Fail Up (22 page)

First Lady Michelle Obama has also contributed significantly to the effort by launching her “Let's Move” antiobesity campaign in early 2010. Her goal of ending “the epidemic of childhood obesity in a generation” is indeed ambitious but doable, with government resources also aimed at the problem.

Addressing obesity is going to take more than telling people to eat less and eat healthier. The nation needs to step up and address the fact that most low-income areas don't have full-service grocery stores. Residents in these neighborhoods depend on gas stations and convenience stores, where, as noted in an article in
The Christian Science
Monitor
that discussed Mrs. Obama's efforts, “The only thing that's crisp and green is the money” poor people put in the proprietors' cash registers.

In an attempt to address the healthy food scarcity problem, President Obama has proposed $400 million in his fiscal year 2011 budget to help bring grocery stores to underserved urban and rural areas and to help neighborhood stores carry healthier items.

The Obamas are superstars, especially in Black households most principally because of the historic roles they play as President and First Lady. But also because, let's face it, they do look good! His nicotine habit notwithstanding, the Obamas have committed themselves and their family to eating healthy and staying fit. In other words, they keep it tight.

Remember, “all other things being equal …” I think you get it.

CHAPTER 17

GET READY
TO BE READY

I
t was the chance of a lifetime. The opportunity arose for me to jump from a voice on the radio to a face on the local news. Most of my friends were ecstatic about the possibilities, not to mention the increase in my salary. I'd be a fool to say no, they said.

I said “no.”

It was a huge mistake, according to some in my circle. Mistake though it might have been, without this seeming failure to take advantage of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I would have never been able to fail up. Nor would I have had time to discover the true meaning of defining your own success.

No Thanks, Not Yet

When I lost my bid for the 6th District city council seat, I entertained the idea of running again in four years. Why not? I ran a spirited campaign, received a healthy share of the votes, and developed a cadre of powerful and active supporters. Mayor Bradley lost his first run for his seat in 1969, so the second time might have been the charm for me, too.

However, if one loses a political race and seriously intends to run for that office again, there are at least three things he or she might want to accomplish first:

1. Make some money to live on and to pay off any debt from the previous campaign.

2. Find something that's going to keep your name in the public eye.

3. Find something that will allow you to be vocal about issues that matter to voters.

In order to address all three tasks, I managed to land a gig with a small, Black-owned radio station where I delivered 60-second commentaries. I became adept at delivering
The Smiley
Report
—one-minute commentaries with a beginning, middle, and end.

The segment was so well received during afternoon drivetime that the station owner gave me a second airing in the morning. I was heard at 7:20 in the morning and again at 5:20 in the afternoon. I didn't make any real money, but my name and voice were out there, talking about issues that mattered to voters.

The show was on an AM radio station with a limited audience. But it became so popular I was able to transition to the FM side with a bigger listenership. The jump came courtesy of the genius Stevie Wonder, who owns an FM radio station based in LA. After a few years with Stevie, the #1 urban station in LA asked if I'd be a part of its lineup. The offer was too big to refuse; it also had a much wider broadcast signal that was heard in and well outside of LA.

As the story goes, Terry Crofoot, the general manager at KABC-TV, picked up his kids after school every day. As with so many other white, suburban kids, Crofoot's children were fascinated with Black music. Every day they'd switch his radio dial to the more hip station—the urban station that broadcast my daily commentaries. Thanks to his kids, my commentaries caught Crofoot's attention.

KABC-TV was the only station in LA with personalities who delivered commentaries live every evening. The commentators it employed—three women and two men—were all white. One of them, Bruce Herschensohn, had announced his departure in order to challenge Barbara Boxer for the U.S. Senate seat. The job was so prestigious that several commentators used it to advance their careers, including famed attorney Gloria Allred and former California Senator John V. Tunney.

Crofoot told his news director, Roger Bell, about my radio commentaries. Bell called to ask if I'd be interested in auditioning for a commentator position.

I was in my late 20s, with the largest urban radio station in the city, and now I had the opportunity to add “television” commentator to my portfolio. My friends were jumping up and down with excitement. It was my “moment,” some said.

“Thank you, but no thank you,” I told Bell when I called him back.

Many of my friends thought I was nuts. Who in their right mind passes up an opportunity that had gained others so much exposure?

In truth, I turned it down because I wasn't ready. I had never done television, never used a TelePrompter, and never spoken before a television camera. It was indeed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But I was convinced that if I went in and bombed the audition, the word might get out that I was good on radio but horrible on television. In my state of mind at the time, I felt bombing might foreclose on any future television opportunities.

When I told Bell “no thanks,” I was really thinking “not yet.”

Preparation, Preparation, and More Preparation

Days after declining Bell's offer, I went to a little community TV outlet called South Central Community Television (SCCT) on Crenshaw Boulevard. The staff knew me from radio and were ecstatic that I wanted to do commentary for free. It wasn't about the money. It was about experience, learning the ins and outs of television commentary.

