CFPL TV Chronicles: The Night Shift Show

The Night Shift Show

Gather 'round, dear listeners, for a tale from the annals of CFPL TV that will have you chuckling in your chairs. This one comes courtesy of Paul Estabrooks, who, as some of you might recall, was fondly known as "The Professor" around the station. It's a story about the things you see—and sometimes wish you hadn't—when you work the night shift.

It was the late 60s, and the night crew at CFPL TV had settled into the rhythms of their evening routine. They were a tight-knit group, working through the quiet hours to keep the station humming. And while the days could be hectic with live broadcasts and demanding schedules, the nights were a different beast altogether—quieter, slower, and sometimes, a little peculiar.

One such peculiarity came in the form of two rather showy ?sisters? who lived in one of the row houses across the field from the station. Now, these 'sisters' had a nightly ritual that became the talk of the CFPL night crew. You see, every night, like clockwork, these ladies would perform a mini striptease in their bedroom window, visible from out back of the transmitter room. It was quite the unexpected show.

Word quickly spread among the night crew, and soon enough, it became a sort of unofficial break-time tradition to sneak out back and catch a glimpse of the performance. It was like their own private, albeit slightly risqué, variety show.

Now, it wasn't entirely clear whether the ladies knew they had an audience or if they were just blissfully unaware. But for a few weeks, their routine continued unabated. And for those few weeks, you could bet that come break time, you'd find at least a few crew members out behind the transmitter room, enjoying the unexpected entertainment.

Of course, in true CFPL fashion, some took the viewing more seriously than others. One particularly keen observer —even brought binoculars for a closer look. It became a bit of a running joke around the station. "Hey, has anyone seen the binoculars?" they'd ask. "Check with the night shift boys!"

The whole situation was equal parts absurd and amusing. The night shift, which could be monotonous, suddenly had this strange and comical sideshow. And while the sisters might never have known about their unintended audience, they certainly provided a memorable distraction for the hardworking guys at CFPL TV.

Paul swears he never partook in the binocular escapades, preferring to keep his distance and his dignity. But he couldn't deny the humor in the whole situation. It was a story that, even years later, brought a twinkle to his eye and a chuckle to his voice.

So there you have it, folks—a slice of life from the night shift at CFPL TV, where sometimes the strangest things can bring people together, even if it's just for a laugh behind the transmitter room. And as Paul would say, sometimes the best stories are the ones that leave a bit to the imagination.

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Another CFPL TV Chronicle: "The Day Doug McGladdery Made News"

 The Day Doug McGladdery Made News

In the world of television news, there's a saying: "The story finds you." But in the case of Doug McGladdery, roving CFPL TV news cameraman, it was more like the story found him, set his car on fire, and handed him an exclusive scoop.

It was a day like any other at CFPL TV, and Doug was dispatched on what he assumed would be a mundane assignment. He grabbed the keys to the company station wagon, a trusty old vehicle that had seen its share of adventures and was now ready for another.

As Doug navigated the road down TV Hill, he started to notice an unusual smell. At first, he thought it was the lingering scent of fast food wrappers left by the previous driver, but then it hit him—smoke. He looked over his shoulder and saw it coming from the back of the car.

With a sense of urgency, he pulled into the nearby gas station. He leaped out of the car, camera gear in hand, just as the smoke thickened. Fire! Doug's heart raced. He managed to rescue his precious camera equipment and, with the instincts of a seasoned newsman, started filming.

The scene was chaos. Flames licked the sides of the station wagon as the gas station attendants ran for fire extinguishers. In the distance, Doug could hear the wail of sirens. Within minutes, the firefighters arrived, hoses at the ready. They worked tirelessly, but it was clear the station wagon was beyond saving.

As the firefighters battled the blaze, Doug continued filming, capturing every moment. His camera panned over the burning wreckage, the heroic efforts of the fire crew, and the growing crowd of onlookers. He knew he had something special—a compelling, dramatic story unfolding right before his eyes.

