Brian Williams on NBC Nightly News
NEW YORK — Brian Williams is aware of the behind-the-scenes sniping about his succeeding Tom Brokaw on NBC Nightly News, a historic network changing of the guard that will occur Dec. 2.
Wiliams believes it's vitally important for reporters to get out of New York and Washington in order to do their jobs well.
NBC
He knows that some critics think he's no Brokaw, that behind his tanned, handsome face and well-cut suits is something of a lightweight. He has heard that there are those at NBC News who think that the Nightly franchise, which nets a cool $90 million a year, could lose steam with him at the helm.
"It's the ultimate subjective business," says Williams, 45. "We put ourselves on the line and say, 'Please invite us into your home,' and everyone is free to have at it. That's one of the great things about a democracy. People are completely entitled to their opinions, and I go home after the broadcast and go to sleep at night. My wife and children seem to like me quite a bit, and as long as that is true — people find this amazing — I'm really OK."
But perhaps to dispel another idea that some people have — that this college dropout is a bit of a snob — Williams picks a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint, linoleum tables and all, to meet for lunch.
He swears it's the best pizza in town as he wolfs down two slices, chased by a can of Pepsi. He also may be showing off a bit: He points to his framed photo on a wall, next to one of John Spencer of The West Wing fame.
After spending much of the past year on the road, Williams says, his game plan as anchor of the No. 1-rated U.S. newscast is simple.
"I've got to get out a lot," he says. "The New York-Washington axis can be a journalist's worst enemy. Stories have a funny way of sneaking up on you, and the American people have a funny way of deciding what their reality is. You've got to spend a night in Dayton and Toledo and Cincinnati and Denver and in the middle of Kansas."
An example of the kind of story Williams likes to report came this fall when he flew to Dundee, Mich., to take the pulse at Cabela's, the popular hunting and fishing mail-order house whose megastores draw 4 million customers a year.
Williams reported — presciently in light of President Bush's re-election — that Cabela's customers were a force to be reckoned with: God-fearing conservatives who like guns, fishing and the outdoors, and that in 2000, "six in 10 gun owners voted for President Bush."
One hunter, a young woman, told Williams in a checkout line that she had already picked the tree she'd shoot from when deer season opens.
Recalling that day, Williams says: "I own an air rifle, mostly to scare the deer in our backyard, but I wanted to go back to our newsroom and say, 'Guys, this is who you don't know. While we haven't been watching, this is what America has become.' Not to pander, not to customize the news, but a newscast that forgets what its audience has become and takes its eye off the ball in terms of what America is, is doomed to failure."
A different role
There is nothing wrong with reporting feature stories from the heartland, says network news analyst Andrew Tyndall — unless you are about to inherit the most powerful anchor chair in the country.
In that role, Tyndall says, millions of viewers look to you to synthesize crucial public policy issues with state, national and world leaders, not to shoot the breeze in barbershops or, while reporting on Hurricane Isabel in September 2003, to see how Nemo the clown fish fared at a pet store in Virginia Beach.
"Williams going for 'vox pop' stories is like saying Charles Kuralt will replace Walter Cronkite," Tyndall says, referring to the late CBS "On the Road" essayist.
But Williams has a different take on the role of the modern network news anchor. "When I land in a foreign place — let's take Tel Aviv — if I'm traveling with a cameraman, and he says, 'Look, have you ever seen so much barbed wire?' I say, 'Shoot it.' We are surrogates for our audience. We are representing them back home, and I try to keep that eye wherever I am."
In the past week, Williams has been reporting from Israel on the effect that Yasser Arafat's fading medical condition has had on the volatile situation there.
Instead of the obvious network anchor move, a sit-down with Israeli leader Ariel Sharon, Williams has checked in with Palestinians in a coffeehouse in Ramallah about a future without Arafat and with bus riders in Jerusalem about the specter of being blown up by a suicide bomb.
That's vintage Williams, says Steve Capus, Nightly's producer, who has known Williams since the '80s, when they were both in local news in Philadelphia. Williams' strength, Capus says, is connecting with ordinary people. And at a time when many Americans think the media are out of touch, Williams' reporting style may appeal to them.
"Sure, it's not the same as sitting down with Sharon, but in many ways Brian's stories convey the overall bigger-picture story," Capus says. "And if his experience can be used to relate a bigger story, then that's what we're going to do."
