Warrior Pose (13 page)

It's a beautiful, crisp East Coast morning as I walk the few blocks from the Omni to NBC News. Down West 52nd Street. Right on Avenue of the Americas. The city is bustling. Traffic is bumper-to-bumper. Endless honking. Crosswalks are thronged. Magnificent skyscrapers tower over it all like massive redwood trees of stone and steel. I can feel the energy of the city in every cell of my body as my heart pulses to its staccato rhythm. Left now on 49th. There it is—30 Rock. A seventy-story Art Deco masterpiece. It's the
centerpiece of Rockefeller Plaza, and one of the tallest buildings in Manhattan.

I see the renowned outdoor Rockefeller Center Ice Skating Rink. Lording over it is a gilded statue of Prometheus, the Titan in Greek mythology who defied the will of Zeus and brought fire to Earth, becoming the champion of humankind. He holds the fire in his right hand as he soars across the sky. A golden circle around him contains the signs of the zodiac and symbolizes the heavens. The golden mountain beneath him represents the Earth.

To me, Prometheus is holding the light of wisdom, bringing the power of knowledge to our world. He is the archetype of a network news foreign correspondent, the ambassador of NBC News beckoning me to enter. Me, the overly ambitious kid, now almost forty years old, who still types with two fingers. As I stare at the statue, I feel dumbstruck, then remember not to be late and hurry to the entrance.

The 30 Rock security center looks like a bigger version of the reception desk at my hotel. A tall gentleman in black coat and tie with perfect posture gives me a formal glance. “How may I help you this morning?”

“Brad Willis. I'm here for a meeting with Don Browne of NBC News.”

“One moment, please.” He scans his computer, hits a keystroke, walks over to a nearby printer, folds something together in a small plastic case, and brings it back to me.

“This is your identity badge. Please wear it at all times. The elevators are around that corner to your right. You'll find Mr. Browne on the third floor.”

When I realize I'm fifteen minutes early, I start to wander through this extraordinary building. There's a breathtaking mural wrapping around the west wall of the Grand Lobby. It's entitled
American Progress,
by Spanish artist Josep Maria Sert. It depicts an elaborate scene of workers constructing modern America and contains the figures of Mahatma Gandhi, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Abraham Lincoln, all childhood heroes of mine. I almost feel like they know I'm here as I glance at them and whisper, “I made it!”

The elevator banks are works of art, with shiny bronze frames and panels of polished mahogany. Hundreds of people line up here every afternoon, hoping to get a seat at the taping of
Saturday Night Live
. The red-velvet theater ropes hanging from stanchions are already being set up to contain the crowds. Another security guard checks my badge and I'm allowed to step toward an elevator just as it opens. I slip in and punch the button for the third floor. I decide to hold my breath the whole way just for fun. When the elevator stops on the second floor and someone else gets in, I almost turn blue, but keep holding my breath anyway.

The NBC newsroom is expansive, with long rows of desks forming open corridors that serve as pathways for producers and editors rushing back and forth. There are windowed offices on either side of the room for the executives of the various news shows. The set for
Nightly News
, which Tom Brokaw has anchored for eight years, is in the middle, surrounded by floor cameras. I see Brokaw's chair sitting there like a throne. The seat of a living legend. Chills run up my spine.

A woman in a perfect business suit walks up. “You are here for the appointment with Mr. Browne?” The security desk must have called ahead.

“Yes, thank you.” I'm still gazing around in awe and I wonder if my jaw is dropping toward my chin. I straighten into my very best posture. At least I'm wearing a conservative suit and tie instead of boots and jeans like my first TV job interview.

“This way, please.”

As we walk down a long hall to another wing of the building, I fumble with my back brace to ensure nothing is showing. We pass Don Browne's office, then Brokaw's, then a large suite for the president of network news, Michael Gartner.
This must be the power corridor
. I smile, wondering if I should pause and genuflect at each door. We stop at a reception desk, where I check in with a secretary and have a seat. Less than a minute later, the secretary stands up and says abruptly, “Come with me. The morning editorial meeting is underway and Mr. Browne wants you to sit in. Please be quiet when we go inside.”

As I enter the conference room, there's a group of men and women gathered around a large oval table. Coffee cups are clinking, some are having doughnuts, others are sharing pithy jokes and loud guffaws. It's anything but quiet, but I do my best to be a wallflower and observe the ritual. Don Browne stands up at one end of the table to welcome me and makes brief introductions: the heads of the foreign and domestic desks, the
Nightly News
producer, the New York Bureau Chief, show producers, script editors, and assistants. I walk around the table slowly and firmly shake hands, my heart pounding so loudly I think everyone might be able to hear it.

As I take a seat in a lone chair against one wall, large black conference boxes on the table start barking. “Hong Kong Bureau here with you. London here, too. Miami is on. Atlanta. Los Angeles…”

“Okay,” Browne takes charge. “What have you got?”

Each bureau pitches its stories, everyone jockeying for a slot on
Nightly News
.

“Hold that one for the weekend,” a producer says, rejecting the first pitch.

“Not enough for
Nightly
, pitch that to the
Today Show
,” another producer redirects the second offering.

“Yes, we want that spot tonight. Make it a minute-fifteen.” Someone else likes what London has.

“We need some more on that one before we consider it.” This story is completely shot down, and I can almost feel the pain of the person pitching it from halfway around the world.