When the fire was finally out, all that remained of the station wagon was a charred skeleton, still smoldering. The firefighters, covered in soot and sweat, shook their heads. But Doug, ever the professional, had his scoop.

Back at the station, Doug’s footage was the talk of the newsroom. The mundane assignment was quickly forgotten as everyone crowded around to watch the dramatic scenes unfold. It was an opportune piece of journalism, that Doug had captured from start to fiery finish.

Later, as Doug sat at his desk, still buzzing from the adrenaline, the news director Ron Laidlaw approached him. "Doug," he said, shaking his head with a mix of admiration and disbelief, "that was one heck of a way to get a story."

Doug nodded, a wry smile on his face. "Just doing my job," he replied. But deep down, he knew this was one story he’d be telling for years to come—a tale of smoke, fire, and a newsman’s instinct that turned an ordinary day into something extraordinary.

And so, in the annals of CFPL TV Chronicles, the day Doug McGladdery made news became legendary—a testament to the unpredictability of life and the indomitable spirit of a dedicated cameraman.

An A.I. Fliki Video Experiment - A Snake Adventure

 An A.I. Fliki Video Experiment - A Snake Adventure

As usual throughout this site, the entries are almost entirely generated by A.I. This entry was created based on the June 3, 2024 posting - "A Slithery Situation" with Wes Robitaille. It was completely produced on the A.I. robot "Fliki". All I added was the captions from the earlier post and in second I had this iteration. You are seeing this as the first attempt without any editing or further intervention on my behalf. I didn't add and images so the robot filled it in as far less than perfect pictures of it's own. This 'presentation' is certainly very far from perfection but I present it more as a demonstration of the amazing advancements we are seeing in A.I. as it quickly changes all media.

Stay tuned in the following weeks as I bring more A.I. generated examples and tie them into the "MEMORIES OF CFPL TV" for your entertainment. - Tim C. 

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Title: The Adventures of Duffy Duffield

 

CFPL TV Chronicles: The Adventures of Duffy Duffield

Ah, CFPL TV in the early days—a place where camaraderie flourished, quirks were embraced, and the air was thick with the scent of creativity. Among the colorful characters who roamed the halls, one name stood out: Dale “Duffy” Duffield, our ever-optimistic production supervisor. With his clicking heels, and larger-than-life presence, Duffy was a legend in his own right.

Duffy had this way of making sure everyone felt like part of a big, slightly dysfunctional family. In the course of TV business, some of us needed to use the company station wagon. Duffy's admonishment, “Drive carefully and treat the vehicle like it was your own,” was more than just advice—it was a way of life. And Duffy, ever the embodiment of his own wisdom, took it to heart. Literally.

You see, Duffy had a particular fondness for the company station wagon, a car emblazoned with the CFPL TV logo that might as well have been his own personal chariot. He treated it with the utmost care, ferrying all manner of items to his beloved cottage. Need some old copper pipe from the transmitter room storage? Duffy’s got it covered. Those obsolete props cluttering the prop room? Don’t worry, Duffy will find a use for them up north.

One summer’s day, crew member Tim Vogel was on vacation, cruising down the highway, when who should he see but Duffy, zipping past in the company car, no doubt on another supply run for his cottage. The sight of Duffy, always in a hurry, made Tim chuckle. It was quintessential Duffy—always on the move, always with a purpose.

Duffy’s involvement with the Optimist Club was another facet of his life that he managed to weave seamlessly into his workday. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Every morning, Duffy would make his grand entrance, his heels clicking on the cement floors, his presence unmistakable. He’d parade around the station, ensuring everyone knew he was there. And then, like a magician’s disappearing act, he’d vanish, only to reappear in the afternoon, just in time to remind us of his existence.

Rumor had it that Duffy spent his days immersed in Optimist Club business, a suspicion that was never quite confirmed but always believed. His favorite phrase, “Gotta second?” was the prelude to many a conversation, be it a casual chat or a moment of discipline. Not a minute, mind you, but a second—because with Duffy, time was always of the essence.