Williams' "biggest hurdle is that he's going to have to make this broadcast his own," Capus says. "This is now Tom's broadcast, and Brian has a different style and to some degree different sensibilities. It's going to take some time for him to hit his stride."
Brokaw has urged Williams to put his own stamp on Nightly, just as Brokaw did with stories about the environment and World War II veterans.To that end, viewers can expect stories on the presidency, the subject of a book that Williams is writing. They also can expect to continue to see Brokaw frequently, starting with Bush's inauguration. "I'd like Tom to file whatever is on his mind. I owe him everything," Williams says.
And in his spare time ...
Williams has more plebian interests than his soon-to-be rivals, CBS' Dan Rather, 73, a friend from CBS days, and ABC's Peter Jennings, 66.
A onetime volunteer firefighter, Williams talks excitedly about the prospect of handling hoses and climbing ladders again on an upcoming story. He has been a stock-car racing fan since childhood days at the Chemung Speedrome near Elmira, N.Y., and is part owner of a dirt-track stock car team.
"No one understands this NASCAR nation more than Brian," says NBC president Jeff Zucker, who once produced Nightly News for Brokaw.
Zucker admits to some apprehension around NBC about the upcoming switch, but he attributes the butterflies not to concern about Williams' abilities, but to the fact that there hasn't been an anchor change since Brokaw and Jennings were both named anchors in 1983.
Zucker notes that every time Williams has subbed for Brokaw, even for long periods of time, Nightly's eight-year No. 1 rank has held.
But critics point out that's because Brokaw's fans always knew he would return. They point out that on CNBC's The News With Brian Williams, its anchor failed to move the needle much — one reason why rival anchors see the upcoming switch as an opportunity.
Viewers of both morning and evening news shows are intensely loyal and won't shop around unless there's a reason to. Now they have one, says Jim Murphy, who produces Rather on The CBS Evening News. "Any change is good for competition."
But Murphy notes that NBC has a strong news operation that will be tough to topple, especially with a pro like Williams in the anchor chair.
Friendly competition
Williams "is clearly skilled," says Jennings, but he has no plans to change anything about World News now that he'll have new anchor competition.
Jennings predicts that just as he, Brokaw and Rather all have had areas of interest in which they excelled, so too will Williams. Watching Williams in Israel this past week, Jennings says, he smiled and thought, "Oh, boy, been there, done that."
On air, Williams' delivery can be a bit formal, which Williams attributes to "a couple of years of Catholic schooling." He's on his best behavior, he says, as if he were a guest for the first time in someone's home.
"I tend to think this is important business we're conducting," he says, very seriously. "Since 9/11, I can't remember a broadcast with a light moment, so that's how I defend it."
But off air, Williams is a cutup, known for his one-liners and practical jokes.
Murphy says that back in the '80s, on his last day at WCBS-TV, a phone call from Williams had Murphy thinking for a few seconds that it really was President Reagan calling to wish him well.
"Back then, there was nobody more fun to be around," Murphy says, an opinion that is seconded today by many NBC colleagues. "He's just a good guy to be around."
(Thank You USA TODAY)
Wiliams believes it's vitally important for reporters to get out of New York and Washington in order to do their jobs well.
NBC
He knows that some critics think he's no Brokaw, that behind his tanned, handsome face and well-cut suits is something of a lightweight. He has heard that there are those at NBC News who think that the Nightly franchise, which nets a cool $90 million a year, could lose steam with him at the helm.
"It's the ultimate subjective business," says Williams, 45. "We put ourselves on the line and say, 'Please invite us into your home,' and everyone is free to have at it. That's one of the great things about a democracy. People are completely entitled to their opinions, and I go home after the broadcast and go to sleep at night. My wife and children seem to like me quite a bit, and as long as that is true — people find this amazing — I'm really OK."
But perhaps to dispel another idea that some people have — that this college dropout is a bit of a snob — Williams picks a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint, linoleum tables and all, to meet for lunch.
He swears it's the best pizza in town as he wolfs down two slices, chased by a can of Pepsi. He also may be showing off a bit: He points to his framed photo on a wall, next to one of John Spencer of The West Wing fame.
