[Congressional Record Volume 142, Number 48 (Tuesday, April 16, 1996)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E537]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




  SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE COLUMNIST HERB CAEN RECEIVES PULITZER PRIZE

                                 ______


                            HON. TOM LANTOS

                             of california

                    in the house of representatives

                        Tuesday, April 16, 1996

  Mr. LANTOS. Mr. Speaker, Herb Caen, a truly extraordinary talent in 
the world of journalism, joined an elite group of journalists last week 
when he was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. He received a special Pulitzer 
Award that recognizes his unique and enormous contributions to the city 
that he loves with all his heart. For almost 58 years, Herb Caen has 
delighted residents of San Francisco and the surrounding communities 
with stories and thoughts on our unique and wonderful ``City by the 
Bay.''
  Herb Caen fills his daily 1,000-word column with an incredible range 
of items, from political platforms to society gossip to humorous 
encounters with the many interesting individuals within the rich and 
diverse city of San Francisco. While there is almost always a laugh 
contained in Herb Caen's column, he did not shy away from expressing 
controversial opinions on issues concerning the city and the country. I 
am delighted that the Pulitzer board recognized these extraordinary 
qualities when they conferred this special prize, only the fifth in the 
history of the awards.
  The only person who can adequately express the importance of this 
award to the San Francisco community is Herb Caen himself. So, Mr. 
Speaker, I invite my colleagues to read the column which appeared the 
day after the award was announced in order to get a good taste of the 
wit and elegance which earned Herb Caen this well-deserved honor.

                           Hey, Look Me Over!

                             (By Herb Caen)

       ``Pulitzer Prizewinning columnist.'' Well, it does have a 
     certain ring to it. And it will definitely add a touch of 
     class to the obituary, which has been moldering away in the 
     morgue for years. I'm not trying to be morbid in the Edgar 
     Allan Poe mode. ``Morgue'' is what old newshounds call their 
     paper's library, and it's somebody's job to keep the obits up 
     to date. ``Pulitzer Prizewinning columnist'' will also juice 
     up the resume if I ever have to start jobhunting again. Don't 
     laugh. Downsizing is the order of the day. I command a large 
     salary, several dollars a week over scale. I could well be on 
     the short list for the gold-plated watch and farewell 
     handshake, thereby making room on the payroll for the pitcher 
     and running back we so desperately need.
       I got the word that I'd won a Pulitzer late yesterday 
     morning when Karyn Hunt of the local Associated Press bureau 
     called and asked for a statment. I thought she was kidding 
     because I happen to know she's a great kidder. How do I know? 
     Because--and here's your item--Karyn once worked for me, 
     manning the phones and checking stories. She got out as soon 
     as she could and has colorful stories to tell about what a 
     mizzerable person I am to work for, but I digress. Actually, 
     I'm not that hard to work for. Ask Carole Vernier, who works 
     for me now. On second thought, don't ask Carole. I do get a 
     little difficult around deadline. I am no longer digressing, 
     I am regressing. Say, can the Pulitzer board!--and thank you 
     thank you thank you whoever your are--where was I? Oh yes, 
     can the board take the prize back once it has been bestowed? 
     This could well be a historic test.
       Anyway, when Karyn of the AP called for a comment, I said 
     ``A little late for April Fool jokes, isn't it?'' She finally 
     convinced me this was for real, whereupon I fell back on the 
     old barnyard joke whose punchline is ``What a pullet 
     surprise,'' laying an egg in the process. ``Be serious,'' she 
     said, sternly, ``I'm on deadline.'' ``You're on deadline?'' I 
     snapped. ``Whaddya think I'm on, a Stairmaster? And you know 
     how I get at deadline time,'' In truth, my thoughts were so 
     scattered and my surprise, pullet or otherwise, so genuine 
     that I had no statement to make beyond ``Duh, I'll get back 
     to you.'' What I think happened is that I outlasted the 
     Pulitzer board members. They kept waiting for me to pop off, 
     so they wouldn't have to think about that West Coast noodnik 
     any longer, and when I passed 80 they caved in.
       About 25 years ago, Art Hoppe and I made a solemn pact, 
     sealed in blood: If either or both of us ever won a Pulitzer, 
     we'd refuse to accept it. That's because we felt that a lot 
     of columnists who didn't deserve the prize were winning it. 
     Besides, the years were rolling along without a nod from 
     Olympus, which would make it easy for him or me to say 
     coldly, ``Too late, ladies and gentlemen, too late.'' Well, 
     when the word came through yesterday, I was in a quandary. A 
     sacred vow sealed with a vile oath is not to be broken 
     lightly. As I was tentatively rehearsing variations on ``I 
     don't need no steenkin' prizes,'' Hoppe poked his head into 
     my office and said ``Forget it. I release you.'' That is one 
     of several reasons I think Art Hoppe deserved a Pulitzer a 
     long time ago.
       No, I never expected to win the gonfalon, the gong, the 
     biggie. Year after year I studied the columns of prizewinners 
     and discerned a pattern: To win a Pulitzer, it is necessary 
     to be serious, ready to render learned opinions on matters of 
     importance not only to the nation but to a waiting world. A 
     three-dot columnist in a smallish city on the coast hardly 
     seems worthy of a place in the pantheon. Walter Winchell, my 
     original inspiration, never won anything of note, and he used 
     even more dots than I, to excellent effect. It's true that 
     satirical columns picked up a prize from time to time, as 
     long as they weren't too funny. I will not deny that although 
     I am not often funny, I am definitely silly and that seemed 
     to me the kiss of death.
       What I received yesterday, said the AP, was ``a special 
     award for what the Pulitzer board described as `his 
     extraordinary and continuing contribution as a voice and a 
     conscience of his city.' '' I can be serious about that. I am 
     as seriously touched--nay, overwhelmed--as I am seriously in 
     love with ``my'' city. The Pulitzer, coming on the heels of 
     my 80th birthday last week, with its attendant tributes and 
     demonstrations of friendship, has rendered me limp with 
     gratitude, speechless with swirling thoughts impossible to 
     articulate. Mixed up somewhere in the award, I figure, is a 
     streak of sentimental regard for an old party who has been 
     grinding it out, year after year, and, at the same time, a 
     salute to longevity, for which I thank my German mama and my 
     French papa who had the good taste to come to this loveliest 
     of cities so long ago.
       This is also, of course, a victory for the mechanical 
     typewriter over the burgeoning forces of cyberspace. I hereby 
     hub my Royal, a brand name that is currently being dragged 
     through the mud. The suspected Unabomber is said to have 
     written his manifesto on a 40-year-old Royal, the same age as 
     mine. As for the part about being ``the conscience of the 
     city,'' this city had one--plus great style--long before I 
     came down the river from Sacramento. The city's overriding 
     sense of fair play always appealed to me and I have been 
     delighted to get the chance to help keep it alive. About 
     being ``the voice,'' I seem to have lost it at the moment, 
     being speechless with surprise. All I can manage to croak is, 
     ``For columns like this, they give a Pulitzer?''

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