Turning into Dad – Part 2

Last night I woke up in the chair, in the middle of watching All In with Chris Hayes on MSNBC.  Somewhere between the “Trump International Doral” and the “Monmouth Poll” I drifted away.  It reminded me of my father.  

I wrote so much about him that I broke it into parts, yesterday and today – so here’s the second installment of “Turning into Dad.” Click on this link to read the first part – Turning into Dad – Part 1

Part One began with my childhood and Dad’s amazing ability to fall asleep. It then goes on to highlight the early part of his career as a broadcaster. Dad helped start and sell the Phil Donahue Show. They changed the world of broadcasting from Dayton, Ohio.

Part Two

Back Home in Cincinnati

The Phil Donahue Show took off, and Dad found himself managing WLW-D and back on the road selling the show to individual stations.  At its highest point, the Donahue Show was in 224 television markets in the United States and internationally.  

We moved out of Dayton and back to Cincinnati, where Dad was made President of Syndication for the new company, Multimedia.  He had a whole staff of salesmen, including both Lee and Grant, and his favorites, Joe Cifereilli and  Bruce Johansen.  The prime property was the Donahue Show, but Dad also produced and sold Sally Jesse Raphael, After School Specials, and the beginnings of The Jerry Springer Show.  

On the Road with Dad 

The travelling wasn’t just national, Dad went to Europe to sell shows.  Mom and I went along for the Scandinavian trip; Denmark, Norway and Sweden. We stayed in nice hotels,  and I didn’t realize that putting laundry in the bag was a big deal.   Dad wasn’t too happy about a 4000 kroner bill for four pairs of underwear and blue jeans.  

But he didn’t stay mad for long, he had a luncheon meeting with Swedish television.  In Sweden, business meetings began with a vodka toast, then continued with toasts through each course of the meal.  I don’t know if Donahue ever made it on Swedish television, but I do know that Dad was smashed when he got back from lunch.  Of course, he needed a nap.

They were making big sales. Dad closed one in Philadelphia, a million dollar contract signed on the placemat of a restaurant.  He had the mat framed and hanging in his office.  But perhaps his best story was with one of his salesmen, making a big “pitch” to a client.  They took a break, and his salesman came back from the restroom with a problem, he couldn’t get his zipper back up.  He pulled and twisted, but it was still down, and the clients would be back shortly. Finally Dad offered to help out, and there he was, pulling on another man’s zipper, when the clients came back in.

By now it was the mid 1970’s, and I was in college.  I’d come home some weekends, arriving on Friday evening to tell all my tales to Mom and Dad on the couch.  I had to talk fast, because it wouldn’t take long for Dad to start snoring.  Nothing changes.

One Last Story

Dad was retired when the Donahue show ended, but Phil was always grateful to him.  Dad took the risk of starting the show, backed it up with hard work and sales, and changed television.  When it finally came to an end, twenty-nine years later, Phil took everyone involved with the show on a cruise.  

He rented the entire Seabourne Legend (the ship in the movie Speed 2)and cruised out of New York to Bermuda.  He wanted to make it special for Mom and Dad, so he arranged for my sisters and I to be a part of the cruise.  We were flown to New York, and “hung out” at Phil and Marlo Thomas’s apartment until it was time to board.  Then we were snuck onto the ship, and locked in a stateroom (with caviar and champagne) until we put to sea.

We watched the Statue of Liberty fade behind us from the crew deck, then waited until the opening cocktail party.  Phil presented Mom and Dad to the crowd (they were like parents to many), then gave them his “special present” — us.

The Dining Room 

Mom and Dad had a party one night, and a man there was describing his office downtown.  The guest said it was strange, he could see into an office in the building across the street. He didn’t know whose office it was, but the TV was on ALL THE TIME.  He figured that the guy didn’t work, just watched TV.   After a little bit of geographic geometry, we realized he was looking into Dad’s office.  Dad always had a TV on, no sound, but the picture on from the time he walked in until he left for the day. Oddly enough, it didn’t put him to sleep, I guess it was work.  He wanted to know what “his” station was showing, even if he didn’t hear it, and even if he wasn’t managing one anymore.

Mom and Dad were always, always up for a party.  They were energized by conversation.  Politics, government, history, business,  and travel:  all were argued around the dining room table in my parent’s house.  There were “formal” dinners several times a month, with different friends and guests. Mom always wanted interesting people at the table.

The “dinner” itself took less than an hour, but no one left the table.  The conversations went on long into the night.  Dad was wide-awake for all of that. (That table, and the furniture that went with it, now are in my niece’s dining room.  The food there is great, and the conversations are as just as intense.)

Dinner at the Dahlman’s

I remember sitting at that table one night, talking about US spending on defense.  The Chardonnay had done its part, and the conversation was growing.  One of my parents’ friends was an aircraft engineer at General Electric, a big industry in Cincinnati, and started describing a plane he was working on.  It couldn’t be seen on radar, and could fly undetected against the enemy.  We didn’t know if he was kidding or not, but I definitely expected the FBI to bust down the front door and take us all away.

This was before we knew about Stealth technology, or the Skunk Works in California where it was developed.  And it was long before the stealth fighter or bomber was public.  But they were public that night, at least around the dining room table. 

Those dinner parties became a tradition.  When I was there, I took the “liberal” side, backed by Mom and some of their friends. Dad was a “business Republican,” but some other friends were true dedicated conservatives.  We debated every issue, except for religion and the Queen of England (Mom’s rules.)  We all learned a lot, respected each other views, and drank a lot of wine.

 Both my parents had long lives; at ninety-two they were still throwing those parties.  It might be a couple of days of naps on the couch (and the chair, and wherever else) to recover, but they were still up for it.  It was their lifeblood.

A Seat at the Table

I’m glad that table is still set, now in Cleveland, ready for the next dinner and debate.  I miss those evenings with Art and Louise, Dick and Lois, Peter and Luce, and the other friends who joined in.  I miss Mom sitting at the end, managing dinner and conversation, and Dad running his end of the table, and looking for more chocolate cake.

And I am a Dahlman. I’m writing in the same chair as last night, in front of the TV on our favorite station. You probably didn’t notice the long pause in the typing – well – 

 I took a nap!