After spending much of the past year on the road, Williams says, his game plan as anchor of the No. 1-rated U.S. newscast is simple.
"I've got to get out a lot," he says. "The New York-Washington axis can be a journalist's worst enemy. Stories have a funny way of sneaking up on you, and the American people have a funny way of deciding what their reality is. You've got to spend a night in Dayton and Toledo and Cincinnati and Denver and in the middle of Kansas."
An example of the kind of story Williams likes to report came this fall when he flew to Dundee, Mich., to take the pulse at Cabela's, the popular hunting and fishing mail-order house whose megastores draw 4 million customers a year.
Williams reported — presciently in light of President Bush's re-election — that Cabela's customers were a force to be reckoned with: God-fearing conservatives who like guns, fishing and the outdoors, and that in 2000, "six in 10 gun owners voted for President Bush."
One hunter, a young woman, told Williams in a checkout line that she had already picked the tree she'd shoot from when deer season opens.
Recalling that day, Williams says: "I own an air rifle, mostly to scare the deer in our backyard, but I wanted to go back to our newsroom and say, 'Guys, this is who you don't know. While we haven't been watching, this is what America has become.' Not to pander, not to customize the news, but a newscast that forgets what its audience has become and takes its eye off the ball in terms of what America is, is doomed to failure."
A different role
There is nothing wrong with reporting feature stories from the heartland, says network news analyst Andrew Tyndall — unless you are about to inherit the most powerful anchor chair in the country.
In that role, Tyndall says, millions of viewers look to you to synthesize crucial public policy issues with state, national and world leaders, not to shoot the breeze in barbershops or, while reporting on Hurricane Isabel in September 2003, to see how Nemo the clown fish fared at a pet store in Virginia Beach.
"Williams going for 'vox pop' stories is like saying Charles Kuralt will replace Walter Cronkite," Tyndall says, referring to the late CBS "On the Road" essayist.
But Williams has a different take on the role of the modern network news anchor. "When I land in a foreign place — let's take Tel Aviv — if I'm traveling with a cameraman, and he says, 'Look, have you ever seen so much barbed wire?' I say, 'Shoot it.' We are surrogates for our audience. We are representing them back home, and I try to keep that eye wherever I am."
In the past week, Williams has been reporting from Israel on the effect that Yasser Arafat's fading medical condition has had on the volatile situation there.
Instead of the obvious network anchor move, a sit-down with Israeli leader Ariel Sharon, Williams has checked in with Palestinians in a coffeehouse in Ramallah about a future without Arafat and with bus riders in Jerusalem about the specter of being blown up by a suicide bomb.
That's vintage Williams, says Steve Capus, Nightly's producer, who has known Williams since the '80s, when they were both in local news in Philadelphia. Williams' strength, Capus says, is connecting with ordinary people. And at a time when many Americans think the media are out of touch, Williams' reporting style may appeal to them.
"Sure, it's not the same as sitting down with Sharon, but in many ways Brian's stories convey the overall bigger-picture story," Capus says. "And if his experience can be used to relate a bigger story, then that's what we're going to do."
Williams' "biggest hurdle is that he's going to have to make this broadcast his own," Capus says. "This is now Tom's broadcast, and Brian has a different style and to some degree different sensibilities. It's going to take some time for him to hit his stride."
Brokaw has urged Williams to put his own stamp on Nightly, just as Brokaw did with stories about the environment and World War II veterans.To that end, viewers can expect stories on the presidency, the subject of a book that Williams is writing. They also can expect to continue to see Brokaw frequently, starting with Bush's inauguration. "I'd like Tom to file whatever is on his mind. I owe him everything," Williams says.
And in his spare time ...
Williams has more plebian interests than his soon-to-be rivals, CBS' Dan Rather, 73, a friend from CBS days, and ABC's Peter Jennings, 66.
A onetime volunteer firefighter, Williams talks excitedly about the prospect of handling hoses and climbing ladders again on an upcoming story. He has been a stock-car racing fan since childhood days at the Chemung Speedrome near Elmira, N.Y., and is part owner of a dirt-track stock car team.
"No one understands this NASCAR nation more than Brian," says NBC president Jeff Zucker, who once produced Nightly News for Brokaw.
