Jodi Cooke is one of NTV’s most seasoned journalists and perhaps the province’s most dynamic.

She embodies the spirit of NTV News, where versatility and professionalism are paramount. Cooke, who’s been with NTV for over 15 years, is willing to tackle any story, asking tough questions and delivering the product with accuracy and acumen.

Equally comfortable behind the desk as in the field, she perhaps shines brightest on live television. Her poise and comfort in front of a live television audience, as a reporter, is second to none in Newfoundland and Labrador broadcasting – no small task when considering the material she delivers is often technical and complicated.

Cooke also has the unique ability to make viewers feel like they’re listening to a trusted friend. That’s why you’ll see her fronting those “live hits” for national television, covering stories like the recent Royal Visit or major breaking news events that speak to a national audience.

Sunday Evening News

But like so many of her colleagues, Cooke doesn’t take herself too seriously. Yes, she takes her career seriously but is game for any challenge. 

A self-described adrenaline junkie – who has a penchant for adrenaline sports like skiing – it’s no surprise she tackles her journalism career with the same passion and vigor. 

She’s the first to raise her hand for participatory journalism assignments, from training with a search and rescue team to, wait for it, repelling from a helicopter. 

Those assignments, she admits, are among her most fun days at the office. Versatile is a word that best defines Cooke and, well, many of her colleagues.

She’ll file a major story one day and sit in the anchor chair the next. Cooke will anchor Newsday, First Edition and co-anchor The NTV Evening Newshour, and will be back reporting in the field just a day later. That’s the type of virtuosity that separates NTV News from the competition.

She’s not alone. Like Cooke, Amanda Mews has hosted everything from morning news and entertainment checkpoints, from Newsday to First Edition and the Evening Newshour. You can also find her, on occasion, delivering the weather forecast when Eddie Sheerr is out of the office. Did we mention she’s Cooke’s co-host on the The Sunday Evening Newshour?

Mews is also the station’s popular entertainment reporter, has a weekly feature (Backstage Pass) and hosts a weekly half-hour entertainment show. Oh, and is the main reporter for the daily Your Community feature.

Like Cooke and Mews, veteran journalist David Salter has hosted many of the same programs from time to time – news and entertainment checkpoints, Newsday and even First Edition, The Evening Newshour and Sunday on occasions. Salter also hosts his own weekend news program, Eyewitness News.

When he’s not anchoring, Salter is filing top news stories as a general assignment news reporter.

The station’s commitment to news – provincially, nationally and internationally – is what makes it a news leader. The NTV Evening Newshour has been the province’s top newscast for two decades, averaging over 100,000 viewers each night in this province alone. 

In fact, it’s not only the top newscast but is the most-watched program in Newfoundland and Labrador. There are nights, for example, when over 120,000 people in this province are tuning in, astonishing for a province of about 500,000.

“It says a lot about the incredible work this team does,” says Mark Dwyer, NTV’s Director of News and Current Affairs. 

“Hard work, consistency, a commitment to local news and a very talented team of people has earned us the trust of our viewers. We take that responsibility very seriously.”

‘Commitment to news’

NTV’s news team features many of the province’s top journalists. The anchor team is led by veteran broadcasters Toni-Marie Wiseman and Michael Connors, among two of the most trusted names in local news. Wiseman, of course, began her career with NTV over three decades ago. 

“I’ve been very fortunate to work with some great people over the years but, honestly, this team is incredible,” says Wiseman, who also anchors First Edition.

Her co-anchor, Michael Connors, is one of the province’s most trusted journalists. Connors was NTV’s legislative reporter since 2005, replacing Glen Carter at the desk when he retired earlier this year.

“I think our success stems from the Stirling family’s commitment to news,” says Dwyer. “In an era when other networks are looking for ways to cut, we look for growth. I’m very fortunate to be part of a team that works together to tell the stories that matter in this province, and around the world.”

And, of course, no topic is more important to people in this province than the weather and that’s why NTV Chief Meteorologist Eddie Sheerr plays such a pivotal role. No one delivers more detailed, in-depth and expert weather forecasting than Sheerr.

