Tuesday, July 30, 2024

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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Wednesday, July 24, 2024

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.

Wednesday, July 17, 2024

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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Tuesday, July 9, 2024

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.

Monday, July 1, 2024

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.