RAY DeTOURNAY LOOKS BACK

PROJECT:          CBS ALUMNI REMEMBERANCES #1 (more to come)

SUBJECT:           TEDDY LA FORTE’S BOXING COMEBACK

WRITER:              RAY DeTOURNAY

DATE:                  29 OCTOBER 2003

When encouraged to come up with memories of funny incidents or characters that were encountered during my tenure at KNXT there is always one that stands out.  It is an amalgam of an incident and a character and it happened sometime in the early ‘70’s. 

Even though it was a relatively small stage operation compared to the networks, KNXT did have a mandatory staff of Head Carpenter, Head Electrical and Head Property Man…one each per shift.  I say mandatory because we also worked under the IATSE Local 33 Stage Technicians contract and those were minimum staffings.  When additional men were required we called Local 33, which had a contractual obligation to fill our needs. 

Local 33 had a practice of occasionally sending one of their Union Representatives on these calls.  The Rep saw the assignment as a way to get to know the stage techs better, review their working conditions and listen to their gripes…executive type stuff.  Helping them prepare the stage, set the lights and place the props usually did not meld with his idea of the job description.  Once he had given a cursory nod to his duties he usually retired behind the light board where the stage techs had prepared a comfortable area where he could relieve his executive stress. 

During the time I am recalling we had a large (for KNXT) stage production called Dusty’s Treehouse.  It required long hours to set and light and then, after an extended production day, it had to be struck and stowed.  We typically called on Local 33 to bolster our stage tech staff on these production days.  One day a Union Rep showed up on a call, made quick work of his assignment and repaired to the light board where he disappeared until Wrap time.  The staff Stage Techs usually accepted this as part of the game and shouldered his share of the load.  They complained under their breath but only to each other. 

This particular Rep was a younger man and was known throughout Local 33 as somewhat of a know-it-all and a bully.  He especially liked to heckle members of the staff who could best be described as life-experienced and a little past their prime.  There was one such guy on our staff.  He was our Head Property Man and his name was Teddy LaForte. 

Teddy was Italian and had all the likeable properties of his heritage.  He liked sharp cars, snappy clothes and flashy women plus he loved to joke around.  On the other hand, Teddy was often the target of jokes due to his lack of height (5’ 6” at best) his graying hair and an easily triggered temper.  He did, however, take his work seriously and was proud of his contribution. 

This production day had been especially trying and Teddy was in no mood to coddle slackers on the job.  Instead of muttering dark thoughts under his breath he chose to share his feelings with the well-rested Rep.  The Union guy, seeing an easy target, came across the stage and began pushing Teddy and challenging him to repeat his words.  While the Rep knew his contract backwards and forwards he hadn’t done his homework on the KNXT staffers…especially Teddy.  Had he done due diligence he would have known that Teddy once had a career as a semi-professional lightweight, boxing under the name “Toughie” LaForte.  Even though retired he kept his skills sharp by shadow boxing with anyone within reach. 

The Rep continued to bait Teddy by jabbing him in the chest and then he sealed his fate. He said, “I’ll be damned if I’ll take crap from a fat, two-bit Dago, you washed-up, little old man.”  Something he said must have upset Teddy because he dropped into a boxer’s crouch and let fly a powerful left fist to the stomach.  For a moment the Rep appeared dazed and then his legs buckled.  As he sank to his knees Teddy followed with a sharp right to the jaw.   The Rep’s eyes rolled back into his head, he slowly fell forward and landed on his face…out cold!     

Full of adrenaline, Teddy danced around a little bit and then backed away to a neutral corner.  As the other Stage Techs gathered round him he cast a cold glance at the unconscious Rep and said, with undisguised disdain, “Nobody calls me old.” 

Ray DeTournay

Director, Production Operations /KNXT 1967 - 1974

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 GETTING WITH THE PROGRAM

By Ray DeTournay

 After joining the CBS organization in the late sixties I was urged to become familiar with its style guidebook.  In it were detailed instructions on the authorized use of the logo, the font styles and the mandatory correspondence formats.  Of all the meticulous attention to details however, I was impressed most by a small dot on CBS letterhead stationery.  That dot dictated where the first letter of the salutation was to land on the page thus creating uniformity in all CBS correspondence.  I discovered, however, that strict emphasis on style and form was not always a CBS hallmark because, in my inherited desk, there was some old KNXT stationery printed on ordinary bond paper with a font resembling plain old New Times Roman.  More importantly, it was missing the dot.

