ANY BOSS WHO DEMANDS SEXUAL FAVORS FROM HIS STAFF SHOULD BE CASTRATED!
I lasted five years with Arkansas Educational Television. At the beginning, my starting salary was nine thousand dollars a year and, five years later, when AETN and I parted company,
my yearly salary was ten thousand, five hundred.
My boss, a former state senator, was the Executive Director of Arkansas Educational Television Network (AETN). The formerly
Secretary of the Arkansas Senate was appointed Director, a high-ranking position, by Democratic Governor and longtime political buddy, Orval Faubus. The Director liked to brag he knew nothing about television except.... how to turn his TV set on and off.
Middle-aged, balding, and carrying an abundance of loose, flabby fat, the politician-turned- Director was the typical looking/acting—Good-Old-Boy-Democrat. When he smiled his squinty
eyes squeezed closed and he resembled some slimy night-crawler from the swamp. He was one of those men you never wanted to be with—alone, especially if you were a woman.
I endured the Station’s Director because I needed a paycheck. For five years, AETN’s repulsive bastard-boss called me to his office on an average of twice a week and—when the door closed—started groping me and grunting like a
pig. He forced his hand up my skirt at the same time he was trying to kiss me with his sticky wet, slobbery lips; his snake-like tongue would thrust itself in and out of my face, demanding to get through my clenched teeth.
Each wrestling session lasted only as long as it took me to unpin myself from his heavy-weighty body, grab the doorknob, and break-free. Each time I left his office, I vowed it wouldn’t happen again. Gradually,
he put more and more pressure on me to come to his office, sometimes being so brazen as to come to the studio and interrupt my taping sessions with important guests. Eventually I got wise to his nasty game. I watched young secretaries go to his office and
come out with their hair messy, their sweaters half-open or unbuttoned.
One afternoon, walking down the hall to the bathroom, I saw the art teacher run from his office,
lipstick smeared over her face; her artist smock turned backwards! One by one, I visited with these women; I begged them to join me in a formal complaint against the Director’s sexual harassment. Victim after female victim said no. The women were desperate
to keep their jobs; they wouldn’t speak-out for fear of being fired. They warned me not to include their names in any complaint, saying they would be forced to deny, deny, deny.
The day came when the Director walked in the TV studio where I was meeting with a group of volunteers discussing an upcoming pledge drive. Smacking those slimy lips together as he often did when up to no-good—the Director said he needed
to talk with me in his office. I tried to stall, saying everyone was on a tight schedule but, using his most authoritative voice, he demanded I come with him immediately.
soon as his hands began grabbing my breasts and I heard: “You’re so cute and sexy, I just have to kiss you and touch you all over.”....I screamed. I slapped his fat, saggy jowls and pushed his nasty-spongy body away from me with such force—the
bastard lost his balance, fell backwards across his desk, and I continued to scream. I ran out of his office screaming, and found everyone in the building standing in the hall, staring at the Director’s door, wondering why some woman was screaming. The
Director’s door opened behind me and everyone heard the Director yell: “You’re fired, you ungrateful bitch; you’ll never work in television again!”
Five minutes later, leaving the building with my belongings, I heard the Station Director limping and grunting behind me, trying to catch up. “If you leave right now, I’ll call the Board and tell them you quit!” I turned, looked him
straight in the eye, and spoke my heart: “Every person in this building heard you fire me and they are my witnesses. Don’t worry about reporting ME to the Board. I’m going to the governor’s office right now to report YOU and YOUR SEXUAL
ABUSE of every female in this building!!!”
Yes, it was the seventies. My AETN experience was my introduction to the not-so-pleasant-working world of single mothers.