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| REMEMBERING WATT |
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Contributors (click name to scroll down to their piece):
Seb Pitman
Ron Holloway
Frank Segers
Fred Lombardi
Abie Torres
Lee Simkins
Hy Hollinger
Mark Silverman
Frank Meyer
Peter Cowie
Don Groves
Sid Adilman
Eric Mika
Jack Kindred
Larry Michie
Jack Loftus
Morrie Gelman
Peter Besas
Mort Bryer
Roger's own resumé
We are deeply grieved to announce that the co-founder of Simesite.net and former longtime London bureau chief and transitional editor-in-chief of Variety, Roger Watkins, passed away near his home in Birchington, south of London, on April, 23, 2006.
Roger had been fighting a tough battle with spreading prostate cancer for the past two years and despite his serious condition had typically remained cheerful and responsive to all those who spoke to him till nearly the end.
The last time some of the ex-muggs saw Rog was in London last June when he and Pat joined Syd and Joan Silverman, Jack Kindred and myself for dinner in a French restaurant in South Kensington. Some of us have talked to him on the phone periodically, and the last conversation I had with him was only about two weeks ago.
All those who knew and admired Roger have their own memories of him, and I hope some of you will share these with the other ex-muggs who view this Site by sending them in to us. *
For the record, Roger had turned 69 in February. He is survived by his wife, Patricia, his two sons, Andrew and Ian, and six loving grandchildren.
Those interested in sending their condolences should address them to his home at: 10 Hereward Avenue, Birchington, Kent CT7 9LY, England.
Anyone wishing to remember Roger may like to make a donation to Pilgrims Hospice, Ramsgate Road, Margate, Kent, CT9 4AD, England or a charity of your choice.
Besa
* Send copy to pbesas@hotmail.com for posting on Simesite.
THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES
by PAT WATKINS
I wish to say thank you to everyone who sent tributes to Simesite and to me, Andy and Ian personally for Roger.
The response has been overwhelming and the content of them extremely kind and heartwarming.
Roger was energetic, enthusiastic and a born optimist. His courage in dealing with his illness was remarkable.
We had 46 years of happy marriage with lots of laughs, lots of love and just a few tears. Words cannot express how much I miss him.
Thank you once again.
Pat
THE LAST FAREWELL
by IAN WATKINS
Roger's funeral on Friday, May 5th was attended by over 80 people, including family, friends, neighbours and colleagues. The day was warm and sunny and the organist played "There's No Business Like Show Business" as we left the chapel. Earlier we heard "Londonderry Air" (Danny Boy) and Dave Brubeck's "How High The Moon".
The wake took place at Roger's local pub, The Minnis, on top of the cliff overlooking the beach at Minnis Bay near his home.
Ex-colleagues from Variety bidding their last farewell were:
Lee Simkins, former London office General Manager
Fabienne Lewis, Roger's secretary/personal assistant
David Copeman, former London Ad Salesman
Zoe Hoenig, former London Office Assistant
My brother, Andrew, spoke a few words of thanks and talked about Roger as a father. I read some of the tributes that appear on Simesite and many guests asked for the Simesite website address so that they could read all of them.
Jean-Luc Renaud, Roger's most recent business partner, read the tribute that he has posted on his site: www.dvd-intelligence.com
SEB PITMAN
As the son of one of St James' St leading muggs, I have some very fond memories of sitting around the office and all the fine people there, not least (and sometimes most) Mr W and I was saddened to hear of his passing. I know that my father would've written at great length of the wonderful qualities and professionalism his good friend offered and it would be rather remiss of me to fill that void. They're gassing now in any case.
Ruth and Seb send their love and thoughts...
Pit Jr.
ROGER WATKINS MEMORIES
by Ron Holloway
The Roger Watkins I remember with some affection was a Variety mugg packed to the brim with jokes. My German friends hailed him as a fast-talking ad-salesman who could pepper a scene with a pinch of barbed humor. And, if I can borrow an observation from a mutual friend in the trades, Roger was considered as a past master of the ploy that could pay dividends. Whatever that meant.
Ploys, it seemed, were a way of life in Roger's book. Ask him about Charlie Chaplin, and he would rave on and on about Buster Keaton. Mention the resurrection of the historic Globe Theatre on the banks of the Thames, and he would hawk the merits of Times Square. Once, I ventured a friendly remark: "Roger, you're a Walter Mitty!" He countered: "Why not Walter Matthau?"
I marveled at the way he could easily pull the wool over the eyes of an erstwhile festival director. Moritz (or whatever his name was) liked to see his name in print. So Roger got him to compose a string of quaint advertising pages in Variety to announce the next festival. Month after month appeared a "howdy letter" with bone-head, down-home, come-hither previews of coming attractions. Funniest festival ads I ever saw in those hallowed pages. And I always figured that Watt. himself was the ghost writer who had composed them.
Roger liked to retell favorite anecdotes. I liked the one about "How the Limey Came to Manhattan." As the story went in my jumbled memory tank, he walked into a bar and ordered a "limey." "What's that?" asked the bartender. Without batting an eye, Roger expounded on his private drink: "Take a lime, cut it in half and drop it into a mug of Real British Ale, then shake it a couple times – that's a limey!" The next day, Roger happened to stop by the same bar again. There, chalked on the board was a "New Drink From London – the Limey, $5."
Our days together in Berlin were generally relaxed affairs. The German film industry, if it could be called that, was anchored in Munich. Berlin was only worth a visit because of the Berlinale and a colony of tax shelter moguls and film investment bankers. Roger stayed at the Kempinski but ate at Hardke's on Fasanenstrasse, a tourist oasis for beer and sausage. It took a while, then Roger broke the ice with one of the Berlin moguls by offering him an interview in Variety. I went along for translation help but understood absolutely nothing – not even when the interview appeared later in print. Still, the mogul did pay for a splendid dinner in a first-class restaurant. "Better than the sausage links at Hardke's," I said.
Ask Roger about the black ink that left smears on the hands and clothes of anyone who picked up Variety, and you could get him going with another story from the "good old days" at the Cannes festival. Every year, he watched bigshot producers stop by the stand at the Carlton to pick up the bulky International Film Number (IFN) and march off to the action at the Palais. "Watch the ones with the white suits," he said. "They're going to advertise our front page all over the Croisette!" The "ink joke" ended when Syd Silverman put a cover on the IFN issue.
My first acquaintance with Roger at Cannes was back in the early 1970s. There, below his window at the Hotel Suisse, was a column of telexes streaming down the wall in some order of importance, all meant for the office on 46th Street from the "ad hoc editor" on the Riviera. The Cannes "beat" was a feather in his cap. Once, I asked him when was the last time he saw a movie in the Palais. He said he couldn't remember. That just wasn't his game. And I don't think he thought too highly of us critics who squatted for hours at screenings, breakfasted with actors and filmmakers, and roamed the festival oases in search of the next Pasolini or Tarkovsky.
But he was curious all the same. At one Cannes festival, when he had nothing special to do at his filing desk, he went to an auteur film in the Competition – and came back shaking his head. "We write about that stuff?" he laughed.
My chance to get even came when Apocalypse Now and The Tin Drum were running neck-and-neck for the Golden Palm. Roger sent me down to the Palais to see if Variety could get the news of the winner first. Luckily, I met Pierre Rissient on the Croisette, the one journalist in town who knew all the inside dope on jury deliberations. Armed with the good news, I hurried back to Roger.
"It's ex aequo," I said.
"Great! Who's the director?"
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A PALL THAT IS HARD TO SHAKE
by Frank Segers
The death of Roger Watkins has hit harder than I could have imagined.
After all, I was never particularly close to him.
I never shared a basement with him in Chappaqua presumptiously discussing which Variety staffers post-Cahners would be organised out of existence.
I never visited in the UK with Roger and Pat - his rock strong wife who kept Roger's feet at least brushing the ground.