 The CBS obsession with image and style reached its zenith with the completion of “Black Rock”; the new headquarters building in New York designed by famed architect Eero Saarenin.  Its exterior was sleek and modern and the interior was the same, appearing to have been furnished by Florence Knoll and Herman Miller. It was rumored even the contemporary wall hangings were selected by a design committee.  Further gossip was that secretaries were excused from their daily duties at 4:55PM so that they could clear their work surface, cover their typewriters and arrange the flower vase on their desks to be in line with those on the other desks.  It may have not been true but it made a good story.

 At KNXT, the office I inherited was one of casual comfort with most of the furnishings purloined from the Prop Room after a show had reached the end of production.  Set items like couches, chairs and wall hangings were pretty much up for grabs because space was needed to store props for the new shows.  The source of the furniture was more likely Levitz than Herman Miller so we weren’t talking big bucks here.  If suitable wall hangings were not available most office dwellers made do with personal photos and creative art that could be traced to Montessori classrooms.  Diverse and eclectic would be a good description.  Sophisticated and polished would not. 

 With such a push for refinement from the top it only seemed a matter of time before this passion for style would find its way across the Hudson River and touch those of us who labored under the watchful CBS eye on the West Coast.  It came in the form of an edict delivered to our General Manager who saw it as a housekeeping chore and passed it along to our Director of Promotion, Publicity and Design.  The crux of it was that all office wall art was to be reviewed and, unless it met design guidelines, was to be replaced with approved artwork.  No workplace…whether the General Manager’s or the Supply Clerk’s…was exempt from scrutiny.  The Promotion, Publicity and Design guy saw this as a chance to finally instill the principles of good design into an organization that seemed largely happy with the Levitz approach.  He went about it with such messianic zeal that, in very short order, he became known among us as “The Good Taste Man.”

 I was on the phone with a New York peer when the fateful day arrived.  He listened patiently to my mild complaint of being forced to follow the corporate command and then gave me a piece of career advice.  “The trouble with you guys on the West Coast is that you let your lifestyle get in the way of your career.  Just get with the program.”  At that moment The Good Taste Man came into my office to review its wall trappings.  They consisted of a line drawing of an old man in a beat-up wooden frame, an illustration of the DNA double helix leftover from one of our science shows and a somewhat faded Mexico travel poster of unknown extraction. Not exactly a design showplace but not out of line for a Production Manager.  In a somewhat imperious style he strode around the room pointing at the wall art and jerking his thumb as would an umpire when throwing a player out of a game.  We then went to a room that turned out to be the holy grail of good taste.  It was absolutely full of artwork…some of it modern and some traditional…but all of it approved by a headquarters design committee.  

 He allowed me time to peruse the prints and even offered suggestions as to suitable selections. There was no question about it, this was good stuff and that fact alone made the choice difficult.  While every piece of art was different I did notice they all had one thing in common. There were no frames of wood; none of plastic; none with ornate embellishments.  All were bordered by sleek chromed frames. After viewing so many pieces of approved art I could see how this good taste thing could rub off on one.  When I finally selected a Robert Indiana “Love” poster and another striking print, a sudden feeling of suavity came over me.  The Good Taste Man promised that the new artwork would be installed early next week.  Because of the sudden work load the building maintenance people had fallen behind in installation and their union would allow none else to do the work.  Back in my office I found the walls had been stripped bare with only the nails remaining. Building Maintenance apparently had been directed to put more emphasis on removal than replacement.

 That weekend I set about doing a long-delayed home project to install shelves in my workshop.  I had purchased two sizes of right-angle shelf brackets but wanted to change their color.  Being neat by nature and not wanting to get overspray on my garage door, I laid some brown craft paper on the ground; curved it up and tacked it on the door and sprayed the brackets with black paint. 

