Off the top, our apologies for a thin past week of posting here. We’ve been dealing with a bunch of stuff, including working on an upcoming makeover for The Topline. No excuses, mind you—just an explanation as to why our hopefully pithy commentary on the television business hasn’t been landing in your inbox as much as we certainly hope you have come to expect. With that, we present this bonus weekend edition, which we hope you enjoy.

In the long parade of actual characters we have known in the television business across the past five decades, one name stands out prominently for many reasons, but perhaps for one reason above all.

Way back in the “go-go” years of local television news, say from the 1970s to the 1990s, there were three people who you had to know if you wanted to grow a career in front of the camera. They were Sandra Connell of Talent Dynamics, Barbara Frye of Frank N. Magid and Associates, and Don Fitzpatrick of the firm that bore his name, Don Fitzpatrick Associates. We are honored to say that we knew and worked with all three at some point along the way.

In recent years, Sandra stepped away from the firm she founded (it is now in the capable hands of news veterans Gary Brown and Patrick McCreery, longtime friends of this blog), Barb left Magid, and to the sadness of everyone who knew him, Don passed away in April of 2006 from health-related issues. As all proper obituaries should end: He was 56 years old.

But Don’s legacy lives on in the many people whose careers he advanced along the way. Household names like Jim Nantz, John Tesh, Meredith Vieira, and Leeza Gibbons, to name but a few. Don, like Sandra and Barb, was the keeper of a talent library of nearly everyone who appeared on television — from the network level down to tiny markets like Alexandria, Louisiana.

Ironically, that small market is where Don passed away, much too soon.

When a network TV executive or local news director needed someone new to sit behind an anchor desk or be the next fresh face to round out a reporting staff, they would typically make the pilgrimage to either see Barb in her suburban Cedar Rapids office at Magid’s HQ, or to Sandra’s office in Dallas, or to Don’s place in San Francisco.

Why the trip? Well, kids, once upon a time, there were no computers or the internet. No streaming video or apps that let you watch almost anyone on television, let alone any channel from anywhere.

Back then, talent libraries were kept on videotape. Tapes were recorded in each local market and then indexed and stored in physical facilities. Those looking to screen many potential candidates would travel to the offices of these three people (and probably others whom we have regretfully overlooked). You’d spend a day or two going through countless video cassettes of whatever format was current at the time, be it 3/4-inch “U-Matic” or Beta or eventually the ubiquitous VHS. When a potential star was discovered, files would be checked to determine how much the individual was making, what their contract situation might be, and where they might like to go next in their career.

Because Sandra, Barb, and Don were somewhat encyclopedic in their knowledge of who wanted to go where, how they had done so, where they had been, and other key details that the decision-makers on hiring would want to know. They also performed this function for key talent who worked behind the cameras as well.

Given that this process could take a couple of days, depending on the scope of the search, there would be quite a bit of interaction and conversation about industry goings-on, and details about colleagues and competitors as computers arrived on desktops, connectivity followed with the dial-up modem, which made those horrible screeching noises over the telephone line to transmit data at less-than-blinding speeds of 300, 1200, 2400, and eventually 56,000 bits per second. Then electronic communication between users followed, first in the form of early online services such as The Source and CompuServe, and later in the form of the giant success America Online. Don Fitzpatrick would begin sending emails with tidbits he heard or questions about what was going on to a constantly growing group of colleagues and friends.

First known as “Rumorville,” the daily communications became the more substantial-sounding “ShopTalk.” That in turn eventually begat the newsletter-turned-website “TVSpy,” which exists today as part of the Adweek publication empire.

Back then, a visit to see Don in his San Francisco office on Townsend Street would usually include him screening a blooper clip or two to break up the monotony. This tradition typically included the eternally red-faced Irishman to ask each new visitor, “Have you seen the exploding whale story from Portland?"

If the response were no, Don would immediately say, “Hold on, you must see this!” He would leave the room and return with a videotape, which he would slap into a VCR and hit the play button to light up the TV monitor before you.

What followed was a news story from the Pacific coast town of Florence, Oregon. The subject of the report from Portland’s KATU, delivered by reporter Paul Linnman and photographer Doug Brazil, was a 45-foot-long dead whale that weighed some eight tons and had washed ashore. The carcass of the great beast (with apologies to George Costanza) was rotting and creating quite the stink. Something had to be done.

Documenting what followed on November 12th, 1970, is simply one of the best examples of storytelling ever captured on film. Yes, friends, film. Because that is what all local television news was captured on at the time.

In fact, humorist Dave Barry (who reminded us of the upcoming anniversary of this event on his fantastic Substack) goes so far as to label this as “the greatest single piece of film in the history of film."

We completely agree with his assessment. And Don Fitzpatrick would as well.

Because Don could never watch the three-minute story from KATU’s Linnman and Brazil without laughing so much that one might grow concerned about his ability to catch his breath. During the first screening that we were in the room for, Don had to wipe tears away because the story made him laugh so hard.

You can watch the story at this link to KATU’s YouTube channel. It has been viewed over 23 million times since it was posted 4 years ago. (We do hope the traffic has raised the station’s social media stats.) The backstory and additional details provided by Dave Barry are simply a must-read as well.

We’ll leave it up to you in which order you consume the two. Is it the greatest local television news story ever told? We’ll also leave that judgment up to you.

But Don Fitzpatrick sure thought so.

Next Wednesday will mark 50 years since “the exploding whale” created that infamous moment in Oregon history. And next April will mark 20 years since Don left us. We still miss getting the occasional call or email from him, which usually began with a cheery “How’s it going?”

The television news business was definitely a bit more fun back then. Exploding whale stories and all.

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