I never had the privilege of meeting his two boys, Andrew and Ian. I never once glimpsed the legendary London office that Roger so animated.
Yet the news of his demise has left a pall that is hard to shake.
Let's stipulate upfront that Roger was genuine charmer: funny, smart, a remarkably pungent writer (although I suspect he went to his grave doubting his skills in this area), a superb, intelligent ad salesman.
It's not an overstatement to say that Roger was the most influential single individual of my generation at Variety.
For it was Roger who connected the international dots in ways that his distinguished predecessor, Harold Myers, had not - or, at least, not fully.
Roger figured out the myriad strategic connections between international and domestic, and how they could be reshaped to build something new. He did more than anyone to affect a far closer operational interplay between 46th Street and the freewheeling foreign bureaux, which, until then, had been on a casual get-along basis at best.
In the 70's, when I first met Roger on one of his occasional NYC visits, he was to me this pleasant interloper in the 46th St. office, entertaining the Gotham edit troops by doing hilarious renditions of various English accents and musing about the preposterousness of British royalty. He was, I thought, a real bloke, a classy guy with a touch of the plucky cockney.
That was pretty much it.
Our professional association didn't start until the early 80's when I fielded a phone call from Syd Silverman one afternoon inquiring if I could arrange to be in Munich on Monday.
I was sitting in Chicago at the time (I had moved from New York to the Windy City by 1980), and the notion of an assignment in Germany was as remote to me then as covering a press conference on Pluto.
Syd quietly explained that Roger needed editorial help in compiling a special covering German films-television-home video, and felt a US staffer would come in handy.
The idea, as Roger later made clear, was that he felt too many foreign market specials written and compiled by locals lacked the freshness and clarity that an American audience demanded. And, he emphasized, Variety was an American publication. So why not import Yank edit staff to work with European sales teams?
Syd Silverman had the foresight to approve Roger's concept, and a key new operation was born.
Special sections on foreign markets long predated him, of course, but it was Roger who perfected the form, linking it to a sound editorial base designed to educate a domestic U.S.-centric trade audience.
Roger had long admired the authoritative special reports compiled by "The Economist", and to some extent patterned the US-foreign edit collaborations on those published in the British newsweekly.
(Imagine his satisfaction when, in the late 80's, the reverse took place. A staffer from "The Economist" moved into the London office for a week or so, researching and consulting a Variety special section covering Japan's Shochiku Co.)
These 46th St.-London editorial coproductions involved a number of US-based staffers, and invariably resulted in profitable specials that were informative and as no-nonsensically hardnosed as was domestic coverage at the time.
For those who worked with Roger on these sections, certain traits stood out: his indomitable optimism, his energy (as Morton Bryer's excellent recollection underscores), his attention to detail and getting things right, and his infectious passion for the specials he worked on.
There is little point dwelling on Roger's tenure of a year or so as Variety editor. The timing was atrocious. He took the job just as the paper was being torn apart by bitter internecine strife engendered by the 1988 sale to Cahners. Roger had a terrible time during this period both personally and professionally.
Roger had what I believe to be an unduly high regard for the quality of American corporate management.
He also thought - prematurely as it turned out - that the digital "revolution" was akin to the second coming. I vividly recall Roger enthusiastically describing the Time Warner-AOL merger as the portal to a new era in show business. (He was, of course, by no means alone in this view at the time.) Although the merger was perhaps the most disastrous in American corporate history, Roger proved to be right in some of his larger points.
My fondest personal recollections came later, after we both left Variety. Roger asked me to join him in an ad sales campaign on behalf of the European Film Academy, which sponsors the annual European Film Awards. Our activities on behalf of the EFA were far less important than the glimpse I received for the first time into Roger's personal life.
I certainly knew of Roger's most charming wife, Pat, but virtually zilch about his two sons and six grandchildren. For the first time, Roger talked in personal terms to me, making clear how much he reveled in the joyous pandemonium involved in an expanding family. I recall these conversations with relish - and gratitude.
I could not agree more with Larry Michie's notion that Roger was indeed Best in Show. I salute hime professionally, and will always treasure his memory. I respectfully join the hordes of muggs who feel the same. May he rest in peace.
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A STRAIGHT ARROW GUY
by Fred Lombardi
Serving as editor of Variety between Syd Silverman and Peter Bart, Roger Watkins represented the last stretch of continuity in the editor's chair from the original Variety to its transition into a corporate entity.
Roger also evoked the past in other ways. There is always pressure on upper echelon people to be very limited in their candor. I always found Roger to be very straightforward, a straight arrow guy with a keen sense of fun. He was accessible to everyone and communication levels with the staff were always strong.
In the last few years my contact with Roger was limited to a few emails but I always considered him to be a friend. I was very disappointed when I learned that he was unable to appear at the Variety Reunion. I was deeply saddened when I learned of the circumstances that made that absence unavoidable. I am further saddened today to learn that all communication lines to Roger are now gone.
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ROG AND THE FALKLANDS
by Abie Torres
My niece, Debbie and her husband Eddie, were with us on Easter. After dinner, Dibbie was thumbing through Besas' Inside Variety. Pointing to a photo of Roger she said, "Uncle Abie, I don't remember him." I told Debbie that Roger was from our London office and recalled the day we, in advertising production, decided to play a gag on Roger and on John Willis. During the UK and Argentina conflict over the Falkland Islands, an Argentine torpedo somehow hit a British ship. The New York Daily News ran a front page photo of the idle ship in the waters of the South Atlantic. We had a blowup made of that front page. When Roger and John walked into the office the next day, we played a tape of Patti LuPone singing "Don't Cry for Me Argentina." Roger's reply was "That was grand, Thank you. Will talk to you chaps later on." With that, they went upstairs to meet with Syd.
Roger, it has been a privilege knowing you.
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TEA AND SYMPATHY
by Lee Simkins
It was Roger’s son, my old "mucker" Andy, who told me, back in the early '80s, that his father was looking for an office junior at Variety and asked me if I was interested. I thought it may do me for a year whilst I decided which career path to follow. That year lasted 20 years but then, I had been hooked the very first time I met Roger and Pat at my interview, which took place in the kitchen of their home in Shooters Hill, over a cup of Earl Grey and an endless supply of chocolate biscuits. I immediately felt at home in their company. They looked after me so well that day and continued to do so during the years that followed.
Variety was my first proper job since leaving school and I was a little wet behind the ears but Roger took me under his wing and it wasn't too long before I settled in and got used to some of the real characters that worked in the old building on the Corner of St. James's and Piccadilly. However, I never got used to some of the awful jokes that Roger came out with on a regular basis, some of which I can’t repeat as there may be youngsters reading this, before the Nine O'Clock Watershed! I’m terrible at remembering jokes but I vaguely recall a "leeking from Peking" joke and an "Earwig O" joke that he told. If anyone can remember them in full, do tell.
It wasn't just at work that Roger looked after me. I remember both Pat and he coming round, on a regular basis, to the flat that Andy and I owned to tend to our garden, which would allow the two of us to chill out with a beer or two, whilst watching Spurs win at home on TV!
The greatest tribute I can pay is that he was like a second father to me in my early years at Variety and I have always cherished the great kindness and help he extended to me at that time. His enthusiasm for all things, his great sense of humour (he was never in a bad mood) and love of life are just some of things I will always remember about him.
I’ll raise a glass to you, Rog – you will be sadly missed.
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HY HOLLINGER
Like most Silverman-era Variety muggs involved with the foreign market, I spent time with Roger in London, Cannes, Milan, New York and Hollywood. I don't think I've ever come across a more charming and witty companion, a remarkable whiz at whatever he did, and most important, an exceptional human being.
