One of the first news anchors I ever worked with was a chap
named Ashley Webster. Ashley was from England and conveyed many of the
tell-tale signs of an Englishman. He was peacefully proper. He displayed a
mature attitude towards duty. And he sounded like no one else in tiny Helena,
Montana, then market 210. It was an odd work of art, how a lad from London’s
East End shadowed the news backdrop among the eastern slopes of the Rockies and
the legends of Montana’s “Rocky Mountain Oysters” (google it).
Last time I saw him, Ashley was doing network reports for
Fox Financial. He was a great guy with great news instincts. But he couldn’t
walk the mist.
Early on, I tried to personally capture that thing that made
news anchors seem elevated. Not just talking audience numbers. I wanted what I
refer to as The Anchor Mist.
It didn’t take long for me to see how some TV news anchors,
very few, seem to effortlessly exude a charisma and confidence unique to our
profession as broadcast journalists. These rare news readers carry sway without
really trying, the kind of people who simply have that dignified way of
carrying themselves. They are unafraid and always willing to engage in an array
of debate scenarios, and they’re the best at them. They pursue subjects with
the verbal aggression that might make weaker stomachs queasy.
I first recognized this syndrome when I worked in Las Vegas,
with Gary Waddell. He was the main anchor at KLAS when I anchored mornings
there in the early 1990s. Even as we’d whizz by his billboards on group
motorcycle trips to Sunday breakfast, Gary (who rode a Harley Ultra) never took
himself too seriously. He was really smart. But he didn’t advertise it.
Later, here in Houston, I met perhaps the best example yet.
I spoke only briefly with anchor Sylvan Rodriguez on a few occasions and
finally understood why he commanded such Houston market respect. Sylvan seemed
to understand people really well, and that gave him The Mist. The fact is, pros
like Sylvan can seemingly impress people not only on air, but every day during
the afternoon meetings and newscast postmortem.
These are the people that everyone listens to. Coworkers
will often follow them for drinks every Friday after the 10 p.m. kicker. Others
ask them to record cell phone greetings.
The way these professionals approach people and subjects can
be subtle and remarkably effective, like a soothing, calming mist. Their grace
isn’t particularly obvious or easily identifiable. But The Mist feels good.
It’s not distracting. It can tingle your spine, but it won’t knock you over. A
good mist is always refreshing. And people are usually drawn to it. An anchor
with Anchor Mist is always controlled. Dignified. Elegant. Modern day examples
of Houston mist include Mia Gradney and Ilona Carson.
I worked with Mia when
she interned. Even and especially then, as an eager collegiate ripping scripts
and putting them in order, she displayed obvious symptoms of The Mist.
Professional and attentive to detail. She honed it at Channel 39 and uses it
well now at KHOU. Ilona Carson is simply the best news anchor in the entire
market, hands down. Lots of market observers are still scratching their heads
on why 13 ever let her go. She’s got big skills. Unbendable, like you want in a
truth teller. Warm enough to sell funnier, happier stories that look awkward
when introduced by harder-edged anchor personalities.
Granted, much has changed since I was walked to the exits 15
years ago. But solid and effective communication has not. More and more, less
experienced, less engaging, less credible people are appearing on TV and
computer screens mispronouncing words and playing the facts like a carnival
shell game.
Then again, what the hell do I know? I only anchored
weekends. I could feel it. But I later realized I could never, ever embody The
Mist.
