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Off-camera, Martha Weaver seems less a high-profile news anchor than she does, well, an average person. Granted, her honey-blonde hair, golden skin and flawless smile donít exactly go unnoticed, but her easy, relaxed nature quickly dispels any misconceptions that the Channel 6 anchor lives in a world built only of makeup, dazzling lights and an audience of 88,000 nightly viewers.

Flopping atop a cushy cream-and-olive sofa in her northwestside home, she tucks her legs under her athletic build with the easy demeanor of someone who prefers jeans and roomy sweaters to tailored suits and pumps. Because itís still fairly early in the day ñ her 5:30 p.m. spot doesnít require her presence in the office until 2 p.m. ñ she wears no makeup and runs a hand carelessly through her unstyled hair. She makes no apologies that at this moment sheís not the coiffed woman onscreen: To Weaver, this is what living is all about.

Such honesty is refreshing in a woman whose career industry holds female anchors largely responsible for attracting and maintaining viewers. Itís also somewhat unexpected, given Weaverís growing reputation as one of TVís rising stars. After not even four years in front of the camera, Weaver has jumped from anchor/reporter in Flint, Mich., to prime-time news host at WRTV-6. Even more impressive, sheís steadily working her way up in a city that ranks among the top 25 nationwide for number of viewers: Her no-nonsense reporting as weekday morning anchor landed her the 5:30 p.m. anchor spot about two years into the job last March, when then-host Barbara Lewis left to marry Eli Lilly exec Ed West.

Since then, Indy viewers have embraced Weaverís presence. Her newscast with co-anchor Kevin Doran consistently ranks among the top two in the city in that time slot, and the program is currently in a tight battle for first place with the WISH-TV (Channel 8) newscast featuring Anne Marie Tiernon and Scott Swan, according to the latest Nielsen ratings. By all accounts, Weaver seems a likely candidate for a future 11 p.m. anchor position; at the very least, sheís secure in her 5:30 p.m. slot until her contract expires in 2001, says Debbie Bush, news director for WRTV-6.

Yet her success thus far doesnít seem to impress Weaver, despite the fact that she grew up collecting magazine clippings on idols Jane Pauley, Diane Sawyer and Connie Chung. For one thing, sheís among the oldest starting anchors in the industry; at 30, she feels pressure to achieve her goals before time gets the upper hand in such a visual business. "At my age Iím a good six or seven years older than most people starting out, so I feel like Iím still behind the game," Weaver says. "Sure, Iíve moved fast to this point, but Iím still looking up. And when youíre 30, you have to move just that much faster to get where you want."

Growing Pains

For Weaver, success always has meant landing a position as the top female news anchor, whether at the network level or in a major U.S. city. As a young girl in Anoka, Minn., (a small suburb of Minneapolis), she harbored dreams of hosting her own TV program and frequently showed up at events around town simply to check out the action. "My mother says I was the proverbial ëwhyí child," Weaver recalls. "I was always the one running ahead to find out what was going on and why. I guess it was only natural that I would want to be a TV newswoman."

Getting to that point, however, took longer than she originally planned. Eager to begin her trek to the silver screen, Weaver at first turned up her nose at college, saying it would be a waste of valuable job-hunting time. Her parents thought otherwise, so she enrolled in St. Olaf College, a private liberal arts school in Minnesota. Following her college adviserís advice, she set out on the career path common to many starting anchors: first newspapers, then radio and finally TV.

She tackled the first hurdle with a reporting internship at the nearby Northfield News her sophomore year before getting the chance to prove herself over the airwaves the following summer at country music station KLIZ-AM/FM in Brainerd, Minn. Because she had no radio experience, however, landing the spot as weekend disc jockey proved tougher than she expected: She got the job only by offering to work for free the first month. Fortunately, the station manager liked her pleasant voice enough to sign her on as a DJ and news reporter for three summers afterward.

Her senior year she got her first taste of TV as a newsroom intern at the ABC affiliate in the Twin Cities. There she tagged along with reporters and photographers at shoots, wrote copy and soaked up as much information as possible. "It was such an overwhelming experience at first because I wanted to learn so much so fast," Weaver says. "I just wanted to know everything so I could get out there and do it on my own."