 As I removed the brackets an intriguing pattern began to develop on the craft paper.  The left angles were flat on the paper so their outlines stood out sharp and clear from the black paint.  The right angles sat slightly away from the garage door so the pattern was still recognizable as brackets but the overspray made them somewhat diffuse and mysterious. In addition, some of the screw holes were covered by the original grey paint so the black didn’t spray through giving some the appearance of having “eyes” while some didn’t. Overall it had an artistic quality; however I knew it to be just paint overspray on brown paper and started to throw it away.  Just then I had an amusing thought.  Locating some scraps of redwood lath, I fashioned a rough frame and mounted the sprayed craft paper on it. In less than an hour I had a framed original work of art suitable for temporary hanging on the bare walls of my office.  I could hardly wait for Monday.

 After early arrival at Columbia Square, I sneaked the contraband art up the back stairs and hung it directly opposite my desk.  In so doing I violated no union rules since there was still a nail in the wall.  I then waited to see if there would be any reaction to my subversive action.  The first comments came from my secretary who admired the artwork, disparaged the homemade frame and complimented me on having the boldness to go against the system; to defy the dictates of headquarters and to thumb my nose at corporate conformity.  She then expressed moderate concern that my attitude might not be well received by the higher-ups and hoped it would not have a negative effect on my budding career. 

 Her concern, plus the advice from my New York peer, jolted me back into the reality of the corporate world. What was I hoping to accomplish by tweaking the nose of authority?  Did I really feel that CBS headquarters would snicker at my little joke and pat me on the head for mocking them?  What had I been I thinking?  As I rose from my desk to remove the potential career killer I heard people milling about in my outer office.  News about my daring stand against corporate dictates had spread and they were here to view and comment on the outlaw artwork. 

 It was interesting to overhear the different impressions elicited by my accidental creation.

Some asked “Why are the largest figures grouped at the top of the frame while the smallest are at the bottom?”  The general agreement was that those were elders protecting the children. One voice asked why some had “eyes” and others did not. “Because they haven’t been shot yet” answered another. A staff writer ventured that the sharp, clear outlines reflected the severity of life with all it’s boundaries, while the fuzzy ones showed the softer, more forgiving side. One critic pointed at the artwork and said, “That looks exactly like you”…a comment I never did understand. The spell was almost broken when our shop manager walked in and said, “What are you doing with shelf brackets on your wall?” I suddenly felt like the emperor with no clothes.

Just as the crowd size was reaching violation of the fire code, The Good Taste Man appeared in the doorway.  I remember thinking, “Good Lord, he’s heard about my insolence and has come to report me to Black Rock.”  Instead he ignored the milieu in the office and sat down facing me across the desk.  The room came to a hush and then, as quickly as it had appeared, the crowd just melted away.  We were alone. 

 Because there had been such a large group around my artwork, he never saw the source of their fascination. Instead, he had come to speak with me about trouble he was encountering in introducing approved artwork to our building. He had met pockets of resistance to corporate conformity and related that one executive threatened to “break his arm” if he removed a cherished piece of art created by his daughter.  Being a sensitive guy he was terribly disturbed at being compared to Hitler and “Big Brother”. The purpose of his visit was to ask for support since I had already bought into the program.  During this time my shelf bracket artwork was looming over his shoulder; scornful; contemptuous; just waiting to scream its sarcasm.  I tried looking away, hoping it would burst into flames and disappear but when I looked back it was still there. 

 Finally, after pledging to do whatever I could, he rose to go.  Turning toward the door he came face to face with my little joke.  I can describe his reaction as one who has been hit in the chest by an unexpected blow.  He lurched backward; his head and shoulders caved inward and he leaned against the desk to recover his composure.  I didn’t know what to expect next but if he had lunged forward and ripped the piece of mockery off the wall, it would have been no surprise.  I had a fleeting vision of cleaning out my desk and explaining to my wife why I was home before noon.  I prepared for the worst. 

 After what seemed an eternity he headed toward the door, turned slowly and pointed at my shelf brackets.  What happened next was the ultimate revelation of the fragility of art…a definition of the thin line that separated me from the likes of Jackson Pollack and Andy Warhol with all their fame and fortune.  The Good Taste Man raised his hand in a “thumbs-up” gesture and said, “You need a chromed frame around that.”    

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