Path: bloom-picayune.mit.edu!snorkelwacker.mit.edu!americast.com!americast.com!americast-post Newsgroups: americast.latimes.misc From: americast-post@AmeriCast.Com Organization: American Cybercasting Approved: americast-post@AmeriCast.com Subject: On the Street Where He Lived Television: A KNBC exclusive! Paul Moyer returns home! News at 5! Date: Thu, 12 Nov 92 06:17:07 EST Message-ID: HEADLINE: On the Street Where He Lived Television: A KNBC exclusive! Paul Moyer returns home! News at 5! Publication Date: Wednesday November 11, 1992 BYLINE: HOWARD ROSENBERG Once again, those news zealots at KNBC-TV Channel 4 are humiliating the competition. Their latest spectacular scoop came this week. "Tonight," KNBC news anchor Paul Moyer announced near the end of Monday's 5 p.m. newscast, "a trip to the area where I grew up in the South Bay." A check of other stations that night revealed that, in an intolerable lapse of news judgment, not one had aired a story about Moyer's reminiscing about growing up. The embarrassment of it all: Another Channel 4 exclusive. It wasn't only Moyer who was going home again on Channel 4, however. In separate segments this week, the station was also featuring Linda Alvarez and reporter Vikki Vargas returning to their old Los Angeles neighborhoods, a bold display of reporting trumpeted in a full-page newspaper ad featuring snapshots of the trio at age 5. They were doing this, Moyer explained in a TV promo, "to see what's happened to the city we love." A little belatedly, one would think, given their tenure on the air. Moyer in particular has been around forever. You'd have thought that before this week he'd have made a call, asked a friend, written a letter, inquired by fax, done something , to discover what happened to the city he loved. On the other hand, he has been busy. Only recently, Channel 4 sent him to South-Central Los Angeles to find out what was happening there. One of the things happening there, as viewers could see from the long shots and close-ups on Channel 4, was Moyer standing on the sidewalk in his shirtsleeves while getting the skinny from the locals. The laser-like concentration. The empathy on his face. He was a bro, and they knew it. And now, demanding that Moyer earn his estimated $1.4-million-a-year salary, Channel 4 had ordered him back to his old neighborhood to do the same kind of in-depth investigating there. It was dangerous work. But being a journalist, a pro, he came through. "Torrance High School, my alma mater. . . ." Not only that, but the ever-probing Moyer showed viewers his yearbook picture where he was listed as Paul Moir. It was clear he was on to something big. He discovered he had changed his name. Relentless, he was now on campus, doing a stand-up with his former high school principal. And then: "Baseball was my passion. . . ." Really on a mission now, Moyer found a picture of himself in his high school uniform. He took to the mound and displayed his pitching motion, then asked his old coach if he could have made it to the big leagues. The silly palooka. He had made it to the big leagues--the big leagues of journalism. "Then there's the street where I grew up. . . ." Not only that, but across the street he found a neighbor still living in the house where he had been when Moyer was a boy. Moyer and his camera crew approached the front door. He knocked. The door opened on cue, and a couple stood there, surprise frozen on their faces as if none of this had been planned in advance. "Remember me?" Moyer asked. "What brings you over here?" asked the man. It was a good question, and if Moyer had been honest, he would have answered that the November ratings sweeps had brought him there, as Channel 4 sought to increase its news audience by promoting its news personalities with bogus efforts like this. But he didn't give that answer, affirming that, like many of his colleagues, he has elevated obfuscation to a gleaming art. They don't pay him the big bucks for nothing. Meanwhile, did I ever tell you about the time when I was 3 years old and got my head caught in my "toidie" seat and Mommy had to have it sawed off? It happened in the city I love. Therapy on Hold: It swelled to a deafening crescendo during the presidential campaign, with George Bush, Bill Clinton and Ross Perot going on television to gain access to the electorate via the telephone. Clutching the coattails of this trend, CBS News took viewers' calls during a portion of its election night coverage. CNN's "Crossfire" did the same during its final pre-election program. Moreover, John McLaughlin--who usually straddles the cutting edge of conventionalism--turned revolutionary after the election by announcing plans to open phone lines in his series on cable's CNBC channel. And now this call-in craze--given a boost on the box by CNN's "Larry King Live" after long being a staple of radio--is continuing to spill over onto daytime TV. "Hi, Ann. How old are you, Ann?" "I'm 42." "Tell me the story." It was Monday morning. And for the next 90 minutes, caller after caller told his or her story to Dr. David Viscott, the longtime KABC-AM (790) radio shrink who has extended his practice to 9 a.m. weekdays on KNBC-TV Channel 4. Viscott recently finished a wee-hours Saturday stint on Channel 4; now NBC is testing the show on weekdays in Los Angeles in hopes that it will do well enough to be put on the network schedule. NBC already has tried a morning call-in show with Dr. Dean Edell, which was seen only briefly on Channel 4 and now is scheduled to leave the network in January. But while Edell has a studio audience, "Talk With David Viscott" is literally radio on television: An earphoned psychiatrist is behind a desk listening to unseen callers pour out their problems. The flaw in the format is that there is nothing else to shoot but him. Oh, viewers may try to envision the callers' looks, but it's Viscott's face they see, often in a tight shot as he jots notes or reacts or carries on a dialogue or dispenses doctorly advice. He's raising an eyebrow. He's pursing his lips. He's smiling thinly. He's wincing. He's pensive. He's compassionate. He's moved. He's impatient. He's bemused. He's earnest. He's. . . . Cut that out! It seems that nothing succeeds on TV like titillation. Thus the bulk of Monday's calls tended to be exotic. While Viscott was dealing with Maria, who "had a bad medical experience," John, who "was recently sexually molested but my parents don't believe me," was "holding." And while John was giving an earful to Viscott, Devon, whose "lesbian lover is threatening to reveal me to my husband," was "holding." And while Devon was outlining her distress, Susan, who thinks "my husband is a swinger," was "holding." Undoubtedly, the purpose of these caller "holding" announcements--they're periodically flashed on the screen--is to hold viewers. While Viscott listened to the tortured story of Michelle and Steve, viewers were informed that, waiting on another line, was: "James 39. I masturbate 10 times a day. Is that OK?" With Michelle and Steve dispensed with, however, it was not James but a commercial break that came next. As ads for Viscott's own natural therapy center, grape juice, an anti-cold remedy and a drug chain crept across the next two minutes, you wondered not only if James was still "holding," but also what he was holding. The suspense over James grew when, coming out of the commercial break, he got passed over for Eric, whose "mother has AIDS." And after Eric, even though viewers were reminded that James was still standing by, Viscott instead began a dialogue with Diane, whose "husband has a hair fetish." She had discovered large wads of female hair in his office and protested to Viscott: "Why doesn't he play with my hair?" Finally--nearly 23 minutes after first informing viewers that he was waiting--the show got around to James. In one of his longer sessions, Viscott heard James' emotional story, then told him he was self-absorbed and urged him to get professional help. "This isn't about masturbation. This is a severe obsession." Then it was time to move on. "Everybody has a little horror in their lives . . . ," Viscott said to the camera, preceding a commercial for a discount department store. This article is copyright 1992 The Los Angeles Times Home Edition. Redistribution to other sites is not permitted except by arrangement with American Cybercasting Corporation. For more information, send-email to usa@AmeriCast.COM