You no doubt know of that saying, attributed to the late Andy Warhol, that each of us will be world famous for 15 minutes in our lifetimes. For a moment recently, I thought I had a chance. But it didn’t last 15 minutes. And it wasn’t worldwide. Not even national.
It started one weekday morning on the physiotherapist’s couch, where George attached what looked like two chewing gum patches to my knee. The patches were connected to wires running back into a machine that apparently would send electrical impulses to do miraculous things to my patella. As George was telling me about it, I felt my heart flutter, and for a moment I thought he might’ve turned the machine up too high and given me a full charge.
Then I realised it was my mobile phone, vibrating in the pocket of my shirt, with the sound turned off. I didn’t want to interrupt George because he was telling me something important… The overnight test cricket score. As soon as he left me to tend to another patient, I whipped out my phone and found a message to ring the media office at Griffith University, where I work part-time. Channel 7 wanted to do an interview, something to do with my e-book, extending your use-by date.
A short time later, when I had left the physio, Georgia rang from Channel 7, Melbourne. They were doing a story on a 97-year-old Ballarat man who was still working as a mechanic, she said, and wanted to widen it with some comments from me about people working into older age. No problem, I said. That’s what my book is about. Would it be okay if we send a Brisbane-based TV crew to your place around midday? Georgia asked. Sure, I said. Do you have an office where we might film an interview? No worries, I said. Then I rushed home to clean up my office.
The room I use as an office is a small bedroom in our modest house, and fortunately I was able to toss a lot of loose material behind the sliding wardrobe doors. Clearing the desk took a little longer – I’m one of those people whose creativity is fuelled by having stacks of papers and books all around me. (At least, that’s what I tell my wife, who seems to find the explanation highly amusing.) A quick flick with a dusting rag and I was ready for the camera crew. Almost.
The next question was what to wear. I was in my summer at-home working gear of shorts and T-shirt. Too informal for an interview about my research. I looked through my long-sleeved shirts. Fine stripes and close checks tend to flutter or strobe on camera, and vivid white might send viewers rushing for their sunglasses. Fortunately, I like blue shirts, which TV also likes.
Dressed in what I hoped was a ‘smart casual’ outfit, I waited for the Channel 7 team to arrive. It was hard to settle down to anything in particular, but I took the opportunity to strategically place some books written by fellow authors, in case the camera picked them up: Fractured by Dawn Barker, Ryders Ridge by Charlotte Nash, Bay of Fires by Poppy Gee. My own book, but not the one I was being interviewed about, Hustling Hinkler, was right next to my laptop on the desk.
After a phone call from ‘Daniel’ to tell me they were running late, leaving me to do not very much for a while longer, he and the camera crew turned up. Daniel was the producer/interviewer and he introduced me to the cameraman, the sound guy, and a trainee who had only started that day, and therefore got to carry the camera tripod. With me, that meant five people in my little office. It was lucky I started that diet the week before.
They were all very friendly and professional. The cameraman set up the angles, the soundman held his boom mike overhead, and the trainee held up a soft light to show my best features. I sat on a chair with my back to the desk, and Daniel asked me the questions from another chair parked in the doorway, which is about the only place it would fit.
I felt quite relaxed, Daniel seemed relaxed, the questions were good, and he seemed genuinely interested in the topic of people working into older age. After the interview, which took about 10 minutes, the cameraman took some additional shots of me typing on my laptop, from different angles. (If he’d asked, I would have told him that the reason I type slowly is that it matches my brain speed.) Then they packed up and left, the trainee again carrying the camera mount.
That evening, towards the end of the one-hour Channel 7 news, there was a nice story about Eric Carthy, the 97-year-old Ballarat man still working as a mechanic at the family garage, with no plans to retire. The story was interspersed with brief clips of Dr Darryl Dymock from Griffith University talking about working into older age, and showing him typing carefully on his laptop. None of the judiciously placed books appeared on screen.
I reckon I was on air for about two minutes, which was good in the circumstances. The show was almost national, I think, although apparently the distant island of Tasmania may have missed out on that segment. I enjoyed the experience, and was very happy to be part of a great story. Eric Carthy is an inspiration.
But I reckon if that’s part of my 15 minutes of fame, I’m still due for 13 more.
Have you had your fifteen minutes of fame? What happened?