here’s a movie called, “Hero” in which Geena Davis plays a high profile television news reporter.  In one scene, a man is about to leap to his death from the edge of a skyscraper and Davis and her cameraman are trying to talk him down.  They just about have him convinced when he suddenly turns and jumps, plunging 50 stories to his death.  “Did you get that?” Davis yells to the cameraman. Then she hears herself. “I can’t believe I said that,” she breathes, and shakes her head in disbelief.   It’s a film moment I’ll never forget.  

Sitting in the middle of a dark movie theater I had a revelation. I didn’t want to do commercial news anymore.  I had been covering what we called “the three Fs” (fires, fatals and felonies) for local radio stations for several years at that point, and I understood Davis’ reporter all too well. I had been at the scenes of too many accidents, microphone in hand, notebook open, first on the scene and ready to bring everyday tragedy to peoples’ homes, cars and offices.  Sure, there was a little politics and human interest woven in, but two- or three-minute newscasts left little room for details, nuance or context.

What commercial news does is important. We need to know what is happening in our own backyard, and television news and what’s left of commercial radio news provide that information.  I am certainly not putting down the work they do.  In fact, in many ways, commercial radio was a wonderful training ground for a young journalist.  At local stations in Glens Falls, Saratoga Springs and Albany, I covered everything from the police blotter to government and politics, to the county fair.  I gained an insight into how a municipality works and learned to observe situations and ask questions.   I learned to hear the beauty in a perfect 6-second sound bite, and how to write shorter, tighter and more visual sentences.  And I tripped over words in my newscasts until I was comfortable enough on the air to find my own style.   Incidentally, this training ground no longer exists, at least not in the Albany market.  Few of our local radio stations have news departments anymore.  If a morning show breaks away from traffic, weather and entertainment for a newscast, it’s usually something that was rewritten from the morning paper.

Anyway, back to our movie.  I’d like to say I walked out of the theater that day and straight to the nearest pubic radio station.  But like all good movies, the plot is way more complicated.  I didn’t trust my instincts, so I bounced around commercial radio news departments for a few more years and one by one I watched them disappear.  My luck changed, of all places, at the racetrack.

While covering opening day at the Saratoga Race Course, I ran into Joe Donahue, a former colleague and Saint Rose graduate who was the head of news and national productions for WAMC.  A month later I was producing a show called 51%, a magazine style program that is syndicated to some 200 radio stations around the world.  Did I feel qualified? No.  I felt lucky.  But I’ve realized since then that I was open minded, eager to learn, and had some measure of talent, which was as close to qualified as WAMC could afford.  I had found a rare opportunity to live near my family here in upstate New York, while creating programming for a national audience.  I had also found a place where I could use my skills as a communicator to examine why and how things happen.  When he hired me, Joe said, “Take as much time as you need to tell a story well.  No more, no less.”   When you’ve spent years whittling complicated information down to “just the facts”, those are beautiful words.

51% is a program about women’s issues.  Since everything is a women’s issue, for me, the show is about everything.  We cover human rights, politics, arts and culture, and strive to make the show both compelling and informative.   As the producer, I am responsible for everything in the show, from start to finish.  I come up with the concepts, find reporters, buy stories, write stories, edit, select music, conduct interviews, write scripts, mix sound, and answer listener emails and phone calls.  The best part of my job is that no one tells me what to do.  I am the first, last and usually the only person to review every piece of material in the show.  The worst part of my job is that no one tells me what to do.  I am the first, last and usually the only person to review every piece of material in the show.  I mean it…it’s scary.  Wonderful and powerful, but scary.  

It is also uncommon.  If you listen to NPR programs, you know that most of them have a team of producers, writers, editors, production assistants and directors.  For better or for worse, at WAMC producers fly solo.  I’ve learned confidence.  I’ve learned responsibility.  I’ve learned to think on my feet and how to fill a 2-minute hole in the show on a moment’s notice.  Some weeks I get to do good shows filled with great material.  Those weeks can be very rewarding.  Other weeks you learn how to make something out of nothing.  But you never, never, NEVER miss a deadline.  Time management is a skill I have always struggled with, but not when it comes to my show.  Good or bad, it’s all about the deadline.  My show airs on Thursday nights at 8P.M.  Thursday night at 8:30 I may be lamenting over the things I could have done better, but by Friday I’m planning for next week.  That’s how it works. 

Having 30 minutes of airtime each week is a privilege and a responsibility.  One of my greatest joys has been to use my freedom at WAMC to give voice to other talented writers and producers, especially people whose voices might not otherwise be heard. I’ve learned to trust my instinct for finding good stories and interesting new voices and I’m always on the lookout for new talent, so if you’ve got something to share, give me a call.  I have worked with writers and commentators from all over the country.  My best shows are the ones where I’ve been able to create a tapestry of different shades, colors, voices and viewpoints. Those shows can sometimes provide more questions than answers, but in a good movie…and a complicated world, that’s how it goes.

People love to give advice to students.  Rather than give you any of my own, I’ll give you the one piece other people gave me that turned out to be true.  Trust your instincts, they’re better than you think.   Oh yeah…and spend some time at movie theaters and racetracks.

Mary Darcy ‘88