The News Sorority Page 51
But there’s another way to look at the seemingly anticlimactic nature of these women’s triumphs—and their long reigns: The punctiliousness, focused ambition, and high quality of work these women had to master and refine in order to earn places that were long more easily, and with lower bar, given to men made them superior strategists and more dogged professionals. They’ve prevailed for so long because they had to be better.
As reporters and communciators of that which was beyond their control—the news of the world—and as women in a tremendously competitive professional arena in which their gender was an impediment, their ability to strongly control what they could control has been central to their success. Each has been self-aware and self-powering in a different way, and their careers offer lessons in female survival. We have seen how Diane used her intense work ethic, her charm and mystery, her witty self-deprecation, and her staged humility to win over workplace skeptics, to neutralize colleagues’ resentment, and to endear herself to viewers. Whether she followed her fiercely sensible mother’s post-widowhood advice or found the way herself, she married late for her generation, regional background, and copious opportunities—but it has been a nurturing and career-enhancing marriage, and she used the fact that she did not have children to her benefit, both by way of the additional time and undivided focus it afforded her and in enabling her to craft a persona as America’s Aunt: deeply admiring of the quotidian pains of family life amid crisis, concerned about young celebrities’ destructive behavior.
Katie was more straight-on, more aggressive. She used her innate toughness and the relatability born of her embrace of her American Girl identity to crash through impediments and to wedge herself into opportunities. She was easily mistaken as unexceptional, and, while such appraisal hurt her, she turned the chip on her shoulder into a self-motivational tool and used her penchant for being underestimated to sneak up on—and trump—the patronizing eminences she interviewed. Once she had power, she cemented a brand—based on her unique combination of normalcy and edginess—that gained her an enormous fan base. But though she could have coasted, she went for more; and when the risk she took did not pay off, she continued to mine her options, pragmatically ignoring the status order of industry elitism.
As for Christiane, her resilience and savvy were honed by being an exile—an emissary from a rich, complicated, international culture, improbably imported to the most provincial Southern city that could still host a major media upstart. She relished defying the rules—she was foreign, seemingly uncaring about her looks, confrontational—which only kept her down until she could find the loophole in the system that let her claim the niche for which she seems to have been destined. Her bravery and idealistic fervor were shrewdly counterpointed by a cool temperament. She relied on the autonomy afforded her by foreign postings, amassing an unassailable reputation and charisma that enabled her to make story choices independent of network interference. It was when she had to play by the inside rules that her toughness met its match, and it was when she was given the chance to be vaunted American Host that she fell prey to U.S. audiences’ wariness toward women with accents and attitude. Still, true to character, she refused what for others might be a route and a trap—that of “selling out.” Instead, she retained her integrity even while lowering her wattage.
There’s a flip side of resilience—and that is vulnerability. Jeff Zucker says, “All three of these women are strong, but they’re still very vulnerable. It’s a very hard business, to put yourself out there” where millions see you daily, “every day, on the line. And be graded every day by people who have never had the courage to do this. Having the courage to put yourself out there every day: it says something about all three of these women.”
Ginny Vicario, the first female camera operator ever hired by a network, who has collaborated with them all, takes it further. She says: “Diane, Katie, and Christiane have worked their asses off. But with that hard work has come compassion, in the stories they’ve told, in the stories they’ve chosen to tell, and in their lives. Power has not taken that away. If anything, it has increased it.”
All three of these women modeled a reality of success that was different from past models. The more powerful they became, the more interested in people they became. They remained profoundly committed to telling the stories of ordinary Americans, unfairly beseiged victims, people in cataclysms and crises, fascinating celebrities both worthy and spoiled, world leaders both benign and heinous. They passionately kept up their commitments to their families, friends, and needy strangers through both improvised and formal philanthropies. They remembered what they had pushed past—grief, danger, tragedy—and the more they saw and reported, the more they folded the new experiences into those primary lessons. As intensely competitive as they have been, each of them had a moral brake on runaway power. They asked, “Where’s the heart?” (Diane) or they considered their network colleagues their cherished “family” (Christiane) or they knew that that “other side”—the “payback” side—of their luck and bounty existed (Katie). Whatever their idiosyncrasies, whatever their egos, whatever their aggressiveness and ambition, they retained an experienced kernel of humbling reality, and it controlled their choices and their consciences.
