G
Gandalf Grey
Guest
The White House Press Room Then and Now
By Rory O'Connor
Created Jul 13 2007 - 8:05am
What was once a dank lounge built over a swimming pool with duct-taped
upholstered chairs is now a luxury briefing room [1] with leather chairs
featuring internet connection and state-of-the-art technology.
How far has the White House Press Room come? Take a look back at Rory
O'Connor's
piece on the Jimmy Carter-era Press Room, starring Helen Thomas, Sam
Donaldson and Jody Powell.
Jody Powell and the Press Corps
The Feed, the Spin and other White House Games
By Rory O'Connor
A sergeant encased in thick guardhouse glass smiles back at me as I approach
his domain at the edge of the vast expanse of lawn on Pennsylvania Avenue.
He presses a button like a teller at a drive-in bank window, and a
mechanical box opens out into my gut. His electrified, disembodied voice
eerily instructs me to place my credentials in it. After a brief perusal (I
had called ahead weeks earlier to ensure my inclusion in the "green book"
that guarantees admission to visiting journalists), he presses another
button. That in turn pops the catch on an iron gate allowing access to the
White House grounds.
From there it's a short, slightly paranoid stroll up the driveway to the
West Wing. Turn left at the portico, proceed up the path toward the main
entrance, and then step down two stairs and through the French doors that
open onto the converted swimming pool that is the White House press room.
There's hardly anyone present when I walk into the dingy, fading anteroom
that is the site of the daily briefing by the press secretary; most of the
regulars have accompanied the president on his trip out of the country, A
few network technicians are around the main room watching soap operas. It's
hard to imagine that LBJ used to go skinny-dipping right here with network
execs and publishers.
In the back of the room, atop a trap door leading down to the boarded-over
bottom of the old pool, a phalanx of camera tripods is perched on a raised
platform. They point mutely at another platform near the front, where a
dark, wooden lectern stands before a television-blue curtain. It is here
that Jody Powell comes almost every morning to lecture to the boys in the
pool.
A short corridor leads from the room to a smaller one directly behind it. A
bulletin board full of daily handouts and sign-up sheets for upcoming
presidential journeys lines the hallway, which opens onto a series of
deserted cubicles, each equipped with telephone and typewriter. Two
glassed-in booths serve as headquarters for the wire services. Associated
Press and United Press International. The three networks each have their
own, slightly smaller compartments. The walls are filled with direct-line
phones to the Washington bureaus of foreign newspapers. Just for kicks, I
pick one up, and a vigilant voice with an English accent on the other end
immediately demands, "Yes, what is it?"
I hang up wordlessly and enter an even smaller room just off the back. It
hosts vending machines, a coffeemaker, three wire tickers, and a low round
table being employed by still more bored TV technicians for their daily game
of cards. Over in a corner, a grizzled wire service correspondent is
sprawled in a chair asleep with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. It
looks like 3 am in the Greyhound station in Indianapolis.
Back at the bulletin board, I notice a flight of stairs leading down to yet
another collection of booths, cubicles, and wall phones. On the nearest wall
hangs a photograph of President Hoover and the 1930 White House press corps.
I peer closely at the picture, trying to tell exactly who is the president
and who is the press. Everyone in it is white, male, middle-aged, and
attired in a dark three-piece suit.
The next morning, the morgue that was the press room yesterday is suddenly
abuzz. I arrive early for the 11:30 daily briefing, and try to squeeze in an
interview with Deputy Press Secretary Walt Wurfel. Just as we are about to
begin, however, word comes that the briefing is about to begin. "You won't
want to miss this particular show," chuckles Wurfel, promising to make time
for me after it's over.
As soon as I get back into the press room, however, a brusque announcement
comes over a loudspeaker, saying, "The briefing will be delayed until noon."
"Oh, ****!" reply several reporters, although no one looks surprised. Most
of the assembled turn their attention back to the game show on the
television.
Five minutes later, ABC News correspondent Sam Donaldson trots expectantly
into the room. "Where's the briefing?" he demands imperiously. "The
expectation is that it's at 11:30."
"Where were you?" snaps Helen Thomas, the UPI correspondent and one of the
few women in the print world assigned to the presidential beat. "It's been
postponed until noon."
"I was making pee-pee," retorts Donaldson. "In the men's room."
"Thank God you at least got the right room," cracks someone else, to
universal guffaws.
Finally, about forty minutes later, Jody Powell appears behind the elevated
podium in the front of the room. He makes a few quick announcements, then
opens the floor for questions.
There is no stipulated procedure for asking questions here. Powell simply
stands up there nervously chain-smoking and responds to whoever screams at
him the loudest and longest.
Most of the questions today are on the situation in Iran. Powell refuses to
answer any of them, saying, "I'm not going to be involved in a daily
temperature taking in that part of the world. I think our basic position is
clear, and I want to reaffirm it. But no productive purpose is to be served
by going beyond that, and I don't intend to participate."
Soon the "discussion" turns rancorous. One would think that this sort of
thing went out with Richard Nixon and Ron Ziegler, but the reporters here
today seem out for Powell's blood.
Sparring and feinting, jabbing and weaving, he manages to avoid being backed
into a corner. Helen Thomas is exasperated. "Look, Jody," she rasps. "We
went out of the country for five days, when the Shah had the 'unswerving
support' of the US. Now this seems to have shifted: Is that true?"
Another writer tries as well. "Jody, you obviously understand our policy
toward Iran. We don't. There's a great deal of confusion in the room. Can't
you explain?"
Powell remains unmoved. "I can't serve our interests and your desires on the
same day," he remarks cordially. "I'm sorry you don't understand nuances."
A general uproar follows that remark, "You are lecturing us, Jody!" shouts
someone from the corner of the room. "Has presidential policy become
top-secret?" demands an infuriated Helen Thomas, "Is the president really
running the show?"
For the first time Powell shows a little emotion and responds to Thomas.
"That's a nice little goad, Helen," he says, seething. "But I think you know
that it's absurd. I agree that there's a great deal of confusion in this
room. If it will help, I will say that I have no further comment on Iran,
and will not answer any questions on it. I won't comment on decisions that
are being made on a day-to-day basis, no matter how hard you try or how many
questions you ask."
At that, several members of the press walk out in disgust. Those who stay
are equally impolite. "I don't know why we're having a briefing today,"
remarks one in a loud voice that Powell chooses to ignore. "I don't either,"
reassures a colleague. "Let's go back to Guadeloupe," suggests a third.
"There's nothing happening here."
Finally Powell gets off the hook, as someone in the front of the room shifts
gears and asks about Billy Carter's comments in a recent Penthouse
interview. Billy was quoted as saying that his brother Jimmy's confidant
Charles Kirbo is "about the dumbest ******* I ever met in my life," and that
Powell himself "would be better off running a farm in Vienna [Georgia]."
Powell jokes in response, saying that Billy is probably right in the latter
case, "especially on days like today."
"You'd be spreading the same thing on that farm that you have here with us
today," mutters someone next to me, almost under his breath.
"Did you see the president today?'' snipes the persistent Helen Thomas. "Did
he have as many non-answers as you?"
"I don't expect you people to agree with me," says Powell, nonplussed.
"That's
not your job. But I see no alternative to the unpopular position of being
disinclined to answer. I know that's not a good position for a press
secretary to be in, but it's one that I have to adopt."
A short while later the briefing grinds to a halt amid more grumbling from
those reporters still hanging around. "I just don't understand why the
briefing had to be postponed for a half-hour," exclaims a wire service
reporter. "Do you think Powell had to prepare for this bullshit?"
