Ted Turner Is Showing His True Colors
News Item: Entrepreneur Ted Turner intends to add color to a batch of black and white movie classics he has bought for showing on his superstation, WTBS.
On a rainy day in Georgia, a butler answers a doorbell.
“May I help you?”
“Yes. I have an appointment with Mr. Turner.”
“Follow me, please.”
The butler proceeds to the master’s study.
“A gentleman to see you, Mr. Turner.”
“Ah, yes. Hello.”
“Hello, Ted.”
“Glad you could come. Would you like to sit down?”
“Actually, Ted, what I’d like is a tour of the house.”
“Ah. Excellent.”
Turner leads the guest into a long hallway.
“Now this, this is my pride and joy. It’s an original Picasso. I just bought it.”
“I recognize it.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, usually. But Ted, I think there’s something wrong with this painting.”
“Oh, that. Don’t worry about that. I didn’t like that eye sticking out of the guy’s forehead, so I took a brush and painted over it.”
“You what?”
“Hey, it’s my painting. I own it.”
“But it’s a classic. A masterpiece.”
“My masterpiece. I paid for it.”
Turner moves on through a doorway, into a garden.
“Look. Aren’t these beautiful?”
“What are they, Ted?”
“What are they? What do you think they are?”
“They sort of look like roses.”
“Of course they’re roses.”
“But Ted, they’re green.”
“Yeah. I got tired of looking at red all the time. Red, red, red. It got boring. So, I took a brush and painted over them.”
“But roses shouldn’t be green.”
“Hey, they’re my roses. I planted them.”
“But . . . “
“Let’s go. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Turner leads the guest into an elegant parlor. Two tall young men rise from soft chairs. One of them has a blue face, the other a yellow face.
“These are two of my athletes. Dale Murphy . . . “
“How do you do?”
” . . . And Dominique Wilkins.”
“Hello.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Uh, Ted, I’ve seen both of these young men on TV. They look different.”
“You’re very observant. My teams have been a little boring lately, so I took a brush and painted over them.”
“You what?”
“Just think about it. Think about how many more people will watch my cable TV station now. They’ve already seen Dale Murphy white, for a lot of years now. They’ve already seen Dominique Wilkins black. People will be eager to see the new blue Atlanta Braves, the new yellow Atlanta Hawks.”
“Ted, you can’t be serious.”
“Why not? They’re my players. I own them.”
“But . . . “
“You ought to see Spud Webb with yellow cheeks. He’s adorable.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Use your imagination. The whole world can be colorized. Wouldn’t you like to look at a green sky now and then? Wouldn’t you like to drink a pink beer? Wouldn’t you like to have orange teeth?”
One of Ted Turner’s children enters the room. He is turquoise.
“Dad, could you come fix the TV? Bill Cosby’s got yellow hair.”
“Relax, son. I just bought the rights to Cosby’s reruns. I think Cosby and his wife look better blond.”
“But Dad . . . “
“Run along now and play with Spot.”
“He’s not Spot anymore, Dad. You painted over him, remember?”
“Run along now, son.”
The kid leaves the room.
“Ted, do you think you’re justified in doing all this?”
“Doing all what?”
“Colorizing things.”
“Hey, I’m just getting started, boy. You know that ‘Blue Boy’ painting? I just bought it and colored that sucker purple. You know that movie ‘The Color Purple?’ Well, those people in that movie weren’t purple. They were black. That dumb director. So, I had all the people colored purple.”
“Ted, you can’t . . . “
“Don’t tell me what I can’t. If I want to colorize movies, I will. If I want to watch ‘The Brown Badge of Courage’ or ‘How Gray Is My Valley’ or ‘The Chartreuse Rose of Cairo,’ I will. They’re my movies.”
“But surely . . . “
“If I want to help my TV ratings by making the Braves play with a maroon baseball, I will. If I want to help my TV ratings by making the Hawks play with a lavender basketball, I will.”
Turner is getting angrier. His contact lenses are glowing. The guest is afraid that he might turn violet.
“Ted, I’d better go.”
“No, please, stay. We have a lovely dinner planned. A juicy steak, blood-green. Turnip reds. Blue-eyed peas.”
“Thanks anyway.”
The butler, now a bright red, shows the guest to the door. Turner waves goodby. Outside, a boy is playing with a striped dog.
The rain has stopped. The sun is shining. The visitor looks up, to the sky above Ted Turner’s house. There is no sign of a rainbow. No sign at all.