by Julie Kramer
“Patience,” she said. “Soon the entire world will be able to watch Walden.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“When the time is right, we will show viewers where Walden is hibernating. He will have his own webcam.”
She said the words quite casually, but I realized the overnight interest his webcam would draw. Walden might be just a bear, but online, he’d be a star. Even bigger than a circus bear. The only bears to outrank him on the Internet would be from Chicago.
She stressed the benefits studying hibernating bears could yield for mankind. “Putting humans in a hibernation-like state could help people survive heart attacks, or even travel in space.”
Those were all future news stories. I needed to focus on the present. “How soon before Walden will be dormant?”
Teresa confided that he was hitting that lethargic stage, probably because temperatures had been unseasonably cold. “He’s found a secure den and is sticking close.” She agreed to call me first before the webcam went live.
I was right that without fresh bear video Bryce was busting the story from live shot to set piece. I was also ordered to head back to the station prepared to pitch a winning story idea about food.
CHAPTER 52
Thinking about food made me hungry. Because of my hair disaster, morning was a rush at the farm. Mom sent me out the door with only an apple and a piece of bread. I was now on a stretch of road without any restaurant exits.
I tried to remember food stories I’d once done. My favorite involved testing fortified juices and finding they didn’t contain the amount of vitamin C their labels claimed.
Bryce probably favored stories that were easier to produce, like ones about food trends such as insects on Minnesota menus. If I could find an eatery that served crickets and worms, he’d probably promote that all day long.
And if hunting season hadn’t been over, I’d look for a story angle on bear meat. Combining food and unusual animals would likely score high with my new boss. The only downside was I’d probably have to eat the cuisine during a standup. Or live on set, with whoever was auditioning for anchor.
Even though bears and bugs were spoiling my appetite, a fast-food restaurant beckoned from the highway and I ended up ordering a chicken wrap off their healthy menu. While waiting for my meal, I scanned a wall poster that bragged about the low fat and calorie content of their nutritious choices.
For many diners, those numbers count more than dollars and cents. And then the idea for my food pitch hit me. A consumer investigation on whether menu claims matched actual numbers.
“We’ll put ’em to the test,” I said to myself.
• • •
In person, Bryce really hated my hair. He called me into his office and ran his fingers through the bangs, pulling on the ends.
“That’s not going to make my hair grow any faster,” I said, shrugging him away. I’d forgotten to text Nicole for backup, but at least the door was still open.
“To keep our story straight, Riley, when viewers call to complain about your hair, we’ll tell them you donated it to that cancer kids group.”
“I don’t think lying is a good idea, Bryce.”
Luckily, my food-testing concept distracted him from my locks, but now he shut the door. “I like the sound of your food idea. I don’t want any interruptions.”
I considered complaining that the air in his office felt stuffy, but decided just to keep focused on the story. “It’s important we hire a respected lab, Bryce. They need to be certified. And we need to repeat the test to show a pattern.”
“How much is this going to cost?” he asked.
“Depends on how many restaurants we check. The tests run at least seventy dollars each, multiply that by two, multiply that by the number of restaurants or entrees …”
“Sounds expensive.” A predictable response from a boss who calculated a story’s value by its cost. I convinced him a lawsuit over sloppy reporting would be even more expensive.
To help him feel ownership over the project, I had him help brainstorm a list of ten popular chains that viewers would find familiar.
“We do all this work, and you’re sure we have a story, Riley?”
“Well, no, I’m not.”
That was the risk news organizations took with investigative reporting. Journalists can invest time and money and not always find what they expected. And if you can’t prove it, you can’t air it.
More than once I’d had to tell a boss that I thought my story might be falling through. “Not all stories turn into Watergate.”
“You mean we could spend more than a thousand bucks, plus all the time this will take, and wind up with nothing?” he asked. “This is starting to feel like your other stories. No bear and no killer.”
“Bryce, I’m not a hunter and I’m not a homicide detective. I’m just a reporter.”
He brought up the weaknesses of the Amish story being outside the viewing area again, but did admit the overnight ratings had showed a small spike instead of our normal drop-off.
I told him we’d use hidden cameras inside the restaurants so we could promote the story as Channel 3 going “undercover.” Bryce ended up approving the food-testing story mainly because nobody else in the newsroom had come up with a better idea since his mandate.
That was my cue to escape his office. So I told him I needed a few minutes to fix my makeup before the newscast.
“Not a bad idea, Riley.” As I turned to leave his office, he leaned over his desk and gave me a quick pat on the tush. “And counting a few calories might be good for you, too.”
Right then I missed my old news director, Noreen. I’d always considered her a bully boss, but compared to Bryce, she was the big sister I never had.
((RILEY CU))
AND SO … HAVING SURVIVED
HUNTING SEASON, WALDEN
WILL BE THE SUBJECT OF BEAR
RESEARCH ALL WINTER LONG.
Literally seconds after the director gave me the all-clear signal for my bear debrief and gestured for me to leave the news set, my phone vibrated. This was the call I really dreaded answering. Not my boss, but my hairdresser. She called whenever her critical eye determined I needed a trim or highlighting. My hair was her canvas.