Nevertheless, typewriters begin clacking and telephones chattering in the
back room, as the obedient White House press corps scurries to spread
Powell's
bullshit around the world.
The Feed, the Spin, and Other Games
I remember my appointment with Walt Wurfel, and walk over to his office,
adjacent to the press room. A secretary takes my name, and minutes later an
escort arrives to guide me past the Secret Service outpost in the corridor,
around a bend, and into the space here Wurfel, Powell, and Deputy Press
Secretary Rex Granum have their headquarters.
"I don't know what happened out there today," Wurfel says goodnaturedly.
"But usually the briefings are underlined with some degree of tolerance and
good humor. It's true that Jody sometimes gratuitously insults the press.
It's
a fact of life. But look, there are some good reporters in the White House,
and the briefing is their one outlet. Psychologically, it's not conducive to
genteel conversation.
"Another thing to consider is the inherent competition of the news
business," continues Wurfel. "A reporter assigned to the White House has a
clear stake in the White House being the source of all news. That's how they
get on the front page and on the air."
Talk turns to a new project that Wurfel himself has been overseeing. A
subdivision of the press office known as the White House Office of Media
Liaison is producing taped radio spots and providing them free of charge to
more than 1000 stations across the country, as part of the continuing effort
by the Carter forces to get their message across. "to the American people."
Using funds from the White House operating budget, these radio feeds, called
"actualities," are prerecorded "news" items. Richard Nelson, a
twenty-five-year-old ex-disc jockey from Chicago, was hired at $20,000 a
year to write and record the spots in a nearby office that has been
soundproofed and equipped with a recording studio. "As technology advances,
so does information," Wurfel explains, "and it begins to take different
forms. We spend large amounts of money every year on transcripts and press
releases. It all costs the tax-payer ultimately, and there's always a danger
of abuse. But the radio feeds are just a drop in the bucket compared to our
over-all press operation. I wonder if some of the criticism we have received
on them isn't due to elitism by the print media and network television
people."
I asked whether the White House ever will expand into doing TV feeds. "Not
before the year.. 2000," jokes Wurfel. "To cut into the network TV
activities and do video bites . . . that would have a much higher heat
visibility, and controversy quotient. I don't think we'll touch that one."
Outside Wurfel's office, I see ABC's Donaldson hanging out in the hallway,
haunting Jody Powell's secretary. I ask if we can talk soon about the
relationship between the Carter administration and the White Mouse press. '
"Why not right now?" replies the ebullient Donaidson in his booming voice.
'There's nothing happening here! There's no news here today! Didn't they
make that obvious at the briefing?"
Suddenly Jody Powell himself pops into the hallway. He smiles at Donaldson's
bantering and peers suspiciously at me. Then the two of them walk into
Powell's office together.
"Hey, what's really happening on this Iran thing, Jody?" asks Donaldson in a
confidential tone. "That was ridiculous out there today."
"Well, Sam, you know I just can't discuss these things in the briefing,"
clucks Powell apologetically.
Donaldson sympathizes. "But what's really up?"
Powell begins to answer, casts a worried look at me - all ears, naturally -
in the corridor, and then casually - too casually for it to appear casual -
swings the heavy wooden door shut in my face.
A few minutes later Donaldson emerges with a satisfied smile, and we proceed
to the press room for our interview.
He says that today's briefing was no sham. "It was what it appeared to be -
an exercise in Nixon-Haldeman-style evasion. There just hasn't been any good
news from Carter, Zbiggy and Company for quite some time now. And in this
business, no good news is no news. They had nothing to say, so they didn't
say it.
"It was clear after three minutes today that Powell wouldn't give us one bit
of news," says Donaldson. "So why did we stay? Because it's our job to try
to force him out. It's not my job to understand - I leave that to the
pundits, to the Restons. My job is to stand and make him deliver, if I can.
"On the other hand, you have to keep some sense of proportion," he adds. "I
don't want to deliberately antagonize Powell, because he can put me on the
air any night he wants. I am the temple dog. He knows that. He's the sole
source. That's why I hang around back there." He gestures toward Powell's
office.
"I see him privately on a daily basis," Donaldson continues. "But remember -
when I go in, it's ABC News he's seeing, not Sam Donaldson. If you're from
an organization that he wants to deal with, that he chooses to recognize,
then you're a big shot.
"Everyone you'll talk to here initially said to himself that he would be
different, that he would go out and dig constantly for stories. I did too.
But I soon discovered that's not what ABC wants me to do. I'm being paid to
sit here and wait for the unexpected. It's a totally reactive situation."
Does anything useful ever come out of the briefings?
"Hardly ever. I get it all from the institutionalized leak. Like what you
just saw, you know, Powell tells me, 'I can't say it out there, but this is
what's really happening, Sam.' Then I go out on the lawn and put it on the
air. It's called 'getting the spin.' New reporters here always spend weeks
figuring out that the briefings are totally useless. The spin is the
answer."
Doesn't such a reliance oh Powell leave you open to manipulation?
"That's true," agrees Donaldson. "The times that I'm most wrong is when
they're
most wrong, and they're my only source. . . .Oh, I'm careful," he adds
chattily. "I never say anything too positive or dogmatic. I couch it
instead. I'll say something like, 'There's a feeling at the White House
tonight that' or 'It's understood here that' or so on. "Take the time there
was a report that they were thinking of sending warships off the coast of
Iran," explains Donaldson. "I've been around long enough to know that
gunboat diplomacy wouldn't work in that situation. It was relatively easy to
figure out that those ships would never reach the Persian Gulf Given this
feeling on my part, the vibrations I was getting, talking to my source, it
was somehow confirmed to me. Powell, who knows, reflects the spin without
ever saying anything specific. If I'm then wrong in my interpretation, it's
my problem, because I have no source that I can attribute the mistake to."
Donaldson continues, moving on to Carter and his relationship to the White
House press corps.
"I think that Carter revealed his attitude toward the press in the famous
Playboy interview," he says. "He pays lip service to a free press, but he
really thinks we're just here to trick him. In his heart of hearts, Carter
feels we're out to gut**** him. He also views the press as totally
superficial, and interested only in distortion. Jimmy Carter simply does not
like people, and that includes reporters. He thinks we're just numbers,
ciphers, part of the efficient use of his time and manpower. He's an odd
duck, in that he just doesn't care for people in a human sense.
"That's not a smile he's always sporting, you know," states Donaldson. "It's
a rictus. He doesn't like small talk. He likes to jab at you, but he also
likes to draw blood. I spar with him sometimes, but I'm careful to leave him
the last word. He's not very good at it, but we all laugh at his remarks
anyway. To a visitor, we must look like the biggest collection of idiots,
assholes, and jerks, a real zoo. We just have to feel as if we went after
him, that we're at least giving them a run for the money.
'The point is that it's all done with mirrors. Ultimately, what it's all
about is that trying to make more understandable the policies of the
president means making more re-electable the maker of those policies. All
these people have been doing for the last two years is running for
re-election."
CBS correspondent Bob Schieffer (since reassigned) confirms much of what
Donald-
son said. Schieffer says he covers the daily briefing "like I cover the
annual visit of the March of Dimes cover girl - as a protective measure.
"This is not an investigative beat, at least for the networks," remarks
Schieffer in his slight Southern drawl. "There's an awful lot of reactive
coverage. It can overwhelm you sometimes. We are the primary source of news,
so we cover everything. After all, the president is the most important man
in the world.
"The spin is what sets this beat apart from all others," says Schieffer.
"Reporters must make more judgment calls here because access is so limited.
You have to gauge the vibrations. My motto is 'When in doubt, always go on
the side of caution."
Schieffer concedes that the networks get special treatment from the White
House news operation.