The entire meeting is an elaborate dance. They are all brilliant. Confident. To the point. The foreign desk spars with the national desk for primacy. National spars back. They know the drill by heart. Everyone making their case. Promoting, analyzing, probing, playing devil's advocate.

Suddenly, toward the end, Tom Brokaw walks into the room and sits down. Everyone becomes silent.

“Here's what we have, Tom.” Don Browne gives him the rundown.

Brokaw ponders, then softly adds or subtracts this or that in his deep, melodious voice. It's over. The story lineup is settled. Prometheus has spoken.

“Do you prefer covering domestic or foreign news?” Browne asks as we settle into his office after the editorial meeting.

“Foreign news.”

“You know, even though we're a global news organization, domestic news usually takes priority. Foreign correspondents have a harder time getting on the air unless they have a major story.”

This fact was clear in the morning round table. The foreign offerings lacking an urgent punch were pushed to other shows or shelved. The domestic news prevailed, even stories with no urgency at all. Getting on the air is the name of the game. The more name recognition a correspondent has, the more airtime he or she gets. More airtime translates into job security and a better salary down the road.

“Either one is great for me,” I respond. “But if you offered me the choice, I'd go overseas.”

“I thought so,” Browne replies with a wry smile. “I've been watching your work for a while, especially from the drug summit. You hustle. Work hard. I like that.”

He explains how different the network is from local news, reminding me I won't get the three to four minutes for my reports that I've become accustomed to. A minute-fifteen is tops. “And you're talking to several million people, a national audience. You need to synthesize, focus, write so someone living anywhere in the country understands and relates to what you're saying.”

After an hour, Browne tells me he has other meetings. “We'll have lunch at noon. Go wander around and get familiar with the place. Introduce yourself to people. Ask questions.”

It's my nature to be gregarious, but I'm in awe being here, so I choose to sit in the newsroom and observe. A few famous faces wander in. Science Correspondent Robert Bazell. Andrea Mitchell, one of the greatest political reporters alive. Garrick Utley, anchor of the
Sunday Nightly News
. Maria Shriver from
Dateline
. They are sophisticated, graduates of top universities, global citizens, reminders that I come from a little college in the Redwoods and will need to work harder than ever to keep pace with this crowd.

At noon, Browne takes me to lunch at the famous Rainbow Room restaurant on the 65th floor of 30 Rock. The Art Deco dining room is ornate, formal, and dazzling with its panoramic views of Manhattan. I feel like I'm on top of the world as we're joined by the senior producers for domestic and foreign news I met at the morning meeting. As we dine on a sumptuous lunch, it's all light talk. I'm being looked over. Felt out. I have no doubt that the powerful majesty of this news organization is silently posing the question, “Do you belong here?” I'm surprised at how relaxed and at home I feel, but I'm still careful not to spill soup on my gold-and-black striped tie.

After lunch, I meet with selected producers and editors in the newsroom. Each explains how the NBC system works, what they need in a story and want in a correspondent. They're insightful and supportive, but I realize I'm still being measured. In the late afternoon, I have a final moment with Don Browne before heading to the airport for the shuttle back to Boston.

“What do you think about Miami?” That's the bureau Browne used to run and where he made his name. It's a hybrid: a foreign bureau headquartered in the States but covering all of Latin and South America.

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“Only well enough to order a meal, be polite at a hotel, tell the taxi to step on it…
Maneje más rápido.
”

“I appreciate your honesty. It's no worry. We have plenty of interpreters. But I'd bone up if I were you.”

Browne stands up and shakes my hand, gives me his famous electrifying stare and says, “Have your agent call me tomorrow.”

It's unspoken, but I know it's a done deal. My agent helped me get to Dallas and Boston. Now he'll be negotiating the job of my life. It's a good thing, because I'd work for free if they asked me to.

CHAPTER 8

Miami Bureau

B
REAKING UP WITH SOMEONE has always been painful for me, but it seems to be a pattern in my life. Mary Beth and I have been living together for more than a year. She has generations of family in Boston and wants to stay. There's no doubt that I'm leaving. We've been growing apart anyway, especially with my career always coming first, not to mention that I'm testier these days as a result of the nagging ache in my back. In no time at all we are saying our final good-byes and I'm gone.

After a few weeks at NBC headquarters at 30 Rock learning the ropes, I'm off to Florida. It's early 1990, and Miami is a cultural confluence, in rapid transition from a languid resort town for snowbirds to a bustling city of international trade and intrigue. There are neighborhoods of conservative Cubans who escaped the Castro regime. Impoverished Haitians who fled the tortures of Papa and Baby Doc Duvalier. Business moguls from Rio, Bogota, Santiago, and Buenos Aires. Hip entrepreneurs opening dazzling clubs in trendy South Beach. Drug lords from Colombia living incognito in lavish mansions on inland waterways.

With my housing allowance, I can afford to lease a condo on the top floor of a high-rise with sweeping views of the Miami skyline, the bridge to Key Biscayne, and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Brilliant sunrises dance across the marble floors and tinge the walls with golden hues. Sunsets reflect off the downtown skyline and light the horizon in splashes of pink and red. It's my very own Rainbow Room, a perch
on top of my new world. I'm flushed with excitement… and a little caution. As soon as I can, I find a top-notch massage therapist and arrange for him to come at a moment's notice to work on my back.