This was a switch. Usually, when I ride in an Uber or Lyft, after exchanging greetings, I read 10 or 20 pages of a book or tap-tap-tap on the iPhone. (Not embarrassed to admit that the taxicab industry’s demise still stings; a few weeks ago, after my son and I left Camden Yards after a playoff game, there wasn’t a cab in sight.) Last Thursday, mid-morning, I had a dental appointment in Towson, and the driver, an amiable lady, wanted to gab, saying, “I need some wisdom from you.” I did a double-take but, against my better judgment, took the bait.
“I’m in a mess with my husband,” she began, as if I were Dear Abby, “and think I’m going to leave him because he’s lazy, doesn’t like all the lovey-dovey stuff, never kisses me or wants to get busy between the sheets. And so I don’t love him anymore!” I’ve no interest in the personal lives of strangers (or acquaintances), but, captive in the back seat, listened to her, nodded when appropriate, and when nearing the destination, she asked for my advice, and I responded with an anodyne, dime-store summary, saying, “It sounds like you’ve made up your mind. You’re young and pretty, and will no doubt find the right man!”
Feeling out-of-my-depth silly, I left the vehicle, said thanks, reached for my pack of smokes, and she said goodbye, saying, “You are a very smart white man.” I’d done nothing but confirm her thinking on this matter of the lovelorn, but while sitting in the dentist’s chair, amused myself by imagining setting up a fortune-teller’s kiosk near a Venezuelan food cart on N. Charles St.
That bizarre interlude concluded, I thought about an equally bizarre flap in the news five days ago (journalists writing about journalists), which was The Los Angeles Times—to the consternation of its union, which is always positive—announcing that it wouldn’t issue a presidential endorsement for the first time in 20 years. As if it were 20 years ago, when newspaper endorsements had maybe a flicker of influence. The Times, like most once-“prestigious” dailies, has lost all significance, and if it ever, despite West Coast dominance, had any impact nationally, it doesn’t now. Besides, California’s a lock for Kamala, so what’s the point of an endorsement, aside from stroking the sanctimonious Trump=Hitler staffers? I’d say the same for The New York Times—which endorses Harris eight times every week—but I’m told the company has a goon squad that rubs out critics. And, as I don’t keep a gun in house, unlike Kamala, I wouldn’t be prepared.
The New York Times ran a story about the ephemeral buzz, as reporter Katie Robertson quoted Mariel Garza—“head of the [L.A. Times editorial board”—who quit rather than acquiesce to despised owner Patrick Soon-Shing, who made the decision not to endorse. (It’s said Soon-Shing’s daughter was part of the decision, citing the current administration’s Gaza stance, although that’s been denied.) Garza told the Columbia Journalism Review (still in business, apparently): “It makes us look craven and hypocritical, maybe even a bit sexist and racist,” such is her advocacy of Harris. Big deal: Soon-Shing owns the paper and he can do what he wants.
Last Friday, the in-hospice Washington Post also announced its decision to withhold an endorsement this year. Former Post editor Marty Baron called it “an act of cowardice.” He was joined by other Post geriatrics, all purportedly “deeply” concerned about the implications of this heresy, but really consternated that their “club” is forever breached. The implication is that both Soon-Shing and Post owner Jeff Bezos, anticipating a Trump victory, don’t want to piss him off. Could be! As Calvin Coolidge said, “The business of America is business.”
The picture above is from the Gatehouse basement/production room of my college paper The Johns Hopkins News-Letter, a grungy hole where frequent floods (and no hot water) added to what was nevertheless a very cool space. Pre-digital, two guys at three a.m. or so, are likely complaining that the headline machine, held together with a pencil and chewing gum, was on the fritz again. This was not “a simpler time,” but it was all we knew. I’ll say this: although not inclined to follow the post-Watergate rush into daily journalism, I wasn’t at that time nearly as disgusted with this country’s media. I looked forward on most nights to buying the bulldog edition of The Baltimore Sun at a 24-hour newsstand, for example, and didn’t hold The New York Times or Washington Post in such low regard, like today. Didn’t agree with a lot of the stories/columns in those papers, but at least there was a modicum of diligence of the (haughty) staffs. And, aside from the Times, there were comics, baseball box scores and Ann Landers or Dear Abby.
Look at the clues to figure out the year: Norman Mailer punches Gore Vidal in the face at a NYC party; John Fowles’ Daniel Martin and Michael Herr’s Dispatches are published; Robert Altman begins a five film streak at 20th Century Fox with 3 Women; Paul Mark Scott’s Staying On wins the Booker Prize; Jessica Chastain is born and Charlie Chaplin dies; Robert Byrd is Senate Majority Leader; Bill Walton is MVP of NBA Finals; The U.S. Department of Energy is created; Kal Penn is born and Joan Crawford dies; Steely Dan releases Aja; and Ernie Banks is elected to MLB’s Hall of Fame.
—Follow Russ Smith on Twitter: @MUGGER2023