-Florida’s insistence on at least 51% ownership. But, now that they were ranked third, they were much more amenable to a settlement. So it was that, in September 1981, the “joint venture” was reorganized. In place of the even split of the proceeds (20% each), TV-9, Comint and Mid-Florida were to receive 23.33% each, Central Nine 20% and Florida Heartland 10% of the income. However, equity was to be divided at 28.33% for each of the top three, 10% for Heartland and 5% for Central Nine. The latter company exercised an option to remain at the higher (20%) level for income by accepting the lesser share (5%) of equity. They apparently were enjoying the monthly proceeds at 20% and were not thinking of a sale. The physical plant, which we had rented from Brechner since 1969, was bought. The FCC issued a license in the name of Channel 9 of Orlando. At last my status as “interim manager” was ended, and I was given a new contract as “general manager and chief operating officer,” after 12½ years of “temporary” employment. My terms were altered. At a luncheon meeting, it was broached that I had enjoyed an unusually high compensation due to the percentage deal negotiated in 1969. I complimented them for never trying to go back on the agreement. I agreed that it had been highly lucrative to me and that I would consider a reasonable revision. They came up with a formula based, not on actual operating profit as formerly, but on the amount of cash income actually distributed to the venturors. This was apparently meant to be a deterrent to heavy spending on capital improvements. For a short time, it reduced my income somewhat, but, with careful management and the continuing growth of the market, I was soon back at my former level of pay.
During the years at Channel 9, I had the opportunity to meet and sometimes perform with quite a few celebrities in the fields of media and entertainment. Many of these are reflected photographically on the walls of my residence where they are warm reminders of these pleasant experiences. Among those represented are James Melton, Ella Fitzgerald, Gene Clark, Frankie Masters, Barbara Britton, Joe Garagiola, Bob Sarnoff, Bob Hope, Tom Kennedy, Allen Ludden, Ann Jillian, Ron Howard, Harry Reasoner, the Reagans, Barry Sullivan, Andy Griffith, Robert Young, James Brolin, Chris Schenkel, and, of course, Lawrence Welk and the Semonski Family.
Meanwhile, two very talented young actors, Ralph Petillo and Bill Griffith, founded a small “cabaret theater” on Park Avenue in Winter Park, known as Theatre-on-Park. Originally they came to me when they were struggling to get the project underway and seeking financial backing; this was during Mary’s illness and I had declined to participate. But Griffith, who had been with me in the cast of Inherit the Wind at the Civic, contacted me about playing the role of the tycoon, J. B. Biggley, in their upcoming production of the musical How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. This was to be a professional engagement. The idea appealed to me, but my contract with WFTV said that I could not work for anyone else while employed at the station. I told the Board that I would donate my acting pay to the Civic Theatre if they would permit me to do the show, and they approved. Thus did I become involved with Theatre-on-Park, starting in 1979. It soon became obvious that, while these two fellows were creative geniuses, they were novices at business and in over their heads. They asked and received my advice, and I tried to help them put things on a more businesslike basis. They ran out of funds and were faced with the prospect of closing, so I bought a minority interest.. The next time the financial crisis came, I loaned them money, with their stock as collateral. This continued until I woke up one day owning the majority. In the meanwhile, I had played the role of Victor Velasco in Barefoot in the Park, and the male lead in Hello Dolly, and had also appeared at the Civic in Gypsy, Solid Gold Cadillac and Ah! Wilderness. My ”sideline” was becoming an important part of my life, and I was enjoying it immensely. When questioned about maintaining the pace of managing a TV station and doing this much work in theater, I would say that the stage was “my golf.” Indeed, it was my principal recreation. Jim Duffy, president of the ABC Television Network, phoned me and indicated that, if I wanted to leave Orlando, he could steer me to the managership of a station in another good market. But I told him I did not blame Orlando for the loss of my wife, and, indeed, had planted roots for the first time in my life and was happy to remain where I was. I learned about this time that my Austrian army friend, Bill Pulgram, had become a very successful interior design architect in Atlanta, and we renewed our friendship when Bill came to Orlando in connection with a building there. We have remained in touch over the years, and I had the pleasure of a visit to his lovely home and of meeting his equally lovely wife, Lucia. Among the ladies with whom I shared my social life during this period was Nancy Kipp Sopp, who was traffic director at WFTV. Since I had great success in marrying an employee before, I did not find it difficult to become very fond of Nancy, a person of great empathy, and to spend as much time with her as possible. Two things were of constant concern to her