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MY MENTOR, MY FRIEND, OUR MUGG
by Mark Silverman
Roger Watkins was the epitome of the Variety mugg. He was street smart, motivated, a thoughtful reader of people, and a good listener, traits which made him both a great reporter and a top salesman. I spent my 24th year (1981-82) as his “understudy” in the old London offices on St. James’s St., just off Piccadilly Circus (see pic). It was a time now gone by which I still remember fondly, because Roger wasn’t just the best teacher I ever had. He was also my friend.
Despite our difference in ages, after a year under his tutelage, I felt a kinship to him that I had previously reserved for my best college buddies. I still cannot explain it; it’s just one of those things you take at face value. Like those college buddies, there’s a line of communication that’s understood, active or not; you could bump into each other after a 10-year lapse, and the bond would be unbroken, as though you had only been apart a day, and could catch up over a coffee. Such was Roger’s impact on my Variety schooling.
Roger was a self-made man from the Cockney East End of London, but he could “talk the talk” of the biz with any Brit—some erudite, a few pompous—who often wore their Oxford/Cambridge accents like a club tie. He sometimes seemed a bit self-conscious about his “accent,” but to my ear (and most showbiz Yanks who made no judgments along the accent/class divide of Britain) Roger spoke the Queen’s English...but with a Variety patois.
He also imparted to me many nuggets of Cockney wisdom, two of which I still spew at anyone who will listen (#1), and all my freelance writers (#2):
Watt.-icism #1: “If you pay peanuts, you get monkeys.”
Watt.-icism #2: “When writing a story, don’t strain for significance; give the reader the facts, and he’ll figure out what’s significant to him.”
Rog introduced me to a lot of worldliness in my young life back then. I met just about everyone of import in showbiz in London, either at an industry soiree or at their offices: Sir Richard Attenborough, David Puttnam, Lew Grade, Jeremy Thomas, Jake Eberts, publicists Dennis Davidson, Theo Cowan, Phil Symes, indie agents Guy East and Michael Ryan, etc. etc. We visited bigwigs like Bill Cotton at the BBC, ITV, the nascent Channel 4 under Jeremy Isaacs, Michael Grade, William Morris Agency, BAFTA, Dodi Fayed, Lord & Lady Rothermere, you name it, if you mattered in the business, Roger knew it, and knew you. He had a beguiling charm, a disarming manner that put almost anyone at ease, from the lowliest receptionist to the most self important mogul. It was hard not to listen when Roger Watkins was in your face - because he would listen back.
Rog, along with John Willis and Jack Pitman, also introduced me to Brit cuisine, such as it were; ex-pat Pit. educated me on British deli (unlike the 46th St. Sunday hangout The Gaiety Deli, corned beef on rye in London was a single slice of meat on two thin squares of bread). Roger and John introduced me to true fish & chips served in newspaper, and skate (more or less a small stingray), which I still seek out to this day in the States. Quite tasty.
Most Fridays at 4:00 or so, if we weren’t on the road, Roger, myself, sometimes John and Jack, would walk to the cozy offices of Arthur Abeles and Ricki Michaud, the co-heads of United Intl. Pictures (UIP), the joint international distribbery of Paramount and Universal. Two nicer guys you never met, and Arthur in particular took a shine to me, and I to him. Arthur and Ricki were in their 60s, perhaps relics of a bygone era, but untouchable in my recollection. My guess is they were too expensive to discard after all those years at UIP, and I was a tangential beneficiary of their wisdom, thanks to Rog.
Arthur and Ricki were great news sources of what was really going on in the international film markets as it related to the majors, and we often did a Friday “Happy Hour” with them in their office, a few times with one or two other industryites, before boarding our trains home. Arthur and Ricki were a virtual repository of tales on who was doing what to whom in the business, and Roger shared some of his secrets with them. It was the ultimate double agent clubhouse, but neither side ever ratted out the other. To me, it was like a First Amendment “Free Trade” zone.
I remember leaving the 3-hour Cannes premiere of “Inchon”, whose international exposure Arthur and Ricki had been charged with, unfortunately. It was a $45-million disaster (at the time HUGE money) backed by Unification Church’s Rev. Moon about the epic Korean War battle, and probably the best example of the most money spent on the worst movie in history. Arthur stopped Rog and me as we politely shuffled out, and he asked us, “Well, what do you think?” Roger paused a beat or two, and replied honestly, “Arthur, it’s a BIG picture.” Roger wasn’t telling all, nor was he about to hurt Arthur’s feelings. Arthur smiled sardonically, knowing that Roger gave him a straight answer to a straight question, which in the long run was more valuable to Arthur than the myriad misleading platitudes sure to follow us out the door. (It went on to gross less than $2-million Stateside.)
Roger knew the marketplace forces and the buy-sell mechanics of film, tv and homevideo as well as anyone on the Variety staff, in my experience. He seemed to know everybody in the business in Europe, and if he didn’t, he would make a point to get to know them at a festival or market, or find out what Variety wasn’t doing that could sway them into its newsprint pages.
He’d go into a producer’s office, get the story they were pitching from their side of the desk, and, more often than not, extract an ad from them before they could end the session. But if they didn’t take an ad, it didn’t change the story Roger had to write. He’d pitch them again next time.
Under Roger’s wing that year, I hit every major international film ?or tv festival and market, from Vidcom to Mifed, Berlin to Cannes, Midem to MIP. We also did a couple of weeklong sales sojourns to Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Munich, Monte Carlo et al. It was a superb business experience for me, and Roger was a patient teacher. I sometimes think he had a curriculum in mind. I just wasn’t privy to it.
At Berlin in 1982, we had a gigantic dinner (German portions) with Ron Holloway, and then went to the Cafe Kaiser where there are banquettes, each with a phone, to allow patrons of one banquette to call another. At 24, before we all had cell phones, I thought it a neat idea. Next night, Rog and I had a drink with “Pink Flamingos” director John Waters after a screening, and afterwards I decided to hit the Kaiser again solo. I got in line to go in, with nothing but ladies in front and behind me, thinking I’m the luckiest man on the face of the earth. Suddenly this 200-pound frau picks me up by the collar, screaming German in my face, and slides me out the door to the street. Ladies Night in Berlin is not like Ladies Night in other places. I’m not sure Roger ever stopped laughing after hearing that one.
On a more practical note, Roger taught me how to compile “boilerplate” on companies for the massive issues we produced for the major film and tv markets, which delineated indie production slates and strategies in between gobs of ads back in the day. I was also amazed at how the foreign bureau chiefs and reporters of Roger’s ilk could crank out so much copy so fast on a dinky portable typewriter, in their cramped rooms at the Hotel Suisse in Cannes, critiquing an afternoon screening or corporate merger in time to make dinner more often than not. Group dinners at the markets and festivals were always a highlight for me, because you really got to know the muggs as people, and not just another byline. That’s another skill I probably learned from Roger by sheer osmosis.
I was invited to half a dozen Sunday suppers at the Watkins’ house on Shooter’s Hill in Kent, southeast of London, and eagerly accepted a chance at Pat’s home cooked vittels. I lived in a single room B&B that year in Hampstead, north of London, and would take the tube south across the Thames, where they’d pick me up by car. Just about every time we passed by Black Heath on the way, one or another Watkins would chime in merrily, “You know Mark, it’s called Black Heath because that’s where they buried all the people who died from The Plague.” To a New Worlder, I didn’t care how many times they mentioned it, because it reminded me how much more history Britain had over the U.S. It was good to be old, I remember thinking.
I felt an affinity with Roger and Pat’s boys, Andrew and Ian, which I can only explain grew out of the family’s genuine warmth towards each other, and their inclusion of me in their weekly family ritual. I felt like an elder son home from school when I went there, totally at ease, because they were.
Although I will miss him dearly, as many will, I will always carry that piece of Roger which he imparted into my “skills set” those many years ago, as a father might pass on the nuances of fishing to a son. We should all be lucky enough to have a Roger at some point in our lives. I know I consider myself very lucky to have had the real McCoy.
