Where perky newscasters beget strange fans and stranger Web sites
By JEFFREY P. McMANUS
Working for one of the hottest and most successful web publications in America has its rewards. But I wouldn't know what those rewards might be. That's because I don't work for one of the hottest and most successful web publications in America. I work for the News Babe page.
The News Babe page is a collection of over 300 photos of attractive female newscasters, each accompanied by a short bio. I started it because I had insomnia one night and I needed an artistic outlet -- all my friends had cool web sites, and I had diddly-squat. But beyond that, I always had an affinity for women who read the news. Maybe it's their otherworldly tidiness. I don't know, everybody needs a hobby.
Even I will admit that looking at photos of fetching news babes can get boring after the first 150 or so. But the best part of having a really weird web site is the weird e-mail it generates. You can expect anything from harsh denunciations of your premise (whatever it might be) to requests, from residents of random Scandinavian countries, for pictures of Pamela Anderson Lee.
I always pay particular attention to e-mail that comes from people who actually work at TV stations. So when I received a piece of mail from a very nice woman in the promotions department of an actual TV station ("Viva the News Babe Page," she wrote) I knew it was time to parlay the News Babe page into something real, something tangible.
I began an e-mail correspondence with her, cajoling her into giving me access to her station's news babes. Much to my surprise, they were good sports about it, taking me just seriously enough to actually invite me to the studios of KIVI-TV, the ABC affiliate in Boise, Idaho. Besides some probably misguided hopes of promoting the station, they no doubt wanted to see just what drives this freak who collects, scans and posts pictures of attractive women who read the news.
The KIVI building is actually in Nampa, a placid burg about 20 miles outside of Boise. Their building is shaped like a Babylonian ziggurat -- a giant media step-pyramid, an indestructible monument to broadcasting. As I enter, I feel as if I'm being led into the inner sanctum of local television.
Inside, I immediately steal a number of colored balloons that say "Time To Care: KIVI 6" and notice that there are posters from various ABC television series posted here and there. I wonder if the Babylonian ziggurats had anything similar.
My first interview is with Jill Rickett, a weekend anchor who has been filling in on weeknights because one of the station's other news babes has been out on maternity leave. Jill, blond and businesslike, quickly gets into serious interviewee mode.
I ask Jill if she's ever had any problems with obsessive fans. She says that when she was in Texas, she packed a pistol and Mace and occasionally got letters from death-row inmates.
"Are you packing right now?" I ask.
"Oh, no," she says. "That was down in Texas."
I nod knowingly. I've heard they really don't know how to treat news babes down in Texas. And that's a damn shame.
Then I get right into it and ask her if she's ever had any cosmetic surgery. There is an uncomfortable pause, and then I notice a small scar on her lip. "Everybody's had a little nip and tuck," she explains. But in her case, an unfortunate face-plant following a childhood sledding accident left her with 35 stitches and cause for quite a bit of cosmetic surgery. At that moment, I can't think of anything to say. I then realize that we're in a social situation that couldn't have taken place 100 years ago. What do you say? "Oh, I can barely tell!" Or maybe "Mmm hmmm. Very interesting. How long did it take to heal?" I quickly change the subject.
She describes her current hairstyle as "The hairstyle for Jill." She explains that it's the first time her job has permitted her to style her hair the way she likes, and I give her bonus points for referring to herself in the third person. She says that when she worked in Texas, they did a "revamp" of her look. "Next thing you know, I'm bleach blonde, perky, perky, perky like a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader, and the ratings went up overnight. I'm wearing sequins to talk about people being murdered." I cannot help but wonder how many death row inmates are wearing sequins as they write letters of undying devotion to their own news babes.
My next news babe encounter is with KIVI morning anchor Kelley Day, who has asked me to meet her at her home. I arrive at the apartment complex and eventually run into her at the swimming pool. Kelley is extremely attractive -- almost mind-bogglingly attractive. Because I'm a professional, I don't dwell on the fact that she's wearing a bikini, or that there are small drops of water here and there on her body. But because I work for the News Babe page, I am duty-bound to recount it here, for the record.
We go into her apartment, which smells great. Kelley puts on a T-shirt and hands me a beer from the refrigerator. We talk about her family, her career, her goals, her hair.
She has to be at work at 2 a.m. every day. How does she like those hours? "They suck," she says.
She first started doing on-air reporting in Tucson while she was still a college intern, which is unheard of in a market that size. How did the other staffers at the station handle that? "I got a lot of shit from a lot of women in that newsroom," she says. I conjure up a mental image of a gang of news babes engaged in a hair-pulling catfight. Then I regain my focus and have another swig of my Coors Light.
Kelley shows me a picture of what she used to look like when she had really long hair (nice), then she flips through a pile of mail she's received from prison inmates and other garden-variety losers. A guy named Butch wrote her to say that his wife just left him. As soon as his wife moved out, Butch wrote, "My friends were on me in a hot flash, telling me I should ask you out to supper." I get the impression that Kelley will probably be washing her hair that night.
Another letter from an inmate: "Between Joe's corny humor and Steve's weather report, I can plan my day accordingly."
"What do you have to plan?" Kelley exclaims. "You're in prison!"
And you know, she has an excellent point.
She reads another letter from an anonymous writer who tells Kelley, "You keep striking me as stunning." The flattery is nice, but she loses interest a few paragraphs later when the guy starts talking about Waco, Polly Klaas and Randy Weaver. I cannot help but think of what poor form this guy is showing. I mean, come on, you never bring up Waco until the third date.
And the letters keep coming and coming. You get the feeling it will only be a matter of time before some nut shows up at her house with a wilted bunch of flowers and a tire iron. "I'm scared every day I go to work," Kelley says. "Every morning, I walk out my door with my Mace in my hand, ready to squirt."
Still, Kelley is ambitious, and she's obviously talented. She says she'll never let the obsessions of a few grammar-impaired convicts hold her back. "This career is all-consuming for me," she says. "I won't give it up for anything in the world. Not a husband, not children, and not a crazy person."
Crazy person, crazy person. Yes, I think I'm beginning to understand. That crazy person may be the guy who writes obsessive letters to female newscasters, or he may be the guy who collects hundreds of photos of them and posts them on the Internet. I'm just not sure. At least I'm not in jail. Yet.
Jeffrey P. McManus is a writer and consultant who lives in San Francisco. A co-host of the Pop Culture conference on The Well, he has also worked as a news reporter for the Camarillo Daily News and the Santa Barbara News-Press.