in our relationship, the boss-employee factor with the gossip it spawned, and the age difference of twenty years. We had many wonderful times together, including a number of visits by me to San Diego after she moved there in 1983, but I realized, much later, that she was very wise to steer clear of a permanent commitment. We ended our association in 1987. I shall always be grateful to her for the times we shared and for the wisdom of her ultimate decision. The Orlando Opera Company beckoned me to play a role in The Student Prince on a paid basis. The pay wasn’t much, and it was a small non-singing part. But I took the old adage to heart: “there are no small parts, only small actors,” and made as much of the bit as possible. One big laugh I got was worth the effort all by itself! The Florida Symphony Orchestra, which I had assisted over the years in fund-raising and publicity, invited me to appear as guest soloist. Again, non-singing; but what a happy coincidence! Someone had set Casey at the Bat to music, utilizing a narrator with the symphony. I had the pleasure of reciting the poem, with this grand musical background, bringing back memories of the Oral Expression class some fifty-five years before. However, Casey still struck out. Another activity I developed about this time was involved with the periodic “roasts” of leading local citizens and personalities. Usually the “roasters” at these events tell some jokes straight out of Joe Miller’s jokebook, very few of which ever have any relevancy to the “roastee.” I chose to sing my roast, by writing and singing parody lyrics to well-known songs. This was well-received, and I had the fun of doing this act on a number of occasions. Theatre-on-Park was faced with a new crisis. There didn’t seem to be any way to make a go of it as it was set up, less than a hundred seats, offering minor refreshments. The idea of turning it into a dinner theater was discussed. Then the lease came up for renewal, and at the same time the adjoining space was being vacated by an art gallery. I took the plunge. A major renovation took place which doubled our seating to 200; and, because we would now be equipped to serve full meals to at least that number, we were enabled to secure a liquor license. The make-over was costly, fraught with problems, and lasted twice as long as had been expected. Tony was “between jobs” in TV at that time, so he pitched in to supervise on my behalf, and to manage the theater after it was reopened. Wendy was also employed, working in the box office; she had graduated from UCF and went on to earn her Master’s degree in psychology at Rollins College in Winter Park.
In September 1982, Orlando Magazine published a feature story entitled Walter Windsor’s Other Life, with a cover picture of me in a white tuxedo and high hat, surrounded by beautiful girls from the chorus of Cabaret, Holly Hill, Darla Briganti and Kyra Schweizer. In spite of several inaccuracies, it painted a pretty fair account of my career up to that point. During the reconstruction, we tried to keep our theater in the public eye, and to provide work for some of the performers, by putting together a revue of George Gershwin music that we called By George. We made a deal with a prominent local restaurant, which had a dormant nightclub section, to present this show there, with the restaurant serving food and drink. It was a good show, but it was not meant to last as long as the renovation was taking. And the restaurant was not advertising and promoting it as they had agreed. So we closed By George. Good thing, too, because the Gershwin estate got wind of what we had been doing and indicated that its permission (and, presumably, royalties) would be required. We did not think just doing a group of Gershwin songs, with no dialogue, constituted any violation of their copyrights. Medleys of a composer’s songs are commonplace, and not subject to royalty; this was, we reasoned, only a l-o-n-g medley. I wrote them back explaining our theater’s predicament, and indicating we had discontinued the show altogether, and that was the end of the dispute. We gave one final performance, though, at the main auditorium in Orlando as a benefit for the Youth Symphony, which appeared with our pianist, Debbie Hawkins, in the Rhapsody in Blue as the concert’s finale. Finally the great day came, on June 30, 1982, when we re-opened as a “dinner playhouse” with the initial show being Fiddler on the Roof. It was very well presented and enthusiastically received, as was our food and beverage service. Of course we had enlarged our payroll considerably, both on stage and off, and our overhead was formidable. But we had a fellow aboard who was adept at dealing with tour groups, and he brought in busloads of people visiting the Disney parks, packaging an evening at our playhouse with Disney and other area entertainment. We soon lost him to a much bigger employer, and never succeeded in getting another capable salesperson for this function. Also the bus people did not like the distance to Winter Park from the other tourist attractions or the parking problems they encountered. So we grew to depend upon the local clientele, and it just wasn’t enough. The tourists could have made the difference, but Park Avenue was not a good location for these visitors, even though the high rent there was our single largest overhead item.
