Title: "CFPL TV Chronicles: Frank Proctor's Teleprompter Troubles"

 

CFPL TV Chronicles: Frank Proctor's Teleprompter Troubles

Frank sent me an anecdote about an outdoor shooting at CFPL TV and I fed it into the robot. Hope you enjoy. Tim C.

In the whimsical world of CFPL TV Chronicles, where every mishap is met with a hearty dose of humor, Frank Proctor's teleprompter troubles stand out as a testament to the unpredictable nature of live television. Join me as we journey back to a simpler time, when department store commercials and impromptu outbursts collided in a whirlwind of hilarity and hijinks.

It all began on a fateful day at CFPL TV, where the air buzzed with the excitement of yet another commercial shoot. The scene was set just outside the garage doors on Television Hill, as Frank Proctor, the lovable Mr. Hoolihan himself, prepared to lend his charm to a promotional spot for the now-defunct department store, Sayvette on Wellington Road.

The commercial, it seemed, was advertising a special sale on tents, a fitting backdrop for an outdoor shoot that promised to capture the essence of adventure and excitement. But as the cameras rolled and the teleprompter flickered to life, Frank found himself facing an unexpected challenge – he was too far away from the prompter to read the script.

"Hey guys," Frank exclaimed, his trademark wit shining through, "I can't read the damned thing from here!" With a chuckle and a reset, the crew sprang into action, determined to salvage the spot and capture Frank's charm in all its glory.

But alas, fate had other plans. As the shoot wrapped up and the crew packed up their gear, a sense of unease lingered in the air. Unbeknownst to Frank, his impromptu outburst had been captured on tape – a humorous blooper reel moment that would soon take on a life of its own.

The following day, as Frank arrived for his regular recording session, he was greeted by the receptionist, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she struggled to contain her laughter.

"Did you watch the 11 o'clock news last night?" she asked, barely able to contain her amusement. Confused, Frank shook his head, unaware of the spectacle that had unfolded on the airwaves.

With a grin, the receptionist revealed the truth – Frank's now-infamous outburst had made its way onto the newscast, a testament to the unpredictable nature of live television and the indomitable spirit of Mr. Hoolihan himself. 

But far from facing reprimand or censure, Frank emerged from the ordeal unscathed, his irrepressible humor and good-natured charm shining through even in the face of unexpected mishaps. And so, dear readers, let us raise a glass to Frank Proctor and his teleprompter troubles, a lighthearted reminder that in the world of CFPL TV Chronicles, laughter is the best medicine of all.

Here's Frank's original email: 

Thanks so much for the inclusion of my fish tale!

Thought you might like this story. It centres around a commercial for the now defunct department store on Wellington Road. We shot the commercial just outside the garage doors on television Hill. If my memory serves me well the commercial was advertising a special sale on tents; hence the reason for shooting outdoor. The taping started out okay but then I was too far away from the teleprompter and said to the guys (quite possibly Cookie Culligan) “Hey guys, I can’t read the damned thing from here “ so we reset and got the spot on the next shot. However, the story shifts now to the following day when I arrived shortly after 10am for my regular recoding session and was greeted by the receptionist who was trying not to laugh in my face when she asked “Did you watch the 11 o’clock news last night?” I said “No, what’s up?” She then told me that my first take, yes the “I can’t read the damned thing from here” made it to the newscast and not the finished commercial. And to my recollection there was no punishment for my errant ways except to say I learned a valuable lesson; never swear when a microphone is present.

Thanks for these delightful memories.

Frank Proctor (Mr. Hoolihan)

.

.

.