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DRINK UP, MATE
by Frank Meyer
Every morning for the past few months as I checked my overnight e-mail I dreaded seeing the message from Peter Besas with the subject “Roger.” A month or so ago Rog and I had a long phone conversation and he was surprisingly lucid, having been taken off morphine for a less debilitating painkiller.
After our chat, as he would have put it, I said, “I guess saying goodbye today is really saying goodbye.”
He chortled and said, “Yes, I guess it is.”
When I read Peter’s e-mail this morning a lot of memories popped into my head - the good and the not so.
I particularly was reminded of the weekend before he took over as editor. Roger flew in on a Thursday or Friday and we all but isolated ourselves in the basement family room of my home in Chappaqua as we went through the myriad things he wanted to accomplish and how we could join forces to get them all done.
It was strange. We had gone through our Variety lives under Syd Silverman not knowing anything about payroll in the New York and Hollywood offices. As European bureau chief, Roger knew what was up financially on the foreign frontier, but neither of us had a clue about domestic pay. Yet Cahners had asked for a budget tout de suite and we set to work on that - now armed with a list of who made what.
A lot of that was surprising, but that’s maybe for another day.
We compiled numbers and made lists and exchanged ideas from Friday afternoon through our train ride to Grand Central Monday morning. Most of it we agreed upon. Much of our thought process was centered on how to make the paper more productive and exciting editorially, theoretically aiding the sales department as well.
All the time, of course, we were thinking how we wanted to make changes where needed, maintain the status quo where possible and not dilute either the historical success of the paper and the long-term standards of excellence which marked the reign of the Silverman family from Sime through Syd.
Our biggest problem by far, one as much emotional as a part of the business plan, was the question of personnel. What were the needs on staff? Who should be replaced and when? Most especially, how do you start making staff changes on a family-run newspaper where lifetime tenure was all but guaranteed?
It was a long weekend, but it produced a working relationship that made things easier when some of these tasks had to be taken care of.
There was one scary event that jumped into my head this morning.
It was Christmas season 1988 and we were in our shiny new Variety Cahners-style offices on Park Avenue South when someone said a jumbo jet had exploded over Scotland. There was a strange silence. Most of us knew editor Roger Watkins and his wife Pat were en route to London to spend the holiday season with family.
A short while later we learned the plane was bound from Europe to the U.S. and while we were concerned about the passengers and how the explosion happened, we all breathed a sigh of relief that the Watkins duo were safe.
(Later we learned our Variety friend Phil Dimauro had lost his sister in the Lockerbie terrorist blast.)
Festivals and markets, while a lot of damned hard work, were also a lot of fun, especially as Roger and Ted Clark would find new or return to old restaurants us neophytes never would have found on their own. At Cannes it was up the hill and down this street or that into a “gourmet” dinery where the only English emanated from our table.
My favorite memory of Roger happened sometime in the mid-’80s when I made the trek to MIFED in Milan. As I learned was the custom, all the muggs congregated around the bar of the Fieramilano Hotel, many drinking Garibaldis (Campari and orange juice).
One evening toward the end of the market, Roger and I wandered off for a drink and dinner about 10 blocks from the hotel. At that bar we met many buyers, sellers and press types from around Europe. A couple of attractive young women came by to say hi to Roger and after a few more drinks we repaired to a table for dinner.
As waiters uncorked wine and started bringing the victuals, others started to join us one after another. Pretty soon we were at the head of a very large table with some 20 people chowing down and drinking up.
When the time was winding down towards the wee hours, the waiter brought the check and many reached for their money. “I’ve got it,” Roger intoned, grabbing the by now very long register tape. He looked at it for a while, then passed it to me, asking, “Have you got room on your credit card for this, mate?”
It took a lot of explaining back at 46th Street, but as the Bard said, all’s well that ends well.
Roger, you don’t need a credit card any longer. Drink up, mate!
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Peter Cowie
Roger was one of the most passionate men I have ever met -- passionate about life and its endless opportunities, passionate about new ideas, passionate about bringing people together and making a team work to its best potential. I knew of him by repute when at 8 a.m. one morning during the Cannes Festival of 1988, I received a call from him at my hotel. He was cordial, if mysterious, asking if I would have the time to meet him and Syd Silverman in the Carlton Bar that afternoon. There Syd offered to acquire my small publishing company and to bring me aboard to work at Variety. I was dubious, because I valued my independence, but Roger followed up by taking me for a cup of tea in a milk bar in Wardour Street. There he assured me that all would be for the best, and so it proved.
I could not have enjoyed the company of a better mentor. Roger was always even-handed, always calm during a debate, and never one to linger over recriminations. His ebullience, his enthusiasm, and his wonderful sense of humour helped him deal with rich and poor, fools and magnates, with the same candid friendliness that made him one of the great salesmen of his time. Nor should one forget his period as Editor of Variety, during which time he introduced colour printing to the paper.
Rest in peace, Roger. I shall never forget you and the perspectives you opened for me.
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Don Groves
I am forever grateful to Roger for being my mentor, from my earliest days at Variety, through to re-hiring me for the London post after a short-lived interlude at Hoyts, and then Roger and Pat kindly allowing me to stay in their Shooters Hill abode when I landed in London.
He not only salvaged my career at that point, but the London job was the catalyst for me to propose to my then girl friend Jenny, as I could not imagine moving to the UK without her.
I learned much about the craft of journalism from Roger. And he had a sharp business brain, which I much admired as a tyro in the business..
I doubt there was a better known or more popular mugg. Walking along the Croisette in Cannes with Roger was always an experience, as he could barely go five or 10 yards before some friend, contact or client waylaid him for a chat.
Wat. was one of the kindest, most astute and charming guys I've ever met. It was a pleasure and an honour to have worked with and for him.
His legacy will live on with his family and all those whose lives he touched.
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A GREENE REPORTER
by Sid Adilman
One day in Cannes, Roger asked me if I want to meet Graham Greene. I was overjoyed to being given such an opportunity. Roger directed me to a transport to Cape D'Antibes for a private drinks party where Greene was to be.
I arrived and ran into an already boiled Anthony Burgess and we chatted amiably about the unsteady state of western literature.
Tall, rheumy-eyed Greene ambled in and I bolted over to him and asked many questions which he answered politely but kept backing away from me. One of the party hosts finally took him to other guests.
The next day Roger asked me if I had questioned Greene. I said yes. Then and only then did Roger tell me that he was invited to send a Variety reporter to the party on condition that the reporter did not ask Greene any questions.
Had I known that in advance, I told Roger I would not have gone and missed what for me was a golden Cannes-related moment. Roger let the matter drop and what he told the party hosts I never knew.
Also, in my first year in Cannes Roger kindly introduced me to British and French sales agents and talked me up to them. The Toronto festival was in its infancy and I had some visiting distribs but didn't know sales agents or really what they did. Roger filled me in and because of the contacts he set up for me with these sales agents in Toronto and because of him they considered me a reporter they could divulge information to.
I owe Roger much more. I am sorry for his loss.
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Eric Mika
Roger was always a good man, a leader, and was always respectful to younger pups like myself who, obviously new everything and dared to try everything new - except, normally, it was done before, by Roger.
I spoke to Roger only a couple of months ago when he told me of his condition and I was inspired that he never lost his dynamic, innovative, persona. In short, it was a true honor to have worked with Roger for so many years.
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A BOTTLE OF SCOTCH SEALED OUR FRIENDSHIP
by Jack Kindred
More than just colleages working for the same newspaper, we were close friends, a friendship that lasted 36 years. I started stringing for Variety early in 1970 after receiving permission from my chief editor at the German Press Agency wire service in Hamburg where I was a deskman. After a brief trip to New York where I met Syd and Abel, Harold Myers came to Hamburg that spring followed next by Bob Hawkins, who had hired me. Then Roger came to Hamburg shortly after he had rejoined Variety in London. We met at the Hotel Atlantic and found immediate rapport, especially since Roger had thoughtfully brought with him a bottle of Scotch, which sealed our friendship.
