When I heard the news that my longtime friend Mike Kalush had passed, two things happened. My mind was flooded with Kalush memories and I began to wonder how I could honor his memory. Duh. One way to celebrate a life fully lived is to tell a few stories. But which ones? There are so many. I decided to share the ones that follow. There’s no overpriced news “consultant” telling me it must be a minute and ten seconds read. If you dislike the length of this piece, too bad. This is what articles were like before McNews engulfed our business. People actually read stuff.
One episode stands out as capturing Mike’s impish sense of humor and his enduring view that what we were doing was just TV news, not rocket science or brain surgery.
I was still a rookie in TV news, having migrated (Oh no! An immigrant!) from radio. ABC-TV was on a mission to make all of the ABC O&O (Owned and Operated) TV stations # 1 in their markets. As part of that effort ABC was shaking up the staid, dispassionate, disembodied news reader format. They pushed something they called reporter involvement. It violated the old rules. The reporter was to become part of the story to show the viewer they were at the scene and knew what they were talking about.
In Detroit, our news director, Phil Nye, berated and exhorted the reporters to “Get in the story. Get involved. Be seen on the scene as much as possible.” Phil had a gruff Lou Grant demeanor which he used to conceal the fact he was a wussie and softie, deep down.
One of my early assignments involved flying to Milwaukee for a United Auto Workers’ (UAW) bargaining conference with Mike and his soundman, Bill Hevron, also known as “the colonel.” This was a reference to his service in WWII as a major in the Air Force. We kiddingly promoted him to colonel.
Being a dutiful rookie, I parroted Phil’s lecture about reporter involvement to Mike and Bill. “When you shoot B-roll make SURE you get shots of me,” I said. “Whatever I’m doing, get film of it, okay?” Mike smiled and shrugged.
The UAW conference was at a big hotel. It was teeming with delegates. We got our media credentials and I told the crew I was going to the men’s room to take a leak. I waited in a long line, oblivious to everything around me. When I finally got to the urinal and unzipped my fly, suddenly there was a bright, hot light shining on the back of my head. I turned around to find Hevron holding a portable light close to my noggin while Mike had his film camera on his shoulder, pretending he was focusing on me at the urinal.
“What the hell are you doing?!?” I asked. Mike had a mock “Who, me?” innocent look on his face. Bill was struggling to stop laughing. “We’re just doing what you told us to do,” Mike said. “You ordered us to get film of everything you do, so here we are.”
Mike could be serious, but he didn’t take himself, the news business—or life—too seriously. He liked to note the “Barnum and Bailey” circus-like element in what we were getting paid to do. Maybe that’s why he had enough adventures for three lifetimes. The Channel 7 news cameramen (it was a male-only trade for a long time) used to compete for overtime to augment their equal-pay union wages. John Fuller and Ron Little would exult in big OT assignments. But they would often have steam coming out of their ears when the camera guys compared year-end pay stubs, only to find out Mike Kalush had topped them all in overtime pay. Mike and Bill worked the 7-to-3 Monday-through-Friday shift. Many days there would be an afternoon assignment requiring a half-hour or hour of overtime for them. “We nickeled and dimed them to death week in and week out,” Mike used to tell me with a chuckle.
Writing about overtime reminds me of a wild, crazy assignment where Kalush, Hevron and I worked almost around-the-clock for a full week, side-by-side with Detroit Police narcs as they chased a major heroin smuggling ring in Mexico. I’ll skip the shaggy dog story of how we wound up in Mexico, but there we were, flying by the seat of our pants, literally, in a private plane we chartered using Mike’s personal credit card.
We returned to Detroit with a monster, kick-ass story. There were high-fives all around. Mike turned in his overtime sheet and it was smokin’. Doug McKnight, the assistant news director, called Mike in to discuss it.
“Mike, you guys did a fantastic job and we’re all very proud, but on this one day, you turned in for 18 hours of overtime,” Doug said. “That’s impossible. Your union contract says I have your ass for 8 hours of straight time any day, even if you’ve been in overtime mode so long that you’re making triple time for other hours. I have you for straight time for 8 hours any given day.”
Mike thought about this for a minute, then brightened up. “No. No. No. Ya see, we flew over two time zones that day in Mexico,” Mike said.
Doug was speechless. Then, he doubled over laughing. “Mike,” he said, “I’m going to authorize payment of those two hours of overtime just for the privilege of hearing such an outrageous and inventive line of bullshit.”
