[Congressional Record Volume 146, Number 105 (Monday, September 11, 2000)]
[Senate]
[Pages S8340-S8341]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                              ADAM CLYMER

 Mr. MOYNIHAN. Mr. President, a goodly number of Senators know 
Adam Clymer of The New York Times as a cheerful, even avuncular, 
reporter affably working the corridors here in the Capitol carefully 
chronicling our not always cheerful proceedings. He was prominent in 
the pages of the Times, but was not much in evidence in the electronic 
media. Alas, all that changed in an instant last week. This paragon of 
journalistic self-effacement had celebrity thrust upon him by an open 
microphone. With characteristic detachment, he related this not 
altogether welcome experience in an article, ``My Media Moment,'' which 
appeared in this Sunday's Times. May an admirer and friend wish that it 
last more than the allotted fifteen minutes.
  I ask that the article be printed in the Congressional Record.
  The article follows:

[[Page S8341]]

           [From the New York Times, Sunday, Sept. 10, 2000]

    A Bush-League Aside Vaults An Onlooker Into the Campaign's Glare

                            (By Adam Clymer)

       I have been writing newspaper articles for four decades. 
     Broadcasting has never tempted me, except for bit parts on 
     such sober outlets as C-SPAN and WQXR-FM. So what was I doing 
     with an invitation to appear on the ``Late Show With David 
     Letterman''? And seriously thinking about doing it, before 
     saying, no thanks?
       I am used to being around big news. Checking out the 
     posters in Red Square when Nikita S. Khrushchev was ousted. 
     Sitting with Lyndon B. Johnson (and his dogs) when he 
     congratulated Mike Mansfield on the 1965 Voting Rights Act. 
     Standing on the White House lawn when Richard M. Nixon quit. 
     Elections, trials, Supreme Court confirmations.
       But being the story is different from observing it. And 
     last week, I seemed to be the story.
       On Monday, Gov. George W. Bush spotted me at a rally in 
     Naperville, Ill. Not realizing the microphones were working, 
     he told his running mate, Dick Cheney, that I was a ``major-
     league [expletive].''
       This was hardly the first time I have been attacked, though 
     it was the first time the attack accorded me ``major league'' 
     status.
       It is true that I never made the Nixon enemies list; a 
     deputy press secretary to whom I complained said all that 
     proved was that he had nothing to do with compiling it.
       But after Vietnamese and Chinese students beat me up in 
     Moscow to cap a demonstration against the United States 
     bombing of Vietnam, the Soviet government expelled me as a 
     ``hooligan.'' A deputy of Sheriff Jim Clark in Selma, Ala., 
     once slugged me (because of an embarrassing article Jack 
     Nelson of The Los Angeles Times had written; I hardly 
     resemble Mr. Nelson, but maybe all newspaper reporters look 
     alike to racists). The Washington Times has called me 
     unpatriotic, and some people at The Weekly Standard have 
     attacked me in print, too.
       But those attacks all came from the ideological fringes, 
     and nobody took them seriously. Maybe Mr. Bush is entitled to 
     more credence. After all, I sometimes vote for his party's 
     candidates, as I sometimes vote for Democrats. He cares about 
     education and wants his party to attract African-Americans 
     and Hispanics. Sure, he is not as centrist as he tries to 
     portray himself, but then what politician is? (The pre-
     nomination Joseph I. Lieberman, maybe.) In any case, Mr. Bush 
     is no right-wing nut, so shrugging his remark off as the 
     sound of an extremist was hardly the proper response.
       Initially, there was only a moment to think of a response 
     when a pack of reporters descended. One smart-aleck answer 
     occurred to me. Since we were not too far from Wrigley Field, 
     I thought of saying something like, ``At least I didn't trade 
     Sammy Sosa,'' a riposte that would have dealt with Mr. Bush's 
     own major-league experience as boss of the Texas Rangers. But 
     I rejected that and said simply, ``I was disappointed with 
     the governor's language.''
       When reporters asked what he had against me, I suggested 
     they ask him. He was not saying anything, except, ``I regret 
     that a private comment I made to the vice-presidential 
     candidate made it to the public airwaves.''
       After that, I tried to fade into the background, which is 
