Sidebars

American Academy of Achievement….by Bob Sanders

It’s difficult to know where to begin the American Academy of Achievement/EduCap story.  It gets enormously involved because there are highly intense Washingtonians in major roles, a family fight among members who underwent a name change, the refusal of a $38 million gift made by the Smithsonian Institution, and a murky entwinement of the Academy with a not-for-profit student loan company lends complexity to the tale.  There is, indeed, a lot of money involved and questions are being raised as never before largely because D.C. is looking at itself as never before.  At least for now.

It all began with Hyman Peskin, a great sports photojournalist, born in Brooklyn, who helped make the Dodgers famous.  The feeling was mutual since, as Peskin put it, ‘they helped make me.”

Following World War II and the Marine Corps., Peskin shot for Look Magazine before becoming the first staff photographer hired by Sports Illustrated.  Forty of his photographs appeared on the cover of that magazine.  Peskin also shot for Life and his photo feature of Senator John F. Kennedy and fiancé Jacqueline Bouvier brought national attention to the future President and moved the photo journalist into the area of celebrity photo journalism.  Hy Peskin snapped them all and came up with a fascinating idea.  How about a dinner party to which no one but the celebrities photographed by him would be invited?

That was in 1961, a year in which Peskin not only threw his first bash but changed his name to Brian Blain Reynolds so that, as the story goes, the American Academy of Achievement would not be perceived as being run by a Jewish photographer.  The American Academy of Achievement, after mediocre success, was eventually moved to Dallas where it flourished. Super celebrities loved the event--particularly since little media attention was given the annual soirees.  Unfortunately, a dust up developed between the former Hy Peskin and son Wayne Reynolds who took over responsibilities in 1885.  Neither the name Hy Peskin nor Brian Reynolds appears on the Academy of Achievement’s web site.

Peskin/Reynolds died in Israel in June, 2005 from errors occurring during kidney dialysis.

I got much of this information from author Ruth Beebe Hill, a fellow Clevelander whom I met shortly after moving to Friday Harbor, WA in 1990.  Hill, whose membership in the American Academy came after she authored the mega-hit, Hanta Yo, invited wife, Jan, and me to experience the American Academy in 1997.  Having been exposed to celebrities during careers in journalism and public relations, I had seen much of them while working for such firms as TV Guide, Playboy, Public TV and a number of newspapers including the Chicago Tribune.

Held that year in Baltimore, the four-day annual event was crowded with an impressive number and variety of strictly A List celebs including 24 Nobel laureates, Colin Powell, Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer, Martha Stewart, Duke basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski, Ron Howard, Tom Clancy, four-time Iditarod champion Susan Butcher, Naomi Judd (then more famous than daughter Ashley) baseball’s Cal Ripkin and religion’s Dr. Robert B. Schuller.   Clancy, a Baltimorean, was co-host along with Peter Angelos, fellow Charm City resident and Baltimore Orioles owner.  There must have been 20 celebrities for every guest and each event of the four days was positively choked with the famous.  I met Wayne Reynolds and found him distant when asked questions about his organization.  The event is now called The International Achievement Summit whose recent inductees include Bill Clinton and Mikhail Gorbachev.

Peskin/Reynolds may have set in motion a well-intentioned and well-paying adjunct to his gathering of celebrities when he began inviting 250 of the brightest of the nation’s graduating high school seniors to rub elbows with the highly successful.  Enter Catherine D. Reynolds, a high-profile figure in the $17 billion private student loan industry, major philanthropist, controversial D.C. socialite, and wife of Wayne Reynolds.  She had gone to work as an accountant for non-profit EduCap in 1988 when student loans came largely from the government.  She wound up in control of one of the few firms that over the years has competed with federal loans now capped at 6.8 percent interest.

