"Yes, sir."
"Only you don't put it on the roof. Since we got all these nice folks watchin' that fool news show, Ah want it up on the wall behind that idiot what's doin' the readin'."
"Yes, sir."
The nautical anchor was in place in time for the five o'clock news that very day. And it hadn't cost a thin dime. Dave Sinnott had bartered advertising time for the thing, which required four strong backs to carry it into the building.
The news anchor took one look at it and refused to go on the air.
"Are you kidding?" Floyd said tearfully. "This will ruin my career."
"Boy, your career's done. You just don't know it yet. Now you get your raggedy ass planted in that chair and you read."
Floyd Cumptsy cut his copy of the Atlanta Constitution more slowly that day, like a man who had come to the end of his string.
Half way through the broadcast, the anchor fell to the floor with a resounding crash. The other anchor-the one who was reading-kept on reading, his face turning red and his heart sinking along with his future.
Then the calls started coming in.
"Put up that damn anchor."
"Are you just going to let it sit there?"
"It's the best darn part of the show."
Dave Sinnott knew public interest when he saw it. Not bothering to wait for the commercial break, he walked onto camera range and personally hoisted the anchor into place. It immediately fell, breaking his foot in two places.
He hopped off the screen, venting choice curses.
The switchboard was flooded with more calls. Taxis began dropping off excited viewers, offering to put the anchor up themselves. Fistfights broke out over the privilege.
The first three who offered got the job. As the seated anchor droned on and on, slowly sinking into his chair, three Georgia Tech boys got the other anchor up and banged it into place, all but drowning out the weather with their hammering.
The next day, offers to syndicate WETT News poured in.
"How many buyers we got?" Jed Burner demanded over the cellular phone hookup when he got the word.
"Thirty," Sinnott said proudly, "and they're still coming in."
"What's the best of the lot?"
"Two thousand."
"Two thousand? Some prime jerk wants to buy mah whole station foah a measly two thousand dollahs?"
"They don't want to buy the station. They want to buy broadcast rights to WETT News."
"Explain it so a lil' ole sailor boy can get the nut of it, will you, son?"
"We have over thirty cable stations vying for the right to rebroadcast WETT News. The best offer is two thousand dollars. Per episode. Seven days a week is fourteen thousand dollars, times fifty-two weeks is-"
Jed Burner interrupted with a question. "What's cable?"
"It's TV that is carried on wires. They gotta hook it up special. They also call it pay TV."
"How come?"
"People pay for it."
"You joshin' me, son. TV's free. It's like oxygen. You buy a set and plug 'er in and you're set for life. Except for the commercials. Think we can get better ratin's if we cut out those dang commercials?"
"Mr. Burner, if we had more commercials we'd be in the black."
"Tell me some more about this cable thing," Jed Burner said slowly.
Station manager Dave Sinnott patiently explained cable. He tried to keep it simple. He knew his boss had the approximate attention span of a gnat.
"Never work in a million years," Jed Burner said at the end of it.
"It's not doing so bad now. These cable outfits are hungry for product. And they'll throw just about anything on the air. That's why our news looks so good to them. It's different."
"All them wires. Ridiculous. But back to this heah rebroadcast rights thing, are these good offers?"
"Depends on what you compare them to."
"Try comparin' them. Just to humor a poor cracker."
"Well, compared to a locally produced show with its budget, these are right handsome offers," Sinnott admitted.
"Ah hear a 'but' in your voice, boy."
"Compared to what network affiliates pay for the big news shows produced up North, it ain't cowflop."
Interest flavored Jed Burner's cornpone voice. "By what kinda margin?"
Sinnott floated some figures and the silence on the line was prolonged. The rush of ocean water past a fiberglass hull was indistinguishable from static in his ear.
He was about to ask if his boss had fallen overboard when Jed Burner's voice came back on the line. Gone was the loud, obnoxious attitude which, combined with his brash personality, had caused the print press to dub him "Captain Audacious."
"You listen here. Forget all that rebroadcast stuff. Ah want you to take that there dinky news show we got and you build it up. Heah? Built it up so that it's bigger and better than the Northern shows. With me so far?"
"Yes." The station manager's voice was a froggy croak.
"Then you offer it around. But you undercut them network scuts. You undercut 'em good. Ah want WETT News carried on every station in the cottonpickin' country."
"Impossible!"