Zucker admits to some apprehension around NBC about the upcoming switch, but he attributes the butterflies not to concern about Williams' abilities, but to the fact that there hasn't been an anchor change since Brokaw and Jennings were both named anchors in 1983.
Zucker notes that every time Williams has subbed for Brokaw, even for long periods of time, Nightly's eight-year No. 1 rank has held.
But critics point out that's because Brokaw's fans always knew he would return. They point out that on CNBC's The News With Brian Williams, its anchor failed to move the needle much — one reason why rival anchors see the upcoming switch as an opportunity.
Viewers of both morning and evening news shows are intensely loyal and won't shop around unless there's a reason to. Now they have one, says Jim Murphy, who produces Rather on The CBS Evening News. "Any change is good for competition."
But Murphy notes that NBC has a strong news operation that will be tough to topple, especially with a pro like Williams in the anchor chair.
Friendly competition
Williams "is clearly skilled," says Jennings, but he has no plans to change anything about World News now that he'll have new anchor competition.
Jennings predicts that just as he, Brokaw and Rather all have had areas of interest in which they excelled, so too will Williams. Watching Williams in Israel this past week, Jennings says, he smiled and thought, "Oh, boy, been there, done that."
On air, Williams' delivery can be a bit formal, which Williams attributes to "a couple of years of Catholic schooling." He's on his best behavior, he says, as if he were a guest for the first time in someone's home.
"I tend to think this is important business we're conducting," he says, very seriously. "Since 9/11, I can't remember a broadcast with a light moment, so that's how I defend it."
But off air, Williams is a cutup, known for his one-liners and practical jokes.
Murphy says that back in the '80s, on his last day at WCBS-TV, a phone call from Williams had Murphy thinking for a few seconds that it really was President Reagan calling to wish him well.
"Back then, there was nobody more fun to be around," Murphy says, an opinion that is seconded today by many NBC colleagues. "He's just a good guy to be around."
(Thank You USA TODAY)
posted by Scott Fish at 10:09 PM
2 Comments:
Below is a post from my blog that details my personal experience working with NBC Nightly News Anchor Brian Williams.
AIR FORCE MEMORIES
I used to be an Air Force officer and, sometimes, you know, us military guys have a hard time letting go of the past. That's what this post is about.
It all started in 1985. Fresh out of college, I paid a visit to the Air Force recruiter’s office near campus. A couple of weeks later, I was offered a chance to become an Air Force officer. The only hitch: I’d have to make it through the Air Force Officers Training School – 90 days and nights of rigorous academic, physical and mental conditioning in the sweltering heat of a San Antonio summer.
When people ask me what it was like in Officers Training School, I tell them it was similar in many ways to the movie, Officer and a Gentlemen, except for the fact that it was the Air Force. For instance:
● In the movie, a lot more officer candidates started the course than finished it. The same was true in real life. Nearly 900 folks started the course, but only 300 finished. I was one of them.
● In the movie, the star got married soon after earning his commission. In real life, I got married three days after earning my commission.
● In the movie, the officer candidates arrived at the school, looking like slobs and, when they left, they were lean-mean fighting machines. In real life, I arrived in decent shape, thanks to playing intramural sports all through college. When I left, though, I was what my new bride called “buff,” with a v-shaped chest and six-pack abs. In short, I was 175 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal.
Today, I’ve changed a bit. The v-shape has turned upside down; my six pack is now a case; my weight is up to about 200 pounds; and the twisted steel is now recycled aluminum. Enough about that, though. Let’s move on.
While in the Air Force, I served as a public affairs officer. On any given day, I might find myself serving as a local spokesperson on a major Air Force issue, spinning the news in favor of my employer. I might find myself responding to questions from members of the news media, meeting with local VIPs or bending an elbow with a group of fighter pilots. Or I might be managing a crisis.
For instance, one night I received a call, letting me know that one of the senior officers on our base was arrested for propositioning an undercover police officer in the red-light district of town. Let me be more specific: a male senior officer was arrested for propositioning a male police officer in the red-light district of town. True story! Amazing to everyone who was “in the know,” the senior officer in question was sent into early retirement and had all of his stuff moved off the base before sunrise the next day.