About every two years or so, student loan industry watchdogs take another look at EduCap whose status is fiercely protected by the Reynolds.  Such possessions as a $30 million Gulfstream IV jet, used for seven years to fly family and the highly-connected to exotic places, now has their full attention along with nagging subjects of the past.  They include her annual salary, now up to $1.2 million and student loans of as much as $50,000 with interest rates as high as 18 percent, nearly three times the federal rate.  Because of a recently initiated investigation by the Internal Revenue Service and Congress, the Gulfstream has been sold but not before it was used for free trips taken by such heavyweights as Senators Tom Daschle and Ted Stevens, the later before he was found guilty of fraud.  Along for 58 trips, including flights to Turkey, Sweden and Asia, was Chicago Mayor Richard Daley.     

Catherine Reynolds, now prominent in D.C. social and political circles, is so controversial (critics say she has long been driven by a severe case of social climbing) that the Smithsonian Institution once refused a $38 million contribution from her Catherine B. Reynolds Foundation.  That was in 2002 and there were strings attached to the offer.  The Smithsonian refused on the basis of the Foundation’s demand that it have a “hands on role” in the creation of a Hall of Achievers.  By the time the offer was rejected, the Foundation had already transferred an un-retrievable $1.5 million to the venerable Institution.   The Foundation has donated more than $100 million to noble causes.

Hy Peskin’s daughter-in-law has come a long way in achieving her unregulated slice of the $85 billion student loan industry made possible by soaring college tuition costs.  According to the Reynolds, EduCap, which now lends under the Loan to Learn name, has helped more than 350,000 students pay for college.  Catherine Reynolds says the student loan interest rate of 15 percent is for those of high risk.

CBS News carried stories on consecutive days early in March about the government’s interest in EduCap, its relationship with the American Academy which has received at least $9 million from the fellow non-profit out of which was paid, according to tax filings, at least $1.7 million to ASC Management Co., a firm with one shareholder: Wayne Reynolds.

What appears to be inescapable in the government’s increasing curiosity about EduCap is an entwinement with and ability to function under three different yet connected names: EduCap, the Catherine B. Reynolds Foundation and the Loan to Learn brand. 

                                                            #          #          #          #

Mike Royko By Bob Sanders

 There’s a book about Rupert Murdoch coming out in December likely to capture a lot of attention. “The Man Who Owns the News” by Michael Wolff should register high on the New York Times best seller list if only because the media baron apparently hammers one of his employees: FOX News’ Bill O’Reilly. At least that’s what the author suggests in Vanity Fair’s October issue although there isn’t one Murdoch quote to back up the claim.

Without question, there’s a captivating charm about Murdoch’s taking a shot at O’Reilly while the highly clamorous no spin fellow is still employed by the Australian. It may be a matter of role reversal with Murdoch finally tiring of being the hittee and not the hitter. Murdoch is one of those media poobahs inclined to acquire sudden disenchantment with underlings who, following firings, put their feelings into columns, articles and books. The largely justifiable castigation of Murdoch is something of a blood sport though falling short of the visceral pleasures of Bush bashing. The 77 year-old Murdoch, defiant about the advancing years and married to a gregarious wife one-half his age, appears to be changing his modus operandi having decided to get in the first lick or whatever it is that Aussies call a sucker punch.

The late Chicago columnist Mike Royko once found himself working for Murdoch and it didn’t sit well with the wickedly funny guy who won a Pulitzer Prize for commentary in 1972. That was six years before his paper, the Chicago Daily News, folded after which he moved to a sister publication, the Sun-Times. Royko’s sensitivities were offended in 1983 when Murdoch purchased the paper and the columnist began writing about the indignities of working for what he referred to as “The Alien.” It was not long afterward that Royko crossed the street for the Chicago Tribune, a move I had made three years earlier.

Royko had it all journalistically; he could spot a phony a bar length away and had an innate sense about what was important to the reader. He may have been at his best writing about some poor soul beleaguered by numbing and mysterious bureaucratic forces engineered by a fool; either that or in the failings of the fabulously futile Chicago Cubs.

