Broadcasting

Very often people are disappointed when they get to meet their heroes. Their heroes just can’t live up to their expectations. I’m lucky—that’s never happened to me. Mine have always treated me in a way that made me proud. I went to visit one of them at the beginning of my final year on the show. He was ninety-one at the time and in a wheelchair. But whenever I see Mike Wallace, I picture myself as a young man in Brooklyn racing home to watch his show. The show was called Night Beat.


Mike’s broadcasting approach was very different from mine. Night Beat was sort of an attack show. Mike would sit in a chair, smoke a cigarette, and grill his guest. It was a forerunner to what he would do on 60 Minutes. Mike was intelligent, did thorough research, and had all the facts at his command. The clarity of his delivery made him impossible to click off. He once did an interview with Governor Orval Faubus of Arkansas after Faubus refused to follow federal law and integrate the state’s schools, not long before President Eisenhower sent in troops.

The show was nearly always confrontational, and more than a few guests walked off the set in the middle of it. Since they knew the grilling was coming, it was always a mystery why people agreed to go on in the first place. The comedian Sid Caesar once did a famous takeoff of Night Beat on Your Show of Shows. Here’s the setup: Sid’s all ready for his interview with Mike Wallace. But his friends are advising him against it. “Why are you going on? Why would you do this to yourself?”
“Are you kidding?” Sid says. “What’s he going to do to me? I’ve got nothing to hide! No problem!”

So Sid goes on the show. Carl Reiner is playing Mike Wallace. Carl goes through the introductions while Sid waits confidently.

The first question is something like, “Who was Mildred Finnech?”

And you see Sid squirm. “Ohhhhh, jeeez. Oh, God!” “And your income tax returns from 1952 . . . ?”
“Ohhhhhhhhhh, jeez!”
Soon, water is pouring down Sid’s head as if he’s sweating profusely. More than fifty years later, the image still makes me smile.

That parody was the ultimate compliment. Night Beat was built on the basics of broadcast journalism: Mike came in with facts and questions, and the guest sat across from him with his own viewpoint. The groundwork was laid for a fair exchange. There was a balance.

Time and changes in our culture have chipped away at that balance. If you want to see how much we’ve lost, all you have to do is turn on Fox News Channel. When I watch Glenn Beck, I see a total circus. I don’t buy the act. Fox News lies to suit itself. The most obvious lie is that it promotes itself as “fair and balanced.” And MSNBC ain’t exactly balanced, either.

When I look back, it’s hard to believe all the changes I’ve seen in broadcasting. I can remember when televisions first came into showrooms. I’d stand in front of the window of a store on 86th Street and stare at the test pattern on the screen. The networks had very few programs, and nothing came on until five o’clock. You waited for that test pattern to flicker. That’s how you knew a show was starting. All the television stores piped the sound into the street.

When I think of brilliance in broadcasting I think of Edward R. Murrow. He ended Senator McCarthy’s Communist witch hunt with one of the great broadcasts of all time. He didn’t argue with McCarthy. He didn’t harangue. He let Mc- Carthy bury himself with his own words. That was balance. There were only three networks when I came up in the business. It’s always preferable to have more options. If you’re a baseball fan, you’d love the ability to tune in to any game being played. We didn’t have those benefits, but there were good fundamentals. News was civilized. There were no pundits. There was analysis. A broadcaster had time to build trust. When Walter Cronkite turned against the Vietnam War, the nation turned with him because it respected his judgment. I don’t want to make it sound like broadcast news was perfect back then, or that we should return to those days. When I started in radio, you couldn’t even say the word pregnant on the air. You had to say she’s with child. (There was a reason Lenny Bruce came along.) But for the most part, there was respect for the craft, and there were sensible rules. I loved the equal-time amendment. We had to give equal time to opposing points of view during political campaigns. My all-night radio show was very fair. We kept time: if a caller attacked a candidate, that candidate was offered the same amount of time to respond. Cable changed the whole landscape. Cable is wired under- ground, so it’s not subject to the same Federal rules as companies using the airwaves. There’s no equal-time rule for cable.

The industry makes its own rules. That not only opened the door to alternatives, but it also opened the door to extremes. Jon Stewart says that Fox is not a network; he believes it’s a political party. I agree with him. In a sense, during the final days of Larry King Live, I was a broadcaster competing against two political parties—MSNBC on the left and Fox on the right. You always hear on Fox how Sarah Palin and the Tea Party energize the base—Fox’s base. CNN doesn’t have a base. We’re middle of the road. We have a core audience.