The shows were artistically successful; we never had a bad review. Weekends we were able to fill most of the 200 seats. But during the week we were way below the break-even level, even to the point of occasionally calling off a performance when the number of reservations was ridiculously low. We would call the few customers and tell them an important cast member was sick, and ask them to change to another night; most of the time they agreed. Our shows included The Boy Friend, Man of La Mancha, Camelot, Ten Little Indians, Once Upon a Mattress, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, Ain’t Misbehavin’, Frankenstein and Promises! Promises!. I appeared in two productions in the new theater, as Schultz in Cabaret and as Daddy Warbucks in Annie. There were highs and lows during this period, but always enough encouragement for us to keep on trying. We had some wonderfully talented people in our company, but after two years the financial drain was more than I could continue to support. Wc closed the house with the final performance of Once Upon a Mattress on June 17, 1984. The theater could not be sold as a “going business;” we gained release from the lease on the building and sold off some of the physical assets. We donated costumes and other paraphernalia to the Civic Theatre. And I personally paid off the huge note to the bank with which we had financed the renovations. It was a mighty sad day for all concerned. Tony resumed his TV career, moving to Tallahassee. During the same period in 1983-84, rumors began to circulate that Channel 9 might be sold. I had been the recipient of feelers from a number of companies over the years. For most of those years, I would explain that the license controversy and the interim operation made selling impossible. Then, after the case was settled, I indicated the station was not for sale, but that, if it ever were, I would see to it that the interest of the inquirer would be taken into consideration. I kept a list in my desk drawer, and there were eventually more than thirty names on that list. A couple of would-be buyers even visited me, on other pretexts, to look over the operation. One even indicated it would be willing to buy Theatre-on-Park as part of the deal! Early in 1984 the Washington attorneys for Mid-Florida instituted what turned out to be a “coup d’ etat” by putting one Jack Purcell, of SFN Companies, Inc., in touch with a committee of the venturors that had been quite secretly debating the possibility of a sale. Jim Robinson, chairman of the committee and president of Comint, was quite taken by Purcell’s aggressive overture, during which he indicated that, if he and his associates could visit the station, meet its key people, and look over the numbers, he would give a “yes or no” answer by 10 a.m. the following day at a price of $125,000,000. The committee accepted the proposal. Purcell and his legal and financial aides blew into town like a cyclone, confirmed what they already knew about the station, and came in the following morning with a “yes.” Agreement was made to sell for $125,000,000. This figure was appreciably more than the Committee had been considering, so they jumped at the opportunity. I had told them of the many feelers I had received, and that some of the finest and most reputable operators in the business were interested. I expressed the feeling that some of these prospects should have an opportunity to appraise the operation and make bids, but the Purcell blitzkrieg had won the game before it even started. When news of the deal got out, I received calls from several of the other companies, complaining that they were not given an opportunity and saying they would have paid more than SFN. When the public announcement was made at a reception in Orlando, Purcell stated that “Walter Windsor will be President of Channel 9.” This was greeted by cheers from station personnel, customers, and civic leaders alike. After fifteen years, my name was more or less synonymous with WFTV, and SFN intended to extract all possible value from that association. SFN was a conglomerate which originated with Scott-Foresman, a foremost publisher of textbooks; it had acquired several other publishing companies and had diversified into other fields, including broadcasting. It had purchased three TV stations (Augusta and Columbus, Georgia and San Juan, Puerto Rico) and two radio stations in Montana a year earlier, and now added WFTV. I introduced Purcell to my employees at the time of announcing the sale to them. He answered a question as to the future of the station. “Channel 9 is the