When Royko wrote about sports, he was also the best sports writer in town and there have been some outstanding ones. He went after bigots and was an early champion of civil rights. During 38 years of observing Chicago’s human condition, he wrote a breathtaking five columns a week most of that time.

I met Royko in 1968 shortly after arriving in Chicago for employment by Playboy Enterprises. One of my indelible memories is of an inaugural round of golf at what I had named The Brute, a  Robert Bruce Harris-designed course of extreme frustration at the Lake Geneva (WI) Playboy Club-Hotel. Midway through the shotgun start, Royko picked up his ball on the 16^th green and headed for his car deciding to forego what followed, one of Hugh Hefner’s better parties.

A private (read shy) person, Royko intensely disliked parties except small ones where he knew everyone. He took some of his best shots at pomposity. One of his “culinary” columns, written when wine snobbery was at its zenith, had to do with proper reaction when offered a cork by a sommelier. “Salt it lightly,” he wrote, “and eat it. This will cleanse the palate.”

While journalists can be a contentious bunch, there was universal approval of Royko. His Pulitzer was additional proof that you had to read him to find out what was happening in Chicago. He had a monstrous appetite for rogues and hypocrites.  Councilmen on the take were red meat for him.

Back then Royko hung out at the Billy Goat Tavern and played a lot of 16-inch softball, a sports aberration as peculiar to Chicago as whiffle ball behind bars in St. Louis.

Having in hand an advance Royko column about a bureaucratic attempt to put gloves on all players (the columnist was against such sissy stuff), I alerted the media that Mike was pitching for his beloved Daily News team that late afternoon on a Grant Park field. He pretended to abhor media attention, but I always felt he enjoyed the coverage.

Royko loved playing softball and once was requested to put together a media all-star team to play Cook County Jail inmates.  Royko’s team was decisively defeated and over a beer explained the loss to film critic Roger Ebert: “I was nervous. I never pitched to an ax murderer before.”

After the Daily News folded in 1978, he moved his column to the Sun-Times where he continued to write about human stupidity, big-shot pomposity and corruption, petty and worse. He was writing some of his best stuff when Murdoch’s bought the Sun-Times and the columnist moved to the Tribune where syndication of his work by Tribune Media Services eventually exceeded more than 600 papers. 

Royko and the Tribune, once owned by arch-conservative Col. Robert R. McCormick, were in many ways an awkward fit. During the four years I observed him at the newspaper, it was akin to envisioning Royko’s alter ego, Slats Grobnik, seated at a classy bar or wearing a tuxedo. Royko died an old 64 on April 29, 1997 of a brain aneurysm leaving Chicago a lesser place.

Among my possessions is a copy of a Royko letter written April 8, 1976 on Chicago Daily News letterhead. It is addressed to Father Andrew Greeley, the controversial priest and author then writing a column for the Tribune. Greeley had objected to what he felt was Royko’s having been on the “Today” show “much of election morning” while Mike, indeed, was viewed something like seven minutes.

Royko’s letter (carbon copies to major Tribune editors including editor-in-chief Clayton Kirkpatrick) began: “Look, you pious little asshole, why don’t you get your facts straight just once in a while” and then soared to greater literary heights referring to the man , whose priestly duties were at odds with his authorship of sexy novels, as “you thin-lipped, constipated, quivery twerp.” Greeley today is a Professor of Sociology at the University of Arizona and a weekly columnist for the Sun-Times.

At this writing, there are two collections of Royko columns. Published by the University of Chicago Press, they are wildly funny, sad, and always to the point. They are culled from more than 7,000 columns--further evidence that Jimmy Breslin was right. Royko was “the best journalist of his time.” The second book, “For the Love of Mike,” has a particularly good forward by Roger Ebert who suggests that Chicago newspapers, owning copyrights on the columns, should reprint them one at a time.

Just as San Francisco columnist Herb Caen was a must read in that city, so, too, was Royko in Chicago. Maybe the best take on him was made by the late Art Buchwald who commented: “Royko has always been an angry man, but he’s so funny that his anger isn’t obnoxious.”