From Three Mile Island to the Arab Spring, from the Gulf War to Bosnia to Iraq to Syria, from Columbine to 9/11 to the Haiti and Japanese earthquakes, from Matthew Shepard to Whitney Houston to Hosni Mubarek, from cancer awareness to corruption to genocide to childhood poverty, we got the news from them.
And we also got from them what is underneath the news, what is underneath all news: We got humanity.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THE BOOKS I WRITE are journalistic rather than narrative nonfiction. For the most part, I let my sources tell much of the story, as they knew and lived and appraised it; so I am first of all dependent on them—and, secondly, I am grateful to them. First the “dependent” part, as relates to this book: Most of my sources have spent years—in many cases, decades—employed in television news. I’ve observed this world avidly through the TV screen and through the lenses of women’s issues and a changing American culture: the latter, subjects I have written about for many years. But the professional world of television news is one I have only just entered. I mapped the territory—I learned its cadences, rituals, values, and jargon, its earnestness and cynicism—through interviewing these people, who gave me their insights and memories. Then there’s the “grateful” part: I am grateful to them because every professional milieu is its own ecosystem, with powerful people to be feared and protected and secrets not often shared with outsiders. My sources took risks in telling me tales out of school, without which my book would have been incomplete—and boring.
Many of my sources spoke for attribution; some requested anonymity; some toggled between a desire to be quoted in one or many instances and a wish to remain a blind source in other cases.
Needless to say, there were many people who turned down interviews or sent word that they would not be interviewed or did not respond to my interview requests. No hard feelings—we who do this work are plenty used to this.
As for why I did not interview Diane, Katie, and Christiane: Basically, I was not able to. I was told at the outset that Katie would not give an interview, and my request to view Diane in the run-up hours to World News, which might have included or have been followed by an interview, was turned down. By the time I secured Christiane’s interest in this project, for the sake of balance and uniformity, I decided not to request an interview with her. Also, there is this: Negotiating for prized interviews sometimes involves ceding a certain amount of control, or feeling in some way influenced by a bond established with the subject about whom one is objectively writing. I was not willing to do the former, and I felt concerned that I would be too easily susceptible to the latter.
Here, in alphabetical order, are my sources. I thank you all.
• • •
JERRY ABRAMSON, Leila Amanpour and Lizzy Amanpour (great thanks to the Amanpour sisters, for opening a window upon a unique family, and with such elegance and courtesy), Barbara Andrukonis, Magaret Aro, Pierre Bairin, Dr. Shaul Bakhash (I am honored to have the benefit of your authoritative command of recent Iranian history), Jon Banner, Nancy Battaglia, David Bauder, Lori Beecher, Diana Bellew (thank you for the New Hall yearbook, the wonderful photograph, and your witty candor), David Bernknopf, Aviva Bobb, Don Browne, the late Frances Buss Buch, Bob Cain, Arch Campbell, Leesa Campbell, Connie Chung, David Cosby (very grateful for your and the late George Unseld’s memories of the painful segregation of old Louisville), Christine Craft, Jim Crunkelton, and Chris Curle.
Bruce Dalrymple, Emma Daly, Christine Davidson, John Dean (I feel I lived the Nixon White House’s view of Watergate through you and Gerry Warren), Nancy Diamond, Lane Duncan, Haleh Esfandiari (it was an honor to interview you), Gail Evans, Jeff Fager, Don Farmer, Yael Federbush, Patricia Fieldsteel, Maria Fleet, Jon Fleischaker, Marc Fleischaker, Janie McMullen Florea, Marie Fox, Jon Friedman, Paul Friedman, Brian Gadinsky, Lee Goldstein, Allison Gollust, Roger Goodman, Tom Goodman, Judi Lempert Green, Diana Greene, and Tom Hampton.