The NTV News brand is demanding. There are morning news checkpoints, a half-hour Newsday newscast at noon (weekdays at noon), not to mention 90 minutes of news from 5:30 to 7 (First Edition and NTV Evening Newshour). There’s The Sunday Evening Newshour, an hour-long broadcast anchored by Jodi Cooke and Amanda Mews

There’s news-driven programs like Issues and Answers (hosted by Michael Connors), Eyewitness News (hosted by David Salter), Week-in-Review (a half-hour recap of the week’s top stories), not to mention a half-hour weekly entertainment show (hosted by Amanda Mews). 

There’s also breaking news programs, everything from the provincial budget to election coverage.

“It’s a challenge to deliver all these programs but it truly shows how much depth we have at NTV,” says Dwyer.

One of NTV News’ secret weapons over the past few decades has been photojournalist Bart Fraize, noted for his work in spot news – from tragedies to rescues. His work has elevated NTV as a breaking news leader. 

Acquiring talent

Speaking about outstanding camera work, NTV has two of the best in Tony Barrington and Glenn Andrews. Barrington recently celebrated his 44th anniversary with the company. Andrews is emerging as one of the province’s top feature editors.

And the team keeps getting better with the acquisition of talent. Beth Penney, the 2018 Geoff Stirling Memorial Scholarship winner, has emerged as one of NTV’s top young journalists. Ben Cleary, who pursued a journalism degree after graduating with a political science degree at MUN, was named Atlantic Canada’s Top New Journalist in 2020. 

Cleary is now NTV’s legislative reporter. Bailey Howard and Marykate O’Neill, both outstanding young journalists, have been key additions to the NTV lineup in recent years.

The latest to join the award-winning newsroom is an award-winning journalist herself, Rosie Mullaley. After over three decades at The Telegram, she made the switch from print just weeks before Carter’s retirement.

Of course, that’s the St. John’s newsroom. Two of the province’s most familiar journalists are outside the overpass – Don Bradshaw and Colleen Lewis, the talented west coast and central correspondents who are fixtures with the NTV news brand.

“I challenge you to find a more talented, dedicated, multi-dimensional team,” says Dwyer, answering his own challenge with: “You simply won’t. This is a team I am so proud to be a part of. And when you factor in people like Sharon Snow, who can deliver the weather forecast, file a Your Community and Places to Go feature, you know you have a star-studded team.”

It’s no secret that NTV News has been number one in the ratings for over two decades. Incredibly, as conventional news audiences decrease throughout much of the world, NTV’s brand continues to grow. 

For a province of about 500,000 people, over 100,000 of them tune into NTV each day at 6 o’clock and just under 90,000 for First Edition at 5:30. Numbers continue to climb each year. The Sunday Evening Newshour also grew its audience with over 50,000 viewers tuning in each weekend.

There’s no secret recipe to NTV’s success over the years but the ingredients are obvious. It takes talent, hard work and leadership. It’s about telling stories and keeping viewers informed, and never has there been an era more important for doing just that.

Instead, she added, “there’s only admiration” for anyone who has heard the calling of journalism and praise for the people who tell all our stories. 

No one knows that better than viewers of NTV News. That crew has faced lock downs and epic snow storms with grace under fire. The flagship show – the NTV Evening News Hour – must go on and everyone put their best foot forward. In spite of the chaos and the unknowns, the NTV team saw the light and the love in Newfoundlanders and Labradorians and reported on inspirational people doing exceptional things while also sharing the dismal COVID facts of the day. 

There is always hope between the headlines and we were grateful. And while the Oscars gave us the slap heard around the globe – an entertainment world bummer – the 65th annual Grammys were the opposite. 

An unexpected feel-good highlight happened when Ukraine’s president Volodymyr Zelensky addressed the world in a pre-recorded video which included a passionate plea for support for his people. 

“Our musicians wear body armour instead of tuxedos, they sing to the wounded in hospitals … but the music will break through anyway,” Zelensky said. He concluded: “Fill the silence with your music! Fill it today, to tell our story…To all our cities the war is destroying: Chernihiv, Kharkiv, Volnovakha, Mariupol and others, they are legends already, but I have a dream of them living. And free. Free like you on the Grammy stage.”