# # #

Overnight Air By Bob Sanders

With life expectancy continuing to rise, there appears to be increasing interest in providing TV programming for people of advanced age looking for sustenance from the tube during sleepless hours. That interest also recognizes the myriad pressures of living a life today regardless of age. While Madison Avenue’s infatuation with people 25-54 is well established, it’s also true that a broad spectrum of Americans spend far more time awake in the wee small hours than they would like. Let’s hear it out there for overnight viewing of quality above and beyond infomercials.

On average, my nights in the Pacific Time Zone average a 3 a.m. awakening followed by reading, listening to music or watching TV. I’m inclined to opt for the latter—particularly when aware of a prior day’s event certain to gain the attention of MSNBC’s Morning Joe or The Don Imus Show, a simulcast carried by RFDTV  on The Dish. Both shows run 3-6 a.m. (PT).

Morning Joe represents a major synergistic attempt utilizing stars of the Peacock Network whose efforts also appear at more reasonable hours on NBC-TV , CNBC-TV and MSNBC. Morning Joe is the place for overnighters who can’t get enough during the day of Andrea Mitchell, Chris Mathews, Brian Williams, Tom Brokaw, pollster Chuck Todd, CNBC’s John Harwood  and Erin Burnett plus political gadfly Pat Buchanan. This everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach also offers regular outsiders including outstanding journalists Frank Rich, Pete Hamill and Mike Barnicle whose presence augur legitimacy. 

The NBC programming folks decided the show would be heavy on politics when it fired former occupant of the time, Don Imus, who had imposed his often monumental wrath on Rutgers University women’s basketball team composed of African-Americans. Imus’s rant about the team being composed of “nappy-headed ho’s” was not a golden broadcasting moment and NBC then held a series of tryouts to find a replacement.

The Joe in Morning Joe is the winner--Joe Scarborough, a former U.S. Congressman from Florida’s Redneck Riviera. He is intelligent, quick with a quip, and decidedly overbearing. Think John Wayne with a sense of humor and small beady eyes. The object of his right wing outbursts is co-host Mika Brzezinski whose icy rejoinders reflect political sensitivities at odds with those of Scarborough. Her father is Zbigniew Brzezinski, a one-time National Security Advisor to Jimmy Carter and a subject of Scarborough’s somewhat controlled outrage expressed in vain attempts to suggest he is simply a good old boy needle artist.

This casting of Scarborough and Brzezinski is something viewers have been through before and recall film reviewers Siskel & Ebert who, behind the scenes, didn’t like each other and Tracy & Hepburn who did. Things got a bit out of hand early this year when Scarborough’s claim that he is a journalist was met with laughter after which he said: “Mika, don’t make me backhand you.”

Scarborough was host of Scarborough Country, an afternoon MSNBC entry that never took flight, when Imus left. It was no secret that Scarborough was one of two house conservatives (the other being the now show-lessTucker Carlson) whose presence was counterpoint to Keith Olbermann whose “Countdown” was finally beginning to click largely on the basis of persistent and lengthy attacks on George Bush and FOX’s Bill O’Reilly.  Olbermann’s efforts continue to help put a new face on cable journalism—high on assault and lacking on balance. A floundering six-week search  to find the Imus successor saw just about everyone in the NBC stable plus outsiders taking a shot at replacing the talk icon whose airwaves absence totaled eight months

Imus’ return last January (the radio version is on ABC) was odd and remains so. Aware of the damage done by his senseless remark, he did something understandable yet under-thought by bringing on board Karitha Foster and Tony Powell who give the impression of two very pleasant people who have wandered in off the street to get out of the rain. While their attempts at humor are lackluster at best, those of impressionist Rob Bartlett are not. One of Bartlett’s better subjects is his Brando doing The Godfather.

