A veteran North Dakota commodity group leader has reminded me several times how important my morning farm broadcasts were to him. He says he would turn to my broadcast to find out if there had been developments in Washington, D.C., that affected his commodity. He wanted to know what would be waiting for him at the office – brushfires to put out, or what phone calls to expect.
For more than 40 years, I worked the early shift, alone in the newsroom those first few hours. I didn’t mind. I was part of the news team. While my “beat” was ag, I did general news, too. Our newsroom was staffed six days a week, including holidays. I recall how good it felt when I said in my first broadcast, “Good morning and happy Thanksgiving.” I knew (or suspected, at least) there were lots of people out there saying, “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Al.”
By staffing the newsroom from early morning to late in the evening, even on weekends and holidays, our management was telling us what we were doing was important. As the first one in the newsroom, I made the calls to the police stations and sheriffs’ offices. I called the fire departments and the ambulance services, asking what sort of mayhem there had been overnight. I even called the hospital nursing supervisors to see if someone had been admitted and for what reason. That was long before health privacy laws.
Sometimes, what I learned on those calls made me the bearer of bad news. Still, it gave me a certain sense of satisfaction, knowing if there were things people wanted to know, or needed to know, they could rely on me to relay that information.
Most days, there was no mayhem. The people answering the phone at the police, sheriff, fire and ambulance offices expected my call. They’d say, “Good morning, Al, all’s quiet.” On those days, my lead story was not about some fatal car crash, house fire or someone being admitted to the ICU. On those days, I was sort of like the town crier hundreds of years ago. I wasn’t walking the streets, crying out. But by inference, I was the one saying, “It’s 7 o’clock and all is well.”
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Al Gustin is a retired farm broadcaster, active rancher and a member of Mor-Gran-Sou Electric Cooperative.
