Chapter 19

Dave Nelson

"Dave's not here, man."

~ Tommy Chong, 1978

Let me tell you the story of a man by the name of Dave Nelson. As I've mentioned, Dave is the current news director of WNYX. If you've ever met Dave you've probably wondered, "Who put that little boy in a business suit?" If you wandered off the street and into one of our daily staff meetings and saw the lot of us seated around the table, you would most likely take Dave for a student intern. If he were to drape a sash across his chest, you might think the Cub Scouts were in town. However, looks can be deceiving. While Dave may have the physique of a twelve-year-old boy, deep inside he actually has the soul of a crotchety old man.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me go back to the day I met Dave. Mr. James had hired him without breathing a word about it to any of us on the newsroom floor. That might seem unusual, but, as previously discussed, most of what Mr. James does seems unusual. At any rate, Jimmy wrenched Dave from America's dairy land and dropped him right in our laps. I'll admit, when I learned he was from Wisconsin, I didn't have high hopes for his survival. New York City is not for the meek and, as we all know, the Midwest is filled with people who are more mild mannered than the cows they tend. I must say, however, that Dave surprised me that day. He walked into WNYX, immediately canned Ed Harlow, and took his place at the helm. Imagine that: coming in off the street, firing a man and assuming his position. It reminded me of the time my brother and father got into a shouting match and John Jr. punched Dad right in the face, knocked him out cold, and declared himself the man of the house. A move like that requires loins of steel. At that point I decided I might have misjudged this young lad, Dave. Maybe he was more cutthroat than he had first appeared.

Still, for his own good, I had to be sure young Dave had what it took to survive these bloodthirsty streets. We went through something of a getting-to-know-you phase. I recognized that it was my responsibility to test him. I had to find out if this man was a pushover and, if he were, I would have to take on the arduous task of making him stronger—much as I had done with his predecessor, Ed. I tried various methods to see just how far I could push this kid. Some methods were simple, like making power moves and gauging Dave's reaction. For example, I would wait until Dave was on an important phone call, then barge into his office and begin a loud and boisterous conversation with him. Dave generally responded by politely asking me to leave. The fact that he stood up to me at all seemed promising, but the decorum of his request was concerning. I believe the average New Yorker would have yelled at me to get the hell out of there. About a month into Dave's tenure, he got wise to my trick and would simply lock the door before taking his call. Thus, the game continued.

Another favorite move of mine was to enter Dave's office under the pretext of delivering an editorial or some other such nonsense. Upon exiting, I would ask if he wanted his door open or closed. Whatever preference he expressed, I would do the opposite, causing him to get up, and either open or close the door himself. It's a subtle thing, but it really gave me a barometer reading of Dave's tolerance for being pushed around. I must give credit where credit is due. That Dave is a sly one. It took me a while to catch on, but once he realized my tactic, he turned the tables on me. If he wanted the door open he would say he wanted it closed and vice versa. Very sneaky, Dave. Very sneaky.

Once I had a fair reading on just how far I could push Dave, I decided it was time to toughen him up. He had proven himself to be less timid and unassuming than the average Midwesterner, but he was hardly as fierce as a typical New Yorker. I had decided I wanted to keep Dave around for a while, so it was in my best interest to make sure these streets didn't eat him alive. Surviving muggings, battling fellow New Yorkers for taxi cabs, and tolerating the rantings of our local subway vagrants all go along with the territory. As a native Wisconsonian, Dave's biggest challenge when stepping out his front door was probably the fear or stepping in cattle dung. I took it upon myself to set up a series of tests to see how he would fair once he actually hit the mean streets. You have to understand, I was worried about the little guy. If he didn't learn how to handle himself he might be scared right back to Cheese Land or end up in one of my on-air crime reports as a statistic. I needed to help him out.

So I hired a mugger. This tactic may sound unconventional to the average American, but I assure you, petty crimes for hire are a dime a dozen in New York City. I simply stood in front of the Criterion building for about ten minutes with my wallet hanging out of my back pocket. As soon as a gentleman made a move on it, I offered him cash in exchange for a targeted pick-pocketing. I gave the thug a stack of bills and a sketch of Dave and asked him to wait outside the building around 6:00pm. I gave him specific instructions to rough Dave up a bit, give him a scare, but not actually hurt the little fellow. To my great surprise, when Dave finally emerged from the office that evening, my hired ruffian was nowhere to be seen. Likewise, my own wallet had also vanished. That's life in New York for you. You win some, you lose some. I had given it a good shot, but I still had a lesson to teach to Dave. I decided to do the deed myself. I let Dave get a good block and a half away from our building, snuck up behind him, grabbed him in a headlock and demanded he give me all his money. I should have known that my golden voice would be one of my most recognizable features. Dave was startled for a moment, but then said through gasping breaths, "Bill, if you need to borrow some cash, just ask."

On another occasion, I followed Dave into the subway, dressed as one of our colorful local winos. My plan was to scream obscenities at him as he made his way to work that morning. Having learned from my previous mistake, I took certain efforts to disguise my voice as well as my appearance. I fished some used clothing out of a dumpster near the homeless shelter and made sure to speak with the tone and inflection of the many exuberant winos I had witnessed over the years. I badgered Dave for eight subway stops and even followed him off the train, all the while berating him with every expletive in my vocabulary. I must say, I was impressed by how unbothered Dave appeared. Once we got off the train, my Oscar-worthy performance seemed to attract a group of actual hobos who then began castigating Dave right along with me. It was more than I could have hoped for in terms of a test of Dave's New Yorkerness (New Yorkertivity?). While I had been impressed with Dave's ability to ignore my tirade—the first line of defense for any native New Yorker in such a situation—I realized he had a lot to learn when he engaged with the other vagrants. In general, a New Yorker who chooses to recognize individuals such as these would do so by slinging their own curse words back in return and, possibly, tossing some coins in one direction while making a break for it in the other. To my surprise, Dave divided up his spare change amongst the lot of them and even gave them some information about local homeless outreach programs. It was clear to me then that Dave had much to learn. I had no choice but to be his humble mentor.