While mixing war and musical awards might seem an odd combination, artists taking a stand for the greater good isn’t new. From the recording of Do They Know its Christmas by BandAid, to the recent charity song Lean On Me by artist CAN, a 2020 charity single featuring a who’s who of Canadian music legends, musicians have long offered support and now many have teamed up yet again to form a Stand Up for Ukraine initiative in a show of solidarity.

In real ‘Give Peace a Chance’ style, Doctors Without Borders received a $10,000 donation on behalf of Yoko Ono and Sean Ono Lennon, reminiscent of the days when John Lennon’s Bed-ins for Peace as the Vietnam War raged made the news. 

Herald founder Geoff Stirling and his son and publishing successor Scott Stirling had a profound encounter with John and Yoko in 1969. Inspired by one of their songs, the senior Stirling wrote a note to the couple that read, “I heard your Come Together, so here I am: Geoff Stirling,” further evidence that entertainment, news-makers and anti-war efforts often go hand in hand. As for those in the news business, they do their part. 

The Award Winning NTV News team has covered disasters at sea, DARKNL and Snowmageddon plus provided up-to-the-minute pandemic coverage, going above and beyond to educate and inform. However beyond the facts and figures, there’s good news yarns –  like one recent story about a local artist who uses her jewelry to help those living in Ukraine. 

Such stories provide hope – a light at the end of the tunnel tale so that at the end of a tough news day, there’s proof we’ll all make it. For that balance, those who tell our stories – good and bad– for a living are worthy of an extra dose of admiration.

Pam Pardy, The Herald’s Managing Editor, can be reached by emailing pghent@nfldherald.com

We are living in an extraordinary time, an era defined by anxious uncertainty. The coronavirus pandemic has transformed, and disrupted, journalism. It is an unprecedented news story, the biggest of this generation. The relentless news cycle fused by an ‘infodemic’ of misinformation.

The world has changed in just two years. The pandemic has delivered a devastating loss of life, almost six million deaths around the world by early February. The economic and social disruption is unconscionable. It has changed how we learn, work and interact as social distancing guidelines have led to a virtual existence. You’ve all seen the impact. A masked society, empty classrooms and shuttered offices.

Since pandemic shutdowns almost two years ago, reporters, like Ben Cleary, have adjusted to filing stories each night, shifting from his NTV desk on Logy Bay Road to a home office. The traditional in-person interviews have been replaced by Zoom or FaceTime and, incredibly, he voice-tracks his stories under a blanket – turning his closet into a recording studio.

Cleary’s home was transformed into a news bureau – the third time he and others have been displaced to social distance. “We’ve all had to make adjustments and, to be honest, it’s a small sacrifice to do my part,” says the talented 26-year-old.  

Baptism by Fire

It’s been a whirlwind since Cleary arrived at NTV in May of 2019, less than a year before the novel coronavirus reached our shores. It was a baptism by fire. Armed with a political science degree from MUN and a journalism degree from King’s College – and a pedigree from his award-winning journalist dad, Ryan Cleary – he was ready.

Filing stories on everything from politics to social issues, from breaking news to historical features, the St. John’s native has established himself as one of the industry’s top young journalists.  He has reported on provincial budgets and elections, the winter storm of the century in 2020 and, in recent years, the many aspects of the COVID pandemic.

“Ben brings so much versatility to the newsroom,” says Mark Dwyer, NTV’s Director of News and Current Affairs. 

“He’s also a natural storyteller, very dedicated to his career and a true team player. We are so lucky to have him on our team.”

His feature work is outstanding. Hard news, the primary focus for many reporters, is hard-hitting and pragmatic. Feature stories require storytelling ability. “He’s one of the best I’ve seen in a long time,” says veteran anchor Glen Carter. “He understands the fundamentals of good story-telling for television. Especially the stories that require a lot of heart,” Carter adds. “Compassion and honesty, too.”

Admired & Respected

Cleary’s recent feature marking the 80th anniversary of the Knights of Columbus hostel fire was outstanding work and a case in point. 

