Bob Schieffer Delivers the News

In 1988 I was working for the White House Advance Staff for President George H. W. Bush in his reelection campaign.  The title sounds niftier than the job.  I was just one of a dozen volunteers in St. Louis, MO who knew the roads, the local newspaper columnists and could change the ink in the copy machine.  All of that and being able to pass a Secret Service security check got me the job of gopher. 

            Make no mistake; this was a job I wanted!  I have been a political junkie all of my life.  Since I taught, I used my summer vacations to volunteer on local campaigns. I started stuffing envelopes and looking up phone numbers, slowly working my way up to the state speakers’ bureau for Reagan/Bush and then White House Advance Staff for the senior George Bush. 

            It was working advance staff that I finally got a good look at this nation’s press corps.  I was not impressed.  They are some of the rudest, most egotistical, self-important spoiled brats I have ever had to work with, for or around.  They obey no rules, observe no boundaries, and are never grateful and always needy.  Theirs is a world of self proclaimed entitlement.

They demand that they are fed (on the dime of what ever political party’s event they are covering) after the fact.  And if the food doesn’t meet their expectation you can count on scathing coverage.  They can listen to a thoughtful, cogent delivery and will then pick a two second throw away line as their broadcast piece.  Evidently the mantra of the press is, “sound bite-good; think piece-bad.”  Either they can’t grasp a main idea, or they can’t market it.

            Neither does the press appear to be very bright.  I really don’t know what goes in schools of journalism these days, but a good foundation in grammar, syntax, the humanities and a broad understanding of the natural world seem to be beyond their graduates.  The younger the press/camera/sound/technological worker the worse they are.  But, there are some very specific exceptions to this sorry lot.

            The older newsmen—the ones who grew up in print—are actually fairly decent human beings.  The big guns who actually had to write, who had seen enough of life’s complexity to have a bit of humility about their own intelligence were more polite and still more focused.  Of all of these journalistic gray beards, Mr. Bob Schieffer stands out because of one incident. 

President Bush was delivering a speech at Union Station and the press room was set up in a ball room of the Marriott Hotel on site.  As usual, there were no incoming phones in that room, only out-going lines as the press filed their reports. I was sent to the room to deliver a message to Schieffer.  Not being able to find him in that melee, I went to the front of the room and simply called out his name in my, “teacher” voice.  He immediately held up his hand and I brought him the message.  I remember apologizing to him for shouting out his name.  He smiled a real smile, made eye contact and said, “You’re doing just fine young lady.”  And he meant it.

I don’t know where we are going to find replacements for Schieffer.  I don’t know who, among the ranks of the press, have Schieffer’s skills and honor.  I don’t know who we can trust to do their job, instead of tout their ideology.  The talent is slim but the egos are bloated. 

We need our press to keep the faith.