“How could you go to such an amateur?” she said. “Besides, people know you’re a client of mine. They will think I styled that disaster.”
I didn’t want to tell her the truth, so I blamed my mother.
CHAPTER 53
The next day was like a scavenger hunt. I started out researching menus for places that specifically listed calorie and fat content. Luckily, most had the info posted on their websites. If they didn’t, I called posing as a customer interested in bringing her book club to dine on healthy food while discussing fine literature.
“Please let this lead to news,” I said to myself.
I narrowed the list to six chains, and picked two meals from each menu. Because the restaurants were all in the Twin Cities, Bryce let me use Malik to help with the hidden camera. Four of the places had take-out menus, which made those trips easy. I dumped the entrees in plastic ziplock bags and put them in a cooler on ice in the back of the van.
At the other two stops, we were seated at a table and ordered the meals we wanted to test. Me, a garlic chicken dish. Malik, tilapia, a popular fish.
He was happy to catch up on our lives and insisted he was finished going on air himself. He was quite interested when I told him of the webcam the bear center was preparing for Walden’s hibernation and hoped he could shoot the story.
“That would be great,” I said. “But Bryce might just make us take it straight off the web to save money. He’s already sweating the bill on this food story.”
After hearing of all the happenings in Amish land, my photographer was no longer so eager to return to that corner of Minnesota for our timeless feature. “Sounds treacherous.”
I disagreed. “Normally they are a quiet and spiritual peopl
e. This murder, this whole thing, is so uncommon among them.”
“That camera they stole was one of my favorites, Riley. The lens was simply incredible.”
“For that, I’m sorry.”
Then our food arrived. Malik was hungry, and wanted to taste just a bite of his dish.
“No,” I insisted. “We need the entire serving, otherwise that will throw off the calculations. I’ll have them bring us bread sticks.”
Since bread wasn’t included in the advertised healthy meal section, we wouldn’t test them. I assured my work spouse he could order an appetizer at our next stop.
The lab we were using for our testing had instructed me to get every last drop of the serving, so I’d tucked a rubber spatula in my purse.
Malik shot video from his cell phone and kept an eye out for the waitress while I bagged the food. When she returned to check if we needed more water, she seemed startled to see our plates sparkling clean. She probably wondered if we had licked them.
“It was delicious,” I told her, declining dessert. Malik glared at me, but after all, I was on a diet.
By the end of the day, I felt more like a food gatherer than a news gatherer. We were hauling the cooler across town to a certified food testing lab when I got a call from Bryce. I put him on speaker so Malik could hear, too.
“Are you at the lab yet?” our boss asked.
“No, but don’t worry,” I said. “We’re close. We’ll make the drop before it closes.”
But Bryce had changed his mind. The calorie/fat testing story was dead. “I’m looking at the budget and can’t justify gambling this much money on something that might not yield news.”
“But we’ve already invested time and money,” I protested. “And it’s sure to be a ratings hit. Remember what you said about viewers and food.”
I’d already started working on the script.
((RILEY SOT))
RESTAURANTS ARE APPEALING TO
DIETERS BY SERVING HEALTHY
ENTREES LABELED WITH FAT AND
CALORIE CONTENT. BUT ARE THE
MEALS WHAT THE MENUS CLAIM?
It didn’t matter. He ordered me to come up with a cheaper, no-risk food story. Then he hung up.
I had to scramble and call the lab to tell them our plans had changed and we wouldn’t be needing their services after all. A technician had been on standby to blenderize one of the meals when we arrived so Malik could get video of her pouring puree into a test tube. They sounded disappointed they weren’t going to be on TV.
“So what are we going to do with all this food?” Malik asked.
I told him he could take it home.
CHAPTER 54
Riley, Riley!” Someone was banging on my office door while I was trying to catch up on my emails and brainstorm another food story.
“Come in,” I called.
Nicole was breathing hard. “It’s getting worse.”
I knew what she was talking about, but was torn between curiosity and disgust. Did I want details? I decided not. After all, I’d just had my hair and butt touched by my boss.
“Whatever it is, Nicole, I hope you’re documenting it. Date. Time. Offense. Keep a record.”
She started biting her lip, and it seemed to be bleeding. I handed her a box of tissues and some lip gloss.
Softening a little, I said, “I’m on your side, Nicole. I’ll teach you how to use a hidden camera. We’ll prove he’s a jerk.”
She blushed, even under her layers of makeup.
“Why didn’t you text me?” I asked. “I would have barged into his office to help you.”
“It didn’t happen in his office.”
I hoped she hadn’t gone to his house. That would be most unwise. “What do you mean, Nicole?”
“Riley, it’s too embarrassing to talk about.”
“Talk anyway.”
She took a deep breath and I cleared some files off a chair, and motioned her to sit down.
“He’s sexting me,” she said.
“Oh, ick.”
“It was a picture of—” she paused to find the right word, “him. It was disgusting.”