Of course Bob and Harold helped me get started, but it was Roger who became my mentor and adviser. I began annual visits to London, and was always given the VIP treatment. But above all, I was practically taken into Roger's family - Pat, Ian and Andrew, as well as George, Roger's father-in law. We went on excursions together, including a trip at a seaside resort and capped by another all-day outing somewhere in Kent where Andrew was playing in a cricket match.
Besides London, we often met on the Continent, in Hamburg, at the Berlin and Cannes festivals. After I became staff and left dpa to move to Munich, Roger also accompanied me to Vienna to help me meet contacts there, since Austria was also part of my beat. However, I really regret that we were unable to meet in New York last September for the reunion because of his illness.
Since Roger was born on Feb. 2, it was a running gag that I always congratulated the “Chief Groundhog" on his birthday.
Like everybody that knew him, I shall miss his wit, charm and cheerful optimism, attributes that made him a great salesman as well. My sincerest condolences to Pat, Ian and Andrew.
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ROGER RECALLED
by Larry Michie
Perhaps they should have been called Variety Operatives rather than reporters or salesmen. The overseas staffers of the Silverman era had a special character and toughness and gusto all their own, and to juggle journalism and commerce, as many did, required full employment of all their skills and judgment.
Roger Watkins certainly was the classic example, and if you entered him in any competition heíd wind up Best of Show.
The overseas workings of Variety barely caught my notice when I was a correspondent in Washington during the 1960s. After I moved to New York as television editor in 1973, I became aware of the formidable ability of staffers Across the Pond to generate advertising and endless, sometimes impenetrable, reams of copy.
But it was only after I left New York and began to travel overseas as a freelancer for Syd's SWAT team that I began to understand the true scope and accomplishments of that cheerful, ruthless, hyper-competitive and charming band of adventurers. And Roger came to symbolize for me the best of what the foreign bureaus could do, leveraging news sources for advertising and advertising contacts for news, contributing mightily to the financial stability of Variety while maintaining an independent spirit of journalism.
Roger told me once, with considerable glee, that as a young staffer in London covering the music industry, he'd ask a record company exec for an ad, and if he refused, pleading a lack of funds, Roger would say, 'That's all right, mate,' then haul out his notebook and say, 'Tell me about your financial problems, I'll write a story for Variety.' Often enough, the fellow whose bluff had been called would buy an ad instead. Allís fair in love and sales.
Jaunty and energetic, with a boyish grin and a wicked wit, Roger was the engine that pulled the train along ñ sometimes with a lot of boxcars crashing together and occasionally jumping the track, but always managing to reach the next station on time.
Part of the SWAT team concept was that I could tag along with the Variety Ops and do the bulk of the reporting, freeing them to concentrate on ad sales. My first assignment was to invade Germany with Roger and John Willis. Later on, we did Oslo, Helsinki, Stockholm and Copenhagen in about 45 minutes, or so it seemed to my over-cooked brain. Those two trips ñ although many and varied were to follow - introduced me to the true vitality of the foreign crew. A reporter who works first in D.C. and then in New York may think those cities are two different countries, but overseas the differences when you cross borders are striking, not just in languages - mercifully, English is almost universal in the business world - but in culture, prejudices, perceptions and politics. The latter point is crucial, since all entertainment businesses tend to be highly regulated and subject to tremendous pressures and even - gasp! - political corruption.
Enter Watkins, Roger. He never met anyone who wasnít his friend, even if it was their first meeting. Roger was quick and fearless with his banter and his humor, and somehow even grim bureaucrats tended to relax when Watkins unloosed the force of his personality. He told bawdy jokes at times, and his listeners were always thrilled to have their stiff upper lips jolted into a smile. He cheerfully called everyone 'mate' in the best informal British manner, but he also knew that when he encountered someone bloated with self-importance or crippled by insecurity that he had to use a more formal and deferential approach. It seemed to me that no one ever said 'no' to Roger, and it was apparent that people instinctively liked and trusted him. There was good reason for that. Roger wasn't malicious or two-faced, he protected his news sources and his business clients, and he was a cheerleader for the people who worked for him.
There was a full platoon - or maybe a regiment - of hardworking Variety Ops overseas, and they all did work that was crucial to keeping Variety afloat and vital at the rapidly changing intersection of news and commerce that developed as the twentieth century wound down. No one played a more important role than Roger Watkins. And no one had more fun doing it. As Pat and their children surely know, there is a legion who join them in mourning.
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JACK LOFTUS
I will forever remember Roger's smile, his friendly manner and his masterful sense of humor… You could not walk the Croisette in Cannes with Roger without his encountering fewer than 20 very good friends, each of whom required a short visit. Result, with Roger you never ever got where you were heading. As I was new to Variety, Roger introduced me to the international business and its remarkable cast of characters... I exchanged e-mails with Roger over the last several years, and it was good to catch up. I will miss him.
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A STREAM OF MEMORIES
by Morrie Gelman
I was distressed to learn of Roger's passing. The news was a complete shock. I didn't even know he was sick.
I can't reminisce about my time with Roger. Prior to the establishing of Simesite, I rarely interacted with him. The only time we met face-to-face was in New York just prior to the transition to Cahners. Syd called a meeting of senior staffers to discuss how to allow the paper to survive into the next century. Roger was the most outspoken at the meeting. I disagreed with most of what he suggested. To me Variety was like the Algonquin Hotel in mid-town Manhattan where most of us out-of-towners were staying. Variety was old, maybe even hidebound, yet we were one of a kind, different, colorful, full of history, even legendary. Refurbish, possibly invest in restoration. Modernize, I agreed, but retain the old-fashioned style. Don't turn us into another Hyatt or Ramada Inn. I lost all my arguments.
After becoming Variety's editor, Roger and I were often at odds with one another in our phone conversations. I was then on Weekly's payroll after five years at the Daily followed by another five years at Advertising Age and Electronic Media (currently TVWeek). I felt it better for all concerned to resign but Tom Pryor, who then was still in control in Hollywood, hired me back at the Daily. Under Tom's umbrella, I no longer interacted with New York.
With the formation of Simesite.net, Roger (along with Peter) graciously contacted me with an invitation to participate. Subsequently, every contact with Roger by phone or Email was as other memories on this site suggest: He was unfailingly cordial, encouraging, and helpful. The universal truth is you really have to get out of the forest to admire the trees. I appreciated Roger as a decent, straightforward, special person only after I was no longer contending with him.
Allow me to digress. Roger's death got me to look over notes from the past. I was reminded that 1993 was my year of living sorrowfully. I was in business since mid-1991 with two partners. It was already obvious that the business, Ventures In Media, could possibly support me but not my two much younger partners. More importantly it was a time when six of my fellow workers, four of them Variety muggs, died within a six-month period.
Woody Wilson, the Daily's librarian for 30 years, died in July. He was a victim of the Cahner's takeover. Woody's reason for living was over when the old Variety organization died. The Hollywood paper was his life. To virtually the end of his days, Woody believed the paper with its rusty file cabinets and musty old clippings was and always would be his home. When he was told his time had passed there was no flaming shootout like in "The Wild Bunch". He simply had a heart attack and died very quickly afterwards on the surgery table.
Bob Knight died only about months later. Working on opposite ends of the country, Bob and I would only meet at conventions. I found him always friendly and accepting, quirky, and wonderfully knowledgeable. If I came a little late to an industry meeting or panel discussion, Bob would make room for me and be sure to get me up to speed on happenings.
Every deck of cards has four of each suit. Variety's deck had mostly one of a kind. Woody Wilson was a Jack. Bob Knight was an Ace.
Jim Harwood passed away several days after Bob. I had a complicated relationship with Jim. I respected him as a reporter. He had a tremendous list of accomplishments. The younger staffers at the Daily looked up to him. Many tried to emulate his cool, laid-back approach to life. I was way too conservative to be on the same wavelength as Jim. We spoke; we were cordial with one another. But I wasn't his kind of a guy.
