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17 January 2003
How Richard Carleton became the Nine Network’s chief media whore
In 2000, Viking (Penguin Australia) released a book tracking the history of the Nine Network. Its catchy title was: Compulsive Viewing: The Inside Story of Packer's Nine Network. Gerald Stone, ‘the man who launched Channel 9’s enormously successful "60 Minutes"' and has wide experience in Australian television behind the scenes, was its author. It’s a fascinating book well worth the read not only by those interested in the media, but by anyone interested in Australia’s social history. Many of us now in our fifties grew up peering at Nine Network programs each evening.
There is plenty of intriguing and gripping information about those fronting the camera and those behind the camera. One of the more fascinating parts is Stone’s account of how former Nine Network boss, Sam Chisholm, recruited and maintained his stable of stars. If one is in any doubt about how this is done, then Stone removes it all in an almost ingenuous manner. At the centre of this account, we find Richard Carleton proudly describing how he succumbed to Chisholm’s methods. The following passages are taken from 'Chapter 1: the star factory' (pp. 23-27). I will throw in some comments as we go.
With star syndrome, as with any illness, prevention is better than cure. At the Nine Network Sam Chisholm turned star-whispering into a new art, calming his large stable of skittish top raters with gifts that sometimes cost several times more than the average Australian earns in a year. Luxury cars and paid holidays abroad are some of the bigger-ticker items, but a case of Bollinger champagne looks almost as impressive when it arrives without the asking. As a master salesman, Chisholm knows the value of an unexpected bonus offer. Whatever he spends on his extravagant treats, it no doubts saves him millions in the long term. Such flattering gestures serve to head off some of the more outrageous ambit claims when contract negotiations come around again and star syndrome sweeps through the station like staphylococcus.'
There can be no mistake about the form of Chisholm’s none too subtle tactics: he offers colossal bribes to keep his revenue-generating personalities on staff. What is the average Australian to think of ‘gifts’ that are more than the average wage? What credibility is attached to a person who is governed by such ‘gifts’?
'Chisholm’s flair for winning hearts and minds reaches theatrical heights when it comes to signing up new talent. ‘Sam Chisholm here. I want you to come over and work for Channel 9,’ begins a typical unexpected phone call to a startled recruit. ‘Don’t worry what it’s about. All you need to know is, that it’ll be worth your while.'
In other words, you have your price and we'll find it out.
His unsolicited offers strike like lightening bolts; existing salaries are doubled or trebled in a flash. The stench of burning flesh only comes later when he reveals what he expects in return. But it’s hard-ball haggling that brings out his best. Here’s how ‘60 Minutes’ reporter Richard Carleton recalls the torrid half-day of negotiations in 1987 that takes him to Nine from his prestigious but modestly paid position at the ABC.
‘I was coming up to see him at 11 o’clock in the morning. I was in Canberra. It was a winter’s morning. It was August. And the phone rang at 7.30 in the morning and it was Sam on the phone. And it seemed strange, so early in the morning. And he said, “Ah, what time you coming up?” I said, “Oh, I’m seeing you at 11 o’clock, looking forward to it very much.” And he said, “Yeah, yeah, I know that. What time plane are you coming on?” I said, “Well, I’m getting the 8.30 plane.” “Why?” he said, “Why are you getting the 8.30 plane?” I said, “Well, I’ve got a few things to do and I’m coming to see you at 11 o’clock.” “What have you got to do?” And I said, “Oh, Sam, that’s hardly…I mean I’ll be there at 11 o’clock. No sweat. No bother. This is a cross examination, it’s bloody ridiculous…just, just, just…” Are you seeing Frank Lowy [of Channel 10] before you’re seeing me?” I said, “Sam, I mean, fair crack.” And he said, “Eight-thirty plane. OK. We’ll pick you up at the airport, son.”
Carleton is picked up and given the limousine treatment – only to find the driver making an unexpected stop in the city rather than proceeding to Channel 9 in the north Sydney suburb of Willoughby. He’s a little annoyed to be told he will be sharing the ride with another passenger. He’s a lot annoyed to learn later that the passenger is actually a senior lawyer from Allen, Allen and Hemsley, whom Chisholm has brought in for the negotiations.
Richard Carleton has quickly gone from the pure ideals of the ABC – ideals we are constantly told about – right down market to putting a price on his particular talents. It’s extraordinary that he can whip out the following figures apparently without much thinking. Carleton, on his own account, is clearly a natural in the market of ideal bartering.