At SCCT I learned how to write my scripts, read a prompter without turning my head from side to side, give the right inflection, sit upright in my chair, and tuck my jacket under my butt to prevent ripples across my shoulders—all the TV tricks.

After about eight months with the small cable outlet, I still felt unprepared. When I was in college, I remembered meeting a big-time Montreal TV producer, Larry Shapiro, who created content for PBS. I called Larry and asked if he could teach me a few things about working in front of and behind the camera.

“I don't have a whole lot of money, but I can get you a little apartment here in Montreal and pay you a little bit,” Larry graciously responded. “You can come up here for a year, and I'll teach you everything you need to know about TV. And once you get good enough, I'll even let you host a couple of my shows for PBS.”

I was in Montreal in a flash. For almost a year, Larry taught me how to sell advertising and to work with multiple cameras; what the duties of a “floor director” are; and—keeping his word—eventually let me host a couple of his shows. Who knew that, years later, I'd end up as the first person of color in the history of PBS to host his own daily signature talk show?

I returned to LA ready to take KABC's offer. But would there still be an offer?

“Hey, Tavis; surprised to hear from you. Haven't heard you on the radio for awhile.”

I simply told him that I'd been busy before. Then I asked him if he had filled the commentator slot.

“As a matter of fact, we haven't,” Bell answered. “Why don't you come on in tomorrow, and we'll do a quick test.”

It was close to 3:30 in the afternoon when I arrived for my audition at the TV station. News anchors were in the area preparing to go on the air; a year prior, I would have been intimidated by their presence. But now, I felt like I knew exactly what I was doing.

I sat confidently at the anchor's desk. I was handed a mock script. The camera swung toward me. The green light flashed. The director shouted: “Action!”

One take. I nailed it.

The gawking anchors were aghast. Roger Bell walked over, shocked:

“I called you over a year ago and you were this good?”

I started the following week; and every week for a couple of years, I was a commentator on the five o'clock news.

My friends were right: The job quickly opened other doors. After being on TV, KABC Talk Radio—the #1 talk radio station—wanted me to do commentary for it. That eventually morphed into my own talk show with the company.

Frank Sinatra once said, “Never ignore that inner voice that tells you something can be better, even when everybody tells you it's okay.”

While my friends were warning me that turning down KABC-TV's offer was a big mistake, my inner voice whispered: “Get prepared first!”

Stay Ready to Be Ready

This particular “mistake” had a good—no, great—outcome. I share it because it contains layers of valuable lessons. The first pertains to preparation. There's so much mediocrity in society because people oftentimes jump before they're ready. Nobody wants to miss what he or she perceives as an opportunity, but very few take the time to prepare for it.

My grandfather used to say: “Son, if you stay ready, you ain't got to get ready.” Sometimes you have to create it yourself, but opportunity will come, and it will come more than once. The truth of life is that it isn't always up, but it's not always down either. Life, by definition, is a series of ups and downs. It really boils down to high-quality choices. The challenge is making the right choice about which opportunity to latch onto.

A lot of people miss their “moment” because they don't invest time in preparation. Truth be told, I was scared to death when I turned down the TV audition. There was no concrete proof that it would come back around again.

Moreover, I was never able to find the right fit in Montreal. I don't speak French, and there weren't that many Black people there. To be honest, I was lonely and didn't hang out much. All I did was work. But, day by day, I learned my craft and my confidence grew.

It worked out because Montreal prepared me for that second opportunity. Looking back, I realize that because I was ready at the right time, many other doors were poised to fly open and I was able to walk in.

For a few years back then, LA was the hotbed of mediadefining cultural explosions. First there was the Rodney King beating, and then a few years later, the O. J. Simpson trial captured the nation's attention. I was the most widely known Black, local news commentator at the time. When national news anchors wanted local flavor and perspective, they booked me on their shows. Those interviews caught Tom Joyner's eye, which in part led to my twice-weekly commentaries on the
Tom Joyner Morning Show.

When BET called and asked me to audition for a new talk show, I wasn't interested. My agent told me it planned to allow 12 celebrities to guest-host the show until it could figure out who it really wanted. I was on a list that included Queen Latifah and Snoop Dogg. Don't get me wrong. I love Latifah and Snoop. But it was clear to me that if Snoop and I were on the same list as possible hosts for this new show, then BET didn't really know what it wanted the show to be.

So, I told my agent, “no way.” After much cajoling from my agent, I agreed to audition, but I had one caveat—I wanted to go first. Turns out, nobody else on the list wanted to go first. So I flew to Washington, DC, confident that I could pull it off. My first live interview threw me a bit, but it turned out to be a blessing. I have written in the past about my first guest, Russell Simmons. The question I'd asked him about rapper Tupac Shakur, who died the week prior to my start, incensed Simmons. He called me a “house nigga” live on the air and abruptly ended the interview. Everybody started tuning in just to see this guy named “Travis” who had his behind handed to him by Simmons. It took me about two years to rise above that insult but, for that first week, the controversy served me well.