In 2008, the night Obama was elected I was living in the Financial District and working overnight shifts for ABC Radio in the west 60s. Before work, I was at my apartment getting ready to go uptown and I could hear cheering from other buildings as states were called for him. There was a slow-building hum of energy in Manhattan that night that I’ll never forget. It felt like being in a packed arena before the home team wins the championship.
The entire city was heaving with anticipation and excitement.
By the time I got on the subway (around 9 pm I think), we knew Obama would win. I strolled into the office and took my seat in the booth where I worked during overnight shifts. My job was to make cuts of audio from ABC news anchors and edit them to be used across ABC affiliate stations. I also interviewed correspondents and experts and cut up the audio for the same purpose.
The ABC Radio building was like a bunker. It had no windows and the lighting was always the same. You could never tell what time it was, which actually made working overnight shifts more bearable.
My audio booth had a big mixing board and it looked out at the main control station where my boss and others sat in front of even bigger mixing boards. It kind of felt like the NASA control room. My boss would talk into a microphone that fed directly into my room (or my headset) to get my attention. I was basically in a closet for eight hours at a time in this job. My main connection to the world was through my headset.
Sometimes I’d catch some memorable interviews. I remember listening to a feed of Chris Cuomo interviewing Bill Clinton in a hotel room before going live on Good Morning America. They were just schmoozing and Clinton was complaining about not being able to sleep in hotels because of the recirculated air. Mundane but memorable for some reason.
When I wasn’t eavesdropping on Cuomo and Clinton, I was making regular calls to the National Hurricane Center in Florida to get updates on incoming storms, and trying to stay awake in case there was an earthquake in Pakistan or something. My shift ended at 7 am so almost nothing ever happened. After work, I’d pour myself onto the subway with the other overnight career zombies and try not to sleep through my stop.
Most of the time though in that booth, I just watched surfing videos and questioned the life decisions that had led me to work in a deadly quiet box by myself, not doing anything like the journalism I’d imagined myself practicing at that point in my life.
Put another way, I was bored out of my mind.
That night Obama won though—November 4th, 2008—I wasn’t bored at all. The city was electric. The usually sleepy ABC Radio newsroom was buzzing, if winding down by the time I got there, and I relished the chance to sit in my little audio newsgathering pod and listen to the world unfold in real-time. It was pure joy.
At one point my boss chatted me over the mic. I could hear his voice come out of the board. He said he was about to patch through Jesse Jackson for a quick interview. Jackson was standing on Soldier Field in Chicago surrounded by a crowd of people celebrating. I never saw a picture of him that night, but I can vividly picture it in my imagination. I don’t know if Jackson called in or if some ABC producer was there in Chicago and grabbed him to feed his audio into the ABC media machine or what. I just knew he was on the line and it was my job to interview him. No preparation. No suggested questions. Just go and get good audio, and I did.
Luckily, interviewing people is one of my strengths. I don’t consider myself a very competent conversationalist, but for some reason, in this professional capacity, I do well. I don’t remember what I asked him. I think I just served up vague softballs like Tell us what this moment means for you and the country. I knew I only had a couple of minutes before he would leave and who knows, probably go shake our new president’s hand. He gave me short bites that were perfect for radio. He was articulate and he was crying.
That I remember.
Damn, what a moment. Honestly, it kind of makes my eyes well up a little thinking about it. What a night of hope and opportunity for us all.
This year I won’t be working. I won’t even be in the country. After the debacle of the last election, when I watched the returns with a dwindling 12-pack of beer and an increasing feeling of dread and anxiety, I’m ok with a little distance.
Whoever is sitting in that booth in the West 60s though, or covering this election from a desk in midtown or an afterparty in wherever, I wish you luck.