jewel in our crown and will not be re-sold.” My discussions with Purcell took a turn born of my own ambition. I realized that this could now be a substantial station group, with a central management and further expansion. Purcell indicated they definitely intended to acquire additional broadcast properties and become a major station group. He offered me the position of president of SFN Communications, Inc., the broadcasting subsidiary, with responsibility for all the radio and TV stations and to seek further acquisitions. This was what I wanted to do at this stage in my life, so I gladly accepted. Clifton Conley, sales manager and station manager at WFTV, would be named its president and general manager, and the managers of all the individual stations would report to me. As we moved through the few months of FCC action required to consummate the sale, some duplicity developed on Purcell’s part. It seems he had also promised Sherman Wildman, with whom he had been associated at CBS and whom he had employed to run the Puerto Rico station, that he would be president of the company. So he bestowed on me the title of “Chairman,” indicating that Puerto Rico would operate independently from the group, but all the others would be supervised by me. I had no choice but to go along, even though I wondered what I was “chairman” of. Since Purcell was the only director of SFN Communications, how could I be the “chairman?” The Channel 9 governing board voted to award me a handsome bonus, which was paid to me on the day the sale was consummated, July 16, 1984. I also had the pleasure of signing and handing out the checks to each of the five venturor companies, totaling $125,000,000. When the sale finally closed, I moved from WFTV to a plush downtown office where I set up a corporate headquarters and set out to do the job to which I had been assigned. Conley moved into my office at WFTV. A young fellow on Purcell’s staff named Chris Brennan was named vice-president for finance, and set up his office adjoining mine. The handwriting was there on the wall to plainly show that Brennan was the fair-haired boy, but I was too enthused with my new situation to fully recognize it. I made the circuit of all the stations to introduce myself, explain the operation of the company and its employment policies, and establish confidence in SFN. I involved myself in the Georgia TV stations, and to a lesser extent in the Montana radio outlets, and I instituted conversations with desirable stations that might represent favorable additions to the group. The latter efforts were not greeted with any enthusiasm by Purcell, in spite of his stated intentions to expand; evidently the financial leverage necessary to the WFTV acquisition had extended the company sufficiently to make any imminent expansion impossible. My dreams of a new state-of-the-art building for WFTV were put on indefinite hold, but the quarters on Parramore were enlarged and refurbished. Conley had been employed at WFTV since before my 1969 arrival. I had promoted him from local sales to regional sales to national sales manager to general sales manager to assistant manager to station manager. His ambition was limitless, but he had mostly held it in check for fifteen years, realizing the unusual nature of the joint venture and my unique position therein. However, once he succeeded to the top chair at the station, he became a turncoat. Although it was publicly stated that he reported to me, he refused to do so. I asked about a report called for by Purcell, which should have been channeled through me. His response was “I don’t see why I have to go through you.” He busied himself establishing his own relationship with Purcell, Brennan and others at the Glenview, Illinois headquarters, and set about eliminating any touches of Windsorism that existed at Channel 9. If it was something originated by Windsor, it had to be changed or eliminated. It later occurred to me that Conley’s bypassing of me was at least tolerated by Purcell, if not encouraged. I had emceed the PESO Auction, to raise money for the arts, annually for many years, and I did so again late in 1984 while serving as Chairman. I also continued to do the station editorials on a regular basis, which were considered to be an asset to the station. They had won awards nearly every year since they began in the early seventies. A few months after the SFN takeover, all its executives were summoned to headquarters to be informed that the publicly-owned company would be taken private. I had no complaint with this, since I had bought a nice block of SFN stock and would