IGNITED

There it was on the front page of the USA Today Lifestyle section, the headline more tabloid than news: “Sports Anchor Phil Strong Marries America’s Sweetheart, Kirstie Pippin!” A picture of the lovely couple splashed across the paper and included an inset shot of their infant daughter in a stroller festooned with flowers. With this all over the papers today, Macy was glad to be in the air traveling instead of in a hotel hate-reading all of it. And she wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or enraged that she didn’t even rate a footnote in the coverage.

Thanks to the network’s efficient corporate damage control, Macy had been out of the way of the happy couple’s fairy tale for months now. They had obliterated her career as the network’s lead investigative journalist to make way for the better storyline and bigger stars.

For the most part, her broken heart had mended and then set like a bone; it was tougher and knit together. She liked it that way. Her heart matched her head and her head matched her new career path.

Macy checked the directions on her phone. WLUV was a third-place television news station. The new owner and GM wanted some changes, and so he hired an outside firm to come in and fix the place. There were only a few big news-consulting firms in the country, and after being bounced hard out of her network reporting career, Macy needed a job. Luckily, she had some friends at the firm and that’s how her second, decidedly less glamorous career was born.

It was now her job to read the research on a floundering station, offer her advice, and implement plans for fixing things. She traveled the country nurturing progress at her roster of stations. She used to travel the country chasing the big stories…but that was before the “Phil Situation.”

She’d been doing so well, not letting it get to her. But the wedding was this weekend and so she was mentally picking at the scab that had formed over her old life. Macy struggled to put it out of her mind and concentrate on her assignment.

WLUV, her newest client, was a mess.

She’d perused their website on the flight from New York. It was an old station, expanded from radio, like most of the country’s first local television stations. Based in Grand City, it served the upper portion of Western Michigan. Television markets were ranked in terms of size; the number one market in the country was New York, of course. Out of 210 television markets, total, WLUV ranked 117^th. In other words, it was small.

And it was a cash-hemorrhaging joke. Its deep-pocketed owner, Rush Thompson, kept it afloat likely out of nostalgia—or more likely a tax write-off. His focus was on the growth of the Thompson-Hardaway portfolio, and so the station managers at WLUV did the bare minimum to keep its network affiliation and FCC license. It was the first business he’d owned and he couldn’t bear to just put it out its misery. Instead, he placed his son Wes in charge to see what could be done with it. After decades of neglect, Wes Thompson was at least making an attempt to fix things at the station.

Still, Macy suspected it was a case of a silver spoon type of guy playing with one of his toys. She’d never met him, but she figured that Wes Thompson was bringing her in so he could flip the station as if it were a dilapidated house. He’d slap on a new coat of paint, mow the yard, and then try to convince someone to buy it. Turn a little profit and get out. She didn’t have a lot of hope that this was a place for real news or talent development.

Her bosses at American News Consulting and Research gave her a secondary mission with the stations she consulted: she was to scout out good talent. ANCR could then place the talent with jobs at the other stations in its client list. That’s actually how the consulting firm had found her, fifteen years ago, doing local news in a little town just like Grand City.

She had loved her days as a television news reporter, ferreting out a story, meeting deadlines, and going live to share it with the viewers. Maybe one or two of the faces she saw on the station's website biography page had that same passion.

If WLUV was too far gone, she would salvage the situation and find a few of the meat puppets – lovely name for on-air talent – to pillage. But before that happened she was committed to doing her best. Though she was no longer a hard-driving network reporter, she had found surprising satisfaction in her ability to mentor journalists and add zip to a station. She was going to try like hell at WLUV just as she did at her other stations, and it was going to be a challenge—her biggest yet as a consultant.

Macy had low expectations when she pulled into the station’s parking lot just outside of downtown Grand City, Michigan on that January day. She was a perfectionist, though and fixing newsrooms was what she did best these days. She certainly would not make any friends at WLUV, but maybe she could make a dent in their ratings.

* * *

Three months earlier …

“You’re sending me where?” Wes’s father, Rush Thompson, was a self-made billionaire, and at 80 years old, he was sharp as ever. But this suggestion, order, assignment, banishment – whatever it was – proved the old man was losing it, Wes thought; dementia had set in overnight.

“You’re going to go get your hands dirty at my first business, WLUV-TV.”

“Where again? Wisconsin?” Wes unbuttoned his suit jacket as he walked towards the window and glared at one of the many tall bookcases in the room, “From the time I was eighteen, I’ve done everything your company needed. As far as getting my hands dirty, I hardly think I’m wet behind the ears.”

It was true. He helped take his father’s holdings in Michigan nationwide, then worldwide. They had turned a few media properties into a billion-dollar hedge fund. Since finishing his finance degree, he had worked every day to build on what his father started. Hell, he’d burned through a marriage doing it. Now, at 45 – just when he was ready to take his dad’s place at the top – he was being sent to the minor leagues.

“Not Wisconsin, Michigan! Grand City. I grew up just outside of there... it’s beautiful. It’s no backwater though; I hear Grand City has all the things your refined tastes are used to.” Rush and Wes sat in the study. Books were piled everywhere, and a fire roared, like always, in the fireplace. Rush Thompson lived more like a college professor than a corporate raider. He was a student first, a conqueror next, an investor last.

In addition, WLUV was the place that started it all for him. Thompson Broadcasting turned into Thompson Media, which turned into Thompson-Hardaway, Inc. A conglomerate with a portfolio from ice cream shops to microchips.

“I’ve got three sons. And you’ve all learned this business from the top down.” Rush’s deep voice had gotten gravely in his old age, perhaps a result of his daily cigar.

“I think you owe us a bit of credit for doing everything we could – everything you asked – to turn it into what it is.”