On any given day, I might find myself talking with people who were unhappy with the Air Force because our jets were flying too low and causing their cattle to stop giving milk – true story! Or I could find myself fielding questions from people who wanted to know whether or not our inter-continental ballistic missiles – also known as ICBMs – carried nuclear warheads – duh! – to which I had to reply: “I can neither confirm nor deny the presence of nuclear warheads aboard the Titan II ICBMs assigned to the 381st Strategic Missile Wing.” But everybody knew!
Back in the Spring of 1987, a group of really active anti-nuclear protesters caused some excitement for me. For several weekends in a row, they rallied outside the two main entrance gates at McConnell Air Force base in Wichita. Now, this was during the Cold War, you remember and McConnell was part of Strategic Air Command – the guys capable of delivering nukes anywhere in the world faster than FedEx.
Rather than have their protests continue forever, I convinced the people in charge – not including the colonel who retired in the middle of the night by the way – that we should stage a little public relations effort by inviting the protesters to get to know us better by playing a little game of softball on the base.
The protesters agreed to play us early on a Saturday afternoon, and – being an avid softball player – I rounded up the biggest and baddest bunch of all-American-looking softball players I could find on the base. Plus, I arranged for food and drinks – a real picnic, you know – and invited as many members of the local news media as I could get to cover the event.
We promoted the event as a getting-to-know-you activity and couched everything under the umbrella statement: “We very much believe in and respect the first amendment rights of these people to stage their peaceful protests.” The media ate it up – hook line and sinker – but couldn’t stay for the entire game, what with deadlines and being short-staffed on a Saturday. But that was okay with us.
After the TV cameras left, that’s when we rubbed it in, beating the peaceniks thirty-four to nothin’ and lovin’ every minute of it. Best of all, after the game, I don’t remember the protesters ever showing up outside the base again while I was there.
Next to being a pilot – which I wasn’t – mine was probably the best job in the Air Force. After all, in addition to Wichita, Kansas, my job took me to many exotic places around the world – places like Okinawa, Japan; Australia’s Northern Territory; the Republics of Korea and the Philippines; and, last but not least, Valdosta, Georgia.
Okay, Valdosta wasn’t very exotic, but it was unique, and I left there with some unforgettable memories. Probably the greatest Valdosta memory coincided with the opportunity to meet and work with Brian Williams in the spring of 1991.
You know him today as host of the NBC Nightly News. Back then, however, he was a rising star, working as evening anchor for WCBS, CBS’s flagship TV station in New York City.
On the other hand, I was serving as chief of public affairs for the 347th Tactical Fighter Wing at Valdosta’s Moody Air Force Base. Note to file: For you trivia buffs, the base is located about 30 minutes down the highway from the site where they filmed the swamp scene in the movie, Deliverance.
Operation desert shield was about to turn into operation desert storm – a.k.a., the first Persian Gulf War – and mar. Williams wanted to do an up-close-and-personal story about the folks who would soon be flying their F-16 Fighting Falcon aircraft into harms way over the skies of Iraq. The folks at the pentagon sent him to our sleepy little base deep in the heart of South Georgia.
In addition to arranging interviews with fighter pilots and others at the base, we were told to provide Mr. Williams with a ride in the backseat of an F-16. Before anyone rides in the back of a fighter jet, however, he has to have a physical and complete pre-flight training that includes learning how to get out of the jet in the event of an emergency. Part of that training was something we called “hang and harness” training.
Hang and harness training is just like it sounds. A person hangs from a harness to get an idea of what it feels like to use a parachute. Standing on a platform several feet off the ground, Mr. Williams had a parachute pack strapped on his back and was connected by cables to a mechanical rigging device suspended from the ceiling.
The gear worn by Mr. Williams included two main straps, each of which extended from his shoulder area, down across his chest and under his crotch where they passed by his “family jewels” – one strap on each side – and continued up his back side where they connected with the bottom of the parachute sack.
Despite being told more than once by his Air Force instructors that he should tighten those straps until they were very snug, the anchor-man ignored the advice. When the time came for him to jump from the platform to the ground below, simulating the feel of a real jump, the anchorman’s less-than-snug straps suddenly became snug – and in an oh-so-painful way.
These days, I can’t even watch him on the NBC Nightly News without thinking back to that painful moment which, by the way, he didn’t even mention in his story. Thanks for the memories, Mr. Williams.
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