"It's only natural," he says. "The more people you reach, the more people
have to deal with you. Most of the time. this beat is strictly a deal where
it's in somebody's interest to get the widest possible dissemination for a
story.
"My strategy is different from the wires," continues the CBS man. "I seldom
ask questions at a briefing. If I can get to someone later, it's better- why
should I tip my hand? So I just stay here all day, hanging out in Jody's
office, sitting on wastebaskets, insulting secretaries . . .
"You know, it's amazing more people don't realize that the Roosevelt Room,
the main White House conference room, is right opposite Powell's office,"
reveals Schieffer. "If you hang out near there, you can see who comes in and
out, catch snatches of conversation, raised eyebrows, and so on. The
briefings may be good for democracy, but I've got my own self-interest to
look out for.
"Like yesterday," he adds. "I didn't get incensed at Jody. He had no
alternative. From his standpoint, there's nothing to be gained by saying
anything publicly. But I do admit he was baiting the press. He should have
just said 'No comment' and stuck to it. It was a sick exchange - it reminded
me of high school."
Press Briefing II: School Daze
The main topic of conversation prior to the next day's briefing is Billy
Carter. The Atlanta Journal has just printed a story about brother's
controversial penchant for pissing in public, and everyone's making a big
deal about it, Reporters of every stripe sit salaciously licking their chops
and cracking a series of related dirty jokes while awaiting Powell's
entrance.
When Powell finally arrives, late again, the irrepressible Donaldson waits
for just the right moment and then proclaims, grinning broadly, "Yesterday
was a sea of bullshit, today is an ocean of urine." Powell flashes his
toothy farmboy's smile.
Nobody touches the subject in the early going. Finally Lester Kinsolving, a
free-lance, right-wing print and radio journalist whom nearly everyone
refers to as a "crazy," breaks the ice by asking rather stupidly if the
president agrees with his brother's recently expressed "disgusting
anti-Semitism."
Naturally, Powell seizes his opportunity to assure us that the "President's
views are not anti-Semitic," and to establish quickly the official tine on
Billy's bizarre behavior. The press secretary then deftly deflects the
remainder of Billy queries, including Donaldson's insouciant "Jody, this
business of urinating in public . Is Billy Carter an embarrassment to the
president?"
The briefing ends, as it always does, when Frank Cormier, the senior wire
service correspondent, shouts out the traditional "Thank you, Jody," and
school's out for another day. Cormier is a long, lean, laconic but affable
veteran who began working for the Associated Press in 1951. When he first
started covering the White House sixteen years ago, JFK was president and
Pierre Salinger his press secretary.
"The whole atmosphere around here changed after Kennedy's death," Cormier
says. "That's when the Secret Service bureaucracy began to evolve. The other
big change has been the rise of the networks. Now they always get special
treatment, whereas before it was the wires that were favored. Of course,
back in Elsenhower's and Kennedy's time, the networks only had
fifteen-minute evening news shows. It was only just before Kennedy's death -
on Labor Day 1963, that they went to a half-hour prime time.
"Salinger was the last of the open-door press secretaries," he remembers.
"If you go up there now, Jody's door is always shut, but Salinger was always
open to reporters. You could even call him at home in the middle of the
night. But now yet another bureaucracy has sprung up, that of the White
House press office. I think they've got twenty-three people working here
now, plus Rafshoon's whole operation.
"I personally find it rather demeaning to hang around Powell's office
waiting for crumbs," he says softly, disdaining the spin. "I don't do it.
It's
like you're a supplicant going up there. This hanging in the doorways is a
system that is just the natural result of the terrible quality of the
briefings, though.
"Jody can be an effective, knowledgeable spokesman for Carter," he continues
slowly, picking his words with care. "Even though he has no journalistic
experience, he is close to Carter and reflects his thinking. On the (other
hand, he can be very biting and acerbic. I think that he is contemptuous of,
if not the press in general, certainly some individuals. I guess I'd rate
him about a six. On the other hand, prior to Watergate, I'd have given
Ziegler a six as well."
Cormier's view of the Carter press operation fits with that of United Press
International's Helen Thomas, a short, dark, intense woman.
"This is the most managed news I've ever covered," she states forthrightly.
"The people are accessible, but the contradiction is that the news is very
tightly controlled. The reporters are always kept behind ropes. Carter
himself is sometimes inaccessible during a breaking story. Everything is
planned and calculated, and they're becoming more secretive by the day.
They're
swinging back now to the other extreme, trying to go back to the old way of
doing things. Carter is a Johnny-come-lately who's embracing secret
diplomacy all of a sudden.
"Eighty to ninety percent of what we are able to write is given to us by
Powell at the briefings," she informs me. "But the briefings have become a
zoo now. They don't want to tell you anything.
"Guys like Schieffer and Donaldson can live in Powell's office, but they
never get anything on the record," she complains bitterly. "They do
everything on deep background. But the wires can't make up the news for the
government like that. These guys would give out the time of day on deep
background. It's very highly abused in this administration. We're writing
history too, you know.
"Powell makes $56,000 a year. He should put his name to his work. He's paid
as a spokesman, so let him speak! If he doesn't want to be quoted, he
shouldn't open his mouth.
"My kind of press secretary wears two hats, one for the president and one
for the people. The press secretary shouldn't be a press agent. The one
brief shining example was Jerry terHorst, who had twenty-nine years
experience as a journalist. He came closest to doing the job right, but he
only lasted one month."
In addition to the networks and the wire service, the New York Times and the
Washington Post are primus inter pares at the White House, constantly
afforded special treatment and inside access.
"When the White House wants to make news," admits Ed Walsh of the Post, "We
are the first to be included. We can count on being called in on important
matters, and this is just not true for other papers. The Post and the Times
are the best-read papers in Washington, and that's the bottom line for the
White House, because of the ripple effect on other papers' bureaus. There's
no question that we have privileged status. "There is a tendency to indulge
the bureaucratic impulse to overuse deep background," Walsh allows. "When
they get into international news, for example, they never say anything on
the record. It becomes a habit. To our shame, I would say that we too have
become accustomed to it. Such a tendency really ought to be checked
occasionally.
"Maybe we should be more confrontational," Walsh says carefully. "We've made
Carter's life worse at times, and we're all better off for that.
Spread-eagle journalism does exist here, there's no doubt about that, but I
think it's pretty rare. I guess it all depends on your initial viewpoint. If
you accept certain premises and ground rules, them inevitably you start to
identify with the people who make them up."
Walsh's counterpart on the Times is Terence Smith, son of famed sportswriter
Red Smith. He, too, admits to receiving special treatment on a regular
basis, saying, "We probably do, to be honest about it. But you have to
question what form it takes, and why. They are careful to include us. They
choose a David Broder or myself or someone else if they want to let out a
story. When they want impact, they seek us out."
Smith denies that such an arrangement implies that there's a "cozy
relationship" between certain elements of the media and the White House,
however, "On the contrary," he points out, "familiarity breeds contempt."
Does he think Powell generally holds the press in contempt as well?
"Increasingly so," states Smith. "He's become more aggressive in his
tactics. I believe we will see this more and more as the administration gets
more defensive and thin-skinned about its record."
On the other hand, Smith is not opposed to the spin. "The briefings are
never productive," he says. "In general, the administration's famed openness
is technical, I find. The access is great, but the openness is not.
"Powell has been every effective to date," notes Smith, "He's very skillful
in the day-to-day operation of presenting the president's perspective. But
his arguments often border on sophistry. He's as concerned about image as
anyone, and will neglect to tell you the less admirable aspects of
something, while resolutely putting his best foot forward. He labors
mightily not to lie, and most of the time he succeeds."