Jim, very indirectly, and certainly through no fault of his own, was the reason I left Daily Variety in the mid-1980s for Crain Communications. Todd Fandell, the editorial director of Crain, had recruited me to be bureau chief for Advertising Age and a start-up, Electronic Media. I asked for time to think it over. I had a feeling I would be changing pumpernickel for white bread. I ran my possible switch by Art Murphy, whose opinion I greatly valued. His immediate response was - Welcome to anonymity. Nobody in Hollywood knows Ad Age.
Next I asked the advice of HBO's Michael Fuchs, then one of Hollywood's most important movers and shakers. I was in regular contact with Michael and regarded him among the brightest of the bright. "I'll never talk to you again," was his reaction to my proposed move. "What?" I questioned in amazement. "You're going to take this so personal."
Michael explained: "HBO has nothing to do with advertising so if you're going to Ad Age I'll have no reason to talk to you."
I had these solid reasons to stay put. My wife thought I was crazy not to jump at the chance to move. It meant $15,000 more a year.
I was still undecided when I came in one morning to find Tom Pryor had moved my desk to face that of Jim Harwood, a non-stop smoker. I was furious, not at Jim, but Tom. "I'm a non-smoker," I reminded Tom. "You want me to sit all day breathing in smoke from Jim."
There never was a time when arguing with Tom would change his mind. "If you don't like it," he said, "take a hike."
I immediately took a hike to the nearest outside phone booth, called Todd Fandell in Chicago and accepted his offer. On my last day in the office Syd Silverman was visiting. He called me into Tom's office with Mr. Pryor sitting there and asked me truthfully to tell him why I was leaving. I told Syd a half-truth. I cited my recruitment, the salary increase and the need to further my career. It was a bridge I didn't want to burn and used subsequently.
Marc Berman, who sat next to me at the Daily in my second go-around at the paper, died in November of 1993. Marc was only 39 when his life ended. There was 24 years between us so you can say we had a father-son relationship. He had come to the paper at the recommendation of Tom Bierbaum. I knew from the start if Tom gave his approval, Marc had to be first-rate.
The full-page tribute to Marc in the Daily after his death hailed him as "A kind, gentle human being. A valued friend and colleague. Our time with Marc was much too short."
I can't improve on that statement. His passing, to this day, impacts more than any of the others. I was at my Ventures In Media desk when Marc called me on a late summer day in 1993. There was so much anguish in his voice, he was inarticulate. "Marc, what's wrong? Tell me, please," I pleaded with him. He finally was able to gather himself to speak coherently.
"I'm in a lot of trouble," he blurted out. "Marc, Marc, how can I help? Talk to me," I urged. But Marc wasn't able to continue. I instinctively understood. I was from another generation. I was a straight guy. He wanted me to share his anguish. He was looking for me to console him, offer possible solutions. But would I understand. He didn't want me to be disappointed in him.
The phone disconnected. I tried him again several times. I didn't reach him. Those few sobbed words, "I'm in a lot of trouble," were the last ones I heard from him. I guessed at his predicament. I've never ceased to berate myself for not trying to do more.
Later that same year, Rocco Famighetti, who broke me in as a fledgling trade reporter at Broadcasting Magazine (now Broadcasting & Cable), died of complications of Alzheimer's disease. He was followed quickly by the death of Sandy Klausner, my assistant when I was at Broadcasting. The term "valued right hand" was invented for Sandy. She was convinced from an early age that cancer was waiting in the wings to take her and tragically she was right.
Forgive me. I know this hasn't been a barrel of laughs. Roger's passing reminds me how short is the longest life. When I go these memories go with me. I intend this essay as an honest remembrance of some things past and a tribute, in my own way, to some of the unique people I've met along the way.
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ROGER ON MY MIND
by Peter Besas
It seems unreal that Rog is gone and that he is now the subject of my reminiscences on Simesite, the way Keith Keller and Jack Pitman were not so long ago. I spoke to Rog on the phone two weeks ago and well knew what was coming. Even so, the reality somehow always eclipses the expectation, no matter how much you prepare for it.
Aside from Roger being a long-time associate of mine on the sheet, he was also a personal friend. A trip to London was not complete unless we at least had dinner together in town, often with Pat, or spent a day together in his house in Shooter’s Hill, and later once in Birchington. Since Roger was a great walker, we’d sometimes stroll around the city or have drinks in some pub or in the hotel I was staying in. I recall a memorable walk around the Serpentine in Hyde Park, stopping off for tea at a cafeteria there, and then hoofing it to Victoria Station where he’d catch the train to go home. He had a great appreciation for the history of the city and always delighted in pointing out to me some of the buildings and monuments and explaining their significance as we strolled by them. These historical snippets were, of course, often punctuated with some joke or droll observation.
On the business side, even though Rog was nominally my boss at the time -- he was European Manager and later Editor-in-Chief -- I had virtually no dealings with him. All of us hybrids were far too independent to engage in any hierarchical nonsense, especially since we knew that the only real arbiter for any important decision was Syd Silverman.
Moreover, other than once or twice urging me in Cannes to write more succinctly (it was one of his great hobby-horses), he never passed down to me any instructions on how to run the Madrid operation. Everyone ran his own show. That was part of the old Variety.
I remember him sitting in his room at the old Hotel Suisse in Cannes, with his shirt off, editing copy at a table he had set up near the window of his room, with the sun shining gloriously in. And later on, with his springy step, he’d go off to one of our editorial meetings. These could be stormy affairs, with tempers rising and even insults flying back and forth. But Roger was always cool as a cucumber, at most condescending to let a wry smile curl his lips before offering his own measured and calmly-expressed opinion on the matter at hand.
At one point, when Rog had taken over the European managership, he decided to take a swing through all the territories. He had never been to Spain.We had a coffee in a cafeteria, and I remember him telling me about his plans to retire at an early age thanks to some annuities he would then receive. Rog was always amazingly open, at least with me, in discussing private matters. Unfortunately, the business meetings I had scheduled for the next two days of his Madrid jaunt all had to be cancelled. For Rog spent them the time in his hotel room sick as a dog from something he had eaten in Madrid. When he was better, he flew right back to London. He never returned to Madrid again, despite many urgings from me.
Like myself and a number of others, Rog was a “hybrid” and handled both editorial and advertising. He especially excelled in the latter. His charm and wit, his ability to ingratiate himself with even the most off-putting advertisers, enabled him to rack up sales previously undreamt of in the territories he handled, which besides the UK included Germany and Holland. He helped put together the first fabulous section on the UK (see Mort Bryer’s article on that), and was always especially proud of one he did for EMI’s Lew Grade’s 80th birthday in which he managed to get a British Airways captain on the Concorde to bring over two copies of the issue hot off the press in New York, and receive them just in time to personally take a copy to a pajama-clad and astounded Lord Grade at his apartment on Christmas morning.
What I remember most about Roger is his perennial good humor. In all those years I don’t recall ever seeing him angry at anyone or anything. Moreover, he was always an indomitable optimist, the opposite of myself. Unfortunately for him, this optimism was not always justified. But even when things went awry he always seems to accept them with a certain philosophical joviality, an unconcern not entirely shared by his more practical-minded wife, Pat.
I also vividly remember the years of his interim editorship of Variety in New York. Roger had always been an inveterate workaholic and upon assuming the job at Park Avenue South launched into a non-stop effort for transforming the paper. Whenever I came through New York, either to do my Latin issue, or stopping off on the way back from the American Film Market, I’d see him ensconced in his glass-paned cubicle busily at work. When it was time to go home, and I stopped off to say good night, he’d often ask, “What are you doing for dinner?” “Nothing in particular,” I’d answer, and we’d go out together for a simple meal in a local eaterie. Clearly, his social contacts in the city were few. So we might head up to some place on the East Side, and he’d express his admiration for the Cahners execs, with me totally disagreeing.