realize a very nice profit. But I had no idea of what was to follow. One of my happy memories from this period came about when I was traveling between Los Angeles and San Francisco on business. In the airport gate area, awaiting my flight’s departure, I spotted a gentleman sitting there reading a newspaper and knew instantly that I recognized him. It took me a minute or two to realize that it was James Stewart, superstar of so many wonderful movies. I wanted to meet him, but held back just long enough for an attendant to come for him and board him before the rest of the passengers. He was seated in the front section of the plane for the short trip, and he was deplaned first, so I thought I had missed my opportunity. However, when I arrived at the baggage claim, there was Jimmy. So I went up and introduced myself, and told him about the Filmography series that I did on television, involving Bing Crosby, Clark Gable, Bette Davis, Spencer Tracy, Humphrey Bogart, and other major screen stars. His response came in that familiar hesitant drawl. “Sounds like kind of a memorial program to me - I hope you don’t get around to Stewart any time soon.” Then his bag and his driver arrived almost simultaneously, and my great moment had ended. I was reminded of this quite vividly by the news of his recent passing, and I wished I still had a Filmography so I could do that memorial program. Tony and I had the pleasure of attending the 1984 Summer Olympic Games in Los Angeles. We had a bevy of good tickets to a variety of events, and we stayed at a plush Sunset Boulevard hotel; quite a change from my experience at the 1932 Games in the same location. We had problems at the hotel, though; it was new and not quite finished. This brought about an assortment of problems that seemed awful at the time but have been the source of laughs ever since. No joke, however, when a batch of our Olympics tickets were stolen from the room. It took some doing, but we obtained replacements. I always wondered what happened to the people who showed up with our original tickets! Just prior to a national TV programming exposition (NATPE) in January of 1985, Purcell asked me to come to Illinois and fly out to the San Francisco meeting with him in the company plane. I took this as an honor and a compliment. When we met in his office, he informed me that there was a major change in their business plans which would eliminate the need for my position and suggested that, at the age of 67, I accept retirement. He had a severance agreement already prepared, which was financially generous. After we negotiated continuing health insurance coverage and other minor items, I accepted. It was important to Purcell that this be accomplished in a harmonious manner. Since I had become involved with some of my former Channel 9 associates in buying a couple of small radio stations, I decided to use this as my reason for stepping aside. I flew out to California with Purcell and Wildman, filling the latter in with details on the stations which I had been supervising, as his presidency would now give him supervision of the entire group. Purcell stated “Walter, you’ve done everything we had expected of you and more.” I eventually interpreted this to mean that my brief “chairmanship” was intended all along as a means of setting the aging executive aside while still maintaining the continuity and goodwill that I brought to the table. I announced my retirement at a dinner party in San Francisco. A few days later, a retirement party of sorts was put on by Conley in the studio at lunchtime, serving do-it-yourself bologna sandwiches, and combining observance of my departure with that of another employee. I was awarded a plaque signed by all the employees, except that some had not yet signed, nor was the brass plate there that signified the occasion. I was to actually receive the plaque when the signatures and inscription were complete. It was unceremoniously delivered to me sometime later, still without the missing names and inscription. I presented my last editorial on January 31, 1985 and became SFN’s paid consultant for the next 23 months, without ever being consulted. Blair TV was considerably more appropriate in observing my retirement. Harry Smart came to town and hosted a small dinner testimonial at which he presented me with an original letter written by George Bernard Shaw, inscribed “With sincere appreciation for your friendship and warmest personal regards for your health and happiness in the years to come, from your friends at Blair Television.” After I was no longer “chairman,” a delegation