To pick up some of the slack, Imus viewers and listeners are hearing considerably more of off-camera voice Bernhard McGuirk who often inspires the broadcast legend to traipse down verbal paths better left unexplored. Listening to the Imus tape in which he tastelessly commented about the basketball team (and this in no way is meant to absolve Imus), it becomes quite clear that McGuirk was the one who initiated the defamation.

Imus’ Rutgers comments were so outrageous a lot of regular guests stayed away from his re-incarnation. Loyalists include Jeff Greenfield, Bob Schieffer and Boston columnist Tom Oliphant. More recent returnees include Rich and Barnicle. Much has been made of Imus’ predilection for pushing the poor taste envelope, but there is no denying his ability to sell books written by guests. This hallmark of guest appearances is the quid pro quo of the talk business with Imus’ effectiveness exceeded only by Oprah’s legendary sales bumps. Book publishing (largely in the hands of foreign firms here) is in some  ways the last of the mom and pop operations doing little advertising while depending upon no-cost broadcast appearances and book signings to promote authors and titles.

Fortunately, there are escapes from Imus such as when wife Dierdre shows up or some truly awful musical group performs. I also find swift departure from Morning Joe likely when the host dives into even more presidential polls or waves Wall Street Journal editorials in Brzezinski’s face.  Never has a broadcast entity (NBC) devoted so much time to one subject:   MSNBC  promotion spots bill the channel as “ the place for politics.” Morning Joe has been de-percolated for Olympics coverage and will return August 22. One wonders what MSNBC will do after the November elections? I guess there is always windsurfing, Paris Hilton or people who build ships in bottles.

C-SPAN, on the other hand, offers nearby commercial-free escapism featuring communicators of no discernable bias under the guidance of Brian Lamb who does a remarkable job of presenting information from the Nation’s capitol. That information includes coverage of the House and Senate, appearances by authors, journalists and politicos plus interviews and call ins.  I once watched a three-hour questioning by Lamb of New Yorker media critic Ken Auletta. It was mesmerizing and, fortunately for me, viewed during the daytime. 

It was while working for the Chicago Tribune that I had the unique pleasure of creating a makeshift TV “studio” in Chicago’s Tribune Tower with C-SPAN’s Brian Lamb.  C-SPAN was one year-old when Lamb called me in 1981 indicating he wanted to originate a week’s worth of programming in Chicago. He was particularly interested in Sen. (IL) Paul Simon’s election campaign and Tribune media stars including Mike Royko and Jeff MacNelly. I met Lamb on a Sunday, we found space on a bridge overlooking the Tribune newsroom, and then began borrowing furniture where we could find it. Brian Lamb is one of the finest people you’ll ever run into and his C-SPAN interviews are absolute gems. He and PBS’ Charlie Rose are the best interviewers working broadcast today. Their secret: Both know how to ask questions without belaboring the process.

There are other opportunities for overnight information gathering, an admission that forces inclusion of Fox and Friends on FOX—on my remote halfway between MSNBC and CNN. My visits there are almost exclusively prompted by commercial time elsewhere. Commercials are easily avoided--particularly with commercial-free C-SPAN channels always at the ready.

While Imus and Scarborough conversations often resemble locker room horseplay or worse, Fox and Friends appears adrift—three people in search of fluff and opportunities to pander to its conservative audience.

That leaves CNN, determined to play it straight while the other commercial news channels do what it can to change the game from informing to swaying opinion. With newspapers going under, the computer an increasingly important role in the dissemination of news, and a public having difficulty determining fact from fiction, TV news is at a challenging crossroads. Two-thirds of cable news bears a considerable lessening of resemblance to its forefathers whose evening news now reaches 20 million viewers—roughly eight times that of cable. One sometimes wonders if much of the overnight air represents an aberration or the future?

                                                    # # # #

Siskel & Ebert By Bob Sanders

Recent word that film critic Roger Ebert was ending his 33-year association with At the Movies meant the dropping of the other shoe. Battling thyroid cancer for four years and unable to speak for the past two, Ebert had already given up his seat in the balcony. Ebert’s announcement followed by two days fellow critic Richard Roeper’s decision that he, too, was leaving the show after failing to reach an agreement with owner Disney. 

