Slime in the Ice Machine and Other Public Service Journalism

by Wally Dean, Broadcast/Online Director - CCJ

Marvin Zindler, the indefatigable Houston television personality who invented the consumer beat on local TV, died this week at age 85. The obituaries remind us that his stories led to the padlocking of a Texas brothel called the Chicken Ranch and inspired the musical “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.” They also note that for more than 30 years, Zindler was the most recognizable face on Houston TV and probably the most trusted. In an increasingly complex world where it’s often hard to tell good from evil, Zindler was the quintessential good guy, if not exactly the typical TV reporter. Though he didn’t wear a white hat during his daily appearances on KTRK-TV’s 6 and 10 p.m. news, he usually sported a bright, large-collared shirt, often with a white tie or white suit. His tanned face was framed beneath a fountain of white hair (a toupee) and set off with huge blue-tinted glasses. His voice could be bark or bray, depending on the speed of his squeaky-wheel delivery. In appearance and presentation, he was unlike anyone else on local TV anywhere. Nor did he act like anyone else on the tube. Zindler was older, 51, when he started at KTRK in 1973. He was already well known, having often appeared in stories as a consumer fraud investigator for the Houston district attorney. In fact, KTRK became interested in Zindler after his name surfaced in a TV consultant’s research report that listed him as one of the city’s most recognized and trusted personalities. [Allen, Craig. 2001. News is People, The Rise of Local TV News and the Fall of News from New York. Iowa State University Press, p. 219] Zindler, however, was much more than a caricature. Certainly, he had an “act.” But the reason it worked was because Zindler knew what viewers valued: watchdog reporting that found and fixed local problems. In other words, public service journalism. During his more than 30-year TV career, in fact, Zindler helped thousands of Houstonians by mediating consumer disputes, cutting through red tape, exposing wrongdoing and being a tenacious advocate for the little guy. He had a full-time staff that waded through 100,000 letters annually. His signature “Marvin Zindler, Eye…

...witness News” signoff, which he literally shouted at viewers, was legendary. So, also, was the lifetime contract he was given in 1988. As part of the research for our book about local TV news, We Interrupt This Newscast, (Cambridge Univ. Press, 2007) I watched air checks of several of Zindler’s reports. Usually, they appeared after the weather, no doubt to hold viewers into the second quarter-hour of the newscast. The reports were labeled on the screen as “commentary” and ranged from a rant against nursing homes to his weekly review of restaurant health-code violations. Here is but one week of Zindler’s work.

Monday: nursing homes and the release of a Congressional report that, according to Zindler, “has concluded what I’ve been preaching for years, that many physical and sexual abuse cases at nursing homes are not treated the same as crimes elsewhere.” He lectures viewers that “abuses at nursing homes are nothing new to me. I’ve been pounding on the state to do something about them for years. Usually the problems are out of sight, out of mind.” Zindler concludes by revealing what he says are “the true facts of life. Nursing homes have one of the strongest lobbying groups in the county and where there’s money involved, don’t get your hopes up high that anything will be done about conditions in nursing homes. God help the elderly. Marvin Zindler, eyewitness news.” [KTRK-TV, 10 p.m. news, 3/4/2002]

Tuesday: the police department. Several cars had been ticketed for being parked illegally overnight on aneighborhood street, though the resident who sought Zindler’s help saysshe’s been parking in front of her house for almost two decades with noproblem. “Well, personally, I think the Houston police officer who wrote the ticket was just plain bored in the wee hours of the morning,” Zindler begins the story. After hearing from the woman, viewers see a two-shot of Zindler and the police department’s chief public relations officer. “He said the officer was just doing his job,” Zindler intones. “What does that mean? That other police officers aren’t doing their jobs because they don’t give tickets to other folks who park in front of their homes?” The spokesman is interviewed. “This officer may have very well been observing situations where traffic would be unable to pass by. Let’s say someone who is elderly or who is handicapped lives in that neighborhood…” Zindler, shaking his head and waving his arms, interrupts: “Oh, I know all of this. You’re surmising…” The spokesman: “… and that officer may have very well been acting to assist those people who may have very well needed help …” Zindler, interrupting again: “2:30 in the morning? Mr. (spokesman’s name), they’ve been parking there every night. But you’re giving me the PR, the public relations deal for the police department that no policeman can do wrong and I understand that. That’s the name of the game.” The interview ends, but Zindler does not. “Well, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with this guy, (names spokesman), on a regular basis. I really feel sorry for those in the media who have to. All he does is give you the old snow job as a PR flack. However, I find that 99 percent of PR people these days are straight shooters. (Names spokesman) is the other one percent. Marvin Zindler, eyewitness news.”

Wednesday: the “case of the missing carpet,” an expensive Persian runner stolen while in the care of a local rug cleaning company. Though the firm’s insurance covered most of the five-figure loss, there remained the question of who would pay the $1,000 deductible. “I went over to (the business) and discussed the Persian rug problem with the owner,” says Zindler. The proprietor appears on camera and offers, “We’d be willing, absolutely, to give her (the rug’s owner) that thousand dollars and in the spirit of fairness, much, much, more than fairness, Marvin, we’d be willing to take care of that.” He then reaches across a table and shakes Zindler’s hand. Zindler concludes that the businessman is “a good sport in working out this problem with me. As he said, this has never happened in the 15 years he’s been in business and he certainly hopes it never happens again. Marvin Zindler, eyewitness news.”

Thursday: the story of a 7 year-old first-grader who keeps falling asleep at home and at school. “The family is poor, and they need to see a doctor.” So Zindler arranges for the child to visit one of “Marvin’s angels,” in this case a prominent ear, nose and throat specialist who agrees to examine the boy to see if his problem might be the result of sleep apnea. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again. It’s hell to be poor. Marvin Zindler, eyewitness news.”

Friday: the “the rat and roach report,” Zindler’s weekly rundown of restaurant health violations. The story consists of a series of graphics that contain pictures of several eateries and descriptions of violations that range from “dirty equipment” to “roaches” to “mouse droppings.” Viewers then see a graphic depicting the inside of an ice maker. A large glob of green animated slime rolls out of the machine and onto a pile of ice cubes. “And now, and now, and now, and now, for the big, big, big, big, S,” Zindler shouts. A large red cube appears and the words “Now” and “BIG” and the letter “S” appear on each face as it rolls toward the viewer like a giant bolder. The names and addresses of several food places are superimposed over the slime, followed by seven identical little Zindler figures that pop from the ice cubes and in unison chant to the beat of pulsating music, “What do we have?” The words “SLIME IN THE ICE MACHINE” fill the screen. Marvin Zindler filled the screen, too. By contemporary standards, his reports are considered outlandish and would likely be judged by TV newspeople as pedestrian or worse, unprofessional. Yet for 35 years he accomplished what many broadcast journalists can only hope to achieve. He made a difference. He got things fixed. He closed down the best little whorehouse in Texas.