“I do, but I have a decision to make. I have to decide what to do with Thompson-Hardaway after I’m gone. All three of you would make fine CEO’s, but don’t forget we’ve got the Hardaway heirs out there,” Rush said. They owned a lesser percentage, but what his father said was true. The Hardaway siblings had some claim to the top job.

“I’m assigning you and your brothers each a few tasks. I want to see how you do. No interference from me. At the end of the year I’ll decide what I want to do.”

“Is this some sort of test? I won’t compete with Sloan and Max.” Wes loved his brothers. They were competitive with each other but not cutthroat. Their father had brought them up as a team.

“No, it’s not a competition. In fact, all of the businesses need help. We need to take a good look and decide whether to save, sell, or shut down these losers. To be honest, I’m entrusting my favorite business to you. WLUV has a place in my heart.” Wes’s dad lost focus on the conversation and seemed to be rolling something around in his memory.

Wes interrupted his father’s revelry, “You first saw mom there. I get it.”

“Yes, among other things...” he started to drift away again, but snapped himself back into the study, and looked carefully at his son, “Listen. You’ve been pretty ruthless since…well, since your marriage collapsed. I’m worried about you. You don’t enjoy very much.”

The tabloids had nicknamed Wes’s father “The Happy Billionaire.” He had a twinkle in his eye that couldn’t be extinguished.

“Dad, no one is as lucky as you, to find someone like mom. And yes, I’m ruthless. But how else do you think we have the majority stake over the Hardaways?”

“No accident, son, you’re right. I’m proud of that brain you have—your strategy, your loyalty, your knack for numbers.” He stood up and walked to the sideboard, reaching for a scotch glass, “You need a change, though, and you don’t even know it. A change of social circle, a challenge, a change of scenery, plus it will help me make some decisions.” He poured while he spoke, and after taking a sip, he stared out the window a few moments before adding, “I think I know who you and your brothers are. But I also believe I robbed you.”

“What?” Wes rubbed his forehead. His dad was giving him a headache.

“You watch. You’re going to love working with people, lifting up the hood and seeing what makes a small business run. You’re going to want to fix it if you can. We’ve all been looking at spreadsheets for too long.” He took a generous sip from his glass, “That’s what I robbed you of, the guts of it, the way a company works… or doesn’t. You’ve been on the phone or on a plane too long. Why don’t you stay on the ground and roll up your sleeves for a while? Even if you come back after a year and can’t salvage it, you’ll be a better man for knowing what it takes.”

Wes didn’t have an answer. The old man’s mind was made up.

“You leave tomorrow.”

“I get the sense you’re telling me to get lost, dad.”

“No. It’s the opposite. You know I love you. But you and your brothers need to find something, and you all need different things right now…I’m interested to see just what it is, for each one of you.

The man was nothing if not decisive. Wes hugged his dad and walked out. Apparently, he was headed to Bum Fuck, Michigan, also known as WLUV-TV in Grand City.

* * *

Present day…

Wes was three months into his exile at WLUV and so far, nothing about the place looked promising. He’d spent plenty of time unraveling the books, but he had no idea how to fix the mess that was on the air each night.

November ratings were in the toilet as usual, even after Wes put some money into billboards. WLUV was still a dismal third place, where it had been for fifteen years. The poor performance meant they had to sell advertising at rock-bottom prices. A recipe for profitability wasn’t even on the horizon.

Wes looked over the ratings book again. He knew how to balance the budget and cut some fat, but how was he supposed to bring the station out of the 1980s? His few months at WLUV had pretty much convinced him he’d be selling it when his time was up. Most of his workday was spent lining up prospects for that eventuality.

Rush would be quizzing him on what steps he’d taken to try to save the station, so he’d have to go through the motions and at least attempt to rehabilitate the place. That meant hiring the best news consulting firm in the country, American News Consulting and Research. They were effective, even if expensive, but if his father questioned what he’d done to fix WLUV, the consulting firm would be his answer.

He called out to Mrs. King, his 200-year-old secretary who’d been at the station since the beginning, “Mrs. King, make sure that Bernie greets the consultant and brings him up here.”

He heard wrinkled fingers on a hunt-and-peck expedition on the computer.

“Mrs. King?” He wasn’t sure she could hear anything.

“Yes sir, I’ll tell Bernie to bring the consultant person here to you,” she yelled back to his office.

Wes put his head in his hands. For some reason he didn’t have the heart to force Mrs. King into retirement. She was eligible for sure, 50 years of service. She was in her seventies, and had no ability to use any modern office software. Even the facsimile machine was too complicated for her. But she did a good job answering regular phones and taking messages for him, he’d give her that.

And to be fair, what she lacked in technological know-how she made up in bakery skills. She brought baked goods to the office for holidays that only she knew existed, and had a “Happy Birthday” sign in the lobby for whichever of the station’s 100 or so employees was celebrating that day. She also knew to whisper the names of the employees into his ear—even if she did it too loudly, since she could hardly hear. Other than that, he had no idea what Mrs. King actually did in her 50 years at WLUV. He made a mental note to ask his dad the next time they talked.

Bernie Manfred was another old-timer, a newsman who’d had every job in the station at every other station in Grand City. Wes wondered what the consultant would think of this mixed bag of employees. Working at WLUV was either the start of a person’s news career or the end of it. Either way, the ax was going to fall for some of them.

This firm, American News Consulting and Research, was known to suggest drastic measures and, from what he could see, WLUV needed it. He did not have a soft spot for lost causes. If the experts thought it was time to fire, cut, or close up, Wes had no problem with it. Still, he resolved to make sure the old-timers had a soft landing with good retirement packages. He put in a call to Thompson-Hardaway’s main offices to get the wheels in motion for anyone with 15 years or more at WLUV.