I’m not saying the new landscape is wrong. Change is not wrong. In fact, change is the only constant. Music has changed over the years. I used to know every song in the Top 40. Now I don’t know any. And I don’t think I could ever play along with the tune of today’s broadcasting. Bill O’Reilly brings on a guest with little intention of listening to that person’s point of view. The guest is merely a prop for O’Reilly to sound off. It’s all become theater. I’ve never begun a show with an agenda. If one of the suits had ever asked me to yell at a guest, I wouldn’t do it. The fundamentals that I brought to my show may be out of vogue, but I’m not going to change. I don’t offer a point of view. I try not to use the word I. And I ask short questions. My motto is: I’ve never learned anything while I was talking. Cable changed the nature of broadcasting in other ways. As the number of channels expanded, so did the competition for viewers. There’s always been competition. When I was a kid, movie theaters would actually stop a film in the middle to play the Amos ’n’ Andy radio show. That’s how big Amos ’n’ Andy was. If the movie theater didn’t play Amos ’n’ Andy, the audience wouldn’t show up—everyone would stay home to watch it on television. The theaters adjusted, and people got what they wanted. But going from three networks to a five hundred-channel universe is not an adjustment. It’s a tsunami— and I’m not sure we can recover what’s been lost.

There have always been critics of television. I can remember criticisms from the earliest days—especially from the world of print. They’d say that shows were created simply to attract viewers. But, hey, you could say the same about the New York Times masthead. Why is there white space around it? To attract you! That white space has nothing to do with the news. The communications business has always been in the business of attraction. But there are now so many people screaming to be looked at it’s changed our culture. And as comedy has become mean-spirited to call attention to itself, Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh will say just about anything to keep their audiences wondering what’s next. More and more, conventional news has succumbed to the tabloid.

I’ve never tried to force myself into anybody’s private life against his or her wishes. Yet I found myself in the center of the collision between tabloid and traditional news the moment O.J. Simpson drove down the interstate in that white Bronco. It was a sensational tabloid celebrity story. But it was also a profound news story. O.J. Simpson was the most famous person ever charged with murder in the history of the world. More than that, it was an everything story: a mystery story, a sports story, a pop culture story, a husband-wife story, a science and technology story when DNA evidence was introduced at the trial, and a father-son story when it focused on the murdered waiter and his dad. Ultimately, it was a story about the way race was perceived in America.

I was on the air when footage of the chase came in. People stuck with CNN because they knew our reporting could be trusted. But many of the lurid stories that broke in the Simpson case were first printed in the tabloids, and television felt compelled to compete. I don’t think the media has ever been the same. The line between public and private has become so blurred that sometimes it’s difficult to see it at all. The development of the Internet has only intensified the battle for eyeballs. News on twenty-four-hour cable is no longer news. It’s “breaking news.” The reality is that much of the time it’s neither breaking nor news. But the networks have to call it breaking news because if they don’t they’ll feel left behind the “breaking news” being churned out by the others. The suits live and die by the ratings.

Nobody ever pressured me for ratings at CNN. My producer protected me. Those pressures were on Wendy’s shoulders. If I had a choice, I’d do the show the way Charlie Rose does his on PBS. Charlie has the best job in television interviewing. No commercials. He can book any guest he wants. A ballet dancer today, the consul general of Mexico tomorrow. He’s not driven by ratings. But that’s public broadcasting. Larry King Live played on a different field. Cable news is endless and relentless, and the grab for your attention gets fiercer by the day. Celebrity and political scandals are an easy grab. In just the last year of my show, I had to deal with scandals in the personal lives of Tiger Woods, John Edwards, Sandra Bullock, Lindsay Lohan, Mel Gibson, and the governor of South Carolina, who left his wife for a woman in Argentina. Many of those shows were newsworthy. Others invaded people’s privacy and made me uncomfortable.

For me, the line between public and private is generally not blurry at all. Tiger Woods? No story. There was no crime in Tiger’s driveway. Whatever happened between Tiger, his wife, a golf club, and their car is a private matter. Of course, I called up his lawyer to try to get Tiger to come on the show. I certainly understand the importance of having him on as a cultural figure. But is what happened to him relevant to our society? No. This is where that sense of balance becomes lopsided. Four Americans died in Afghanistan yesterday. Would you really call Tiger Woods’s troubles with his wife our number-one priority? The problem is, Tiger opened the door to all that coverage himself. If he had come out right after it happened, he could have put the story behind him. That’s what a lot of these advisers don’t understand. On the second day afterward, all Tiger had to do was come out and say, “I’ve had a problem with women. I’m trying to work it out with my wife. Maybe we’ll be able to make it work. Maybe we won’t.” That’s all he needed to say. If he’d done it that way, Tiger would have owned his own story. But it never happens that way.

