Product Description
Mike Miller, in a devastatingly candid look back over a twenty-five year career in radio, television, and politics, tells it as it is! Miller deals with such issues as sex, alcohol, and drug use in newsrooms and on Capitol Hill. He also explains how he overcame crippling polio and a lifetime of severe depression and alcohol abuse.
His story begins at a radio station in
When he got into politics, and nearly went to work for Bill Clinton, things really got crazy! How High is required reading for everyone interested in politics and the news media.
Although it may shock you, it will make you laugh!
From the Back Cover
By Mike Miller
Finding another job was a priority. My low opinion of Jim Inhofe soured me on politics. At the same time, television news seemed to lose its fun and excitement. Washington DC was exciting, but something seemed lacking. Perhaps I missed the mischief I recalled from early Tulsa TV.
WUSA-TV was much too big and busy to engage in questionable activities that made life so unpredictable in the turbulent 70s. Certainly, nothing like the day Tulsa Police Chief Jack Purdie called me in to ask if I knew anything about a porno movie produced by some Tulsa TV station personnel.
"You're asking me to admit to a felony," I replied. "Or at least knowledge of a crime." The chief explained, "We're not interested in the damn movie. We're investigating a murder case involving two lesbians. We have reason to believe the victims may have appeared in the film."
I quickly realized the Chief Purdie's suspicions were bogus. The two local movie stars were prostitutes. They were actors, not lovers. I assured the chief the movie "performers" were very much alive, healthy, and probably flat on their backs, earning a good living. The reason I was certain: the murder story had been in the news, along with some pictures of the victims. Furthermore, one of the film stars was also a star witness in a major murder trial I was covering.
I did confirm being present at an apartment near the University of Tulsa, where the hookers put on a performance that some TV staffers captured on film. The chief never asked for names of those in attendance, and I didn't disclose them.
Purdie expressed thanks, but warned to exercise caution because the vice squad knew about the porno film. I hadn't considered a possible raid, but usually followed the chief's advice. (He once suggested I check under the hood of my car after filming an especially dangerous crime figure in court.) Rushing back to the station, I located the hidden celluloid time bomb. Frankly, I was paranoid, expecting the cops to raid the newsroom any minute. At first, I tried unsuccessfully to burn the film but finally cut it up and put the clippings in a paper bag. Driving across the 23rd Street Bridge, I tossed the bag into the Arkansas River and breathed a sigh of relief.
Peace of mind was great. Unfortunately, I was about to have another panic attack. Several days later, while covering the big murder case, the same prostitute who had appeared in the film, took the witness stand. A defense attorney asked her, "Did you ever make a stag movie?" My heart skipped several beats, while beads of sweat appeared on my forehead. I expected her to point me out in the courtroom, shouting: "Why don't you ask him? He was there!" The woman was under oath to answer truthfully. My career began to flash before my eyes. After a pause, thank goodness, she lied. I'm not sure why. Perhaps she figured an affirmative answer would only open a film can of worms. Nevertheless, a scandal was averted and evidence to prove she committed perjury lay at the bottom of the Arkansas River.
Local Tulsa TV news personnel occasionally shot pornography and maintained a small, X-rated library. Photographers had access to a camera, film, and a processor. All they required was an actress; a girl friend or prostitute easily filled the bill. Another locally-produced film quietly made the rounds several years earlier. Eventually word got out and a District Court Judge asked to see it. After returning the film, he remarked that a woman juror on a murder case, in which he presided, viewed it with him. "She didn't like it." According to the judge, the juror complained the leading man left his shoes and socks on. The judge then displayed a large, blown up photo of a nude woman revealing an ample bush of pubic hair. It was signed, "To judge (name deleted). Thanks for granting my divorce."
Pornography has universal male appeal, appreciated by reporters, photographers, and frequently newsmakers themselves. An assistant prosecutor kept a small porno collection in his desk drawer at the courthouse. The desk became popular with the press. Reporters frequently used his phone to call their newsrooms; perusing the magazines helped pass the time.
Sometimes a cinematographer added to a station's porno library by simply shooting up someone's dress. Fortunately, nobody noticed. Presidential daughter Maureen Reagan was one oblivious victim, seated at a Tulsa news conference. We got a good shot of her girdle. Another clip included footage shot along the Okmulgee Beeline, as we pulled along side the driver of a white T-Bird apparently receiving oral sex. I mounted the camera on my shoulders, rolled down the window of the marked news cruiser, and filmed into the passenger window. A female passenger sat up and looked outside to see the news unit, filming away. It's a good bet she watched the news closely that evening. However, in keeping with the station's good taste policy, we relegated Miss B-J to a blooper reel.
As TV matured, it also cleaned up its act. The evidence of drug use I'd seen earlier in Tulsa had evaporated by the early 90s. During the 70s, drugs vied with alcohol for staff mood alteration. One Tulsa station even sported a 2-foot pot plant sprouting in full view right outside the studios near the parking lot. The grass didn't always remain outside. One example occurred during a locally-televised Junior League fund-raising event. (A Junior Leaguer is the type of woman who, according to my dad, would get out of her Cadillac and say, "Oh shit, I stepped in some dog do-do.") The organization boasted the cream-of-the crop of Tulsa's elite. During their telethon, the socialites got a dose of the cream of the marijuana crop. Midway through the event, several members of the floor crew took a break in a storage room to smoke a couple of joints. Unfortunately, the air conditioning system carried the strong, pungent aroma into the studio. The telethon had suddenly gone to pot, but the "high" society Junior Leaguers pretended not to notice.
