Source : Globe & Mail

Jay Switzer must have been gnashing his teeth.

On Monday, the chief executive office of CHUM Ltd. announced the most important deal of his life: The broadcasting conglomerate he has presided over for more than two years had bought Calgary's Craig Media Inc., finally fortifying its long sought-after position as Canada's third major private television network.

The next day, a prominent story about the takeover appeared in The Vancouver Sun, topped by a large photo of short, ponytailed man. "Moses Znaimer of CHUM TV will be better able to compete against the likes of CTV and CanWest for TV audiences in Western Canada," read the caption.

Holy Moses! Is he still in the building?

No, not officially. The legendary guru who launched CHUM's flagship CITY-TV in 1972 was effectively ousted last year. He hasn't even owned his original station since 1979. But as CHUM marches forward, it obviously won't be easy to shake his mythic influence.

Some CHUM insiders say it's impossible to de-Znaimerize the company, and would actually be foolish to tamper with the "intensely local, urban-oriented, culturally diverse" brand of TV he pioneered. Others say it's not just inevitable, but incumbent on the new management team to impose their own sensibilities on a company that has grown from a small station-that-could to a national player that now owns 30 radio stations, eight local TV stations and 18 specialty channels — plus Craig's four TV stations and three digital channels, if this week's bid receives regulatory approval.

For better or worse, change is already afoot.

"Yes, of course the company is changing," says Switzer, speaking from a management retreat earlier week. "But it always changed, even under [Znaimer]. We're bigger than we used to be, but none of the principles or models has changed. And as we continue to grow, it's our job to make sure our raison d'être, the philosophies he built — to be connected, democratic, accessible, youthful and do a great job locally — remain in place."

Jeanne Beker agrees it's a different corporate culture, but one that evolved naturally, she figures, as the company grew up. "It's a new era," says the enduring host of Fashion Television, who was hired by Znaimer 25 year ago.

"It doesn't feel like the hotbed of creativity, the mecca of envelope-pushers, that it once was," Beker says. "I used to work in the place when there were 90 people. Now there are hundreds, and you get in an elevator and you don't know everyone. It used to be a family business, with Moses the father of this dysfunctional family. It's not that way any more, but all things change."

The CITY-TV format might be imitated far and wide today, but back in 1972, when Znaimer and three partners raised $2.8-million to launch a community-access station on Toronto's channel 79, TV viewers had never seen anything like this footloose operation before. More out of economic necessity than anything else — they couldn't afford the sitcoms, game shows and slick newsroom studios that characterized most private TV stations — the prime-time schedule was saturated with cheap independent feature films (the good, the bad and the naughty). And for the improvised newscasts, reporters were sent out into the streets with hand-held cameras while strolling anchors buzzed along with lively conversation.

Seven years later, CHUM, a family-owned radio network, bought the TV station, allowing Znaimer to move into a larger open-concept headquarters on Toronto's Queen Street West and begin launching more channels. Allan Waters, CHUM's founder, president and chairman, allowed Znaimer to run the TV operations for as long as he wanted, however he wanted — more or less.

No matter how big he dreamed, Znaimer controlled his rapidly growing TV empire with the micromanagement precision of an autocratic patriarch. Ensconced in his corner office, surrounded by dozens of blaring TV sets, Znaimer scrutinized every detail of every show. If his handpicked producers and hosts weren't doing things the way he saw fit, he'd be hollering down the phone five minutes later.

"Moses, for all his tremendous imagination and drive, was very difficult to work with," says Daniel Richler, editor-in-chief of the specialty channel Book Television, who has been working with Znaimer for more than 20 years.

"And despite a leadership style that anyone else would describe as harassment, some people thought it was worth it, worth struggling with him. I, for one, could handle it. I had many donnybrooks with the guy — angry table pounding and door slamming. But it was worth it. There's a lot to thanks Moses for. I was never offended by his impositions or excesses. I thought that was the price of working for an eccentric — or, some would say, a genius."

Znaimer inspired intense loyalty among his disciples. "Moses could antagonize and threaten you frequently, but he always respected your creative fire — he was a patron of that," says one former CITY-TV employee, who recently left the company after more than a decade of service. "There is no patronage left. There is no one who will put up with people who want more."

When Waters retired two years ago, so too went his deal with Znaimer. According to one insider, Znaimer was told: "You are a leader, we want team players. You'll have to go, now."

Although the Waters family still maintained a majority ownership in the company, day-to-day management was handed over to newly appointed president and CEO Jay Switzer.

Switzer had grown up in the frenetic glow of CITY-TV. The son of Znaimer's founding partner, Phyllis Switzer, he first joined the station as a receptionist at age 14. Rising steadily through CHUM TV's executive office, he became program manager in 1984, vice-president of programming in 1995, president in 2000 and eventually CEO.