Despite his quirks, or perhaps because of them, there was a sense of family at CFPL TV. We all had our roles, our idiosyncrasies, but we worked as a team. And Duffy, for all his eccentricities, was at the heart of that team. Paul Estabrooks, affectionately known as “The Professor,” recalled how in the days when minimum wage was $1.50 an hour, Duffy managed to pay him $2.50 an hour. It was a testament to Duffy’s sense of fairness and his understanding of the value of his crew.

So here’s to Duffy Duffield, the man who could turn a company car into a personal moving van, who balanced Optimist Club duties with CFPL TV responsibilities, and who always had a second to spare. His legacy is one of humor, dedication, and a reminder that sometimes, it’s the quirks that make a place truly special.

Title: The Mayor's Last Announcement

 

CFPL TV Chronicles: The Mayor's Last Announcement

Gather 'round, folks, for another story from the CFPL TV vault, sent to us by none other than John Mahoney, a former TV Director who has seen his fair share of on-air mishaps and backstage shenanigans. This particular tale takes us back to New Year's Day, 1968—a day that would be remembered for a different kind of broadcast.

It was a quiet afternoon at CFPL TV. The kind of day where the crew could relax a bit, recover from the New Year's Eve festivities, and ease into the new year. But as is often the case in the world of live television, the calm was about to be shattered.

Word came into the station that the Mayor of London, Ontario, F. Gordon Stronach, had passed away. This was big news, and it needed to be handled with the utmost care and respect. John Mahoney, ever the professional, sprang into action. He knew that the announcement had to be made, and it had to be made quickly.

During the next station break, John coordinated with the Master Control operator to replace the CFPL-TV logo slide with a news bulletin slide. This was back in the day when everything was done manually, and timing was everything. With a deep breath and a steady hand, John popped into the booth to deliver the voice over news.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that the Mayor of London, Ontario, F. Gordon Stronach, has passed away," John announced. It was brief, it was solemn, and it was exactly what was needed at that moment.

The next day, as John was going about his usual duties, he was tracked down by Jim Plant, the operations manager. Now, Jim was known for his no-nonsense approach and his biting sarcasm. He had a way of getting his point across with a few well-chosen, often sharp, words.

"Mahoney," Jim said, catching John's attention. "I heard your announcement about the Mayor."

John braced himself, unsure of what was coming next. "Yes, sir," he replied, waiting for the feedback.

Jim looked at him for a moment, then said, "Thanks for your effort." There was a pause, and John felt a glimmer of pride. But then, in true Jim Plant fashion, he added, "But stick to your day job, Mahoney!"

Jim Plant

It was classic Jim—acknowledging the effort but not without a sarcastic jab to remind you of your place. John couldn't help but chuckle, more out of necessity than amusement. In the high-pressure world of live television, you had to take your compliments where you could get them, even if they came with a side of condescension.

Looking back, John remembers that day with a mix of humility and a smirk. It wasn't every day that a TV director had to step into the sound booth and deliver a news bulletin, but it was just one of those things that came with the territory. And in the end, it was all part of the job.

John Mahoney

So, here's to John Mahoney, navigating the unpredictable waters of live TV with professionalism, and here's to Jim Plant, whose sarcastic quips were as much a part of the station's fabric as the shows themselves. And here's to the stories—both on and off the air—that make up the rich tapestry of our shared history.

Title: CFPL TV Chronicles: Gus the Scrapper

 

CFPL TV Chronicles: Gus the Scrapper

In the heart of London, Ontario, where the Blackburn empire spanned CFPL TV, CFPL Radio, and The London Free Press, there lived a cat whose legend rivaled that of any local news story. His name was Gus, and he was no ordinary feline. He was a huge, fat, brute of a cat owned by Martha Blackburn, daughter of the wealthy Walter J. Blackburn.