Press Briefing III: Here's Where I Came In
Another day, another briefing. This one begins forty-five minutes late.
Powell opens with a "joking" insult against the press, saying, "Bad taste
will eventually rear its head, particularly here." As if to prove his point,
Lester Kinsolving asks if Billy Carter is still welcome at the White House,
and, if so, what is to prevent him from urinating on the side of the West
Wing. Powell says he won't answer that question.
After a brief interlude, Powell commences a detailed attack on the Times and
Reuters news service for recent articles suggesting that there continues to
be a rift between Zbigniew Brzezinski and Cyrus Vance on foreign policy
matters. It's clear that he is intending to speak for the president, and
just as clear that he is relishing the chance to send a few blasts across
the bows of two prominent news organizations. "This reporting is so damn
ridiculous it's mind-boggling," states Powell. "It's an absurd example of
damn-the-facts, full-speed-ahead journalism."
After his little tirade, Powell takes more questions. Today's chief topic of
discussion is Richard Nixon, who has just received an invitation to return
to the White House at long last for Chinese Vice-Premier Teng's visit.
Incensed at this unexpected news, I earnestly ask the first and last
question of my short White House career, shouting it out in my best
imitation of a loud, obnoxious member of the White House press.
"Jody, does this invitation to Nixon mean that he's now being rehabilitated,
much like Teng has been?"
The room explodes in laughter, and even Powell cracks a fleeting smile. He
answers in his usual flippant, get-me-off-the-hook style.
"I'm sure you are all aware that in this country it is the fourth estate,
and not the president, who has the power to rehabilitate someone."
A few more desultory questions, a few more joking answers, and then the
briefing finally crawls to a close. Almost immediately, the lightweights
walk away in disgust, while the heavies adjourn to Jody's office.
Jody Powell Responds
The interview with presidential press secretary Joseph Lester "Jody" Powell
takes place late one afternoon in mid-January. Powell, preoccupied by such
weighty matters as the ever-increasing turmoil in Iran, the impending State
of the Union address, and Vice-Premier Teng's visit, has already broken one
appointment and is two hours late for the second when I am finally ushered
in to his spacious, well-appointed office. He motions me to a chair opposite
the wide, cluttered desk. He sits in the larger comfortable-looking,
faded-blue corduroy chair from which he conducts much of his business.
Behind us, a fire crackles slowly in a small fireplace set into the rear
wall. Three television screens stare out blankly from the same wall. Powell
strolls over to his private bar, offers a Coke, which I refuse, and then
some fine Scotch, which I accept. We sit down next to a bright red telephone
labeled "Secure Phone," and begin to talk.
"Jody, Helen Thomas says that yours is the most managed news operation she's
ever been confronted with," I begin. "What's your response?"
"Actually, we're not managing the news that well," grins Powell. "We're
trying to do things now in, generally, a less freelance style. But you have
to realize that our jobs are different, and there will always be a certain
amount of tension as a result. Sometimes my job is not to have a certain
story written on a particular day. But we should try not to elevate that
tension. I'm not against the First Amendment, and the press isn't against
national security.
"The president is not God," he continues. "Carter is the most accessible
president ever, but he shouldn't have to answer questions while a story is
breaking. Even he sometimes can't choose exactly the right words while under
such intense scrutiny. My feeling is that everybody's best interests are
served when the president has time to chose his words carefully, to
enunciate exactly what he wants to say."
I ask him about the quality of the daily briefings, which almost everyone
seems to think are useless.
"Well, the briefings are certainly nothing to restore one's faith in
democracy," he drawls, with a trace of a smirk. "But that one about Iran was
one of the worst. Sometimes it's an uncomfortable thing to go through, but
that's my job.
"They [the briefings] serve to release tension and to gratify the
competitive urge," Powell admits candidly. "You wouldn't be any good at
either politics or journalism without being intensely competitive. The White
House press corps gets less reward for enterprise than any other beat, so
the competitive urges sometimes get intensified here.
"When I first got here" Powell explains, "I too saw no reason for the
briefings. But I came to realize that, given the press's difficulty, they
deserve at least a shot. Part of their role is to trick me into saying
something that 1 didn't want to. That's why the biggest danger in this job
is to talk about something you think you know about but really don't.
"Ifs a game," he concludes. "Obviously part of the game is to force the
press secretary into a favorite gambit is to take something that a political
opponent has said and try to get the White House to react."
"Do you agree with what one Washington press corps member told me, that 'the
establishment of the press in this town sucks ****'?" I ask him, grinning
broadly.
He smiles back, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. "Well, what's a girl to
say?" he responds. "I don't think I agree, but I also don't think that the
press here has really taken advantage of the openness of this administration
either."
We are interrupted by several phone calls, which Powell takes right in front
of me. One is from Energy Secretary James Schlesinger, and obviously deals
with the Iran crisis. Another is from ABC's Sam Donaldson, checking the spin
on a report that Richard Nixon will be invited to the White House to see
Teng. Powell chain-smokes Salem Lights, has the usual drawings from his
daughter on the walls, and has mounted the mandatory copy of the First
Amendment - behind his desk, where he doesn't have to look at it all the
time.
So far Powell has given the appearance of answering all my questions without
ever really saying anything, which I suppose is the mark of a good press
secretary. But I didn't come here to play the same game. By now, the second
Scotch and the conversations about national security matters right in front
of me tend only to make me suspicious. For the first time I begin to get a
glimpse of what it would be like working here, grabbing glimpses and crumbs
of power as they are proffered.
"Could you explain how the spin works?" I begin again.
"The spin?" asks Powell, amused. "It emerged out of the problem that the
briefings have a wide variety of people at them. If a delicate nuance is
required, I need another forum. Probably reporters would get more out of the
briefing if there was no spin . . . but it exists.
"In most cases, it's more specific than mere allusion. I can get quite
specific, if I have a reporter who I can trust to obey the guidelines. In a
sense, it's the reporter who decides. If I get burned once, the next time I
may help him out, but not as much. I have to know that a reporter will be
able to resist the temptation to get a quick thrill. That's where
credibility comes in.
"You see, we all operate on inadequate information here. The president, me,
the reporters.. If you make a mistake, then it's your fault. The compulsion
to say something you don't know is too strong. Sometimes I do it, and that's
when I get my ass burned. But the problem with the press as an institution
is that the penalty for being wrong doesn't exist, at least to the extent
that it should. If I attack a story, that's immediately suspect, I'm
attacking the First Amendment. But nobody really polices the press." -
We are interrupted again by phone calls, secretaries with memoranda, the
entrance of national security spokesman Jerry Schechter. I ask Powell if
should leave the room for a spell, but he motions me not to. He picks up the
phone and dials presidential adviser Brzezinski. "Is Zbig there?" he asks
the operator. "Is the good doctor in?" There follows a muffled conversation,
the only part of which I can discern is Powell saying, "My response would be
to tell him to kiss my ass and stop wasting my time."
We cover a variety of other topics, from Powell's relationship with the
president to the death-watch theory of modern presidential press coverage to
Powell's role in making policy, but he keeps his answers as vague as before.
My mind begins to wander back to Sam Donaldson's self-characterization. "I
am the temple dog," he said.
-R.O'C.
_______
--
NOTICE: This post contains copyrighted material the use of which has not
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Law. In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107
"A little patience and we shall see the reign of witches pass over, their
spells dissolve, and the people recovering their true sight, restore their
government to its true principles. It is true that in the meantime we are
suffering deeply in spirit,
and incurring the horrors of a war and long oppressions of enormous public
debt. But if the game runs sometimes against us at home we must have
patience till luck turns, and then we shall have an opportunity of winning
back the principles we have lost, for this is a game where principles are at
stake."