"Being an erstwhile acquisitions guy, and then the CEO type, Jay knows that he hasn't laboured in the editing mines that others have, at all hours," Richler says. "He always showed respect for that. He's not a meddler. But he's not Moses. And he doesn't presume to be."

Beker is a fan. "He's great with people. He's very approachable. And he's the kind of guy the Waters family felt would represent the company in a very humane kind of way."

But not everyone inside the CHUM stable is overly impressed. One long-time employee who asked to remain anonymous said: "He replaced Moses with a management group that called itself The Matrix. Can you imagine Moses calling his management group The Matrix — especially after the movie had already come out?"

Shannon Wray, Richler's former colleague who helped launch the original Book Television show, says the change was inevitable.

"CITY-TV was like this wild creative village. People were excited and doing interesting things and given a lot of latitude. Where it started to change was when CHUM started to acquire a lot of channels. Within a very short period of time it went from 300 in a village to 3,000 people in this sprawling metropolis, without the structure. Managing that growth was very challenging. I think they've had to respond with a more corporate structure to make it work in a more manageable way."

Officially, Znaimer was kept on as president of television and vice-president of corporate development. In reality, however, the position was more about presence than power. Rumour had it that his lingering hold on the company was hampering Switzer's efforts to raise his profile in the industry and on Bay Street. And within the company, Znaimer's creative ideas met increasing resistance.

"There seemed to be a lot of ill will towards Moses," says Wray, who moved to Vancouver two years ago when Znaimer asked her to help launch CITY-TV Vancouver.

"I don't know if it was specific to Moses, or something endemic to Vancouver, but there was a real 'we're going to do it our way' attitude."

Znaimer officially left the building — or was escorted out, depending on which story you believe — last April. Many of his loyal minions — the Znaimeristas, as they call themselves — soon followed.

Wray was one of them.

"Was I let go within a month of Moses leaving because he was instrumental in putting me in that place, or was I fired because I wasn't doing a good job? Anything I say would be real conjecture."

Clint Nickerson, a former senior producer at Toronto's City Pulse and CP24 who was appointed news director at CHUM's Victoria station when the New VI launched in 2001, was given a golden handshake just a few months ago.

"I worked closely with Moses for 20-plus years," he says without a trace of bitterness. "But with any change in senior management, it's understandable that the new people will want to bring their own sensibilities. It's almost incumbent on them to signify the change."

Znaimer still has an office in Toronto, in the building next door to his old corner office, continues to work on several CHUM-related personal projects and serves as director, chairman and executive producer of CHUM's Learning and Skills Television of Alberta Ltd.

Soon after Znaimer stepped down, one close colleague asked him how long he predicted it would take before the new management team destroyed the brand.

"Hmm," he apparently replied. "About 2 1/2 years." But just a year later, that same colleague says the damage is already well under way.

Richler doesn't agree. He says there is no doubt CHUM is a different company sans Moses, but not necessarily better or worse.

"I'm one of many in the building who no longer lives in fear of a phone call from Moses suggesting we make a 36-part series on the history of television or some other expensive folly," he wisecracks. "There's not that type of leadership now. It's up to us, those of us who are in charge of the various channels and departments, to take on that kind of leadership, that mantle to lead now with as much verve and imagination as he did. That's called growing up, and moving on.

"There are some fearful people here. There are some who feel it's becoming corporatized. ..... I say to them, if you're not part of the solution, you could be part of the problem. What I see is a company that wants to be responsible to its shareholders, that wants to grow (but not too fast), and wants to maintain the spirit of the place."

On a blustery day last December, 26 of Znaimer's colleagues and friends gathered for a roundtable dinner on the set of Bravo! The invite list included CHUM vice-president Marcia Martin, CityPulse anchor Gordon Martineau, entertainment lawyer Michael Levine and CBC Radio's Definitely Not the Opera host Sook-Yin Lee. Cameras were set up to record each speech, toast and roast thrown the Great One's way.

A tribute delivered to Znaimer from Beker was recounted by several attendees as the ultimate portrait of how jumbled people's feelings often were for this man — an iconoclast and a trailblazer, an overbearing micromanager and, sometimes, a royal pain in the ass. The fashionista, who has worked at CHUM for 25 years, recounted how Moses gave her her first break. Then she talked about how hard he drove her, even when she was eight months pregnant; he'd talk about how there were hungry women on the street looking to get her job. The pressure was so intense, Beker told the party, she went back to work three days after giving birth.

As Richler recalls, Beker "told that story with evident fondness and rage as well. She ended it by saying, 'I love you but I hate you. I love you but I hate you.'

"I don't know of anyone who feels that strongly about Jay," Richler says. "No one will ever say to Jay Switzer: I love you, I hate you."
 
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