It  was Roeper who was eventually chosen as a permanent co-host following the death of Gene Siskel in 1999. That’s when the show became Ebert & Roeper & the Movies, later changed to At the Movies with Ebert & Roeper. Disney last year had pulled the trademark thumbs-up/thumbs-down from the show, an identification Ebert co-owns with Siskel’s widow. 

I worked with both Ebert and Siskel meeting Roger in 1968 while employed by Playboy. Our introduction was by way of Dick Rosenzweig, Hugh Hefner’s right hand guy. 

Ebert had worked for the Champaign-Urbana News Gazette handling sports starting at age 15. After graduation (1966) from the University of Illinois, he joined the Chicago Sun-Times as a general assignment reporter while doing occasional movie reviews. Our meeting at the Playboy Mansion was to discuss The Big Bunny, a DC-9 being built for Hefner. As it turned out, Ebert’s movie plate became fuller before 1968 ended and he never wrote about the plane. I would have more to do with Hefner’s toy including the flying of an ape named Baltimore Jack from Johns Hopkins Hospital to Phoenix where a lonely simian named Hazel awaited to participate in primate cohabitation. More about that anon.  

Siskel & Ebert’s first go-round on TV—Opening Soon…At a Theater Near You” was taped at WTTW, Chicago’s public station. Working in public relations there, I became aware that while they got along better than, say, Abbott & Costello, Siskel & Ebert didn’t like each other much at all; mutual respect eventually, yes, but not much else. In truth, the friction developed into a winning chemistry. Evident on all their shows, it was a major factor in turning them into the most influential critics in their field. I recall trying to phone Roger during filming. Gene answered the call, the subject of food was introduced into the conversation and Siskel (handing the phone to his then portly partner) commented: “Here’s Roger who sure gets his four squares a day.” 

It was after moving to Field Enterprises (Chicago Sun-Times & Daily News) that I learned Ebert had little interest in appearing on radio and TV to advance his career. This was, as I later learned, in sharp contrast to Siskel. Some of Roger’s best writing involved his annual trips to the Cannes Film Festival where his coverage included a lot of funny stuff about film business eccentric “Silver Dollar” Billy Baxter. I once suggested he turn the material into a book that became Two Weeks in the Midday Sun: A Cannes Notebook.” I’m sure I wasn’t alone with the advice. 

The success of Siskel & Ebert could very well be measured by a booking I made of Siskel after I joined the Chicago Tribune in 1980. In spring of the next year, I got him an engagement for $5,000, damn good money in those days. A few months went by and I got a call from a realtors association who were having a meeting in tony Lake Forest. All he had to do was schmooze at a cocktail party, then talk for 20 minutes. When I called Gene to tell him of his good fortune, he very apologetically said his price had gone up to $7,500. The realtors quickly agreed and Gene presented me with a very expensive bottle of wine.

 A year after Siskel died of a brain tumor, I ran into Ebert in Hawaii at a book store in Oahu’s Wahiawa. He was there to autograph his latest work and, midway through the appearance, asked for questions. 

“Whatever happened to ‘Silver Dollar’ Billy Baxter?” was my query. Ebert’s answer and the way he delivered it was intriguing.  

Seemingly transported in time by the question to another time and place, Ebert spent a good 10 minutes providing rich anecdotal material about Billy Baxter whose “Silver Dollar” nickname was achieved by offering the coins as tips. Seemingly in a time warp, Ebert described Baxter’s unusual schemes for producing films and other aspects of his eccentricity. The critic finished by shaking his head as though he had been half a world away reliving those days in Cannes. It was Roger at his story-telling best giving impressive evidence of his then ability to communicate whether writing or speaking. 