Mexico wasn’t our only international adventure. In early 1984 we found ourselves babysitting, uh, I mean, working with Bill Bonds in Europe.
I had worked feverishly for weeks to develop a documentary on the rise and fall of auto industry maverick executive John DeLorean, who had been busted in a cocaine deal in Los Angeles. DeLorean conned the British government in to building him an auto production plan in Belfast, Northern Ireland. His car project went belly up after the drug arrest.
A week before our trip to Europe to document the DeLorean car saga, news director Tom Rosenbaum called me in his office and said we needed to talk about the Europe trip.
“We’re not going to go,” I said, figuring to get the bad news out there first.
“No, worse than that,” Tom said. You’re going to have to take Bill Bonds with you.”
A nasty stream of foul language poured forth as I managed to say, no way. “I’ve worked too hard on this to share it with Bill!” I said.
Tom smiled. “I didn’t say he had to be part of the DeLorean project,” Tom said. “What I said was, you’re going to take Bill with you.”
“Huh?”
“Bill’s contract is up this year,” Tom continued. “And the company wants to soften him up and stroke his ego. They want him to have a Europe trip under the cover of covering news. So, if you don’t want Bill involved in the DeLorean project, find another story for Bill.”
“But every minute of every day is accounted for,” I protested.
Another smile from Tom. “So, add another week to the trip,” he suggested. “The company wants Bill to have a trip covered by a news story. Find another project for Bill and add a week to your trip. The company’s not worried about the money,” Rosenbaum said.
I walked the grounds of Channel 7, wracking my brain for a story for Bill. Finally, inspiration struck and I hit on the idea of having Bill tour the European operations of the U.S. car makers. I called the PR guys at the car companies and explained this was a junket for Bill. They took care of everything, including booking us in top-of-the-line hotels.
Cut to a five-star business hotel in Madrid. After over a week of shooting, we were exhausted and desperate for some sleep, but Bill wanted to go to the hotel bar. His ego was suffering from withdrawal because no one in Europe knew who he was. He needed attention.
I said to hell with it, but Mike’s experience and intuition told him he’d better tag along with Bill even though Mike was exhausted, too.
I was sound asleep when my phone rang at about 11 pm. It was Mike.
“You better get down here—Now!” Mike said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Just put on your pants and shoes and get your ass down here to the hotel bar as fast as you can,” Mike said.
I walked in to a scene of total chaos. Expensive tables and chairs were turned over and strewn everywhere. There were no patrons. The place was empty, except for a tweedy Brit sitting at the bar. Mike was helping the very pissed off bartender get the tables and chairs back in order. Bill had stumbled off to his room.
I approached Mike. “What the hell happened?” I asked.
“Bill got really, really drunk and decided to imitate a bullfight,” Mike said. “He played the part of a toreador—and the bull,” Mike explained. “He charged himself and dodged himself in the bull ring, which was the bar. This is mess is what happened.”
“Well, at least the place was empty,” I said with relief.
“Unh uh,” Mike said. “The bar was packed. Business people. Couples having dinner or drinks. Well-dressed people. It was total class. Everyone ran for the exits when Bill started wrecking the place.”
Stunned, I stumbled over to the British guy at the bar. “Looks like everyone fled,” I said to him. “Why are you still here?”
With a very proper English accent, the Brit took a sip of his drink and replied, “Because I’ve never seen anything quite like it, actually.”
One of Mike’s personal favorites among his life experiences was an episode in front of the Detroit federal courthouse. One day he was standing on the sidewalk outside the court building waiting for everyone in some court case to come downstairs for interviews. A friendly man leaning against a parking meter struck up a conversation with Mike. The man had a Southern accent. He started talking politics, then told Mike he was going to run for president. Said his name was Jimmy Carter.
That was typical of Mike’s life as a chronicler of news events. In his career he shot footage of many people, from presidents to prostitutes. Oh, wait. I’m being redundant.
Mike was a good friend of mine all of my adult life. I have countless Mike Kalush stories and they’ve been flooding in to my brain ever since I learned of his passing. These episodes don’t begin to scratch the surface of the life adventures of Mike Kalush. I’m sad, but I keep smiling as I remember one episode after another. I know many others must feel the same way.
All of us should hope to leave a treasure trove of wonderful memories like Mike Kalush did for countless people.
It’s trite but true. In a business full of characters, Mike Kalush was one of a kind. I will miss him always.
Leave a Reply