Or while having a shepherd’s pie in some pseudo-English pub on Second Avenue he’d tell me about how he had hired some professor of English to correct the journalists’ grammatical errors, which I told him was a complete waste of money and offensive to the staff. He shrugged off my objections and re-hired the prof to do a second installment of his studies. He never took offense when someone told him that an idea of his seemed hare-brained.
On one occasion in New York he had to be rushed to a hospital because of a bleeding ulcer. When I called the hospital to see how he was, he picked up the phone and answered, “Variety, Roosevelt Hospital branch”, or whatever hospital it was. Though he spent nearly two years in the city, Rog never really got to know New York and failed to see even the basic tourist sights. Instead, he spent 12 hours a day in the office. That was his idea of “fun”. Variety was more interesting than the attractions New York had to offer.
My wife and I used to visit him when we were in London, and later I did so by myself. He was always gracious, humorous and open to criticism, though he might ignore it later on. He’d drive all the way in from his home in Shooter’s Hill, a suburb of London, to pick us up, and after spending the day with him in and around his home, he’d then drive us back again to our hotel. On a certain occasion, Jack Kindred, the former Munich bureau chief who also happened to be in London, and I decided we’d rent a car and visit him out in his new place in Birchington, which is about a 90-minute drive from London. Knowing how easy it is to get lost on the road, Roger sent me a stack of 31 filing cards on how to get to his house. On each of them was written an exact instruction, segment by segment, of what street or road to take, where to turn, how far to drive, what key buildings I would see at each stage of the trip, starting from the center of London until the final arrival at his house. I stilll have those cards and use them as an example when I want to impress Spanish friends to what degree the meticulousness of the British can be carried. Needless to say, despite his precise instructions, I took a wrong turn somewhere and for a short while got lost. But Jack and I did finally get to his house and I remember with nostalgia a pleasant walk along the beachfront of Birchington and a super seafood lunch in a beachside restaurant in nearby Whitstable.
Three years ago, when Jack Kindred and I were having lunch with Rog in London, I mentioned that I had often thought of putting out a periodical newsletter with news of the muggs and sending it around to all the ex-staffers and stringers. Whereupon Rog immediately said, “No, what we should do is a webpage”. Upon my objecting that my computer skills were on the level of an aborigine in the bush, he replied that that part of the operation could be handled out of London by him and his son, Ian, who was an expert in such matters. When we parted company that day, I said we could think about it.
To my utter surprise, when I returned to Madrid about four days later, I had an e-mail from Rog waiting for me on my computer saying that the new Site had already been uploaded and was ready to go. It was the sort of responsiveness and immediate action that made Roger such a pleasure to work with.
In June 2003, I purposely timed my yearly jaunt to London to coincide with a trip being taken by Joan and Syd Silverman, who planned to be there for several days. Rog had taken care of getting them theatre tickets and was talking about us all having a drink together somewhere. I immediately suggested that something more festive should be undertaken, and, moreover, to invite whatever other ex-Variety muggs might still be around. The result was a splendid dinner at the Stafford Hotel attended by over a dozen of the old Variety crew. Syd and Joan generously picked up the tab. It was the precursor to the big Sardi’s bash that was held in September of last year which unfortunately Rog was already too ill to attend. At least a score of people inquired about him at the time.
It is difficult to not end on a sad note. Those reaching our ages inevitably are not newcomers to losses such as that of Roger. The sentiments expressed always tend to repeat themselves, but are no less sincere for that. So let’s each of us remember Rog in his best years in whatever context we knew him and be thankful at his having enriched our lives or brought a smile to our lips during the time we spent with him. For my part, I must say it was a privilege to have known him. London and the world will somehow never be the same again without him.
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ON A MISSION WITH WATT
by Mort Bryer
It was late on a raw, chilly, damp November day in 1978 that I was sitting next to Roger Watkins in the back seat of one of those wonderful London cabs, creeping up a narrow street somewhere in the bowels of London, already late for appointments with a several clients, including one at the Beeb. The cab inched along in the usual heavy traffic in central London. A 90 year old, with a walker and a bad case of bunions, could have made better time.
Roger and I were working on gathering ad support for Variety's first U.K. section, which was to run in the Anni issue. We had come up with the idea during a previous stopover I had made in London after attending the now defunct Mifed market in Milan in October. At that time we had popped into a local emporium for the traditional cup of tea. (Frankly speaking, in those ancient times, I avoided British java, which seemed to me a brew obtained from dipping one coffee bean, tied on a string, into some hot water, with the added taste of an old sock dipped in for flavoring.) Anyhow, while slurping my chai (black, by the way), I whined to Roger about going back to the States and in a matter of a few weeks, trying to put a Canadian section together
That’s when the idea of maybe doing a section dedicated to the U.K. arose. We both got rather enthusiastic (it was never difficult to get Roger enthused about challenging new projects), and we fired a message off to Syd, who promptly gave us a green light. So I returned to 46th Street, and after a few weeks once again headed back to Blighty, to help Roger in organizing the U.K. special.
Roger stacked the appointments with advertisers, about ten or more face to face calls a day, covering companies from all the fields the paper included in its broad spectrum: TV, legit, film, live entertainment, music, talent, a virtual cornucopia of show biz. Roger, indefatigable as always, had us whirling around London like dervishes, from early in the morning until about 6 p.m. for five days in a row. My derriere was dragging. I was ready to hoist a white flag and plead for quarter, but Roger drove on, eternally fresh as the proverbial daisy. In the evenings, I would withdraw to the Dorchester Hotel exhausted.
At one point, we went to a rather old theatre to meet with a legit type. The theatre's elevator would have come in handy as a coffin and creaked as it slowly but unsurely went up to the second floor. There we met with the producer of "The Mousetrap", the oldest-running play in London, and still going strong. The producer was an old codger, about the age I’m at now, and quickly gave us a negative re taking an ad. In desperation – for it seemed to me that an ad from him would somehow be essential in representing the British stage -- I went jingo and unashamedly waved a metaphorical Union Jack in front of him and appealed to "the special relationship", between our two great countries. And it worked. It almost brought tears to my eyes. I think we finally ended up with a big quarter of a page ad from him.
I still remember during another appointment, when Roger was trying to convince a prospective customer to take an ad for the issue. We were talking to the head of a large, important company. After the usual schmoozing, and Roger telling a few anecdotes to the client, as was his wont, and after the client finally, reluctantly, started considering taking a quarter page ad, Roger, all smiles and ingratiating cheerfulness, would say, “A quarter of a page? No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. After all, you don’t want to advertise your poverty, do you? A company as important as yours cannot be represented by anything less than a full page!” And I believe he got the page.
But I must confess, working with Roger was working! I mean, you couldn’t tire the man. It seemed that he could cheerfully go on and on forever. No wonder the Brits built an empire when they had tons of people like Watt. I must confess, at that time I silently thought -- we still had a few days more to go on the ad whirligig of this particular mission – that the next time I’d let the London office handle future British sections.
The high point for me on this trip was an invite to a Thanksgiving party received by courtesy of an American record company. I believe it was in honor of Dolly Parton. The company organized a superb turkey dinner, buffet style, with all the trimmings, at the London Holiday Inn. It was a nice gesture, I thought, and after getting a good eyeful of Ms. Parton, we hit the chowline. And, of course, the bar, using my old line "Barman, save yourself some work, give me a double!"
My standard gag about Watt is; "If they made tires as tough as Roger, they'd last forever." Quite a chap, Mr.Watkins. As for me, phew, my aching back, I want to go home!