People in that situation crawl into a shell and then they lose ownership of their own life. The media takes it away and profits from each new revelation. Now Tiger’s life is in the hands of talk show hosts, public relations experts, and pop psychologists. At that point, the best thing Tiger can do is accept my invitation, or Oprah’s, and come on to honestly take his story back. If he does it that way, I’m going to treat him fairly. But unless he decides to open that door, I don’t believe we belong in his private life, or in his wife’s private life, or in his children’s private lives. Now, if you’re invited in, everything changes. I had a wide-ranging discussion with Judith Exner about her sexual relationship with President Kennedy. In a case like that, I had no problem asking about details of their encounters for two reasons. One, Kennedy was an elected official. We put him in office. We paid his salary. And two, Exner wanted to clear the air before she passed away. She wanted to leave behind the truth.

Sandra Bullock, on the other hand, didn’t want to come on to talk about what it’s like to be cheated on by her husband at the height of her career. So what’s the point of discussing her difficulties? And just whom am I going to discuss them with? “Experts” who really don’t know anything about her personal life, or her husband’s? Hanging an entire show on a thread of fact is nothing more than gossip. I’ve always hated gossip. If John Edwards is a movie star and fathers a child out of wedlock—I have no interest. But I sure do if it comes up while he’s running for president. Then it’s important. It’s important because people will vote for John Edwards. What if he had been elected? He might have had to resign in disgrace. He could have been impeached over the controversy. The whole country could have been thrown into turmoil. He had to know his actions were going to surface at some point. His wife still wanted him to run even though she knew some of the details. When that happens, the story is about everyone involved. I’d love to have John Edwards sit down for one of my specials. I still believe he is committed to the issues he stood for in his campaign. I still believe he cared about the poor.

For Edwards to get a friend to say he was the father of Edwards’s child—how did that happen? How does he look back on everything that transpired now that his wife has died of cancer? These are natural questions we’d all like answered. But if he hadn’t been asking for my vote . . . it would have been none of my business. There are tricky situations. Mel Gibson’s not running for president. Nobody’s voting for Mel Gibson. If you are upset by the reports that he beat and threatened his lover, you can stay away from his movies. I’ll be honest, I didn’t feel comfortable when my producers booked Gibson’s lover on my show with portions of what she claims were their recorded phone conversations. She said she recorded the conversations because she thought he was going to kill her and she wanted to leave behind evidence. If you listened to the crazed voice on the tapes, you couldn’t be certain that it was Mel’s, but it was certainly scary. She said Mel had punched her around and knocked the veneers off her teeth, that one of them went flying into their daughter’s face. As much as I felt uncomfortable doing the interview, I couldn’t help but be fascinated. I guess that’s the problem. But I was always very conscious of the fact that Mel wasn’t there to defend himself. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not defending Mel. If what his lover said happened, he has to be held accountable. But I always remind myself: Television is not a courtroom. The battle between Mel Gibson and his lover for custody of their child belongs in the legal system—and should be reported from there. Our show probably got good numbers. But that doesn’t mean I felt good about it.

One of the last interviews I did about our tabloid culture was with Angelina Jolie. It aired the night after I interviewed Wesley Snipes. One of the questions producers wondered about beforehand was how Angelina felt about breaking up Brad Pitt’s marriage to Jennifer Aniston. This was another tricky situation because I didn’t want to ask. Lauren Bacall once told me about the start of her relationship with Humphrey Bogart while she was young and single and he was a married man. He had passed away years before, and she was open to discussing it. This time, I refused to go there. I’ve spent time with Brad and Angelina in New Orleans and know how they feel about their privacy. Few people on earth are more harassed by paparazzi than Angelina and Brad. The dynamics of their marriage are really none of my business—unless she or Brad wants to talk about it. My instincts were correct. The conversation turned to privacy— and how to protect it. Angelina mentioned that when celebrities are pho- tographed in France with their children, the children’s faces are blurred in publication. I would favor a law like that. Angelina thought legislating distances might be workable. Photographers have long lenses. They don’t need to be in the celebrities’ faces—and especially not their children’s. She knew that the beast would never be stopped. But at least it could be controlled.

Over the years, I’ve always been very good to the paparazzi. I’ve generally stopped to talk to people who have approached me in the street with running video cameras. But those incidents were isolated. Until my wife and I filed divorce papers, these people had never hounded me like they do movie stars. I remember a story that Anthony Quinn told me about the papazzi and Sinatra. Once, Quinn stepped in front of the photographers who were badgering Frank and tried to reason with them. “Here’s a man who has brought you infinite joy,” he said.
“When he is singing a happy song, he makes you feel happier.
When you are low, and he sings low, he understands your depth. He hasn’t forced you to listen to him. He has a gift and he has chosen to give it to you. You can accept it. Or not. Pay for it. Or not pay for it. Wouldn’t you want him to be happy?” When it became obvious that they didn’t care whether he was happy or not—Frank fought back. Once Frank went out cruising on his boat with Mia Farrow. One of the paparazzi got wind of the outing, rented a boat, and snapped away.