-Thomas Jefferson
By Rory O'Connor
Created Jul 13 2007 - 8:05am
What was once a dank lounge built over a swimming pool with duct-taped
upholstered chairs is now a luxury briefing room [1] with leather chairs
featuring internet connection and state-of-the-art technology.
How far has the White House Press Room come? Take a look back at Rory
O'Connor's
piece on the Jimmy Carter-era Press Room, starring Helen Thomas, Sam
Donaldson and Jody Powell.
Jody Powell and the Press Corps
The Feed, the Spin and other White House Games
By Rory O'Connor
A sergeant encased in thick guardhouse glass smiles back at me as I approach
his domain at the edge of the vast expanse of lawn on Pennsylvania Avenue.
He presses a button like a teller at a drive-in bank window, and a
mechanical box opens out into my gut. His electrified, disembodied voice
eerily instructs me to place my credentials in it. After a brief perusal (I
had called ahead weeks earlier to ensure my inclusion in the "green book"
that guarantees admission to visiting journalists), he presses another
button. That in turn pops the catch on an iron gate allowing access to the
White House grounds.
From there it's a short, slightly paranoid stroll up the driveway to the
West Wing. Turn left at the portico, proceed up the path toward the main
entrance, and then step down two stairs and through the French doors that
open onto the converted swimming pool that is the White House press room.
There's hardly anyone present when I walk into the dingy, fading anteroom
that is the site of the daily briefing by the press secretary; most of the
regulars have accompanied the president on his trip out of the country, A
few network technicians are around the main room watching soap operas. It's
hard to imagine that LBJ used to go skinny-dipping right here with network
execs and publishers.
In the back of the room, atop a trap door leading down to the boarded-over
bottom of the old pool, a phalanx of camera tripods is perched on a raised
platform. They point mutely at another platform near the front, where a
dark, wooden lectern stands before a television-blue curtain. It is here
that Jody Powell comes almost every morning to lecture to the boys in the
pool.
A short corridor leads from the room to a smaller one directly behind it. A
bulletin board full of daily handouts and sign-up sheets for upcoming
presidential journeys lines the hallway, which opens onto a series of
deserted cubicles, each equipped with telephone and typewriter. Two
glassed-in booths serve as headquarters for the wire services. Associated
Press and United Press International. The three networks each have their
own, slightly smaller compartments. The walls are filled with direct-line
phones to the Washington bureaus of foreign newspapers. Just for kicks, I
pick one up, and a vigilant voice with an English accent on the other end
immediately demands, "Yes, what is it?"
I hang up wordlessly and enter an even smaller room just off the back. It
hosts vending machines, a coffeemaker, three wire tickers, and a low round
table being employed by still more bored TV technicians for their daily game
of cards. Over in a corner, a grizzled wire service correspondent is
sprawled in a chair asleep with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. It
looks like 3 am in the Greyhound station in Indianapolis.
Back at the bulletin board, I notice a flight of stairs leading down to yet
another collection of booths, cubicles, and wall phones. On the nearest wall
hangs a photograph of President Hoover and the 1930 White House press corps.
I peer closely at the picture, trying to tell exactly who is the president
and who is the press. Everyone in it is white, male, middle-aged, and
attired in a dark three-piece suit.
The next morning, the morgue that was the press room yesterday is suddenly
abuzz. I arrive early for the 11:30 daily briefing, and try to squeeze in an
interview with Deputy Press Secretary Walt Wurfel. Just as we are about to
begin, however, word comes that the briefing is about to begin. "You won't
want to miss this particular show," chuckles Wurfel, promising to make time
for me after it's over.
As soon as I get back into the press room, however, a brusque announcement
comes over a loudspeaker, saying, "The briefing will be delayed until noon."
"Oh, ****!" reply several reporters, although no one looks surprised. Most
of the assembled turn their attention back to the game show on the
television.
Five minutes later, ABC News correspondent Sam Donaldson trots expectantly
into the room. "Where's the briefing?" he demands imperiously. "The
expectation is that it's at 11:30."
"Where were you?" snaps Helen Thomas, the UPI correspondent and one of the
few women in the print world assigned to the presidential beat. "It's been
postponed until noon."
"I was making pee-pee," retorts Donaldson. "In the men's room."
"Thank God you at least got the right room," cracks someone else, to
universal guffaws.
Finally, about forty minutes later, Jody Powell appears behind the elevated
podium in the front of the room. He makes a few quick announcements, then
opens the floor for questions.
There is no stipulated procedure for asking questions here. Powell simply
stands up there nervously chain-smoking and responds to whoever screams at
him the loudest and longest.
Most of the questions today are on the situation in Iran. Powell refuses to
answer any of them, saying, "I'm not going to be involved in a daily
temperature taking in that part of the world. I think our basic position is
clear, and I want to reaffirm it. But no productive purpose is to be served
by going beyond that, and I don't intend to participate."
Soon the "discussion" turns rancorous. One would think that this sort of
thing went out with Richard Nixon and Ron Ziegler, but the reporters here
today seem out for Powell's blood.
Sparring and feinting, jabbing and weaving, he manages to avoid being backed
into a corner. Helen Thomas is exasperated. "Look, Jody," she rasps. "We
went out of the country for five days, when the Shah had the 'unswerving
support' of the US. Now this seems to have shifted: Is that true?"
Another writer tries as well. "Jody, you obviously understand our policy
toward Iran. We don't. There's a great deal of confusion in the room. Can't
you explain?"
Powell remains unmoved. "I can't serve our interests and your desires on the
same day," he remarks cordially. "I'm sorry you don't understand nuances."
A general uproar follows that remark, "You are lecturing us, Jody!" shouts
someone from the corner of the room. "Has presidential policy become
top-secret?" demands an infuriated Helen Thomas, "Is the president really
running the show?"
For the first time Powell shows a little emotion and responds to Thomas.
"That's a nice little goad, Helen," he says, seething. "But I think you know
that it's absurd. I agree that there's a great deal of confusion in this
room. If it will help, I will say that I have no further comment on Iran,
and will not answer any questions on it. I won't comment on decisions that
are being made on a day-to-day basis, no matter how hard you try or how many
questions you ask."
At that, several members of the press walk out in disgust. Those who stay
are equally impolite. "I don't know why we're having a briefing today,"
remarks one in a loud voice that Powell chooses to ignore. "I don't either,"
reassures a colleague. "Let's go back to Guadeloupe," suggests a third.
"There's nothing happening here."
Finally Powell gets off the hook, as someone in the front of the room shifts
gears and asks about Billy Carter's comments in a recent Penthouse
interview. Billy was quoted as saying that his brother Jimmy's confidant
Charles Kirbo is "about the dumbest ******* I ever met in my life," and that
Powell himself "would be better off running a farm in Vienna [Georgia]."
Powell jokes in response, saying that Billy is probably right in the latter
case, "especially on days like today."
"You'd be spreading the same thing on that farm that you have here with us
today," mutters someone next to me, almost under his breath.
"Did you see the president today?'' snipes the persistent Helen Thomas. "Did
he have as many non-answers as you?"
"I don't expect you people to agree with me," says Powell, nonplussed.
"That's
not your job. But I see no alternative to the unpopular position of being
disinclined to answer. I know that's not a good position for a press
secretary to be in, but it's one that I have to adopt."
A short while later the briefing grinds to a halt amid more grumbling from
those reporters still hanging around. "I just don't understand why the
briefing had to be postponed for a half-hour," exclaims a wire service
reporter. "Do you think Powell had to prepare for this bullshit?"
