In Fall, 1958, News Director Bill Monroe hired me to be his Editorial Research Assistant. (This was to be just a three-month job, as I was temporarily replacing a previous hire that had unexpectedly been called to military duty. At the end of that time I was invited to join the Promotion Department, then headed by Marian Annenberg, who had been brought from "up East" by Bob Swezey.) That was a very exciting time to be with Bill Monroe, as WDSU-TV was the fourth TV station in the country to begin airing editorial opinions in addition to news. The Channel 6 editorial opinions were not universally beloved in the "conservative" New Orleans coverage area, but, much to owner Edgar Stern,Jr.'s credit, the station never wavered from its commitment to civil rights and progressive politics. One day, Bill sent me on an assignment that ended up in the hot, dusty attic of the old Federal Courthouse on the downtown side of Canal Street near the river. At that time, Federal law stated that the fact that someone in the state had filed a Federal income tax return was a matter of public record. These annual records were kept on 3x5" index cards with the individual tax payer's name typed across the top of the card. The absence of a card with an individual's name meant that that person had not filed a Federal income tax return in that year. Bill had received a tip, and I was able to confirm that one of the Louisiana Stare Supreme Court Justices was not in the habit of paying U.S. income tax. Bill went on the air with an editorial strongly suggesting that this behavior was unbecoming to a State Supreme Court Justice.

Part of my job as Bill Monroe's Editorial Research Assistant was to mimeograph Bill's script after the editorial was telecast and collate, fold, and stuff the copies into pre-addressed envelopes to be mailed to other news organizations, civic and political leaders, etc. An interesting thing happened to me one evening. (As I was neither "talent" nor engineering (International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers) overtime was not a factor. $80 a week was $80 a week, period.) On a table in the newsroom I had set up piles of the purple-ink mimeographed pages of the editorial I had "run off" and was collating the sets and stapling them for insertion into the envelopes. Suddenly, in mid-motion - my fist descending toward the stapler - from the other side of the table Alec Gifford picked up the stapler and, in mid-air, stapled together the pages of his recent newscast. He then, without glance or comment to me, replaced the stapler on the table…somewhere else other than where I had been using it. (Now, more than a half-century later, I am still somewhat mystified by this incident.)

On major election nights, people from other departments were drafted into duty as newsmen and reporters. On one such evening I (by then an "ex-newsman" and member of the Promotion Department) was sent with a cameraman to do a live feed from the headquarters (or victory party site?) of District Attorney candidate Jim Garrison. Garrison was an imposing figure, broad-shouldered and well over six-feet tall. When I got my cue I asked my question and, barely visible in the picture, thrust the mike up toward Garrison's mouth. My wife and friends were watching the election returns and someone asked her: "Why didn't Maury get up on the stage with Garrison?" She replied: "He IS on the stage with Garrison!" (I was about five-foot-seven.)

One of the interesting fringe benefits of employment at WDSU-TV during the golden "country club" years was the expense account. In the 8 or 9 years during which I was entrusted with that privilege I was never once questioned as to the necessity or benefit to the station of a submitted expenditure. Because I did not abuse the trust it was not a matter of much consequence to me. How others dealt with the temptation I do not know. Executives and department heads with the need to entertain had their own waiter at Antoine's. Mine was a prince of a Cajun fellow, Harold Lemoine. When I was to take visiting NBC-TV personnel, or traveling "stars", or local press people to lunch or dinner I called Harold to make the reservation. I would lead my guests past the line of tourists awaiting admission at the front door and to a small, inconspicuous, unmarked door a bit farther down the block. At the end of these meals, Harold would ask pleasantly if there would be anything else, Mr. Midlo, and if not, would, with a slight bow, disappear. To the amazement of some guests, no check was presented at the table. (It would be mailed to me at the office a day or two later, naturally including Harold's gratuity.) This classy old-world touch was a major part of the charm for which New Orleans and WDSU-TV was known. (It was an especially effective ploy when I made the reservation at the request of someone who was trying to sell the station something, but to whom I did not want us indebted.)

Brennan's Restaurant, across Royal Street and in the next block toward Canal Street, was a favorite hangout of advertising people. In the late 1950's and early 1960's Brennan's featured a limited-choice "businessman's special" lunch for $1.25.
Manhattans and martinis were 25-cents! Many of the WDSU secretaries, especially the single women, took advantage of the opportunity to have their "big meal" at noon. The ad agency crowd, knowing that the route to special treatment at the stations often went through secretaries, would send the ladies drinks. One could be a big hero for a couple of bucks! However, it was often suggested that if you needed anything complex or serious done by secretaries it should be scheduled for the mornings.
(Unfortunately, these semi-liquid lunches and the frequent after-work "cocktail hour" gatherings at any of several nearby watering holes, when coupled with the liberal expense accounts of time salesmen and others, led some eventually to alcohol problems.)

In the late 1960's or early 70's business growth resulted in the Continuity and Traffic departments becoming seriously cramped for space. It was decided that the Promotion department did not need to be as physically close to Sales, Production and Operations as Continuity and Traffic so Promotion was evicted from its convenient, high-prestige location on the second floor at the back of the famous Brulatour Courtyard. The Promotion Director reluctantly vacated his spacious two-window office overlooking the courtyard and led his personnel across Royal Street to some empty space in the parent Royal Street Corporation building above WDSU Radio. The remote location had some advantages: no unannounced visits from "traveling salesmen", tourists, employees from other departments on break or goofing-off, etc. Of course, dodging Royal Street traffic on frequent necessary trips back across the street was a new skill to be carefully mastered.