Martha, with her polished CBC accent and air of affluence, was as much a fixture of the Blackburn legacy as her father’s media empire. One day, she arrived at our rented farmhouse, which her father owned, with Gus in tow. "I hope you don't mind taking Gus for the summer," she asked, her matter-of-fact tone. "He absolutely destroys the ecology of our cottage island." she said, barely waiting for a response. She handed us the cat and a 20 lb. bag of dry cat food and, before we knew it, she was gone. That was the last we heard from Martha.

Gus wasted no time in asserting his dominance. I had constructed a small, flap-type cat door in the boiler room window, thinking it a convenient entrance for our new furry friend. Little did I know that Gus would use this portal to bring us a veritable zoo of dead critters. One morning, I found a rabbit proudly deposited on our kitchen floor. Gus sat beside it, looking as pleased as a cat could be.

The neighbours soon got wind of Gus’s escapades. "He's a scrapper, that one," they’d say, half-admiring, half-dismayed. Gus had a knack for stirring up trouble, be it with local wildlife or the other cats in the area. Yet, despite his rough-and-tumble ways, we couldn’t help but love him.

One particularly memorable day, Gus strutted through his cat door with a snake clamped in his jaws. The audacity of the act left me speechless. Gus dropped the unfortunate reptile at my feet, his eyes gleaming with pride. It was then I realized that Gus saw our home not just as a sanctuary, but as his personal hunting ground.

As time went on, Gus became a fixture of our household. His antics were the stuff of legend. Despite his ferocity, there was a softer side to Gus. On cold winter nights, he’d curl up beside us, purring contentedly as if to say, “You’re my family now.” His presence, though often chaotic, brought a unique charm to our lives.

Looking back, I can’t help but marvel at how Gus, with his scrappy demeanor and boundless energy, became such an integral part of our story. He reminded us that even in the midst of wealth and polished accents, it’s the simple, unrefined moments that bring the most joy.

So here’s to Gus, the scrapper who won our hearts and left an indelible mark on our home. And here’s to the Blackburns, whose legacy extended far beyond media empires to include the unforgettable tales of a cat who ruled the roost with an iron paw and a mischievous spirit.

Title: CFPL TV Chronicles: Slappy Canuck's 15 Seconds of Fame

 

CFPL TV Chronicles: Slappy Canuck's 15 Seconds of Fame

Gather 'round, everyone, because I've got another gem from the CFPL TV archives, this time courtesy of John Mahoney. It's a tale of whimsy, mischief, and the perils of live television, all wrapped up in a name that still brings a chuckle to those who remember it.

Years ago, in the golden age of Canadian television, there was a peanut butter commercial that caught everyone's attention. It was cleverly designed to look like a news report, with a reporter stationed on Parliament Hill. The twist? The reporter's name was keyed in as Walter Arachide, with "Arachide" being French for peanut. It was a delightful little joke, and it tickled the funny bones of everyone in the studio.

That evening, during the PM newscast, John Mahoney and his colleague Bill Young couldn't stop laughing about it. They started riffing on typically Canadian names, each one more absurd than the last. As the laughter died down, a mischievous idea took root in John's mind. What if, just for fun, he changed his Director name on the character generator credits?

With a grin that promised trouble, John typed in the new name: Slappy Canuck. It was ridiculous, it was perfect, and it was destined for airtime. As the credits rolled at the end of the newscast, there it was for all to see—Directed by Slappy Canuck. The chuckles that echoed through the studio confirmed it was a hit.

The next afternoon, as John strolled into the office, he was greeted by Joe Armstrong, the supervisor of producers and directors. Now, Joe was a no-nonsense kind of guy, but he had a sense of humor buried beneath his serious exterior. With a deadpan expression, he addressed John as Slappy and suggested, in his dry, understated way, that in the future, he should probably stay away from the character generator.

John couldn't help but laugh. It was a gentle rebuke, but it was also an acknowledgment that, for a brief moment, he'd injected a bit of levity into the otherwise serious world of news broadcasting. The name Slappy Canuck might have been short-lived, but it lived on in the memories of those who were there.

