When I first met Ted Turner, he was already a larger-than-life figure and a rascal around Atlanta, though still just beginning to introduce himself to the national stage.
CNN was barely a toddler, and its Atlanta Braves were in their formative years as “America’s Team.” In those days, the big Atlanta banks wouldn’t even lend Turner the money he needed to build what would become a global media empire.
Turner always thought in big ideas—usually while national talking heads mocked him. He reinvented television news, helping transform the cable industry into a multi-billion-dollar business while redefining the reach of local broadcast stations and regional major-league sports franchises.
Saving the bison, donating $1 billion to the United Nations, creating the Goodwill Games, and becoming one of America’s largest landowners and conservationists would all come later.
In 1982, Turner Broadcasting began underwriting the documentaries and voyages of Jacques Cousteau and his famed Calypso research vessel. That support helped extend Cousteau’s run of award-winning documentaries and his mission to protect the world’s oceans and marine life. In 1985, President Ronald Reagan awarded Cousteau the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Turner later brought Cousteau to Atlanta, where he spoke at the Georgia Institute of Technology’s centennial convocation.
This UGA Bulldog, not long out of Athens and then working at WMAZ-TV in Macon, came home to cover that convocation, interview the legendary Cousteau, and then race back to Macon in time for the Sunday evening newscast.
As a one-man-band reporter, I shot, edited, and performed my standups myself. Since Turner was responsible for Cousteau’s visit and was funding his documentaries at the time, I chose to set up outside the then-modest headquarters of Turner Broadcasting—the former home of B’nai B’rith of Atlanta, and, for years, Turner’s base even before there was a CNN Center.
It had started to rain, and I was on what felt like my fifth or sixth take, trying not to ruin a favored silk tie. That’s when I heard a familiar voice behind me—unmistakably Turner, with that distinctive Southern drawl.
“Hey, son… do I own that camera?”
I stopped and walked over to a late-model Mercedes idling in the rain. Inside were Turner, a blonde Turner Broadcasting talent, and a couple in the back seat. They were already enjoying a Sunday afternoon, champagne open and chilling in a bucket between the front seats.
I explained I was doing a story on Cousteau, the Georgia Tech centennial, and Turner’s role in financing Cousteau’s later work.
Turner laughed loudly, tipped his head back, and had his companion refill his champagne flute. Then he turned to his entourage and said, “It doesn’t matter if they’re talking good about me or talking bad about me… as long as they’re talking about me.”
He put the car in gear and drove off.
I got my standup on the next take, smiling the whole time—and yes, I ruined that tie in the rain.
He was in cable before cable was cool. He turned old cartoons into entire networks. He had a failed 24-hour music channel that predated MTV and VH1. Turner Classic Movies alone likely saved thousands of films from the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s from being lost or discarded, preserving them for future generations.
Turner launched CNN on a scrappy budget of roughly $30 million a year, often beating networks in New York, Washington, and Los Angeles with budgets nearly ten times larger. The media establishment mocked his “Chicken Noodle Network.” They aren’t laughing anymore.
But I still am. Whenever I think of Turner, I picture that cocksure grin, the champagne on a Sunday afternoon, and the way he always seems to be one step ahead of everyone else.
Give ’em hell in heaven, Ted. I have a feeling you’re already shaking things up a bit up there. Rest in peace, sir—you earned it.
Editor’s note: Ted Turner, 87, died May 6 at his home in Lamont, Florida.