Dew Point Just Right

It’s a gorgeous June day In New Haven. As I sit outside and write this piece, the sun is glowing orange over Westville, with a beautiful summer breeze. Not humid as it has been earlier in the week.

That’s because of the dew point. Mike Collins taught me that.

You see, the dew point is simply how much humidity is hanging in the air. When the humidity reaches 100 percent, the air is so full of moisture that it can’t hold any more water. And the closer the dew point is to the current temperature, the more humid it is. It’s 76 degrees right now. The dew point is at 34 degrees. So we’re comfortable.

How appropriate a way to remember Mike, my former boss at WQUN. Mike was tragically found dead at his home in Orange earlier this week, news that has stunned those of us he taught to report the news. He was an unforgettable character, and a one-of-a-kind mentor.

I was a new mom in 1997, looking for a full-time job. I’d applied for a job at Quinnipiac’s soon-to-be radio station, but that was two months before my daughter was born. So I thought I would never hear from them.

But there I was, sitting downstairs in the new offices of the Polling Institute, waiting to be interviewed. The finishing touches were still being put on the physical radio station. Ray Andrewsen, assistant general manager then (and GM now), and Mike conducted the interview. Forty-five minutes into the interview, they asked what newspapers I read. I said The New York Times, Boston Globe. Hartford Courant, New Haven Advocate, and the hometown paper of record.

In the middle of my saying I grew up with the Atlanta Constitution, Mike blurted out, ​“Well, when you come to work for us, you can read all those papers for free, anytime.”

I was stunned, and so was Ray. And Mike sat there, smiling. The interview lasted almost another hour. A month later, when Ray threw the switch to turn the mics on, my voice was the first to cross the QUN airwaves.

I soon learned of Mike’s idiosyncrasies: calling cars ​“aw-too-mo-BEELS.” Many, many creams for his hot coffee. His dislike — and I use the term lightly — of Ronald REE-GAN and the so-called right wing. And traffic on I‑95.

Well over six feet and over 200 hundred pounds, Mike stood out in a room. But his striking presence was the opposite of his personality: he was kind and generous to a fault.

And like a traditional newsman, he had an appreciation for the past as well as a willingness to embrace the future.

Mike, an only child, moved back into his folks’ house in Stratford after they had passed. Most of the appliances were just about 30 years old. He came in one morning perplexed and frustrated over the clothes washer, which had broke down. The clothes dryer did the same a few days later.

“Why can’t I find anyone to just fix them? Why don’t they have the parts?” he exclaimed to me.

“Mike, how old are they?” I asked.

“Well, my parents bought them brand new in 1972!,” he responded with a what’s‑wrong-with-that? look on his face.

“Mike, you’re lucky they lasted this long! It’s the ​‘90s.” He blushed then grinned, saying, ​“Yeah, I guess that is a long time.” He took my suggestion about Brand Central, and bought new appliances that week.

As much as Mike loved radio, he loved newspapers. What a foodie would spend on a good lunch and dinner in one day, Mike would spend on newspapers. Even though the station had a budget for them, Mike would come in, suit jacket crumpled, maybe a shirt tail hanging out, with an armful of newspapers he’d already purchased.He would sit at the large table in the station’s kitchen, and scan pages, clipping articles. Some went toward ledes for us; others were mailed to friends who he thought may have an interest in the subject matter.

What I also learned was Mike was a smart, well-respected newsperson. He knew radio, and he knew radio news. Most of the general managers I’ve worked under came out of the sales department. Mike started out as a reporter, and no matter what title he held later in his career, he worked with the passion and soul of a great reporter. He fell in love with radio since he was a kid in Stratford. He told me how he used to pick up all kinds of stations from across the country, thanks to radio waves bouncing off Long Island Sound. He knew any radio station in the country’s call letters, frequency, its history, and who the owners were. And he could talk to anyone anywhere about any radio station.

Like most reporters, Mike had worked at organizations where the news department was least valued. He wanted to change that with WQUN.

He would always say that you’d get the best work out of the happiest employees. His WQUN, the last local newsroom of its kind, was a fun place to work. We celebrated birthdays, had good food, could drink our coffee or tea in the studio — an engineers nightmare — and were never micromanaged. We were trusted to do our jobs, but expected to do them well.