Reflecting on that day, John remembers the thrill of doing something spontaneous and funny, even if it was a bit cheeky. In the fast-paced environment of live TV, moments like these were a reminder that sometimes, a little humor was just what everyone needed.

So, here's to John Mahoney, aka Slappy Canuck, for daring to be playful in a world of serious news. And here's to the CFPL TV crew, whose camaraderie and creativity made every day an adventure. Because in the end, it's these stories—both the big headlines and the little pranks—that make our shared history so rich and enjoyable.

Title: "CFPL TV Chronicles: Barnboard Bonanza – A Stylish Misadventure"

CFPL TV Chronicles: Barnboard Bonanza – A Stylish Misadventure

In the swinging sixties, when barnboard was the epitome of chic, my TV comrade Don Mortenson and I hatched a plan to transform our living spaces into rustic retreats. Armed with enthusiasm and a trailer hitched to Mort's trusty vehicle, we embarked on a journey to my grandfather's farm, where an old barn awaited its date with destiny.

As we arrived at the once-majestic barn, now weathered and leaning towards retirement, Mort and I exchanged knowing glances. This, we believed, was our ticket to rec room glory. With gratitude to my grandfather echoing in the air, we set to work salvaging the aged barnboard, envisioning the cozy transformation that awaited our homes.

The trailer, once empty, now groaned under the weight of our newfound treasure. Little did we know that our barnboard bonanza would soon take an unexpected turn. I gleefully redecorated my parent's basement bar area, meticulously placing the weathered wood to create a rustic haven that screamed sixties chic.

However, our rustic dreams soon met a buzzing reality. Unbeknownst to us, the aged barnwood brought with it an unintended entourage – a swarm of bugs that had called the wood home for longer than we could fathom. Our attempts at stylish redecoration inadvertently transformed our homes into bug-friendly habitats.

As the bugs made their presence known, our once-stylish retreats became battlegrounds in the war against the unexpected infestation. Mort and I, in our pursuit of barnboard bliss, found ourselves armed not with chic decor but with bug spray and rolled-up newspapers.

The lesson learned? Fashionable transformations sometimes come at an unforeseen cost. My parent's basement bar, once a haven of rustic charm, became a battleground between man and insect, a tale that echoed through the annals of CFPL TV Chronicles with a chuckle and a cringe.

So, dear readers, join me in raising a toast to the barnboard bonanza – a stylish misadventure that left us not only with chic decor but also with a story that buzzed through the years. In the next installment, we'll unravel more tales from the vibrant and occasionally buggy world of CFPL TV's past.

You might be interested in the prompt I used to generate the text.

My prompt:

Back in the sixties barnboard was fashionable in rec rooms and dens even kitchens etc.. My TV friend Don Mortenson wanted some too and had a trailer so Mort and I went to my grandfather's farm which had a long since collapsed old barn and thanked my grandfather after loading up. I redecorated my parent's bar area in the basement and caused an infestation of bugs from the old wood.

NOTE: Hey guys and gals. I'm running out of tales. If you think of any humourous anecdotes about your days at CFPL TV, please jot them down in a paragraph or point form and email me. I'll send a rough draft for your approval before I publish it here.

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Title: CFPL TV Chronicles: A Slithery Situation

 

CFPL TV Chronicles: A Slithery Situation

Gather 'round, folks, for another tale from the hallowed halls of CFPL TV, where every day brought a new adventure and a hearty dose of laughter. Picture it – the bustling set of "Miss Dorothy's Sunshine School," where I, Frank Proctor, better known as Mr. Hoolihan, found myself in the midst of a most unexpected escapade involving a slippery serpent.

Now, you see, it was just another day on the set, with children giggling and the crew buzzing about their business. When suddenly, in strides a visitor from the zoo at Storybook Gardens, bearing a most unusual gift – a boa constrictor. Well, you can imagine the excitement that rippled through the studio at the sight of such a magnificent creature.