For a few months in the late '60's or early '70's the station - now more alert to ways to save money - leased the empty shell of a deep, narrow building across Toulouse Street from its "side door". Salesmen, department heads, talent and others who had been parking their cars at The Royal Orleans Hotel garage on Chartres Street lost that "fringe benefit" and were moved to the Toulouse space. On the plus side, we no longer had to wait for the parking lot attendants to go upstairs and fetch the car, or, if one was so inclined, to tip. (The Royal Orleans garagemen had a tradition: when a 'DSU employee rounded the turn from the station's back door and into the parking garage the first one to spot you would point at you and yell loudly: "Down wit it!") The disadvantages of the Toulouse parking space were: the brick & debris-littered surface, the tight quarters for angle parking, and the fact that some neighbors had learned that the space was not controlled and would sometimes sneak in for free parking, always at a premium in the French Quarter. In addition, some station personnel ("talent" - above the need for consideration of ordinary mortals) would - at least once - double park and block another from exiting. When the owner of the Toulouse space was ready to begin remodeling the parking deal ended. (I cannot remember if we then returned to the Royal Orleans or went to a surface lot across Charters.)

On the third floor of the Brulatour Mansion was a spacious tiled-floor reception area containing a large non-functioning pipe-organ keyboard and pedals. The receptionist's desk was near the courtyard side. To the right of the organ a door led to Louis Read's secretary and his office facing Royal Street. To the left was Bob Schultis' office. Above the two doors were translucent stained-glass portraits of two classical music composers. Some said they were Beethoven and Bach; others insisted on Handel and Haydn. No one knew for sure. The organ was probably installed by wealthy businessman and philanthropist William Radcliff Irby, who owned the home in the first quarter or third of the twentieth century. (A dormitory at Tulane University was named for him.) The third floor could be reached by a stairway or elevator from the building main entrance in the carriage-way just before the courtyard. The elevator was a slow, loudly-creaking, antique three-or-four-passenger device with a classic folding brass closure that traveled with it and doors with glass windows at each floor. Many preferred the stairway.

In the early 1950's Edgar Stern, Jr. and General Manager Bob Swezey launched the stations into local and national prominence with flair and class and impeccable good taste. Among the expensive gift items they bought for distribution to advertisers and civic leaders, etc. were real, authentic English Wedgwood bone china plates and saucers illustrated with a fabulous, detailed engraving depicting the far-left corner of the Brulatour Courtyard. The scene showed an open arched door at ground level, a window with open shutters above, and a wooden stairway rising through a high archway. I hope that the Wedgwood Studios engraver who created this image was well compensated because the artwork became the three stations' corporate symbol and was re-used and duplicated in many, many ways over the next three decades. Well into the 1960's the remaining supply of these treasured and infrequently-bestowed gifts were still stored in excelsior-packed wooden barrels in which they'd made the journey from England.
In addition to being on letterheads and other printed materials the scene was reproduced on thousands of doubloons minted to commemorate the Channel 6 twentieth anniversary in 1968.
Other high-prestige "advertising specialty" items created in the 1950's by the station's advertising agency, Fitzgerald Advertising, were original oil paintings, used in print ads in The New Yorker magazine and broadcast trade publications and distributed to clients, agencies, network and rep-firm execs as posters and reprints. Obviously, ball-point pens, pocket notepads and coffee mugs passed out by other stations paled in comparison to WDSU-TV mementos. For a number of years this had a significant effect and the WDSU-TV share of national advertising budgets was above what was dictated by its market size.

Early in the 1960's WDSU-TV began an interesting-and-probably unique campaign to promote loyalty and increased viewing in smaller communities in the surrounding coverage area. The vehicle was the live origination of the "Midday" show from these towns. Local civic and political leaders were invited to attend and their tourist attractions and other matters of civic pride were featured on the program. One such program originated from Biloxi, Mississippi's Keesler Air Force Base on Friday, November 22, 1963. The tragedy of the event was magnified on a military installation when word came that their honored and respected Commander-In-Chief had been assassinated. "Midday" activities were immediately suspended and network news coverage preempted all other programming and activity. The Channel 6 crew quickly packed up and returned to the station; most in painful shock and silence. However, on return to Royal Street some learned that not all their fellow employees shared their distress. The callous and thoughtless responses of a few to Kennedy's death were never forgotten.

Not a memory, but a current event:
April, 2009
In connection with 1965 events commemorating the 150th anniversary of the Battle of New Orleans Mel Leavitt produced an excellent documentary entitled "The Battle That Missed The War." After the show aired, we began getting requests from viewers - but also from teachers and librarians - for copies of the script. I decided that instead of just printing copies of Mel's script we'd print a booklet including it and artwork, pictures and maps from the program. I designed, edited, and laid-out the booklet and we had a few hundred copies printed and mailed to those who had requested and to other schools and libraries.
I have recently learned - strictly by accident - that at least two used-book-sellers are offering copies of "The Battle That Missed The War" on the Internet for the same price: $20. Interesting, no?

(P.S. - As you know, Paul Yacich was Mel's co-producer on the show.)