“I want to thank you for that excellent question,” observed Ebert, who then began autographing books. Ebert, the first film critic to win a Pulitzer Prize (1975) never did tell us whatever happened to “Silver Dollar” Billy Baxter. Yoo-hoo, Billy, are you out there, somewhere? 

Following Ebert’s announcement that he would no longer be associated with the Disney-owned show, the entertainment firm announced the balcony seats will be filled in nepotistic fashion by Ben Lyons, a reporter for E1 News and son of film critic Jeffrey Lions, and Ben Mankiewicz of Turner Classic Movies. The latter is of the Writing Mankiewiczs and whose grandfather was Herman Mankiewicz who, along with Orson Welles, won an Academy Award for “Citizen Kane.” 

I wouldn’t dismiss the thumbs-up/thumbs-down style of reviewing nor would I suggest we won’t see more of Roeper who continues to write for the Chicago Sun-Times. Roger Ebert’s medical problems may keep him off the screen but he could be back in a behind-the-scenes role.   

                                                  # # # #   

 

 

Sidebars Satire By Bob Sanders

Maybe playwright and great wit George S. Kaufman was on to something when he observed more than 60 years ago that “satire is what closes on Saturday night.” 

Kaufman, recognized as a 20^th Century theater giant, was a guy all too aware that Broadway authorship, often enhanced by mesmerizing performances and sets of dazzling splendor, must always take into consideration the audience. Dubbed the “Great Collaborator,” Kaufman’s first two stage efforts with Edna Ferber fell short of success. Both went on to better things including two Pulitzer Prizes for him and one for her as he added screenwriting, directing and producing credits to his biography. 

I bring up Kaufman’s name in view of the Barack Obama brouhaha created by New Yorker Magazine’s July 21 cover depicting the Presidential candidate and his wife as fist bumping Muslim terrorists (she carrying an AK-47) in an Oval Office complete with a picture of Osama bin Laden on the wall and a fireplace in which an American flag is burning. The right wing went nuts over the cartoon’s “accuracy” while the left cringed suggesting the magazine had fueled misconceptions. Was it satire or slander? 

New Yorker editor David Remnick understandably came down on the side of satire while forced to explain the joke, always an indication that a piece of humor is not understood. Christopher Hitchens, the free-swinging Vanity Fair writer, then took the contretemps to a Jonathan Swiftian level by quoting the Anglo-Irish satirist:  “Satire is a mirror wherein every man will commonly discern every face but his own.” Such, er, reflections recall the Marx Bros. mirror scene in “Duck Soup” in which Groucho has a problem of self-identification because Harpo (also attired for bed and wearing a Groucho mustache) apes his every movement before the framework of a mirror. Perhaps a New Yorker cover down the road will feature Obama standing before a mirror in the Lincoln Bedroom attempting to figure out who he is? Do I hear a mixed reaction from the right? 

Hitchens, a man of violent political twists and turns, is on firm ground with Swift who was so good at satire that he mastered two styles: Horatian and Juvenalian whose detailing will be savored at another time.

Even Rush Limbaugh got into the act although my notes reflecting his verbal gallop left me with little to inspire circumspection other than some words hastily penned as he hastily spoke: “intolerant Muslims,” “drive-by media,” “sexist throw-back” “wheeze-whine,” “drive-by media,” “stupid cartoon,” “people need enemas” and “drive-by media.” Possessor of a new $400 million contract, there can be no question that Limbaugh must easily make 10 cents a word. 

While there’s little doubt that Remnick, an excellent editor, knew precisely what he was doing up to a point, the resultant uproar suggests he misgauged the totality of reaction. At the same time, there seems to be a larger point being missed. How did so many people not get the satire? I don’t mean the 12 percent of the public firmly convinced that Obama is a practicing Muslim thus reinforcing a stereotype. If satire is so poorly understood, one wonders how many viewers don’t realize what “The Colbert Report” on the Comedy Channel is all about yet rarely miss a show because the host hoes such a rigid line of conservatism in the creation of satire. What a fascinating subject.