The 1942 fire killed 80 military personnel and 19 civilians. Cleary’s grandmother’s uncle, Derm Duggan, was a 16-year-old drummer playing in the band that night and lived to tell the story. “That’s the compassion and honesty I was talking about,” says Carter.

Compassion comes naturally for Cleary, a thoughtful journalist who takes pride in bringing fairness and honesty to his reports. His passion for journalism comes through in his enthusiastic reporting style – his best work often in stories that feature his adept storytelling ability. If he wasn’t a journalist Cleary could easily be at home working in a museum or teaching history. 

He has a special place in his heart for this province’s unique history and culture – particularly the battles fought over the years by brave Newfoundland soldiers. Remembrance Day. Memorial Day. Cleary is often the first to raise his hand to pay tribute to heroes, past and present.

Award-winning News

Cleary is authentic. That compassion, some might say sensitivity, is part of his fabric. It’s one of the traits that makes him so admired and respected by his colleagues in the NTV newsroom. He’s always willing to help fellow reporters or accept any task or assignment.  And he has a dry wit and clever sense of humor.

NTV viewers have watched this young journalist blossom into one of its top reporters, leading the supper-hour broadcast almost daily with COVID-19 updates since the New Year. The evolution of Cleary’s journalism chops has not gone unnoticed. He’s getting attention throughout Atlantic Canada and has done a handful of national news hits. In 2020, he was named Atlantic Canada’s top new journalist by the AJA.

“So well deserved,” says Dwyer. “NTV has a long history of award-winning journalists and Ben’s future certainly looks bright.”

A career in the media seemed inevitable. His dad, Ryan, spent decades as one of the province’s top reporters, winning numerous awards with The Telegram and, later, The Independent.

‘The Right Path’

“I’ve always been interested in journalism; it seemed like the right path for me,” he says. “I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

Cleary is also ready for the next challenge. With Glen Carter retiring from the anchor desk in early March, veteran legislative reporter Michael Connors will be filling his seat. Cleary will be tasked to help fill Connors’ void at the House of Assembly. Politics is a passion. He earned a poli-sci degree at Memorial and, by his own admission, sees politics as theatre in this province.

“You’ll find few provinces in Canada who care about politics more than we do,” he says. “I’m just grateful for the opportunity. It’s an honor to work for a station I grew up admiring. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fgys4wbWSqM&t=4s

I was watching television when the telephone rang. It was Sunday night, I was tired, the sitcom was boring, and the last thing I’d expected or wanted was a phone call about work. 

I was 25, a rookie television reporter with NTV and I was about to be thrust into one of the most tragic events in Canadian maritime history.

The caller on the phone that night had something very important to tell me — something scary that had happened on the tail end of his two weeks offshore. 

Sometimes news comes to you that way — tips and documents in brown paper envelopes. Sometimes it’s a voice at the other end of the telephone. Someone who doesn’t want their name used, but who wants to get a story out there.

An Anonymous Caller

It was no mystery to me how the caller knew where to find me. I won’t say why. He wanted anonymity then. It seems appropriate, even now.  

Anyway, I settled in and listened. What the caller had to say was astounding. Between held breaths I peppered him with the questions that needed to be asked — wrote furiously on a paper napkin until I had enough information. Then I hung up.

It was a huge story, and it did need to be investigated. I decided I’d begin my work first thing in the morning Monday. I’d need a couple of days to flush it out, and then run the piece on the six o’clock show — maybe Wednesday or Thursday of that week. 

My news director would make the final call on that. It was exactly eight days before the Ocean Ranger oil rig sank and 84 men were lost at sea.

The facts that surround the sinking of the Ocean Ranger are seared into the collective consciousness of Newfoundlanders and Labradorians. A fierce North Atlantic storm battered the rig for hours before a rogue wave smashed through a port hole in one of the rig’s legs, soaking the ballast control system. From that point on the rig was doomed. A list developed and technicians who thought they were fixing the problem, actually made it worse.

The radio communications between the rig and Mobil Oil’s St. John’s base were ominous. Mobil’s rig superintendent listened as a voice far out to sea reported at 1 a.m. that the rig was listing badly. It was a grim message to receive from an oil rig, hung off and riding it out at the epicenter of a weather bomb. A brutal winter storm was producing winds of up to 90 knots and waves five stories high. 

