Mike Gage in the Role of Reporter

Ordinarily, nobody cares about the hiring of a reporter, except trade journals and office gossips.

An exception came last week when television station KNBC landed former Los Angeles Deputy Mayor Mike Gage as an education reporter and commentator. This was news. For one thing, there’s a legitimate question of ethics: Gage is not relinquishing his presidency on the Board of Water and Power Commissioners. Before long, Gage’s loyalty to the mayor and his loyalty to his news director are bound to collide.

More interesting, though, is that Gage did not seem a likely candidate for journalism. In his 2 1/2 years at City Hall, Gage often seemed downright contemptuous of those of us who ask questions and scribble notes for a living. Gage’s attitude showed in his frequent arguments with reporters, especially those assigned to investigate whether there were conflicts of interest in Mayor Tom Bradley’s personal and political finances.

When Gage thought the reporters had gone too far, words boiled from him. His face grew red. Luckily, he affected a casual style of dress and wore his tie undone. That left room for the veins that bulged out from his bulldog neck at the height of a tirade.

Not that uncontrollable temper disqualifies people from my business. One of my favorite bosses used to throw telephones across the city desk and another one kicked in an office door. Still, I worry that Mike will have trouble adjusting to his new job.

In the news business, you’re taught to be nice to newcomers: They may be your boss one day. In that vein, I offer my new colleague some advice:

There’ll be much about the new job, Mike, that you hate. For instance, people don’t return your phone calls. I know, as deputy mayor, you got right through to CEOs. But layers of press secretaries and other assistants insulate the chiefs from nagging reporters. In fact, you were quite effective in filling that role for Mayor Bradley.

Then there’s the waiting. You weren’t the kind of deputy mayor who waited for anybody, although you didn’t mind keeping me and the other reporters stewing in the mayoral anteroom.

Now, you’ll be with the rest of us, standing outside closed doors, hoping someone will come out and talk to you. Soon you’ll learn to appreciate the old journalism joke: “I earn my living by waiting for people to lie to me.”

An even bleaker experience awaits you on the other side of the door, when you go inside to cover a meeting. Board of Education sessions last for hours. You’ll be forced to listen to the long discussions of small details so beloved by school board members. And all the while, your news director will be yelling on the cellular phone, wanting to know why you don’t have a story. And not just a story. THE story. The INSIDE story.

Don’t scream back, Mike. The ranks of reportorial alumni are filled with people who thought they’d had the last word in an argument with the boss.

Perhaps the hardest part of your transition, Mike, will be surrendering the power of being an insider. Being on the inside is addictive.

Actually, you can’t go cold turkey. You’re not stepping down from the DWP position Bradley gave you when you left his Administration.

Sure, it’s only a part-time job; journalism is your meal ticket now. Still, the board supervises one of the most powerful municipal agencies in the state. And if Bradley decides on mandatory water rationing next year, you’ll be advising him.

Ethical questions aside, the dual role of reporter/policy-maker is going to make life miserable.

I know, people will think that having inside information about Bradley Administration policy will help you in your new job.

Not if you get it in confidence. The mayor won’t want you telling Administration tales on Channel 4. Nor would Bradley approve of you tipping off other KNBC reporters.

Remember how you dealt with leakers?

But you’ll never keep those secrets once you get in the KNBC newsroom. I know the Channel 4 reporters. They’ve got some real snoopers on the staff. Tricky, too. They’ll invite you out for a drink, maybe two.

You’ll accept. A drink will sound good after a day of waiting for a Board of Education press conference. The reporters, pretending to be your buddies, will massage your ego. You’ll respond: Maybe I CAN be the next Dan Rather. Pretty soon, you’ll be revealing the deepest mayoral secrets.

Mike, I’m warning you. All things considered, don’t go through with it. For you anyway, there are better ways of making a living.