After the photos were published, Frank told his associates to find out the name of the photographer. They found out all about him. Then Frank hired eight photographers to follow that guy around the clock and shoot him for two weeks. All night long, they were flashing outside the guy’s house. Drove the guy nuts.

That’s when you understand it. When it’s happening to you. The night shortly after Shawn and I filed for divorce we both went to see our son Chance play in a Little League game. A horde of paparazzi pinched in on the field. It was a night game, and the mob wouldn’t stop flashing. The umpire stopped the game and called the park ranger. We’re talking about kids, here. What happens if a flash goes off, distracts a batter, and the poor kid gets hit in the head with a fastball? Still, the paparazzi didn’t back off. I suppose you could say, “Well, Larry, why didn’t you leave?” But what kind of signal would that send to my kids? They’re already going through the trauma of seeing their family separated. Now we can’t even be there to support Chance at a Little League game?

There’s just no winning. During the chaotic scene when we were trying to get to our cars, and my mother-in-law was knocked down, I couldn’t do a thing. I’d been instructed by security to keep my hands in my pockets and not say a word. From the time I was a kid my friends called me Zeke the Creek the Mouthpiece because it rhymed, and I was an endless flow of words. But I now know what happens in a world of no privacy. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Which brings me to the tabloid stories around the separation. First of all, I believe what happened between my wife and me is nobody’s business but our own. If I didn’t feel comfortable asking those questions of my guests, why would I let anyone ask them of me? But I do want you to know a couple of things. A lot of the information that has appeared in the tabloids was not true. Or, in some cases, tiny truths were blown up into giant lies.

Years ago, Elizabeth Taylor came on my show after the tabloids reported that she had Alzheimer’s disease and was about to die. She laughed. That’s the best way to debunk those stories. I publicly denied a lot of the reports. But it’s like Paul Newman told me: They can ask you if you beat your wife. If you say no, then the headline reads,  NEWMAN DENIES BEATING WIFE . Here is the most important thing I can tell you about the experience. A man I had breakfast with every day, who didn’t like my wife, who wanted to see me divorced, and who was in need of money, admitted on his deathbed that he had sent information about Shawn to the tabloids. His information was tainted. One of his final wishes was for forgiveness.

We did forgive him. I forgave him because I’ve always felt it’s better to make the best of the situation. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my time. But I’ve always tried to correct them. I have been married eight times to seven women. I have regrets. I have a son who I didn’t get to know until he was in his midthirties. He is now the president of my cardiac foundation, and I couldn’t feel closer to him. I missed his childhood. He sat in a seat at Miami Dolphins games as a boy and looked up at the press box where I was announcing and wondered if he’d ever get to meet me. I had no idea. Just recently, when I was honored by the Dolphins, it gave him great joy to go to the game with me and watch me broadcast from the booth.

The fact is, while late-night comedians were making fun of me, while articles and shows made it look like Shawn and I were through, the two of us took a couple of weeks off to drive up the California coast. We toasted marshmallows. We worked things out.

Nothing else about our marriage should really matter to the public. If this seems like I’m copping out, so be it. I know better. If I tried to publicly clear the air, I’d only rake things up and set off another media frenzy. All that matters to me at this point is that things are right in my own home. As for the bigger picture? This is what I’ve taken away from my experiences with the media on a grand scale: I can see three forces moving fast, picking up steam, and about to collide. The first is the eat-it-up, spit-it-out culture we now live in. 60 Minutes is one of the most respected and longest-running shows on television. We all benefited from watching Mike Wallace. It’s been on for more than forty years. But I don’t think the show would even be given a chance if it started now and got the initial reaction that it did back in 1968. It bombed at first. CBS had to stick with it and find the right place for it in its lineup. Now, if a promising new show doesn’t get eyeballs, it’s gone in a finger snap. A lot of good is going to be lost. The second concern is about what will happen when the Internet and the television screen come together: When we enter a universe of a million screaming channels—watch out. And the third is what George Orwell predicted in 1984 and Rod Serling touched on in many episodes of The Twilight Zone. A society without privacy may very well create a culture of zombies. Shhhhhhhhhhhhh. Someone’s listening . . . I don’t know what the world will look like if and when these three forces collide. But I’m glad I’m not going to be around to see it.