Jim Longworth with documentary producers Jack Hilliard, Bill Gordon, and Tim Auman, working on a Bicentennial special titled
So You Think You Know the Constitution
“He’s just the nicest guy.” It’s a phrase we’ve all used at one time or another to describe someone we know. In truth, though, it’s a rather disingenuous superlative. After all, who could actually be that nice? Who could have a positive attitude all of the time, is a good listener, and treats everyone with respect? What kind of guy never loses his temper, has an impish smile, and gives 110% to everything he does? There’s just no one like that…except Jack Hilliard.
I first met Jack 51 years ago when I was hired to work on his studio production crew at WFMY-TV. I was excited to be working in television, and I wanted to do a good job for Jack, whether I was sweeping floors, operating a camera, or loading graphics. And, I wasn’t alone. Everyone who worked with Jack wanted to please him, because we liked and respected him. He could tell you what to do without yelling or talking down to you, and that just made us all work that much harder. Funny thing, but I never asked Jack how old he was. I knew there was an age difference between us, but he always had so much energy that I figured he was some sort of Peter Pan-like character who would live forever. Sadly, forever came too soon. Jack died on April 10 after a brief illness. He was 85.
Kenneth Jackson Hilliard, Jr. was born in Asheboro, attended Asheboro High School, and graduated from UNC, so it is understandable that his all-time sports hero was Carolina football stand-out Charlie Choo Choo Justice who went on to play for the Washington Redskins (naturally Jack’s favorite NFL team). When I worked with Jack he had not yet met the love of his life, Marla. Back then he was a confirmed bachelor who scooted around town in a sporty black Pontiac Firebird and was best buds with his dog Tom Tom.
Jack worked for WFMY for over 40 years, the latter 15 of which were spent as producer/director of the Good Morning Show. However, in the early 1970’s our production team worked the night shift, which meant taping The Old Rebel Show in the afternoon and doing newscasts at 6 p.m. and 11 p.m. In those days Jack was a technical director and punching live news shows was a pressure cooker job. Unlike today when digital technology and computers can be programmed and store all sorts of information, Jack had to juggle multiple sources every single second, coordinating news packages that had been shot on film, sports and weather graphics that were being updated by the minute, and doing all that while timing every element to the exact frame so that viewers saw a seamless presentation. Not just anybody could do what Jack did and stay calm while doing it. I’ve worked with lots of directors over the past five decades, and in the “old” days of television, most of them yelled, screamed, and used foul language when calling out instructions over the headset. Not Jack. No matter how many balls he was juggling during a half-hour newscast, he never raised his voice once and never chastised the crew if we made a mistake.
Of course, we also worked on less stressful projects together like the special program I produced and hosted with Red Skelton which Jack directed, and the bicentennial documentary he helped me with. But whether I was running the camera, doing the late-night weather, or interviewing celebrities, Jack was always there to support me.
Those of us lucky enough to be on Jack’s crew were a family, even away from the studio. For example, between news shows, we would go out to dinner at Stamey’s BBQ or Libby Hill, and after we wrapped up the 11 o’clock show, we would often go grab breakfast at IHOP, play night tennis, or journey up to the client viewing area and load up an old film. We all loved what we were doing, and we loved doing it under Jack’s guidance.
In the years since then, Jack and I would meet for lunch, talk by phone, and email each other, but not often enough, and that is something I deeply regret. I didn’t know he had been sick and so I was shocked to hear that my ageless friend had passed away. Jack was a friend and a mentor, and if anyone ever asks me to describe him, I’ll say without hesitation or exaggeration, “Jack Hilliard was just the nicest guy.”
Remembering Jack Hilliard
Jim Longworth with documentary producers Jack Hilliard, Bill Gordon, and Tim Auman, working on a Bicentennial special titled
So You Think You Know the Constitution
“He’s just the nicest guy.” It’s a phrase we’ve all used at one time or another to describe someone we know. In truth, though, it’s a rather disingenuous superlative. After all, who could actually be that nice? Who could have a positive attitude all of the time, is a good listener, and treats everyone with respect? What kind of guy never loses his temper, has an impish smile, and gives 110% to everything he does? There’s just no one like that…except Jack Hilliard.
I first met Jack 51 years ago when I was hired to work on his studio production crew at WFMY-TV. I was excited to be working in television, and I wanted to do a good job for Jack, whether I was sweeping floors, operating a camera, or loading graphics. And, I wasn’t alone. Everyone who worked with Jack wanted to please him, because we liked and respected him. He could tell you what to do without yelling or talking down to you, and that just made us all work that much harder. Funny thing, but I never asked Jack how old he was. I knew there was an age difference between us, but he always had so much energy that I figured he was some sort of Peter Pan-like character who would live forever. Sadly, forever came too soon. Jack died on April 10 after a brief illness. He was 85.
Kenneth Jackson Hilliard, Jr. was born in Asheboro, attended Asheboro High School, and graduated from UNC, so it is understandable that his all-time sports hero was Carolina football stand-out Charlie Choo Choo Justice who went on to play for the Washington Redskins (naturally Jack’s favorite NFL team). When I worked with Jack he had not yet met the love of his life, Marla. Back then he was a confirmed bachelor who scooted around town in a sporty black Pontiac Firebird and was best buds with his dog Tom Tom.
Jack worked for WFMY for over 40 years, the latter 15 of which were spent as producer/director of the Good Morning Show. However, in the early 1970’s our production team worked the night shift, which meant taping The Old Rebel Show in the afternoon and doing newscasts at 6 p.m. and 11 p.m. In those days Jack was a technical director and punching live news shows was a pressure cooker job. Unlike today when digital technology and computers can be programmed and store all sorts of information, Jack had to juggle multiple sources every single second, coordinating news packages that had been shot on film, sports and weather graphics that were being updated by the minute, and doing all that while timing every element to the exact frame so that viewers saw a seamless presentation. Not just anybody could do what Jack did and stay calm while doing it. I’ve worked with lots of directors over the past five decades, and in the “old” days of television, most of them yelled, screamed, and used foul language when calling out instructions over the headset. Not Jack. No matter how many balls he was juggling during a half-hour newscast, he never raised his voice once and never chastised the crew if we made a mistake.
Of course, we also worked on less stressful projects together like the special program I produced and hosted with Red Skelton which Jack directed, and the bicentennial documentary he helped me with. But whether I was running the camera, doing the late-night weather, or interviewing celebrities, Jack was always there to support me.
Those of us lucky enough to be on Jack’s crew were a family, even away from the studio. For example, between news shows, we would go out to dinner at Stamey’s BBQ or Libby Hill, and after we wrapped up the 11 o’clock show, we would often go grab breakfast at IHOP, play night tennis, or journey up to the client viewing area and load up an old film. We all loved what we were doing, and we loved doing it under Jack’s guidance.
In the years since then, Jack and I would meet for lunch, talk by phone, and email each other, but not often enough, and that is something I deeply regret. I didn’t know he had been sick and so I was shocked to hear that my ageless friend had passed away. Jack was a friend and a mentor, and if anyone ever asks me to describe him, I’ll say without hesitation or exaggeration, “Jack Hilliard was just the nicest guy.”