Lois Hart, Ron Haviv, Greg Haynes, Sallie Schulten Haynes, Sparkle Hayter, Andrew Heyward, Melanie Howard, Harry Jacobson-Bayer (thank you for the wonderful Seneca High photographs), Sherry Jacobson-Bayer, Beth Johnson, Rick Kaplan, Ted Kavanau, Parisa Khosravi, Marcia Ladendorff, Susan Lasalla, Chet LeSourd, Kathleen Lobb, Mandy Locke, Alice Chumbley Lora (special thanks—and admiration), Tony Maddox, Bob McDonald, Celia McDonald, Marcy McGinness, Phyllis McGrady, Liza McGuirk, Milton Metz, Judy Milestone (thank you for the great photo), Milt Miller, Gig Moses, and Roger Mudd.
Pat O’Gorman, Kathy O’Hearn, Jane Pauley, Lisa Paulsen, Alan Perris, Joe Peyronnin, Beryl Pfizer, Mark Phillips, Cammie Plummer, Bella Pollen, Tom Porter, Stewart Robensen, Anna Robertsen, Mark Robertson, Ira Rosen, Shelley Ross, Ellen Rossen, Ken Rowland, Lynne Russell, and David Rust (thank you for your real-time, encrypted diaries of those hazardous years in Bosnia and your fact-checking assistance), Karim Sadjadpour, Marlene Sanders, Bob Schieffer, Reese Schonfeld, Ed Shadburne, Pat Shifke, Jennifer Siebens, Bill Small, Martin Snapp, Sandy Socolow, Jim Smith, Ingrid Soudek, Ellen Spiceland, Flip Spiceland, Jim Taricani, Bob Taylor, Andrew Tkach (thank you for the CDs of Christiane’s perilous African and Asian investigative journeys and your fact-checking assistance), Andrew Tyndall, the late George Unseld, Ginny Vicario, Michael Vitez, Jonathan Wald, Richard Wald, Dave Walker, Amy Walter, Gerry Warren, Claire Weinraub, Betsy West, Av Westin, Bruce Whelihan, Sam Zelman, Susan Zirinsky, and Jeff Zucker.
• • •
THANK YOU to my thirty-five unattributed sources. You know who you are. Your insights were invaluable and I deeply appreciate your trust in me.
• • •
THANK YOU to the Gatekeepers: those who were crucial to my gaining access to approved sources. For Katie, that means the estimable (and very nice) Matthew Hiltzik—and his team, including Rachel Adler, Rachel Reichblum, and Jillian Taratunio. Matthew, I know you started warily, and with unpleasant memories of another author’s book. I sincerely hope this book has justified the faith extended to me. For opening the door to many people who worked with Diane, I have two ABC women, past and present, to thank. Cathie Levine, I so appreciated your coming to me when you heard I was doing this book (that’s the dream of respectful unauthorized biographers), and Julie Townsend, I greatly enjoyed working with you as well. Thank you, too, most recently, Van Scott. For Christiane: At ABC, Emily Lenzner and Natalia Labenskyj empathetically heard my plans for this project—and Heather Riley ultimately opened the door. Maggie Thomas at CNN was an abiding helper/conduit for many matters Amanpour, as was Neel Khairzada. Appreciation to you.
Thank you so much, Haleh Bakhash, for introducing me to your remarkable parents, whose historical perspectives on Iran from the 1950s through the Revolution were invaluable. Thank you, the always generous Shirley Velasquez—my valued compadre in much of my work over the years, for assembling a tremendously useful scrapbook of clips on all three women, and thank you to the cheerful and very sharp Megan Pedersen for putting my Bibliography in better order than I could. Rebecca Webber, also a longtime colleague—an outstanding, and gentle-mannered, researcher: Thank you for the astute fact-checking on the Watergate section—and more. Megan, Rebecca, and Shirley: Thank you for the yeoman’s work on that bane of authors everywhere, the Source Notes. Elisa Petrini—dear friend and editorial brilliance: Gratitude for helping me come up with this formulation—and for reading and advising on my drafts, for noticing things I failed to notice, and for keeping my spirits up during some difficult patches. Bettina Stammen, photo researcher par excellence: gratitude for skillfully finding and acquiring the rights to images. Thanks, too, to Shana Darnell, photo editor at Turner Image. And thank you, Karen Mayer. Oliver LeSeur—thank you for being always available, in the middle of the night, on weekends, whenever computer emergencies and glitches occurred (and, of course, they always occurred at the most fraught junctures). Props, too, to Regina Alexander of Village Digital, for always being there—again, sometimes in the middle of the night—to aid this digital Luddite.