Ever the prankster, our intrepid cameraman, Wes, decides to seize the moment and volunteer for a little bit of fun. With a twinkle in his eye, he bravely offers to drape the boa constrictor around his neck, much to the amusement of the crew.

Off he goes, our fearless Wes, parading through the studio with the snake slithering gracefully around him. But little did he know, his impromptu serpent showcase would soon take a rather unexpected turn.

As Wes makes his way down to the secretarial pool to share his newfound friend with the ladies, he's met not with admiration, but with shrieks of terror and dismay. And wouldn't you know it, in the chaos that ensues, our slippery friend decides to leave his mark – quite literally.

With a sudden burst of panic, the boa constrictor unleashes a torrent of foul-smelling excrement, dousing poor Wes from head to toe in a rather unsavory white liquid. Snake poop is horrid! A white liquid that smells to high heaven. Oh, the horror!

Amidst the chaos and commotion, Wes beats a hasty retreat, leaving behind a trail of laughter and disbelief in his wake. And as he scurries off home to wash away the remnants of his unexpected encounter, we're left with a story that's sure to become the stuff of legend here at CFPL TV.

So here's to Wes, the brave soul who faced the slithery surprise with courage and good humor, and to the countless adventures that await us in the ever-entertaining world of live television. Until next time, folks, keep your eyes peeled and your spirits high – you never know what surprises await around the corner.

Prompt to ChatGPT:
Here's a note from Frank Proctor:

"March 13, 2024.

Hi Tim,

While Mr Hoolihan had many pets visit the set of Miss Dorothy”s Sunshine School, almost without fail the visiting animal would wind up piddling on my lap. The crew loved watching my discomfort. But the best animal story centres around one of the cameraman who I think was Wes. He was in a playful mood and when the Guy from the Zoo brought in a Boa constrictor, Wes bravely put it around his neck. He was warned not to frighten the snake but in spite of the warning took the snake down to the secretarial pool the show the ladies. The ladies we NOT impressed. Nor was the snake by the screams which caused him to defecate all over Wes. Snake s**t is horrid! A white liquid that smells to high heaven. Wes had to leave work and go home to shower and change his clothes."

NOTE: Wes worked on crew at CFPL TV and was the son of Robbie. mentioned in the previous chronicles. Can you do this chronicle in the style of Frank Proctor, host of 'Theatre of the Mind' on Zoomer Radio?

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Title: CFPL TV Chronicles: The Legend of IYE

 CFPL TV Chronicles: The Legend of IYE

Gather around, everyone, because I have a tale for you. It’s a tale that captures the spirit of ingenuity, camaraderie, and downright silliness that made CFPL TV a special place back in the day. We’re diving into the archives to unearth the story of "IYE" or "In Your Ear," a show born out of sheer boredom and creativity.

It was the early 1970s, a time when the world was changing fast, but at CFPL TV, some things never changed. The studio crew, always a tight-knit bunch, found themselves with pockets of free time between scheduled programming. Instead of lounging around or catching up on sleep, they channeled their energy into something far more entertaining. That’s how "IYE" came to be.

Now, "IYE" wasn’t your typical TV show. It wasn’t planned or funded. It wasn’t even supposed to happen. But it did, and it was glorious. Director John Mahoney was the mastermind in the control room, piecing together the chaos into something that resembled a show. And oh, what a show it was!

Producer Jim Plant saw potential in the madness. He watched a few episodes and thought they were broadcast quality. He asked if they could make it a weekly thing. But Paul Estabrooks, one of the crew members, knew better. “Jim, we can’t generate that much material,” he’d said with a knowing smile. They all knew that the magic of "IYE" was in its spontaneity and was never intended for public viewing.

One particularly memorable episode featured The Baron, a character who could only have been dreamt up in the wild world of CFPL TV. The Baron decided to bring in some old war memorabilia one day, and not just any memorabilia—this included a full-on Hitler costume. The Baron, ever the performer, didn’t just wear the costume; he embodied it.