Nevertheless, typewriters begin clacking and telephones chattering in the
back room, as the obedient White House press corps scurries to spread
Powell's
bullshit around the world.
The Feed, the Spin, and Other Games
I remember my appointment with Walt Wurfel, and walk over to his office,
adjacent to the press room. A secretary takes my name, and minutes later an
escort arrives to guide me past the Secret Service outpost in the corridor,
around a bend, and into the space here Wurfel, Powell, and Deputy Press
Secretary Rex Granum have their headquarters.
"I don't know what happened out there today," Wurfel says goodnaturedly.
"But usually the briefings are underlined with some degree of tolerance and
good humor. It's true that Jody sometimes gratuitously insults the press.
It's
a fact of life. But look, there are some good reporters in the White House,
and the briefing is their one outlet. Psychologically, it's not conducive to
genteel conversation.
"Another thing to consider is the inherent competition of the news
business," continues Wurfel. "A reporter assigned to the White House has a
clear stake in the White House being the source of all news. That's how they
get on the front page and on the air."
Talk turns to a new project that Wurfel himself has been overseeing. A
subdivision of the press office known as the White House Office of Media
Liaison is producing taped radio spots and providing them free of charge to
more than 1000 stations across the country, as part of the continuing effort
by the Carter forces to get their message across. "to the American people."
Using funds from the White House operating budget, these radio feeds, called
"actualities," are prerecorded "news" items. Richard Nelson, a
twenty-five-year-old ex-disc jockey from Chicago, was hired at $20,000 a
year to write and record the spots in a nearby office that has been
soundproofed and equipped with a recording studio. "As technology advances,
so does information," Wurfel explains, "and it begins to take different
forms. We spend large amounts of money every year on transcripts and press
releases. It all costs the tax-payer ultimately, and there's always a danger
of abuse. But the radio feeds are just a drop in the bucket compared to our
over-all press operation. I wonder if some of the criticism we have received
on them isn't due to elitism by the print media and network television
people."
I asked whether the White House ever will expand into doing TV feeds. "Not
before the year.. 2000," jokes Wurfel. "To cut into the network TV
activities and do video bites . . . that would have a much higher heat
visibility, and controversy quotient. I don't think we'll touch that one."
Outside Wurfel's office, I see ABC's Donaldson hanging out in the hallway,
haunting Jody Powell's secretary. I ask if we can talk soon about the
relationship between the Carter administration and the White Mouse press. '
"Why not right now?" replies the ebullient Donaidson in his booming voice.
'There's nothing happening here! There's no news here today! Didn't they
make that obvious at the briefing?"
Suddenly Jody Powell himself pops into the hallway. He smiles at Donaldson's
bantering and peers suspiciously at me. Then the two of them walk into
Powell's office together.
"Hey, what's really happening on this Iran thing, Jody?" asks Donaldson in a
confidential tone. "That was ridiculous out there today."
"Well, Sam, you know I just can't discuss these things in the briefing,"
clucks Powell apologetically.
Donaldson sympathizes. "But what's really up?"
Powell begins to answer, casts a worried look at me - all ears, naturally -
in the corridor, and then casually - too casually for it to appear casual -
swings the heavy wooden door shut in my face.
A few minutes later Donaldson emerges with a satisfied smile, and we proceed
to the press room for our interview.
He says that today's briefing was no sham. "It was what it appeared to be -
an exercise in Nixon-Haldeman-style evasion. There just hasn't been any good
news from Carter, Zbiggy and Company for quite some time now. And in this
business, no good news is no news. They had nothing to say, so they didn't
say it.
"It was clear after three minutes today that Powell wouldn't give us one bit
of news," says Donaldson. "So why did we stay? Because it's our job to try
to force him out. It's not my job to understand - I leave that to the
pundits, to the Restons. My job is to stand and make him deliver, if I can.
"On the other hand, you have to keep some sense of proportion," he adds. "I
don't want to deliberately antagonize Powell, because he can put me on the
air any night he wants. I am the temple dog. He knows that. He's the sole
source. That's why I hang around back there." He gestures toward Powell's
office.
"I see him privately on a daily basis," Donaldson continues. "But remember -
when I go in, it's ABC News he's seeing, not Sam Donaldson. If you're from
an organization that he wants to deal with, that he chooses to recognize,
then you're a big shot.
"Everyone you'll talk to here initially said to himself that he would be
different, that he would go out and dig constantly for stories. I did too.
But I soon discovered that's not what ABC wants me to do. I'm being paid to
sit here and wait for the unexpected. It's a totally reactive situation."
Does anything useful ever come out of the briefings?
"Hardly ever. I get it all from the institutionalized leak. Like what you
just saw, you know, Powell tells me, 'I can't say it out there, but this is
what's really happening, Sam.' Then I go out on the lawn and put it on the
air. It's called 'getting the spin.' New reporters here always spend weeks
figuring out that the briefings are totally useless. The spin is the
answer."
Doesn't such a reliance oh Powell leave you open to manipulation?
"That's true," agrees Donaldson. "The times that I'm most wrong is when
they're
most wrong, and they're my only source. . . .Oh, I'm careful," he adds
chattily. "I never say anything too positive or dogmatic. I couch it
instead. I'll say something like, 'There's a feeling at the White House
tonight that' or 'It's understood here that' or so on. "Take the time there
was a report that they were thinking of sending warships off the coast of
Iran," explains Donaldson. "I've been around long enough to know that
gunboat diplomacy wouldn't work in that situation. It was relatively easy to
figure out that those ships would never reach the Persian Gulf Given this
feeling on my part, the vibrations I was getting, talking to my source, it
was somehow confirmed to me. Powell, who knows, reflects the spin without
ever saying anything specific. If I'm then wrong in my interpretation, it's
my problem, because I have no source that I can attribute the mistake to."
Donaldson continues, moving on to Carter and his relationship to the White
House press corps.
"I think that Carter revealed his attitude toward the press in the famous
Playboy interview," he says. "He pays lip service to a free press, but he
really thinks we're just here to trick him. In his heart of hearts, Carter
feels we're out to gut**** him. He also views the press as totally
superficial, and interested only in distortion. Jimmy Carter simply does not
like people, and that includes reporters. He thinks we're just numbers,
ciphers, part of the efficient use of his time and manpower. He's an odd
duck, in that he just doesn't care for people in a human sense.
"That's not a smile he's always sporting, you know," states Donaldson. "It's
a rictus. He doesn't like small talk. He likes to jab at you, but he also
likes to draw blood. I spar with him sometimes, but I'm careful to leave him
the last word. He's not very good at it, but we all laugh at his remarks
anyway. To a visitor, we must look like the biggest collection of idiots,
assholes, and jerks, a real zoo. We just have to feel as if we went after
him, that we're at least giving them a run for the money.
'The point is that it's all done with mirrors. Ultimately, what it's all
about is that trying to make more understandable the policies of the
president means making more re-electable the maker of those policies. All
these people have been doing for the last two years is running for
re-election."
CBS correspondent Bob Schieffer (since reassigned) confirms much of what
Donald-
son said. Schieffer says he covers the daily briefing "like I cover the
annual visit of the March of Dimes cover girl - as a protective measure.
"This is not an investigative beat, at least for the networks," remarks
Schieffer in his slight Southern drawl. "There's an awful lot of reactive
coverage. It can overwhelm you sometimes. We are the primary source of news,
so we cover everything. After all, the president is the most important man
in the world.
"The spin is what sets this beat apart from all others," says Schieffer.
"Reporters must make more judgment calls here because access is so limited.
You have to gauge the vibrations. My motto is 'When in doubt, always go on
the side of caution."
Schieffer concedes that the networks get special treatment from the White
House news operation.
