Zindler Interrupted (Part One)

 

"I sell you the things you need to be, I'm the smiling face on your TV, I'm the Cult of Personality."

Living Colour, "Cult of Personality," Vivid, 1988

I’m guessing Texas legend Marvin Zindler was a fan of doo wop. In 1961, a singer named Dion DiMucci recorded and released a song called The Wanderer. 

I don’t know what Marvin was up to in 1961. In fact, I don’t know how he became The Wanderer, when he did or if he even knew that he had. The song went on to become a hit. So did Marvin Zindler. 

Zindler. Wikimedia Commons.

For the younger generation of Texas journalists, you may have heard his name. Movie characters have used him. He was behind a scandal at a famous Texas bordello. But until you’ve actually seen him with the whole get up and all the attitude juice behind those blue shades, your vision is short on context.

I won’t belabor Marvin’s TV screen presence, his fearlessness or his intimidation. Suffice to say that I purposely asked the KTRK news director to have someone copy an air check during my job interview solely so I could go home and show everyone this crazy dude with the John Adams wig.

And of course, Marvin produced his widely worshipped Friday “Rat and Roach Report.” It was a brilliant model; poach a few restaurant inspection reports and shame these places publicly for leaving lettuce out and not storing the pork chops under proper temperatures.

And there was, “Slime In The Ice Machine.” It was a brilliant business plan. Produce a snazzy graphic. Write a catchy tune. And lump it together with Marvin’s delivery like clods of outrageous Play-Doh. When I finally began my Channel 13 tenure, Marvin was a daily occurrence. You see, he loved to wander.

It would usually begin around 3:30 p.m., right around the time work starts bubbling with deadlines, script approvals, timely voice tracks and if you’re lucky, time in the makeup chair. It’s not a time for distraction. Marvin did not care about this. He would approach my desk to discuss daily matters of interest, his opinions and his need for other people’s thoughts.

The fact that I was shoulder deep in responsibilities didn’t matter because Marvin had already handed his work off to his producer and editors for completion. Ultimately, he would wander from desk to desk before his anchor desk appearance, provoking chat and fishing for conversation. 

One day, I had some extra time and decided to send a video greeting to my friends back in California. I enlisted the help of videographer Mario Segura, and simply presented a walking tour of KTRK. I just strolled and narrated the sights and sounds, which included the commissary where two old, giggly ladies worked. Miss Noveline and Miss Betty were high energy women with sharp wits and loud laughs. I assumed they were from Louisiana. And they knew what was happening in our workplace more than upper management. 

When I sauntered into their cafe with a camera in tow that day, both Noveline and Betty stopped in their tracks. They gasped. Their eyes got big, like ping pong balls. I thought I’d done something horrible. Or had blood on my face. They both appeared absolutely terrified. And Marvin Zindler was to blame. 

...to be continued.