Jil McIntosh: Rude, Lewd & Tattooed

When writers go bad ...

There's a little newspaper in town, The Oshawa Express. I don't know who writes the photo captions, but two of them caught my eye in the latest issue.

First item: Resident won an antique car in a lottery. The caption reads, Doug Russell checks out his brand new 1968 Chevy Camaro ...

And then, an abused dog was found by the Humane Society. It received treatment, but the vet discovered that it has terminal cancer. The caption reads, Phoenix, the four-year-old rescued Chow is doing much better in his foster home despite being told he has only weeks or months to live because of cancer.

And all I can think is, well, did ya have to tell him that? Couldn't you just have let him live out his days without breaking the news to him?

On today's hit list: Public relations people that ain't

I've got a new one to add to the list of endangered species: public relations people who know what they're doing. And it seems that the problem is getting worse.

I don't know why it's happening, although I do have some theories: big companies saving money by giving the job to untrained people, low wages bringing in corresponding talent, and "home business" people thinking that a computer in the back bedroom and an Internet connection means they can hang out a shingle. And the result is that my mailbox is becoming increasingly jammed with press releases that don't give me enough information, assault me with unncessary flowery language, and are filled with spelling errors -- in one case, the name of the product itself.

I get low-resolution photos when I tell these so-called professionals that I need high-res. I get press releases without datelines. Today I got one that explained what was happening "today" in an ongoing event, with no indication of what was actually going on. When I called, I was told that the background had been included in releases sent a month ago.

I had one "communications specialist" send me a cute little collage of her client, complete with pretty little Photoshop frame, in response to my request for a photo I could run in the newspaper. When I told her I needed just one of the photos in the collage, sent all by itself, she wailed, "Oh, do you mean I have to scan it again?" Yes, you do, and I need minimum 1MB. Do I have to tell you that she sent one that was 15kb?

Here's the scoop, people: you want me to help sell your product for you, you've got to meet me halfway. When you act professionally, I promise I'll treat you as such. Until then, stop wasting both my time, and yours.

Professors talk, university squawks, journalist walks ...

There's a story in the Toronto Star today that reminds us that freedom of the press is sometimes just a phrase. It seems that the New Brunswick Telegraph-Journal has given the boot to Matt McCann, a student journalist who was writing for the paper as a summer assignment.

The University of New Brunswick is granting an honorary degree to the province's premier, but that didn't go over so well with a group of professors, who sent a letter of objection to the university's board of directors. McCann got wind of it and wrote a story, which the editors of the Telegraph-Journal deemed important enough to put on the front page. That's quite a feather in a summer student's cap.

But the following day, McCann was fired. His editor, Shawna Richer, said she fired him because of "performance issues," and not because, as the Toronto Star discovered, the university complained about the story. 

Richer said the story was "unbalanced," even though McCann outlined the award's criteria and quoted a university official who was in favour of the honorary degree.

McCann also made two errors: he misspelled someone's name (Stropel instead of Strople) and wrote that the premier had an education degree, instead of a physical education degree.

But when a critic pointed out that an editor must have vetted this seemingly unbalanced story, Richer said that the editor didn't make the mistakes, and that "The number-one thing the kid did, he spelled a proper name wrong, and that was the tipping point."

I will use the term "male bovine manure" at this point.

I have been writing for newspapers for some 26 years now. I have spelled names wrong. I have made errors. I shouldn't have made them, and each one tears my insides to shreds, but it occasionally happens. If this whole tempest was strictly over -el rather than -le, as Richer says, then she should have done what just about every other newspaper on the planet does: call the writer in and point out the error, explain the severity of the transgression, and then, in the next day's issue, include a correction and apology. 

Richer did not do that, which leads me to believe that the "tipping point" was a university taking offense to the story and demanding its pound of flesh. And you better believe that, compared to a misspelled name, that's a very scary situation, not just for the Telegraph-Journal, but for newspapers everywhere.

Celebrities: The good, the bad, and an ugly

I had someone ask me the other day about interviewing celebrities. And when I gave it some thought, I realized that I've spoken to quite a few famous folks over the years for various newspapers and magazines. They certainly do come from just about every sphere, as well.

I count Jay Leno as my ultimate interview, just because it supposedly couldn't be done. I suggested a story on him to my editor at the Toronto Star's Wheels section. It turned out that, a week before, he'd asked another writer who wanted to get on board at the paper to try interviewing the Tonight Show host. She told him that Leno was "impossible to reach." I said I'd try. The editor laughed and told me he'd put me on the cover and pay me $1 million if I got this unreachable celebrity. I've always believed that the worst that can happen is someone says "no," so I looked up the number and called the studio. It was with great delight that I called my editor back half an hour later and said, "He's busy today, but I've got an appointment for tomorrow." It went on the cover, and my editor sent me a personal cheque for a million dollars, which is now framed on my wall. If you go into something defeated, that's how you'll end up.

(Leno's also very difficult to interview, by the way, because he talks ninety miles a minute. The man never takes a breath.)

There were many celebrities who were such fun to interview. When Brent Butt picked up the phone, I fed him a line from a Corner Gas episode, and he went right into character and finished the sentence. Chip Foose is so enthusiastic and so much fun, although at the SEMA auto show each year, he always recognizes my husband, but never remembers me. And Anne Murray, to my surprise, turned out to be a real gearhead. 

I spoke to Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top who, despite his rather unorthodox appearance, is extremely well-spoken and articulate. Eli Wallach was not only fascinating, but after the article appeared, he sent my editor a handwritten thank-you note for it.   

Usually you only get a short block of time with a celebrity, but when I called Art Neville, he was on tour and in his hotel room for the evening. "I won't take a lot of your time," I said. "I'm here all alone, there's nothing on TV, and I can talk to you all night," he said, and so I spoke with "Papa Funk" for a couple of hours. Aaron Neville proved equally polite, but for all his size -- the man's as big as a refrigerator -- he whispers, and I felt awful because I had to keep asking him to repeat his answers.

In fact, every one of the big-name folks I've interviewed have proved to be great people. I expected John Schneider to be riding the 30-year-old coattails of the Dukes of Hazzard, but he turned out to be a hardworking actor with a real sense of humor.  

The worst? The captain of an Olympic sports team, who now makes money giving motivational speeches. I was calling on behalf of a non-sports magazine. I called on time; her watch was fast, but she blasted me for being a minute late. I'd tried unsuccessfully to find the name of the ten-minute commentary show she did during a weekly sports broadcast -- it wasn't in the press materials she'd sent earlier, and I couldn't find it on the Internet -- and so when I asked her, she told me, "A real journalist does research and comes prepared."

When I asked her how she motivated her teammates during games, she said I'd have to ask them. She told me her speeches covered seven points on motivation, but she could only think of four off the top of her head. When I pressed her, she angrily booted up her computer to look them up. And then, because I was working for an industry magazine that went out to companies that might like to hire her, I asked her how they could reach her. "I'm not giving you my contact information!" she said. "That's none of your business!"

Ya win some, ya lose some, I always say.