"It's only natural," he says. "The more people you reach, the more people
have to deal with you. Most of the time. this beat is strictly a deal where
it's in somebody's interest to get the widest possible dissemination for a
story.
"My strategy is different from the wires," continues the CBS man. "I seldom
ask questions at a briefing. If I can get to someone later, it's better- why
should I tip my hand? So I just stay here all day, hanging out in Jody's
office, sitting on wastebaskets, insulting secretaries . . .
"You know, it's amazing more people don't realize that the Roosevelt Room,
the main White House conference room, is right opposite Powell's office,"
reveals Schieffer. "If you hang out near there, you can see who comes in and
out, catch snatches of conversation, raised eyebrows, and so on. The
briefings may be good for democracy, but I've got my own self-interest to
look out for.
"Like yesterday," he adds. "I didn't get incensed at Jody. He had no
alternative. From his standpoint, there's nothing to be gained by saying
anything publicly. But I do admit he was baiting the press. He should have
just said 'No comment' and stuck to it. It was a sick exchange - it reminded
me of high school."
Press Briefing II: School Daze
The main topic of conversation prior to the next day's briefing is Billy
Carter. The Atlanta Journal has just printed a story about brother's
controversial penchant for pissing in public, and everyone's making a big
deal about it, Reporters of every stripe sit salaciously licking their chops
and cracking a series of related dirty jokes while awaiting Powell's
entrance.
When Powell finally arrives, late again, the irrepressible Donaldson waits
for just the right moment and then proclaims, grinning broadly, "Yesterday
was a sea of bullshit, today is an ocean of urine." Powell flashes his
toothy farmboy's smile.
Nobody touches the subject in the early going. Finally Lester Kinsolving, a
free-lance, right-wing print and radio journalist whom nearly everyone
refers to as a "crazy," breaks the ice by asking rather stupidly if the
president agrees with his brother's recently expressed "disgusting
anti-Semitism."
Naturally, Powell seizes his opportunity to assure us that the "President's
views are not anti-Semitic," and to establish quickly the official tine on
Billy's bizarre behavior. The press secretary then deftly deflects the
remainder of Billy queries, including Donaldson's insouciant "Jody, this
business of urinating in public . Is Billy Carter an embarrassment to the
president?"
The briefing ends, as it always does, when Frank Cormier, the senior wire
service correspondent, shouts out the traditional "Thank you, Jody," and
school's out for another day. Cormier is a long, lean, laconic but affable
veteran who began working for the Associated Press in 1951. When he first
started covering the White House sixteen years ago, JFK was president and
Pierre Salinger his press secretary.
"The whole atmosphere around here changed after Kennedy's death," Cormier
says. "That's when the Secret Service bureaucracy began to evolve. The other
big change has been the rise of the networks. Now they always get special
treatment, whereas before it was the wires that were favored. Of course,
back in Elsenhower's and Kennedy's time, the networks only had
fifteen-minute evening news shows. It was only just before Kennedy's death -
on Labor Day 1963, that they went to a half-hour prime time.
"Salinger was the last of the open-door press secretaries," he remembers.
"If you go up there now, Jody's door is always shut, but Salinger was always
open to reporters. You could even call him at home in the middle of the
night. But now yet another bureaucracy has sprung up, that of the White
House press office. I think they've got twenty-three people working here
now, plus Rafshoon's whole operation.
"I personally find it rather demeaning to hang around Powell's office
waiting for crumbs," he says softly, disdaining the spin. "I don't do it.
It's
like you're a supplicant going up there. This hanging in the doorways is a
system that is just the natural result of the terrible quality of the
briefings, though.
"Jody can be an effective, knowledgeable spokesman for Carter," he continues
slowly, picking his words with care. "Even though he has no journalistic
experience, he is close to Carter and reflects his thinking. On the (other
hand, he can be very biting and acerbic. I think that he is contemptuous of,
if not the press in general, certainly some individuals. I guess I'd rate
him about a six. On the other hand, prior to Watergate, I'd have given
Ziegler a six as well."
Cormier's view of the Carter press operation fits with that of United Press
International's Helen Thomas, a short, dark, intense woman.
"This is the most managed news I've ever covered," she states forthrightly.
"The people are accessible, but the contradiction is that the news is very
tightly controlled. The reporters are always kept behind ropes. Carter
himself is sometimes inaccessible during a breaking story. Everything is
planned and calculated, and they're becoming more secretive by the day.
They're
swinging back now to the other extreme, trying to go back to the old way of
doing things. Carter is a Johnny-come-lately who's embracing secret
diplomacy all of a sudden.
"Eighty to ninety percent of what we are able to write is given to us by
Powell at the briefings," she informs me. "But the briefings have become a
zoo now. They don't want to tell you anything.
"Guys like Schieffer and Donaldson can live in Powell's office, but they
never get anything on the record," she complains bitterly. "They do
everything on deep background. But the wires can't make up the news for the
government like that. These guys would give out the time of day on deep
background. It's very highly abused in this administration. We're writing
history too, you know.
"Powell makes $56,000 a year. He should put his name to his work. He's paid
as a spokesman, so let him speak! If he doesn't want to be quoted, he
shouldn't open his mouth.
"My kind of press secretary wears two hats, one for the president and one
for the people. The press secretary shouldn't be a press agent. The one
brief shining example was Jerry terHorst, who had twenty-nine years
experience as a journalist. He came closest to doing the job right, but he
only lasted one month."
In addition to the networks and the wire service, the New York Times and the
Washington Post are primus inter pares at the White House, constantly
afforded special treatment and inside access.
"When the White House wants to make news," admits Ed Walsh of the Post, "We
are the first to be included. We can count on being called in on important
matters, and this is just not true for other papers. The Post and the Times
are the best-read papers in Washington, and that's the bottom line for the
White House, because of the ripple effect on other papers' bureaus. There's
no question that we have privileged status. "There is a tendency to indulge
the bureaucratic impulse to overuse deep background," Walsh allows. "When
they get into international news, for example, they never say anything on
the record. It becomes a habit. To our shame, I would say that we too have
become accustomed to it. Such a tendency really ought to be checked
occasionally.
"Maybe we should be more confrontational," Walsh says carefully. "We've made
Carter's life worse at times, and we're all better off for that.
Spread-eagle journalism does exist here, there's no doubt about that, but I
think it's pretty rare. I guess it all depends on your initial viewpoint. If
you accept certain premises and ground rules, them inevitably you start to
identify with the people who make them up."
Walsh's counterpart on the Times is Terence Smith, son of famed sportswriter
Red Smith. He, too, admits to receiving special treatment on a regular
basis, saying, "We probably do, to be honest about it. But you have to
question what form it takes, and why. They are careful to include us. They
choose a David Broder or myself or someone else if they want to let out a
story. When they want impact, they seek us out."
Smith denies that such an arrangement implies that there's a "cozy
relationship" between certain elements of the media and the White House,
however, "On the contrary," he points out, "familiarity breeds contempt."
Does he think Powell generally holds the press in contempt as well?
"Increasingly so," states Smith. "He's become more aggressive in his
tactics. I believe we will see this more and more as the administration gets
more defensive and thin-skinned about its record."
On the other hand, Smith is not opposed to the spin. "The briefings are
never productive," he says. "In general, the administration's famed openness
is technical, I find. The access is great, but the openness is not.
"Powell has been every effective to date," notes Smith, "He's very skillful
in the day-to-day operation of presenting the president's perspective. But
his arguments often border on sophistry. He's as concerned about image as
anyone, and will neglect to tell you the less admirable aspects of
something, while resolutely putting his best foot forward. He labors
mightily not to lie, and most of the time he succeeds."