     how newspaper reporters try to work, as much as you can 
     around a presidential campaign that has dozens of 
     photographers and television cameramen following every move. 
     I was in Illinois to cover Mr. Cheney, and when we walked to 
     an El entrance where he would be photographed taking a train, 
     the lenses were on me, not him.
       Suddenly my voice mail at the office was full. It was Labor 
     Day, and I seemed to be the news flavor of the day. Radio 
     stations in Phoenix and Scotland, Seattle and Australia, the 
     BBC and a sports network said they needed me to fulfill their 
     commitments to informing their listeners and viewers. Among 
     those calling were ``Good Morning America,'' CBS's ``Early 
     Show'' and CNN's ``Larry King Live.''
       I had plenty of time to listen to the messages because Mr. 
     Cheney, anxious to avoid the storm Mr. Bush had stirred up, 
     did not want to talk on the record to the reporters traveling 
     with him. So I could not ask the question I had traveled to 
     ask, about why he gave only 1 percent of his income to 
     charity.
       Almost all the phone calls were either invitations to 
     speak, which I ducked, or encouraging, even envious, messages 
     from friends. ``Can I have your autograph?'' asked one New 
     York Times Colleague. ``We're so proud of you,'' said a 
     Democratic friend in Austin, Tex. Republican friends chimed 
     in, too, to insist that their party was no monolith on the 
     subject of Adam Clymer. But e-mail was a different matter. A 
     right-wing Web site posted my e-mail address and urged its 
     army to charge, so about 300 hostile messages flooded in and 
     choked the system.
       The next day I went back out with Mr. Cheney, and he 
     discussed and defended his contributions. On a flight to 
     Allentown, PA., he said he should be given credit not just 
     for direct donations but also for corporate matching grants 
     and speaking without charge to nonprofit groups. Television 
     viewers might have expected glares, and at least some 
     reference to the events they were being shown over and over, 
     which includes his loyal agreement with Mr. Bush. Instead I 
     asked questions, some of which he seemed to dislike, and he 
     answered them as he chose. Not buddy-buddy, but strictly 
     professional.
       The Cheney entourage caught up with Mr. Bush, so his vice-
     presidential candidate could introduce him in Allentown, 
     Bethlehem and Scranton. Every time we stopped near a 
     television set, some cable channel was showing the clip of 
     Mr. Bush muttering about me to Mr. Cheney and then pondering 
     its impact on his campaign and the future of Western 
     civilization.
       By Wednesday the e-mail flood was drying up, although I was 
     asked to endorse a T-shirt memorializing his comment, and 
     someone else sent a message saying that an Internet site for 
     my fans was being created.
       I was back in the office, and colleagues asked if Mr. Bush 
     had apologized to me. I had not heard from him, or from his 
     aides, who were busy telling reporters I had been mean to him 
     when I reported in April that ``Texas has had one of the 
     nation's worst public health records for decades,'' and that 
     Mr. Bush had not made much of an effort to fix things.
       I was actually proud of that article--which got immensely 
     renewed readership last week as people tried to figure out 
     what exactly was bugging the governor. But if Mr. Bush did 
     not like it, hey, it's free country. After all, if newspaper 
     reporters wanted to be loved by their customers, we could 
     drive Good Humor trucks.
       Newspapers reporters aren't immune from talking into an 
     open mike either. About 18 months ago, I was editing an 
     article describing how hard Mr. Bush was working to study 
     national issues. With feeble gallows humor, I suggested that 
     perhaps he needed the tutorials more than others. But while 
     my comparable slurs of President Clinton, to cite one 
     prominent example, stayed private, a spectacular typesetting 
     blunder got my wise-crack printed. Through an Editors' Note, 
     the Times apologized, sort of.
       Now maybe Vice President Al Gore, whose aides seem 
     delighted by this business, could do me a favor and make some 
     comparable stumble. Then I could get back to covering the 
     campaign instead of being part of it.

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