The next year, armed with her communications degree, she set out to conquer the broadcast world. She applied for a TV reporting spot after graduation at a station in the small town of Alexandria, Minn., but to her disappointment, the station wasnít ready to invest in a fledgling. "They told me they were looking for someone who already had some TV experience, which was incredibly disappointing after all my efforts," Weaver says. "Unfortunately, you have to have experience to get experience, so it seemed like a circle I couldnít break."

The frustrated Weaver put her broadcasting goals on hold and moved to more familiar territory: politics. For the past 100 years, various members of her family have served as lawmakers in Minnesota ñ her grandfather started as city council representative in the late 1800s, her dad and uncle held seats as U.S. representatives through the 1960s and 1970s, and her cousin is currently running for attorney general in November ñ so it seemed only natural for Weaver to join them in the political arena. "I still held onto my desire to be a TV anchor, but I needed to refocus my energy and get back on track," she says. "I needed to think about something other than following that particular career path for a while."

She joined the fund-raising campaign for successful republican gubernatorial candidate Arne Carlson in 1990, stuffing envelopes, answering phones and performing menial tasks around the office. Her communication skills earned her almost instant recognition, so Carlson hired her as one of his press aides after the election. There she wrote speeches, coordinated press conferences and handled various media requests ñ all tasks sheíd learned while training for a broadcasting career. "I was actually using some of the same skills necessary for being in front of the camera, but here I was behind the camera," Weaver says. "I was actually very good at that job ñ and, even better, I liked it."

A little more than a year later, she was promoted to communications director of one of Carlsonís cabinet agencies, where she handled internal communications for about 950 employees. Her skills seemed better suited to public use, however, so soon she went into lobbying. Though her family name helped lend her initial credibility, Weaverís grasp of public affairs and her deftness in persuading lawmakers were instrumental in affecting change: She introduced Minnesotaís stalking law in 1991 and assisted in setting policies to improve disabilities access.

Meet the Press

But while politics fulfilled her desire to stay in the know about current events, Weaver says the cameraís pull eventually proved too strong. In 1994 she hired her former news director/internship sponsor in Minneapolis as a talent agent to renew her job search. "It was never a question of whether I could do TV," she says. "I just needed to find a station that was willing to give me the chance."

That station was WEYI, the NBC affiliate in Flint, Mich., who hired her as an anchor/reporter for the graveyard shift. She worked from midnight to 9 a.m. for the first two months before moving to weekdays as news/weather reporter and co-anchor. "I was thrilled because I was finally where I wanted to be since I graduated from high school," Weaver says. "Iíd gotten my big break."

Her second break came a year later, when former WRTV-6 news director Larry Pond hired her first as a reporter and later as weekday morning anchor, overlooking her relatively sparse experience in favor of her on-the-job performance. That move to Indianapolis proved impressive not only because of its speed, but also because Weaver essentially cut her markets (an industry term that ranks cities according to number of viewers) in half, jumping from market 58 in Flint to market 25 locally. "Every news anchor wants to be moving up in markets," Bush says. "This was a very good move for Marthaís career."

Still, Weaver hardly seems comfortable with her emerging celebrity status. In fact, she says the show-biz aspects that come with the anchor desk ñ particularly running promotional bits for the newscasts and wearing layers of makeup for the camera ñ make her somewhat nervous because they seem to detract from the purpose of the newscast: to tell people whatís happening. "In most aspects of my life, being gussied up and dressed to the nines isnít functional," she says. "To be honest, itís more fun to wash the makeup off than it is to put it on."

While thereís no denying that her natural good looks capture attention ñ the station has heard reports that at least one group of local firemen turn the sound down and just stare at the picture during Weaverís newscasts ñ her reputation for solid journalistic values proves sheís more than just a pretty face. "Martha has a good set of ethics, and sheís not shy about promoting them," Bush says. "Sheís the first to speak up if she doesnít agree with the way something is handled." For instance, sheís been known to reject crowd shots that show people drinking alcohol, and she wonít interview someone holding alcohol on-camera. "Maybe Iím trying to put things in a more positive light, but I just donít think some things are necessary," Weaver says. "Itís my responsibility to get the information out, and I just want it as straight and digestible as possible." For the same reason, she wonít say words that wouldnít crop up in normal conversation: "booze" is "alcohol," and "blaze" is "fire." To Weaver, such rules are just plain good taste. "I think itís really neat to be invited into somebodyís house (via the TV) because it means they think a lot of you," she says. "Itís my responsibility to be a respectful guest in their house."