Perhaps all of this suggests our country’s dumbing down has progressed to the numbing stage or at the very least is further proof that we are losing whatever national sense of humor we might have had.  I’m rather taken by the somewhat obvious notion that David Remnick is a sophisticated fellow working for a sophisticated publication where his cohorts in sophistication are, well, sophisticated. This approach is based upon an accepted verity of human nature: it takes one to know one and Mr. Remnick should spend more time on the street.

In terms of our national stupidity, I have absolutely no idea how far along we are in this regression but I do believe Remnick should have heeded the words of George S. Kaufman regarding satire closing on Saturday night. 

                                               # # # #    

Tim, Ed and Katie

I don’t know what I can offer regarding the late Tim Russert since so much has been said and written about the broadcast Everyman. We hadn’t seen a weekend like that one in mid-June  since John F. Kennedy’s assassination in 1962. One wonders if Edward R. Murrow, born 50 years later than his real birth in 1908 and possessed of credentials comparable to what he earned in a lifetime, could possibly receive anywhere near the outpouring of affection accorded Russert? 

Perhaps the word affection is the most acceptable one in any analysis of Russert’s ability to connect with the public. He was that guy you’d love to drink a cold one with. Not many journalists have that ability. Murrow didn’t. There was a distancing about him--particularly evident on the frothy “Person to Person,” as he did the bidding of CBS. It was one thing to report the “London Blitz” from rooftops, it was another to be given perfect laundry room dimensions from film star Esther Williams.  

Murrow had envisioned “Person to Person” as interviews of common folk: farmers, beauticians, plumbers. CBS had other ideas and Murrow backed off figuring his acquiescence would enable him to get more significant programming past network head William F. Paley with whom the broadcast great eventually had a falling out of high decibel count. Before that, Murrow did remarkable work including “See It Now” (an outgrowth of the radio series so named) and special stand alone programs including the long-needed decimation of Sen. Joseph McCarthy. Of casual  irony and hardly rare in show business was Murrow’s making more money from “Person to Person” than any other of his undertakings and made possible when he gained full rights to the seven-year series. 

NBC, aware that continuity is a major factor in maintaining a show’s success (Sid Caesar’s woefully-handled “Show of Shows” on the Peacock Network is a classic) took little time to name Tom Brokaw Russert’s “Meet the Press” successor. While proclaiming the semi-retired Brokaw’s bona fides, the network made clear that the assignment will run out after the November election. What to do then? 

Timing is everything in most pursuits with Bulova, baseball and broadcast networks particularly aware. Take CBS which did something stupid in 2006 and hired NBC morning star Katie Couric, amidst intense publicity, to take over Bob Schieffer’s anchor chair. Those of sufficient memory are inclined to rank CBS’ foolishness on a par with trading Babe Ruth, invading Iraq and, for those of quixotic denial, suggesting that 40-point underdog Appalachian State never beat Michigan last year and the game, like the Holocaust, never happened.   

The $75 million Couric gamble to turn the “Today” co-host into a CBS anchor has been a failure. Her “Evening News” pulls 6.7 million viewers compared to NBC’s Brian Williams with 9 million and Charlie Gibson whose ABC efforts attract 8.8 million. Somewhat forgotten in the ratings analysis and Couric’s $15 million yearly salary (often mentioned in story ledes) is what got her to the dance in the first place: she’s a person who knows how to interview.  She’s one of the best and can ask the succinct question without embarking on a Larry King labyrinthine digression. No, there aren’t many as good as Couric. One is Brian Lamb of C-SPAN. Another was Tim Russert whose relentless pursuit on “Meet the Press” is a medium hallmark.

 The question of Couric’s future may well be, oddly enough, in the hands of NBC. Couric is believed finished as a CBS anchor. Will NBC be smart enough to bring Katie on board as Russert’s replacement or will Couric become a “60 Minutes” regular where her considerable talent will be wasted?

                                                    # # # #