Mobil’s emergency response team was called in and the coast guard was notified. It was shortly after, that a second radio message arrived — a message that would send chills through Mobil’s Atlantic Place radio operations centre. “There will be no further radio communications from the Ocean Ranger. We are going to lifeboat stations,” it said. 

Later that Monday morning, during a news conference at the Holiday Inn in St. John’s, a bleary-eyed Steve Romanski, Mobil’s manager of east coast operations said, “that was the last message we got from the Ranger.”

The truth is the Ocean Ranger story actually began days earlier while the rig was still safe — the men on board working their shifts, or in their berths or maybe watching the same bad television I was watching when that phone call came to my home. That phone call eight days earlier from a caller who wanted to tell me a story.

An Eerie Silence

It had happened the day before, while the man was still on board finishing out his two weeks ‘on.’ The man said he was wrapping up an all-nighter and was returning to his bunk at daybreak when he saw the first sign of trouble. It was as simple as the small privacy curtain hanging from his bunk. Curtains don’t normally hang sideways, but this one was — leaning way out there at a near right angle. It meant the rig had to be listing — and listing badly.  I continued to listen.

The rig was a dynamically positioned floating structure prone to rolling and pitching with the movement of the sea. When it dipped, it normally bounced back, when it rolled, it usually stabilized a few seconds later. Not this time.

My contact was worried. “This time it didn’t come back,” he said. A few moments later the alarm sounded and he was off to the lifeboat station.

An eerie silence engulfed the Ocean Ranger that fair-weather morning in February. Silence replaced the “racket” that was a constant reminder that work never stopped on an exploration oil rig. When my contact arrived at the lifeboat station he was met by other crewmembers, several of whom were lightly dressed as if they’d just jumped from their bunks. Some had no lifejackets, no survival suits. Confusion and fear on their faces as they waited for further instructions. What happened next was another indictment of evacuation procedures on board one of the largest drilling rigs in the world. The engine on the lifeboat wouldn’t start. As the rig continued to list, the crewmembers gathered at that lifeboat station, waited anxiously for a second alarm that would mean “abandon the rig.”  

It didn’t come. I continued to listen.

Reaction was Swift

That night, the Ocean Ranger story had a happier ending. The rig was eventually made right and life returned to normal at the J-34 Hibernia well. The man on the other end of the phone that Sunday evening was thankful to be back on dry land again. The roulette of scheduling meant he would live. The story generated by that phone call was over length, not the usual buck and a half (one minute and 30 seconds) that television news stories usually ran. There were artist’s sketches of a listing rig, and crew members running to the lifeboat station. 

There was an interview with the head of the newly minted Newfoundland Petroleum Directorate. The listing incident was news to Steve Milan, even though strict guidelines at that time demanded the NPD be informed of any offshore ‘incidents.’ Odeco Drilling, the rig’s New Orleans owners, claimed there was never anything to worry about. 

A company spokesman was interviewed over the phone and declared the list was a routine occurrence, necessary so workers could carry out maintenance on one of the rig’s giant pontoons. 

The story went to air on NTV’s 6:00 o’clock newscast on Thursday, Feb. 11th and reaction to it was swift. Mobil Oil wasn’t impressed. 

A spokesperson called to complain that the story was essentially a piece of fear mongering sensationalism which had needlessly alarmed family and friends of Ocean Ranger crewmembers.

Taking the High Ground

 It was the kind of bluff and bluster that PR flaks are paid to dish out. That’s part of the game. So for most of that Friday I clucked my tongue and claimed the professional high ground. How dare they criticize a solid piece of fair, balanced and worthwhile television journalism.  Then the doubt began to set in.

Had I gone too far? Had Odeco been above board in its account of the listing incident? Was it part of routine maintenance? Had Mobil Oil’s denunciation of the story been righteous and justified? Had I sewn fear in the minds of loved ones in the name of questionable journalism?