All in the Family

That philosophy follows the one championed by Weaverís parents during her childhood. Her father, John, the owner of a real estate and investment company, reminded his three children frequently that they had two arms for a reason: one to pull themselves up and the other to pull someone else up with them. Her mother, Jill, raised Weaver and her older brother and sister to put family first by encouraging them to play everything from dolls to tackle football together. Weaver, for one, learned both lessons so well that living 750 miles away from her Minnesota roots proves difficult at times. "Iíve been away for three years now, and everyone else is almost right next door to each other," she says. "Itís tough missing out on that togetherness."

She tries to visit at least every two months, but lately her trips have come less frequently because sheís fixing up the ranch house she bought this summer on the northwestside of the city. Set within a private pocket of woods she says reminds her of Minnesota, the home will accommodate nearly all of Weaverís personal pleasures when she finishes remodeling it. Outside, thereís a swimming pool and plenty of room to romp with Camper, the 3-year-old golden retriever she adopted last November from the Humane Society (who also has been known to sleep under her desk during newscasts). Focal points inside include large speakers for Weaverís varied music collection and an entire room devoted to her piano and violin. She learned to play both instruments at age 4 and showed such skill on the violin that at age 10 she joined the Greater Twin Cities Youth Symphony, a touring group comprised mainly of high school seniors. Most members of the symphony later went on to play professionally, but Weaver says her varied interests in music, academics and sports ñ she was captain of her high school golf team and competed in tennis, skiing and cross country ñ meant she never had a clear indication of her greatest strengths. "I liked too many different things growing up, so it was hard for me to really excel in one particular area," she says. "Iíve always been happy, but Iíve never been content because that would mean finally finding my true calling. That always seems to be beyond my reach, and thatís why newscasting appeals to me: I can get a taste of so many ways of life by just doing my job."

In some ways, little has changed. Weaver admits she still canít decide where to focus her energy, particularly for future goals. Though she still hopes to shoot for "the top" ñ a spot behind the ABC network desk ñ she periodically entertains fantasies of launching her own talk show. Her friends already call her "the white Oprah Winfrey" because of her staunch opinions on right and wrong, and Weaver says she likes the idea of having an active hand in the media. "Almost every day I want to call someone on the carpet for being untruthful or for not really coming clean when they should," she says. For the same reason, she thinks she may run for office down the road. "Iím really opinionated and also a control freak, so politics may be the safest path someday," she says. Sheís already had her first chance to follow her family legacy: Last year the Republican party in Minnesota invited her to run for state representative to replace her cousin, who is running for state attorney general. But then, Weaver has so many career possibilities that she canít predict much past the three years left in her current contract. She even says sheíd like to work as a forest ranger on horseback, become a manager at a McDonaldís, go into advertising or try her hand at acting.

She also harbors dreams of starting a business that deals with animals, indulging that side through volunteer work with the Agape Therapeutic Riding Center, a horseback-riding program in Cicero that helps rehabilitate people who canít walk. Weaver has been active with the group since moving to Indianapolis, but her involvement initially wasnít wholly voluntary. An avid horse enthusiast as a child, Weaver persuaded her parents to buy her an Arabian horse named Mozast, whom she had fallen in love with while taking riding lessons. The family loaded the horse and drove to their cabin two hours north of Minneapolis, where they planned to keep the animal. As the 12-year-old Weaver anxiously waited for her father to unload Mozast, however, the horse was spooked by some dogs in the area and bolted for the road. As he ran up over a hill, an oncoming car struck him and broke his two front legs. Devastated, Weaver sat in the road stroking her new petís head as she waited for the vet to put him to sleep ñ she hadnít even ridden him as her own.

Later experiences with riding accidents imbedded enough of an emotional scar in Weaver that she hadnít been on a horse for almost 11 years until she signed on with the Junior League of Indianapolis and was asked to help with the Agape group. "That experience was probably the best thing I could have done because it proved to me that Iím strong enough to face my fears and move on," Weaver says. "And thatís true not only of horseback riding, but also of life in general."

With that resolute outlook, Weaver appears poised to turn just about any of lifeís roads into the path of success. Whether she reaches the network anchor desk or chooses to pursue an alternate goal, she seems prepared to take lifeís lessons all in stride. "I absolutely donít know what I want to be when I grow up, but I suppose thatís the fun part of the game," she says. "My dad raised me to do and my mom raised me to dream, so hopefully that combination will get me there ñ wherever there is."