It seemed to me that Dave's problem was similar to that of his predecessor, Ed Harlow. He was a bit starry-eyed and a bit too trusting. I would have to teach him the creed I had learned as a boy that behind every toothy grin lies an extra row of teeth. For the sake of Dave's survival, I would be that row of teeth. As much as Dave seemed to trust in the kindness of strangers, he seemed to place even more trust in his staff. I know, I was baffled by this peculiar trait as well. So, I decided the best tactic was to show him that we were not to be trusted. He had to learn that this was a city where you look after yourself and screw over everyone else.

Thus began a game that would go on for years. In fact, it still continues to this day. I would try, at least once a week, to betray Dave's trust in some way. Sometimes it was a small thing, like forging his signature on a salary advance to myself. Sometimes it was something a little more blatant, like switching the topic of my editorial at the last second after he had already issued his signature. Occasionally I would just get back to basics and steal his office supplies. Initially, Dave seemed perplexed, even hurt, by my shows of disrespect and insubordination. But the man is a quick study. He seemed to pick up that I was trying to help him. This was meant to be a learning experience and he learned quickly. It seemed as soon as I would stash a forged check in my pocket, Dave would be on the phone with the bank placing a stop payment. Before I could get more than three sentences into my unapproved editorial, Dave would have had Joe switch us over to one of the national news broadcasts. I would swipe his stapler and Dave would have swiped it right back by the following morning. You see, he can be taught. I couldn't have been more proud of my pupil.

Learning is a life-long adventure. Even though I recognized that Dave had become more distrusting by the day, my quest to educate him continued. I watched as he had become harder to deceive and I even learned some of his own manipulative tactics in return. The most amazing part of his journey thus far is that, against all odds, he has continued to survive the streets of New York. He has not been left for dead in an alleyway, nor has he been scared back to the cow pastures. Still, as impressive as this progress may be, I must be tireless in my efforts to trick, undermine, and betray Dave at every turn. Lest he become too comfortable and revert back to his Midwestern ways. It's an endless task, but I do not tire easily, my friend. I shall see to it, until my dying day that Dave remains aggravated and tormented at every turn. Dave, if you're reading this, there is no need to thank me.

It has been rewarding to see my efforts yield such promising results. I must admit that, while I felt I did right by Ed Harlow, it was disappointing to see that the end result was his ultimate firing and his disappearance from our daily lives at WNYX. It's much more satisfying to see Dave absorb my teachings and remain in our presence so that I can continue to witness his ongoing benefit of my wisdom.

Speaking of Mr. Harlow, he and Dave illustrate some interesting parallels. Under my teachings, Ed realized how fruitless his efforts would be if he attempted to achieve his many lofty goals. Dave, when exposed to the same tutelage, seemed to redouble his efforts. For example, while Ed had a dream of one day winning an American Broadcasters' Society Award, my counseling ensured he would not reach for that impossible goal. Dave, on the other hand, managed not only to win an award, but to lead our station in sweeping the entire awards banquet in his first year as news director. It was quite astounding.

Ed had visions of leading WNYX to the top of the ratings, a dream I would quickly dash. While it's true that our ratings have waxed and waned over the years under Dave's supervision, they have remained consistently higher than they ever were under Ed's tenure.

Dave's success where Ed had failed before him, begs the question: had I not intervened, what might Ed have achieved? Would Mr. Harlow have gotten that ABSA he always dreamed of, had I not beaten him down so relentlessly? Would he have led WNYX to the top of the charts if I hadn't undermined him at every turn? Would he still have a full head of hair and a clean criminal record if I had allowed him to keep that boyish shine in his eyes? Who's to say, really? I guess it's one of those mysteries we will never be able to solve.

I believe the key factor differentiating between Ed's abysmal failure and Dave's moderate success is that Dave has proven himself a worthy adversary in my various antics. He gives as good as he gets and therein lies the difference. There does seem to be another contributing factor, which I have struggled to get my head around. Dave, through some means I cannot comprehend, seems to actually care about these people here at WNYX. I don't mean he feigns affection in order to get them to do his bidding. I mean he seems to actually show genuine concern for the happiness and wellbeing of his staff. It's confounding. Alas, his empathy seems to actually mean something to these people. Perhaps, wrapped up in that enigma, lies the secret to Dave's triumph over Ed.

While I can't say I relate to Dave's fondness of our coworkers, I will say, in all seriousness, that he has been there for me personally on a number of occasions when what I really needed was a friend. He was by my side when I foolishly decided to quit smoking, a lapse in judgement I will not soon repeat. Dave helped me get through it when my initial attempts at writing these memoirs were proving fruitless. Then there was that time he bailed me out of a mental hospital. Who hasn't been stuck in that situation, am I right? Dave also never fails to accept my late night drunken phone calls. That is, perhaps, the ultimate test of true friendship. When you push everything else aside, I think Dave understands at least a little piece of what makes Bill McNeal tick.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is, we all love to give Dave a hard time, but that's only because we respect him and he has proven he can take it. Certainly, I sometimes wish he were slightly easier to dupe. If he were just a bit more of a push over, I could pretty much do whatever I pleased around the office. But then I remember that the game of it all is half the fun. He always manages to stop short of giving me enough rope to hang myself. He's a good man, a good friend, and a good boss. Dave, it pains me to say it—and I would likely never say it to your face—but I must admit, you are the finest news director I've ever had. Thank you, my friend.