I thought about all of this. In fact I brooded over the possibilities for an entire weekend. Then on Sunday, a storm hit — a vicious winter storm that rattled windows and laid the landscape thick with snow. That night, about 175 miles out to sea, 84 brave souls felt their unsinkable rig list again. They raced to the lifeboat stations and some of them at least launched into the killing North Atlantic. This time, the rig didn’t come back and hours later the Ocean Ranger disappeared beneath the surface of the cold black water.

Waves and wind killed those men. They were nature’s culpability in the tragic sinking of the Ocean Ranger. Man was to blame too. A subsequent inquiry said mistakes were made at many levels. From the ballast control room on that stormy night, to governments and an industry that still had a lot to learn about safety and evacuation procedures aboard offshore oil rigs. 

The oil and gas industry and the politicians would have years to try and make sense of it all. Reporters had until the next deadline.

No Survivors

It was a sunny day on Monday, Feb. 15th. At the Holiday Inn in St. John’s where the world’s media and industry officials had gathered, the mood was as black as soot as Mobil Oil’s president stood stone faced in the glare of television lights and began to speak.

“It is my very, very sad duty to tell you officially that the Ocean Ranger is lost. There were 84 people aboard and at this point in time we certainly can not hold out much hope for survivors.” 

The worst had happened. The room went silent. Mason paused a second to allow the weight of his announcement to find its place. “On behalf of all the employees of Mobil I’d like to express my very deepest sympathy for the wives and families of the men on board.”

It was an unprecedented maritime tragedy. One of the largest oil rigs in the world was gone — swallowed up by a North Atlantic storm in the dark of night. There were no survivors. There were no bodies — yet. And unbelievably, there was nothing to suggest the cause of the rig’s disappearance, except for a pair of ominous radio messages from the doomed drilling platform.

Command Centre

The story flashed around the world, setting off a stampede of news people towards St. John’s from some of the finest journalist organizations on the planet. 

NTV’s newsroom at Buckmaster’s Circle became the command centre for at least a dozen reporters, producers and cameramen representing heavyweight networks like ABC, CTV, and others. Harried pros sprang into action. 

There were elements to gather — things that tell the story. The grief, the blame. The hopelessness of the recovery effort as ships, and aircraft converged on a patch of ocean revealing oil rig debris and sadly an overturned lifeboat. 

I still remember someone’s interview with Captain Michael Clarke, an air, search and rescue specialist who was aboard the first helicopter to reach the scene at daybreak. His account of the snow storm still raging as they made a desperate attempt to retrieve bodies from 40 and 50 foot seas. ‘Lights on the water’ was a phrase that I haven’t forgotten — a witness describing tiny flashing lights on the life vests of the dead as they rose and fell on rolling waves.

Then there was Robert St. Aubin — another Ocean Ranger crewman who was on board eight days earlier when the rig listed that first time and the alarm was sounded. St. Aubin confirming what my guy had told me on the phone — that people showed up with no life preservers when they arrived at the lifeboat station — and that the boat’s engine was dead. 

The media were fully involved now — racing to gather the story’s elements, looking for the hooks and angles — to satisfy their editorial masters in Toronto, and New York and all points in between. Canadian and American radio producers from places I had never heard of were calling — begging for voice reports on the sinking of the Ocean Ranger. The Americans wanted to know where Newfoundland was — what was a semi-submersible oil rig? 

How in the hell could you sink one? Could you give us 30 seconds over the phone for our next newscast?

A Dark Anniversary

How could anyone wrap up the Ocean Ranger disaster in 30 seconds? Forty years later, the story is still untold in its entirety. The truth is the tragedy still haunts and hurts. For family members of those lost souls the dark anniversary must still bring the burdens of pain, regret and anger. Maybe all three are an inseparable price to be paid for a family’s memories.

Forty years later, I can still remember the story I filed on Monday, Feb. 15, 1982 — the day the Ocean Ranger sank. With the ocean behind me, I stood with my cameraman rolling, and — word for word — closed the story this way. 

“For as long as Newfoundlanders have taken to their boats they have always taken with them the chances they would not return. But those odds have worsened now, as seagoing life embraces oil and gas activity — and as fishing boats are joined by oil rigs offshore.”