‘Sam said, “OK, sonny, you’re here. How much do you want?” I told him, $350,000, $450,000, $550,000. I think that’s what I asked him for over a three-year contract. And he said, “No, no, no, son, that’s just too much. You can’t have that escalation. It’s just not on, it’s just not on.”
Chisholm, though, quickly agrees to the base figure of $350,000. Eventually he even concedes a yearly escalation of half of what Carleton is seeking. Anything further, he insists, is impossible. It looks ominously like the issue could be a deal breaker. Carleton is no stranger to brinkmanship. He’s the interviewer who once rattled Bob Hawke with a jaw-dropper of a question just after he won the Labor Party leadership from Bill Hayden. ‘How does it feel to have blood on your hands?’ Carleton asked. In the studio he’s as fearless as they come. He’s also an imposingly tall man, standing well above the nuggety Chisholm. But just like a small boxer, Chisholm finds ways to turn his opponent’s advantage against them. In this case it’s to be Carleton’s inability to resist a dare.
Here we have another big-name media figure uttering his admiration for Carleton’s ‘blood on your hands’ episode. It’s an indication of how deeply fixed this event has become in the canon of Australian media lore. What’s the sober truth about Carleton’s confrontation with Bob Hawke? It was typically sensationalist, boorish, manipulative and wholly out of proportion to the incident he was thus describing. The Federal Labor Party had undergone a leadership contest and Bob Hawke won without doing anything out of the ordinary in political party leadership struggles. No, the real nastiness in manoeuvring and betrayal comes in media organisations like the Nine Network. What would you expect from a bunch of obscenely paid egos whose decisions are governed by the network's bribes?
‘The solicitor was there. It was two against one. Sam stepped out of the room to drop in on a board meeting that was going on, and the solicitor kept at me? He said, “Is there anything else you want. A car? A farm?’ I’d never dealt with figures of that kind before. I didn’t know if the escalation was unreasonable or not. But I wasn’t going to be told no. I had to play it as tough as I could, but on the basis of no experience against a man who had a wealth of experience.’
With the two parties seemingly deadlocked, Chisholm – who has been wandering in and out of the room and back to the board meeting – finally springs his trap. His next words are uttered with a look of imperial disdain.
‘Yeah, if you were a Willisee…any sort of man…I’d toss you for it’ is how Carleton remembers the challenge. With that Chisholm wheels out of the room again.
‘I thought, all right, I can play in this league, too. I’ll toss him.’
When Chisholm returns, Carleton announces he’s ready to toss.
‘There wasn’t a miss in his beat. He said, “OK. Your coin. Your call. Your toss.” It was really a bravura performance. He was so good, it just impressed me no end.’
Carleton pulls out a 50-cent piece, which is suddenly imbued with magical power – one side loaded with an extra $100 000 to put in his pay packet; the other side $100 000 lighter.
‘I tossed the coin and called heads,’ Carleton still grinning at then memory. ‘And the f….. thing came down tails.’
The toss and Carleton’s attitude towards the toss for $100 000 (three times the wage of the average Aussie battler) shows in reality just how trivially macho this man with the big reputation is.
Chisholm, though, shows not the slightest trace of glee.
‘He told me, “Aw, don’t worry, son, take your wife to the Huka Lodge for a fortnight.”’
Carleton, although a keen trout fisherman, has never heard of the place before. And why would he on an ABC salary, which incidentally he has just more than trebled despite losing $100 000 in the toss. Located near New Zealand’s Lake Taupo, the fishing resort is one of the most expensive in the world, charging up to $1000 a night, wines and gillies not included. With first-class air tickets for two, it represents quite a booby prize…
For all its trauma, the experience leaves Carleton on an exhilarated high.
‘I was just determined that I was going to make a success of it. I was going to do my best to deliver not just on the letter of the contract but the spirit of the contract. When you look back on it, it was just what he wanted. He had bought the loyalty of someone. There was no way in the world I could ever be disloyal to a fellow who had been that generous and impressive. He just overwhelms you.’
This last paragraph is the most revealing of all. It is yet further proof of what motivates Carleton in his reports for ’60 Minutes’: it is nothing else than the colossal wage he receives. If Carleton was on a starting wage of $350 000 in 1987, then as the lead figure in that gross infotainment program called '60 Minutes', he has to be shooting above $500 000 in 2003 – plus the unaccounted for perks. That wage ensures he will beat the story into whatever sharp is necessary to score high rating figures for the Nine Network. It is inconceivable that Richard Carleton could have credibility with any but the most gullible or the most mindlessly bigoted.
COMPULSIVE VIEWING: The Inside Story of Packer's Nine
Network
Gerald Stone
Viking - Penguin Books Australia Ltd
Published: 2000
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