Mike was one of the first GMs I heard talk about the importance of covering the community, and not turning out news for news’ sake. He wanted us to have everyone we could possibly get on the air that first year, from the head of the Chamber of Commerce to the head of the PTA. He wanted the station to be ​“in touch” with the community; the public service announcements that currently run on the station are called ​“In Touch” reports. And even though we worked in a relaxed atmosphere in a new facility, you best believe it was about getting the story right, with more than one source, and on the air in a timely fashion. Mike felt if we were going to be about the community, then we should be giving the community quality, correct information, and news they could use.That also meant news from all sectors of the Greater New Haven community — female, Latino, black, Asian,gay, Native American — information about any one that you usually didn’t hear on radio news.

Not only was Mike an editor for the Associated Press, Mike was the metro editor of the New York desk. He edited and put on the wire coverage of 1977 blackout and the Son of Sam murders. And because he was the historian of the New York State Broadcaster’s Association, he knew the shakers and movers in the industry. He also was an historian for the Connecticut Broadcasters Association, and he sat on the State Freedom of Information Commission.

In our first year on air, Mike insisted we compete for an Associated Press award. He and Ray were the only persons in the building who believed we had done real award-winning work.

We schlepped up to Hartford, thinking we’d be riding the bench. We won two AP awards.We had slayed the news giant in our market, which was already on its last legs. We were a force.

Mike’s blue eyes glittered. I now understood the term ​“When Irish eyes are smiling.” Mike knew we were ready.

And he listened to QUN all the time, especially on his way to and from home. He placed constant attention to story placement and where that doggone ​“in touch’ report fell in the newscast. If he felt we didn’t have enough sources for a story, he would definitely let us know about it.

At one point he felt QUN announcers could use a little ​“fine tuning.” So Mike bought in one of the best in the business to critique us, someone already a professor on campus, former WCBS announcer Lou Adler. Sitting with Lou was like going to the dentist; you knew the end result was going to involve some pain. And while he didn’t yell at you during those air checks, you were, to be sure, ripped. ​“Well, we simply want you all to be the best,” Mike said. ​“And Lou knows the best.” Mike did, too.

When Joe Lieberman was selected as the Democrats’ vice-presidential candidate in 2000, the announcement came close to convention time. The opportunity for organizations to get press passes had long passed. Mike and I talked about Lierberman being on the short list, but agreed he probably wouldn’t be selected. We were so wrong. And two days after the opportunity had passed, Mike stuck his head in the door of my office and simply said,“Let’s see if we can get credentials for the Democratic National Convention,” and walked away. I jumped up after him. ​“Mike, it’s days after we can get them!”

“Well,” he said quietly, ​“See what you can do.” Now, I’m not going to say what was going through my head at that moment, but trust, it’s not something I’m not willing to share. And he didn’t offer to help me. So for the next several hours, interns typed and read the news, while I tried to track down anybody to get credentials. I did. As it turned out, one of our reporters was out in Los Angeles that week, and we arranged for him to attend. When I told Mike I’d gotten the credential, he said, ​“I knew you could.” We got daily reports from the convention, the only station in the area to do so.

In 2001, I was told about a job opening at another radio station in New Haven. A news training program was being put together by a good friend of Mike. After four years at QUN, I felt there was nowhere to go but up — and out of there. The station was consistently winning AP awards. We were being recognized for our public service; Charles Osgood came to town to celebrate our anniversary. We were the only CBS affiliate in New Haven County. Even the Inner City gave us coverage when Ed McMahon, the Quinnipiac School of Communication building’s namesake, came to town. The headline read, ​“Ed McMahon Comes to Quinnipiac, Meets Michelle Turner.” With Mike’s help, I had arrived! My daughter was now headed to kindergarten, and I was ready to take what Mike had shown me how to do, and mix my own ideas with it. In July of 2001, I resigned my position at QUN and became news and public affairs director at WYBC Radio.

Mike and I kept in touch. The last time I heard from him was on Facebook in April; we inboxed a lot, and I had hoped to see him during the summer. That won’t happen now. I have cried and prayed for him daily since I learned of his death.

Some would ask me why would I want to celebrate the life of a white, gay male.

For the first time in my profession, I can say that I had a boss who tried to create a work atmosphere that was intolerant of racism or sexism. He sincerely saw and nurtured my talent, without being hung up on my race. He backed the decisions I made about the stories that were broadcast and the interns I selected to do news coverage. He pushed me to grow.

Thanks so much, Mike. I won’t forget. Especially about the dew point.