Picture it: The Baron, with his impeccable accent and mannerisms, giving an over-the-top impression of Hitler. The crew couldn’t stop laughing. It was surreal, absurd, and somehow perfect for the impromptu nature of "IYE." The Baron’s portrayal was so spot-on that if you squinted and tilted your head just right, you might have thought you were watching a historical reenactment mixed with a tune from HMS Pinafore. But the crew knew better. This was all part of the wild ride that was "IYE."

But that wasn’t the end of the Baron’s talents. He had a knack for creating realistic sound effects, a skill akin to a master Foley artist. In another unforgettable segment, The Baron staged a news flash about a huge five-alarm fire at the Spittal Brothers Department Store. With sirens blaring and his enthusiastic commentary, you could almost see the flames and smoke. The control room was in stitches, the laughter echoing through the studio.

As The Baron's sirens wailed and his voice rose in mock urgency, Paul looked around at his fellow crew members. They were all in tears from laughing so hard. It was moments like these that made working at CFPL TV more than just a job. It was a family of sorts, bound together by shared experiences and a sense of humor that could turn the mundane into the magical.

"IYE" never did make it to a regular weekly slot. It purposely remained a hidden gem, a series of taped episodes that existed somewhere between official programming and sheer lunacy and now long erased and dispatched to oblivion. But those who were there, who witnessed the birth of "In Your Ear," knew they were part of something special.

Years later, as they gathered at Shelley’s Bar on Wellington for their monthly old-timers’ luncheon, they’d reminisce about those days. Inevitably, the conversation would turn to "IYE," and they’d laugh all over again. They’d remember The Baron’s Hitler impersonation, the fire at Spittal Brothers, and the sheer joy of creating something purely for the fun of it.

So here’s to "IYE," the little show that could (and did, even if only briefly). It’s a testament to the spirit of CFPL TV, a place where creativity knew no bounds, and laughter was always just around the corner.

Title: CFPL TV Chronicles: The Baron's Fiery Encounter with a Nun

Title: CFPL TV Chronicles: The Baron's Fiery Encounter with a Nun

A Tribute To The Baron. RIP My Friend.

This is a draft of an entry from my ongoing blog of weekly posts that I started at the beginning of the year (MEMORIES OF CFPL TV)

To give you background on my upcoming chronicle: I looked up some emails that pertain to The Baron setting a nun on fire over 60 years ago and used them to compose a prompt to the robot ChatGPT. The picture is a composite of two separate pictures generated by Stable Diffusion and amalgamated into one in Photoshop.

Back in the late 1950's or very early 1960's, a story evolved about The Baron and how he set a nun on fire. In the studio they were producing the show "School of Christ" and Baron set a nun on fire with his cigar.

Over the years the story at CFPL TV grew and evolved into a more elaborate tale but with the help of the robot ChatGPT, this yarn to an even more fanciful and hilarious level. The Baron, a few weeks ago, before his sad passing, put the story into a far more conservative light. I hope you enjoy this tribute to Eric Boe in a lighthearted walk down memory lane.

Title: CFPL TV Chronicles: The Baron's Fiery Encounter with a Nun

In the hallowed halls of CFPL TV, where smoke-filled studios were the norm and cigars were as common as cameras, there existed a tale so outrageous, so ludicrous, that it became the stuff of legend – the infamous incident of The Baron setting a nun on fire.

Legend has it that on a fateful day in the late 1950s or early 1960s, during the production of the "School of Christ" program, The Baron, known for his penchant for cigars and penchant for mischief, found himself in a precarious situation. As the cameras rolled and the nun, clad in her holy habit, navigated the studio floor, disaster struck.

With cigar in hand and a mischievous glint in his eye, The Baron unwittingly found himself on a collision course with the unsuspecting nun. As she backed up, entangled in a web of camera cables and crew members, disaster seemed imminent. In a moment of sheer chaos, The Baron's cigar made contact with the nun's habit, igniting a spark that would set the stage for mayhem.

