I don't know much about Tom Gould's issues at CTV, although there's no mention of any real friction in the extensive Globe & Mail obit/tribute published earlier this week.

One thing they leave out is that during the late 70s, Gould was working at CKEY in Toronto doing commentary and the 5 o'clock afternoon drive news. That's where I encountered him, although he was this behemoth of journalism and I was working my first paid gig in radio.

But the one thing I'll never forget had nothing to do with his background. One day, Gould went into the news booth, script in hand, waiting for the sounder that introduced his fairly highly rated drivetime "News and Commentary." The intro aired, followed by the pre-recorded deep voiced announcer intoning, "Now, here is Tom Gould."

He turned on his mic. And then what the audience heard was someone going, "Huuuuumph, Arrgh," for about 15 seconds, followed by what seemed like an endless amount of a man gasping. Turns out Gould had had a heart attack on air just as he was scheduled to start that day's cast. I'm not sure how long that tortured breathing went on or what the station did after that - go to spots or music - but an ambulance was called to #1 Yonge St.at the top of the Star building, and carted Tom away to the hospital.

He obviously recovered, but I'll never forget the day he almost died on air. It was the talk of the station for months afterward and I can't quite recall if he ever came back after that.  

Not to usurp the thread, but CKEY was a fairly vanilla kind of place in those days, exactly what you’d expect for a station whose playlist leaned heavily towards the Laurie Bower Singers. But once in a while something would happen to break that vapid atmosphere.
 
'EY had a great newsroom, with people like Pete McGarvey, Pierre Berton, Charles Templeton, Joe Morgan, Jim Hunt, the aforementioned Tom Gould, and many more that Grilled.Cheese has never heard of. One of the strangest events that ever happened there began in that news bullpen. It started one afternoon when the phone rang. (Warning for sensitive eyes – if there are any on SOWNY. Foul language ahead.)
 
One of the staffers answered it. The guy on the other end of the line started into a major rant that sounded like this. “Fuck off with your Joe Clark cocksucker wipeout. Fuck it. Fuck out.” And then he hung up. Nobody knew what he was talking about and nobody thought much about it until he started calling back twice a day, then three, four and even seven or eight times in just a few hours.
 
We couldn’t just ignore it – he was calling on the hotline, where tips about fires, accidents and major stories were phoned in. So it had to be answered. After this went on for a week or two, the station finally called Bell and asked them to try and put a stop to it.
 
You have to remember that this was in the days before call display and cell phones or the Internet. Bell did whatever magic they did and the next time the guy called, they had him. He was unable to hang up his phone, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't disconnect from the hotline. We were listening as he continually tried to dial out on his rotary phone, swearing to himself and wondering what was going on.
 
Not long after, the cops came to his door and charged him with whatever fit, and Bell threatened to pull his phone service altogether if he didn’t stop. This was no small punishment because in those days, Bell was the only phone company there was. And if they cancelled you, your only alternative was two tin cans and some string.
 
Eventually, the case came to court and while it wasn’t high profile, the guy pled guilty, paid a fine and appeared to have learned his lesson. And that should have been the end of it. But one of the people in the newsroom couldn’t let it go. I won’t use his name because he’s still active as a TV producer in the city, but he asked our police reporter to find out the guy’s name and phone number.
 
As soon as he got it, he dialed the digits. A familiar voice answered.
 
“Hello?”
 
“Is this John Doe of Merton St?” the sportscaster asked.
 
“Yes,” came the reply.
 
And then this boyish-faced sports guy let it fly. ““Fuck off with your Joe Clark cocksucker wipeout. Fuck it. Fuck out.” And then he hung up, likely leaving the idiot on the other end of the phone stunned and wondering who that was.
 
The sports guy became a hero in the newsroom, getting the encounter on tape and replaying it constantly to anyone who asked to listen to it. And even to a few who didn’t. It was the ultimate revenge on an obscene phone caller who picked the wrong target.   

Old Codger wrote:

Wow that's quite a story...

 
Have you heard....Tom Gould has passed...