The British section was a great success, and a number of ads were also sold after my trip by a new salesman who had just been hired, John Willis, who subsequently became a powerhouse salesman for the sheet, handling all the Scandi territories. That first issue was followed by a number of other UK sections in the coming years, in which the chaps in London did all the work. Syd was happy with the results, and invited me up to the poopdeck, opened his famous drawer, and hit me with a dram of firewater.
Mort Bryer.
PS by PETER BESAS
The 75 Anniversary issue of Jan. 3, 1979 ran 272 pages, with a gatefold color cover and back cover taken by the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus. Syd wrote the Page 1 banner, “Into the Show Biz Gold Rush of ‘79”.
The first British Film & Entertainment Review ran close to 100 pages, 75 of which were ads. The editorial lead was penned by the late Jack Pitman. Other editorial pieces were by-lined Roger Watkins, Simon Perry, Bert Baker, Harold Myers, Mike Harris, Fred Kirby and these were supplemented by guest articles from Ken Maidment, Laurie Marsh, Richard Craven, Sir John Terry, Irvin Shapiro, Charles Curran, Donald Maclean, Ken Fletcher, Alasdair Milne, Peter Plouviez. Names of top machers and execs in the U.K. from the past!
The advertising – almost all in black and white, on newsprint stock, now turning slightly yellow on my shelf -- was astounding. It kicked off with 10 pages of red-tinted ads from the Rank Organisation, which at that time was making a big push into films and owned the Pinewood Studios and various production facilities. That was followed by ads from EMI, Hemdale, J & M Sales, a spread for the Salkinds’ “Superman”, pages from Technicolor, Fox, Col-EMI-WB, CIC, Safir etc. and even a page from the Carlton Tower Hotel.
The TV ad section included pages from EMI TV, Thames, Trident, Southern TV, and LWT. The legit section, where Mort and Rog met considerable resistance, was finally repped by ad pages from the Cooney-Marsh Group, Robert Stigwood (“Jesus Christ Superstar” and “Evita”), Michael White Ltd., and was followed by a talent ad from Norman Wisdom.
The smallest ad? A four-incher for Celebrity Service Ltd. The only thing I missed in the mix was perhaps a few of the old Variety “boxes” with an anecdote or two to lighten the statistics and deep-thought copy.
Besa.
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WATT'S OWN RESUMÉ
The following has been posted on Simesite for a long time in the "Muggs" section. But for those of you who didn't notice it, we reproduce it here on the occasion of Roger's passing. Here is Rog's account of how he got the Variety job, in his own words:
Joined VARIETY's London office in 1961.
Retired from the paper December 1995.
In some trepidation, I stood in front of a massively imposing building on the corner of St. James's Street and Piccadilly on a wet Thursday afternoon and seriously contemplated not keeping my appointment with Harold Myers (Myro).
Earlier in the week, Robert Ottaway (Otta), Editor of Picturegoer, a movie fan magazine (See Archive) for which I had worked for some 18 months, told me the best job in show biz journalism was up for grabs. And he had put my name forward.
Otta had given me my first chance to be a reporter and now he was watching over me. He believed VARIETY and I were made for each other, hence the recommendation to Myro, who was running the London bureau, and for whom
Otta did freelance reviewing.
But VARIETY was big time in London show biz circles. And I definitely was iffy about Otta's assurances that I was ready to step up and be a scribe forthe "Bible of show biz".
Myro held court on the top floor of the St. James's Street building, with magnificent views over Piccadilly in one direction and in the other the rooftops of St. James's Palace and London's poshest gentlemen's clubs which stretched the length of St. James's Street .
There were three rooms in the former bookies' office which Myro had moved into literally minutes after NBC International moved out. He had immediately claimed squatters' rights, an ancient British law which allows squatters to stay in situ, provided they hadn't broken in or used force to gain access. So long as he paid the rent, the landlords could do nothing about it.
Myro, a card-holding member of the Communist Party, union activist, barrack room lawyer and a phenomenal wheedler, had one near-fulltime freelance staffer, Dick Richards (Rich), a former Fleet-Street star, who handled pics and legit. But Myro needed someone to cover television and music and to help Dick when he, Myro, was away on lengthy ad sales trips.
As the boss, Myro knew all the important players, covered everything except music. And now here he was questioning me about whom I knew in the business, what I thought of developing situations in the television trade and asking very pointedly whether or not I was a member of the National Union of Journalists? On a scale of 1-to-10, I felt I had scored a 2.
Probably keen not to shortchange Otta, a friend and valued freelance contributor (and a rare animal who worked for love of the game rather than money and who had gone to bat for me), Myro agreed to give me a freelance assignment. He wanted to get some idea of my journalistic ability.
I got lucky. Myro asked me to cover a song festival in Brighton, a job he wanted no part of personally and a subject about which he knew zilch.
I joined the paper in July and stayed until 1968, writing a half-dozen stories a day, filing them every Thursday by airmail letter for publication in New York the following Wednesday. Usually VARIETY would arrive in London one day later – if we were lucky – and we would service a whole queue of people who turned up to get the bible hot off its inky press.
My salary had leapt from $22 to $27 a week with the move over from Television Today, the sheet where I had been working.
The magic part of this fairy tale came in late 1962 when the Beatles broke through and VARIETY's music coverage from London rocketed. Famously, prior to the Beatles' triumphs in the U.S., Abel wrote to Myro: "Tell Watkins to stop filing stuff about the Beatles. Doesn't he know rock 'n roll is dead?"
I quit VARIETY first in 1965, when offered the News Editorship of a prosperous local trade publication, Television Weekly, (Broadcast magazine today). It didn't last long. I was back at VARIETY within a couple of months at a hiked salary – $1600 a year!
I quit again in 1968, after Myro retired for the first time, due to ill health. He'd had an operation-a-year for six consecutive years; so many bits of him had been removed he actually lost weight. Bob Hawkins (Hawk) was drafted in from Rome as his replacement.
It seemed a natural moment to break away and get into business for myself to assuage the pique I felt at not being given Myro's job in London.
Sport, particularly soccer, was under-commercialized in the U.K. in 1968. There was room for some new enterprise. So Derek Webster, an advertising type, and I founded a company, Sportsound, and signed up 30 leading soccer clubs.
Derek stayed on with Sportsound, which was a big success. For me, the entertainment beat was preferable to Ad Row. And once again it seemed a natural step to set up a sales promotion company – this time specializing in the music sector. But after a four year stint selling for MIDEM and MIP-TV, I found myself back in the VARIETY fold, this time with a different brief.
The rationale was to use contacts built up at MIDEM in the U.K., Germany and Scandinavia to develop new ad business for the St. James's Street office. Now VARIETY had two sales people, the Hawk and me, and it worked out well and became even better when Myro, or what the surgeons had left of him,
decided he wanted to join the sales crew, and took on – wildly successfully – some of the toughest assignments imaginable.
Hawk's move to 46th Street to sit on the podium opposite Syd left me in charge of European sales and for the next 10 years we prospered under Syd's expansionist international policy and hands-off approach.
Curiously, as it turned out, I had just negotiated a changed job description with Syd in order to get more involved with business planning and, indeed, he had sent me around the U.S. offices to file a report on the future direction of Weekly and Daily, when he called me early one morning to say he'd sold the paper to Cahners.
"Stunned", was not the word for it. It was a bolt from the blue. All I could say was 'Wow!'
Syd's big dilemma was that Cahners didn't want him to be both Editor and Publisher. So he decided to offer me the Editorship for a short period while the Weekly made the transition from the family business to a unit of Cahners corporate culture.
The thinking was that since I understood the value of the foreign market I could hold it together while the paper underwent some dramatic changes – and a whole series of publishers.
I quit VARIETY for the last time in December 1995 – this time with a very posh do at the Savoy Hotel in London – in order to start three newsletters. One survives and, covering the DVD industry in Europe, has recently transmuted into a web site. The newsletter also spawned an annual, ad-supported industry directory.
Guess who's doing the selling!
Watt
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Besa Madrid -- Apr 25, 2006 |
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