Leaving the best—and most important—for last. I deeply thank my agent, Suzanne Gluck: Your power and respect within the industry and your advocacy for your writers is matched by your down-to-earth menschiness. I am so glad I am your client and that we are friends—you are a caring, empathic wise-woman and a blunt straight shooter, and I always know you have my back: a dynamite triple combination. Suzanne’s terrific assistants at William Morris Endeavor, Eve Atterman and Samantha Franks, were always so helpful—and delightful.
Ann Godoff was a dream editor. I mean that literally: For many years I had dreamed of doing a book for Ann, widely known as one of the most astute and prestigious editors in the business—and how lucky I was to get this opportunity, and for just the right book. Ann’s peerless insight, her perfectionistic attention—and her kindness (toward me and toward the people I am writing about)—made this challenging process go down easier than it might have, and she taught me a lot in the bargain. I had written the entire book, but something about its launching chapters wasn’t quite right, and a conversation you and I had—a profound but simple point you passionately offered as we spoke in your office one October day—not only made me see how to adjust the frame but emotionally validated my entire thesis, enabling me to elevate the book’s very meaning. Thank you.
Benjamin Platt made everything that goes along with the production of the book pleasant; I felt in such good—and reassuring—hands with you. Sarah Hutson and Yamil Anglada, thanks you for the expert publicity.
My sister Liz Weller, vice president of legal at a major cable network, has been my sage cheerleader for all the years of effort on this book. She is my best friend in the universe and I don’t know what I would do without her. My lifelong friends, writers Carol Ardman and Eileen Stukane: ditto. Writing an unauthorized triple biography of highly respected people exacts wear and tear on the sometimes-faint-of-ego, and all of you were there for me. And a pinot grigio toast (deviled eggs on a platter) to my fellow Good Witches: Lisa DePaulo, Judith Newman, and Aimee Lee Ball—who make doing this work, day in and day out, at our high-pitched level, feel invaluably supported—as well as delightfully snark- and gossip-filled. In addition, I, like many another hunched-over wordsmith, have discovered the unique life-perk that is Facebook, which, for me, is a little like getting to host a salon with a This Is Your Life cast of characters. (If Facebook had existed decades ago, I could have skipped psychoanalysis.) So a big HEART emoticon to all my buddies in my customized virtual universe of Likes and links and Comments.
My husband, John Kelly—author of beautiful, powerful, lauded books on the Black Death, the Irish Famine, and, out very soon, Churchill in 1940—was the one who, as I was conceiving this trio and racking my
brain for the exactly right third, suggested Christiane: a brilliant—the hiding in plain sight! the but-of-course!—round-out for this triad. It pays to be married to a man who follows international news, present and historical, more than his provincial wife does. When you are two long-married writers, your relationship is one part putting up with each other’s outsized idiosyncrasies; one part telling the other (sometimes politely) to be quiet when they’re procrastatingly riffing while you’re in the middle of composing a sentence . . . and a third part: a lifesaving, unequaled feeling that No other human on earth knows what I have gone through! Right after you finish a book, you forget all the other crap and behold in your mate only that majestic last thing, in rather the same way that, after hours of labor in a hospital maternity ward, you forget everything else and behold just the baby.
And, speaking of babies, my book-finishing “bonus,” so to speak—the best in the world!—was provided by my wonderful, beautiful daughter- in-law and my terrific, handsome son—respectively, Rebecca Sinn and Jonathan Kelly (these two young magazine powerhouses are possessed of far more maturity, stability, and common sense than John and I ever had at their age): Jack Dawson Kelly. Jack’s arrival on the night of November 9, 2013, was a major-network-regularly-scheduled-program-interrupting event rivaling anything Diane or Katie could lead a broadcast with or any white-peace-flag-flying burst of great news that Christiane could report from a war front. Darling Jack: ShaSha loves you so much! And you have the most wonderful parents.