from PESO made its annual formality call on WFTV to seek the donation of air time for the annual auction. They were told by Conley that they could not have the time unless someone from the station (translation: someone other than Windsor) was the chief auctioneer. They accepted this arrangement, whereupon a friend of mine, Art Grindle, a politician and former car dealer, and not “from the station,” did the telecast. It was the last one. Within a few weeks of my separation from SFN, the change in their plans became clearer. They began to sell off their various properties, preparing to liquidate the company. The first to go was the “jewel in the crown,” WFTV. It was sold to the Cox group, one of those which had contacted me in the past, for $185,000,000, a clear profit of sixty million dollars for fourteen months ownership, not including the profit accrued during those months. Cox took over in the fall of 1985 and proceeded to build a beautiful state-of-the-art plant for the station, something I had wanted to do for the past sixteen years. Conley continued to manage the station for Cox, but he was another case of a fine sales manager without the additional attributes needed in general management. He was soon terminated by Cox, announced as an “early retirement,” and due to the great generosity of that fine company, is enjoying much greater retirement benefits than I. Shortly after the sale, the Florida Public Relations Association was preparing to hold its annual Roast and Toast, to honor someone who had epitomized its field of endeavor. This event was co-sponsored by the University of Central Florida, and its proceeds went to a scholarship at UCF in the field in which the honoree had performed. They chose me as guest of honor for 1986. I would finally be “roastee” instead of “roaster.” A committee from the Association, accompanied by the president of UCF, called on Conley to enlist WFTV’s participation. He said he doubted the new owners would take part, but said he would check into it. Then he called the other station managers in the market and told them that if they didn’t contribute, he wouldn’t have to. None of them agreed to this boycott, but none would take part without WFTV. After all, I had been associated with that station for sixteen years. The controversy grew too intense for the Association, so Windsor was cancelled and someone else substituted as honoree. The summer of 1985, I took a trip to Europe. It began with a meeting of the Arbitron Council in London. After the meetings and seeing some great London theater, I boarded the Orient Express. This took me across the English Channel, through Paris and on to Innsbruck, Austria. There I rented a car and drove through Germany, sightseeing my way to the town of Pforzheim, where I had located some of the people related to me through the Winkopp side of the family. Unfortunately, Karl Ehmann, the “cousin” who had provided almost all the family tree information through Uncle Oscar, had recently died, but his widow, Berta, and Karl’s brother, Hans Ehmann, welcomed me, and I enjoyed visiting with them and learning a bit more about my ancestors. My knowledge of their language was quite limited, although I had managed to set up the meeting by writing them a letter in German that they were able to decipher. While I was there, I constantly referred to a small German-English dictionary which we nicknamed “Mein Freund” - My Friend. From Pforzheim, I went on to the Black Forest, Heidelberg, Taubebischofsheim, and Frankfort, where I stayed in a very exclusive hotel which had been the castle of Victoria Empress Frederica. I then flew back home from Frankfort. It was a most enjoyable experience, and I vowed to do the same in Italy at some future time, to similarly explore my Catoggio roots. However, this has never come about.
On January 1, 1986, Rosalie Johnson celebrated her 85th birthday. We conspired with other family members and pulled off a huge surprise party on Saturday, the 4th. It was held at a fire station out in the country, near to where Peggy and her family lived. We had everything decorated and food galore; then Peggy brought Mama by on some pretext, and when she opened the door, wow! You will never see a person any more surprised than our guest of honor was on that occasion. All her living children were present, with spouses, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, siblings, neighbors, and friends from far and near. It was a gala occasion, and there was one very happy Grandma Johnson in the midst of all the flowers, food, and gifts.
Preface |
Dedication
| Contents
|