Press Briefing III: Here's Where I Came In
Another day, another briefing. This one begins forty-five minutes late.
Powell opens with a "joking" insult against the press, saying, "Bad taste
will eventually rear its head, particularly here." As if to prove his point,
Lester Kinsolving asks if Billy Carter is still welcome at the White House,
and, if so, what is to prevent him from urinating on the side of the West
Wing. Powell says he won't answer that question.
After a brief interlude, Powell commences a detailed attack on the Times and
Reuters news service for recent articles suggesting that there continues to
be a rift between Zbigniew Brzezinski and Cyrus Vance on foreign policy
matters. It's clear that he is intending to speak for the president, and
just as clear that he is relishing the chance to send a few blasts across
the bows of two prominent news organizations. "This reporting is so damn
ridiculous it's mind-boggling," states Powell. "It's an absurd example of
damn-the-facts, full-speed-ahead journalism."
After his little tirade, Powell takes more questions. Today's chief topic of
discussion is Richard Nixon, who has just received an invitation to return
to the White House at long last for Chinese Vice-Premier Teng's visit.
Incensed at this unexpected news, I earnestly ask the first and last
question of my short White House career, shouting it out in my best
imitation of a loud, obnoxious member of the White House press.
"Jody, does this invitation to Nixon mean that he's now being rehabilitated,
much like Teng has been?"
The room explodes in laughter, and even Powell cracks a fleeting smile. He
answers in his usual flippant, get-me-off-the-hook style.
"I'm sure you are all aware that in this country it is the fourth estate,
and not the president, who has the power to rehabilitate someone."
A few more desultory questions, a few more joking answers, and then the
briefing finally crawls to a close. Almost immediately, the lightweights
walk away in disgust, while the heavies adjourn to Jody's office.
Jody Powell Responds
The interview with presidential press secretary Joseph Lester "Jody" Powell
takes place late one afternoon in mid-January. Powell, preoccupied by such
weighty matters as the ever-increasing turmoil in Iran, the impending State
of the Union address, and Vice-Premier Teng's visit, has already broken one
appointment and is two hours late for the second when I am finally ushered
in to his spacious, well-appointed office. He motions me to a chair opposite
the wide, cluttered desk. He sits in the larger comfortable-looking,
faded-blue corduroy chair from which he conducts much of his business.
Behind us, a fire crackles slowly in a small fireplace set into the rear
wall. Three television screens stare out blankly from the same wall. Powell
strolls over to his private bar, offers a Coke, which I refuse, and then
some fine Scotch, which I accept. We sit down next to a bright red telephone
labeled "Secure Phone," and begin to talk.
"Jody, Helen Thomas says that yours is the most managed news operation she's
ever been confronted with," I begin. "What's your response?"
"Actually, we're not managing the news that well," grins Powell. "We're
trying to do things now in, generally, a less freelance style. But you have
to realize that our jobs are different, and there will always be a certain
amount of tension as a result. Sometimes my job is not to have a certain
story written on a particular day. But we should try not to elevate that
tension. I'm not against the First Amendment, and the press isn't against
national security.
"The president is not God," he continues. "Carter is the most accessible
president ever, but he shouldn't have to answer questions while a story is
breaking. Even he sometimes can't choose exactly the right words while under
such intense scrutiny. My feeling is that everybody's best interests are
served when the president has time to chose his words carefully, to
enunciate exactly what he wants to say."
I ask him about the quality of the daily briefings, which almost everyone
seems to think are useless.
"Well, the briefings are certainly nothing to restore one's faith in
democracy," he drawls, with a trace of a smirk. "But that one about Iran was
one of the worst. Sometimes it's an uncomfortable thing to go through, but
that's my job.
"They [the briefings] serve to release tension and to gratify the
competitive urge," Powell admits candidly. "You wouldn't be any good at
either politics or journalism without being intensely competitive. The White
House press corps gets less reward for enterprise than any other beat, so
the competitive urges sometimes get intensified here.
"When I first got here" Powell explains, "I too saw no reason for the
briefings. But I came to realize that, given the press's difficulty, they
deserve at least a shot. Part of their role is to trick me into saying
something that 1 didn't want to. That's why the biggest danger in this job
is to talk about something you think you know about but really don't.
"Ifs a game," he concludes. "Obviously part of the game is to force the
press secretary into a favorite gambit is to take something that a political
opponent has said and try to get the White House to react."
"Do you agree with what one Washington press corps member told me, that 'the
establishment of the press in this town sucks ****'?" I ask him, grinning
broadly.
He smiles back, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. "Well, what's a girl to
say?" he responds. "I don't think I agree, but I also don't think that the
press here has really taken advantage of the openness of this administration
either."
We are interrupted by several phone calls, which Powell takes right in front
of me. One is from Energy Secretary James Schlesinger, and obviously deals
with the Iran crisis. Another is from ABC's Sam Donaldson, checking the spin
on a report that Richard Nixon will be invited to the White House to see
Teng. Powell chain-smokes Salem Lights, has the usual drawings from his
daughter on the walls, and has mounted the mandatory copy of the First
Amendment - behind his desk, where he doesn't have to look at it all the
time.
So far Powell has given the appearance of answering all my questions without
ever really saying anything, which I suppose is the mark of a good press
secretary. But I didn't come here to play the same game. By now, the second
Scotch and the conversations about national security matters right in front
of me tend only to make me suspicious. For the first time I begin to get a
glimpse of what it would be like working here, grabbing glimpses and crumbs
of power as they are proffered.
"Could you explain how the spin works?" I begin again.
"The spin?" asks Powell, amused. "It emerged out of the problem that the
briefings have a wide variety of people at them. If a delicate nuance is
required, I need another forum. Probably reporters would get more out of the
briefing if there was no spin . . . but it exists.
"In most cases, it's more specific than mere allusion. I can get quite
specific, if I have a reporter who I can trust to obey the guidelines. In a
sense, it's the reporter who decides. If I get burned once, the next time I
may help him out, but not as much. I have to know that a reporter will be
able to resist the temptation to get a quick thrill. That's where
credibility comes in.
"You see, we all operate on inadequate information here. The president, me,
the reporters.. If you make a mistake, then it's your fault. The compulsion
to say something you don't know is too strong. Sometimes I do it, and that's
when I get my ass burned. But the problem with the press as an institution
is that the penalty for being wrong doesn't exist, at least to the extent
that it should. If I attack a story, that's immediately suspect, I'm
attacking the First Amendment. But nobody really polices the press." -
We are interrupted again by phone calls, secretaries with memoranda, the
entrance of national security spokesman Jerry Schechter. I ask Powell if
should leave the room for a spell, but he motions me not to. He picks up the
phone and dials presidential adviser Brzezinski. "Is Zbig there?" he asks
the operator. "Is the good doctor in?" There follows a muffled conversation,
the only part of which I can discern is Powell saying, "My response would be
to tell him to kiss my ass and stop wasting my time."
We cover a variety of other topics, from Powell's relationship with the
president to the death-watch theory of modern presidential press coverage to
Powell's role in making policy, but he keeps his answers as vague as before.
My mind begins to wander back to Sam Donaldson's self-characterization. "I
am the temple dog," he said.
-R.O'C.
_______
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"A little patience and we shall see the reign of witches pass over, their
spells dissolve, and the people recovering their true sight, restore their
government to its true principles. It is true that in the meantime we are
suffering deeply in spirit,
and incurring the horrors of a war and long oppressions of enormous public
debt. But if the game runs sometimes against us at home we must have
patience till luck turns, and then we shall have an opportunity of winning
back the principles we have lost, for this is a game where principles are at
stake."
-Thomas Jefferson