I called it the Anthony Weiner trickle-down effect. Men in power, be they politicians, executives, athletes, even apparently news directors, liked to show off their vigor.
I tried to console her, though I was cringing myself. “You poor thing, Nicole. But now at least you have proof.”
She shook her head. “I deleted it.”
“You what?”
“It was gross. My first reaction was to get rid of it.”
“It was evidence.”
“I know.” She looked bleak. “Do you think we can get it back? I heard emails are never really gone. Maybe texts are the same way.”
“It’s quite possible,” I said, “but we might have to ask Xiong for help.” Lee Xiong was Channel 3’s computer expert, whom I affectionately called my “alpha geek.”
“Xiong would probably wonder why you wanted porn retrieved from your phone,” I continued. “He might consider it a form of harassment himself and if you told him the photo was Bryce, because you’re on air, gossip might get out. I think I know an easier way.”
“What?” She didn’t sound very hopeful.
“Wait. If he did it once, he’ll do it again.”
That was my theory after a decade of investigative reporting. Very seldom did I find a culprit who only cheated one person once. Most of my most memorable stories centered on repeat offenders—whether they be fraud artists, serial killers, or sex creeps.
That night I slept horribly. Visions of Bryce danced through my head.
CHAPTER 55
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket the next morning as I was going out the door. Teresa from the bear center was calling. “Today we’re going to unveil Walden’s den.” She emailed me the webcam link so I could get a preview. “We’re finalizing the technical support.”
A camera had been mounted inside what looked like a snug cave where a plump black bear curled comfortably in a pile of dirt. A light was mounted on the roof of the den to make the scene visible twenty-four hours a day for global fans.
I saw no movement. Walden resembled a bear corpse. “He looks dead. Are you sure he wasn’t shot?”
But then I heard the animal inhale before becoming quiet again.
“He’s fine,” she said. “The metabolism and heart rate slow down significantly for hibernating bears. Of course if something disturbed him, he could be alert within a couple of minutes and in a bad mood.”
I asked what research might be gained from keeping him under surveillance.
“Walden will be the first radio-collared bear in southern Minnesota,” she said. “By tracking this bear, we can learn how far south the species can roam and whether the milder temperature impacts the bear’s habits, including diet and hibernation. He may not sleep as long as his northern cousins.”
Viewers were going to love seeing Walden snooze. Animals and sleep—two highly rated topics.
“This cave camera is terrific,” I said. “But if I drive down, is there any way I could get up close to the actual den for a story?”
“Afraid not.” She said they wanted to keep the location private. “Best for Walden and best for humans. We don’t need any incidents.”
“But I promise to behave,” I said. “And I’ll even promise to be vague about the site. Please? We could simply say ‘southeastern Minnesota.’”
I also swore not to broadcast any live shot anywhere near Walden’s locale, and she finally agreed to take me on a personal tour. Bryce wanted a bear—well, I’d give him one. No time to wait for the news huddle—I called the desk and got the go-ahead for the story.
• • •
A forested area outside of town surrounded another old sinkhole, this one home to a bear. The den wasn’t all that far from the road, which surprised me. I expected a middle-of-nowhere location. A large maple tree served as a useful marker. Most of the leaves had fallen, but
enough gold and red still clung to the low-hanging branches to make the giant limbs pop against the snow.
Bryce had given me another camera, but no photographer. He figured that would have been rewarding me for my carelessness.
Teresa and I crouched low to get inside the den. She reminded me to keep quiet. The hanging light allowed me to shoot some video of her pointing at Walden.
“Thanks,” I whispered, “this is good perspective.”
She described researchers putting their heads against the silent chests of hibernating bears for kicks. “The skinnier ones sleep deepest.” Once, with her ear against a bear, she heard a loud heartbeat and realized the beast was waking. “The blood flow to a bear’s legs slows down considerably, so the head is the first thing to move. Usually a couple of minutes pass before the rest of the bear is ready for action.”
Then I got bold and asked if I could touch Walden. This was a form of stunt journalism—like being tasered on camera or driving a car into a lake to show television viewers how to escape a submerged vehicle.
I figured describing the feel of his fur would make for a good anchor-tag question/answer. Channel 3 would have it alone. None of our competition could match our fur frenzy. And it was just the kind of feat to impress a new boss.
Recognizing a gimmick when she heard one, Teresa rolled her eyes and nodded yes. “Softly,” she warned.
I held the camera back as far as my arm would reach and watched through my camera monitor to see my face with a bear in the background. Then I shot a close-up of my hand stroking his fur. It was coarse. Walden was no teddy bear.
We backed out slowly and softly to avoid tripping over each other and the bear.
“Funny,” I said once we were outside, “in real life, even up close, he didn’t look particularly fierce.”
“Could be a whole different boy if he woke up.”
Teresa decided to let Channel 3 make the webcam announcement. Bryce liked my bear encounter so much he sent the satellite truck to broadcast and shoot my live shot from Harmony.
“Let me get this straight,” Bryce said, “you actually touched the bear? And have video of your hand on bear fur.”