What ensued can only be described as pandemonium. The nun, momentarily ablaze, let out a startled shriek as her habit smoldered and smoked. The crew, stunned into silence, could only watch in horror as The Baron, realizing the gravity of the situation, frantically attempted to extinguish the flames with his bare hands.

But fear not, for this tale takes a comedic turn. In a stroke of luck (or perhaps divine intervention), the flames were swiftly extinguished, and the nun emerged unscathed, albeit with a singed habit and a newfound aversion to cigars.

In the aftermath of the incident, The Baron, consumed with guilt and remorse, embarked on a mission of penance. Riding his trusty horse to the School of Christ on Wellington, he sought out Father Finn to make amends for his unwitting transgression. And thus, an unlikely friendship blossomed between the cigar-smoking Baron and the seafaring Father, united by a shared love of tall tales and tall ships.

As for the nun, her brush with fiery peril became the talk of the town, embellished with each retelling until it took on a life of its own. And though the truth may have been obscured by the fog of time and the haze of cigar smoke, one thing remains certain – in the annals of CFPL TV Chronicles, The Baron's fiery encounter with a nun will forever be etched in the annals of absurdity.

Never wanting the truth get in the way of a good story, the legend of The Baron and the Fiery Nun, prevailed all these years. But I think The Baron's own rendition in an email before his death will set the record straight:

Email Thu, Feb. 8 at 10:10pm

In those days every one smoked in the studio. The Nun was backing up an would have fallen over some camera cables and me. I was operating camera had the cigar in my hand It burnt a hole in her gown, I did not set her alight. She only discovered this a week later.= so the story got out of hand!!!

Cheers Eric.

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Title: CFPL TV Chronicles: The Bosco Blunder

 

CFPL TV Chronicles: The Bosco Blunder

In the whimsical world of CFPL TV Chronicles, where every day brought a new adventure and a touch of mischief, Doug McGladdery, (before he moved to the news department and took up with his film camera), stood as a stalwart studio cameraman behind the lens. It was during his tenure on the children's playschool show "Sunshine School" that a moment of unexpected hilarity unfolded, leaving the entire crew in stitches.

As the video tape rolled and the pint-sized stars of "Sunshine School" danced across the screen, the show seamlessly transitioned into a commercial break, showcasing the latest offering from a sponsor that peddled a chocolate, malt, vanilla syrup known as Bosco. Little did anyone anticipate the comedic twist that was about to unfold.

After the commercial of the syrupy goodness of Bosco dancing across the screen, one precocious child seized upon the opportunity to share their unfiltered thoughts with the world. With a boldness that belied their tender years, the child exclaimed, "I hate Bosco!" in a moment of pure, unadulterated honesty.

The words hung in the air, a spontaneous eruption of candor that caught everyone off guard. Producer/director Peter Knott and his wife Bea, found themselves unable to contain their laughter, their embarrassment palpable as they struggled to maintain their composure in the face of such unexpected commentary.

As the child's declaration echoed through the studio, Doug McGladdery and the rest of the crew were swept up in a wave of laughter, their professional facades crumbling in the wake of the hilarity that ensued. It was a moment of pure comedic gold, a shining example of the unpredictable magic that often unfolded behind the scenes of "Sunshine School."

In the aftermath of the outburst, amidst the laughter that followed, Doug couldn't help but marvel at the sheer spontaneity of the moment. In a world where scripts and rehearsals often dictated the course of events, it was these unscripted moments of genuine humor that truly captured the spirit of live television.

As the day drew to a close and the laughter subsided, Doug reflected on the joyous chaos of life in the studio, where every day brought with it the promise of new adventures and unexpected surprises. And in the annals of CFPL TV Chronicles, the tale of the child who dared to speak their mind about Bosco would live on as a testament to the enduring spirit of laughter and camaraderie that defined the world of "Sunshine School."

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