Classic Brill's Content Article Contrasts Journalists With Historians

Do journalists seek to educate the public or to attract the widest possible audience? The February 2001 issue of Brill's Content contained an article by historian David Greenberg titled "Gracious Loser? Hardly." Greenberg cautioned that journalists and historians have different methods and different objectives: "The journalist in me searches for the relevance of historians' scholarly work, trying to see how it can enrich our understanding of today's world; the historian in me shouts back that forcing history into contemporary debates can violate its integrity and that, like a well-wrought poem, history should be palpable and mute, like globed fruit. Though I frequently write about historical matters for the popular press, I often find myself warning readers against using history as a source of instruction."

Greenberg noted that during the aftermath of the tightly contested 2000 presidential election between George W. Bush and Al Gore, many journalists compared Gore's reaction to Bush's narrow victory to Richard Nixon's reaction to barely losing the 1960 presidential election to John F. Kennedy; a mythology has developed that Nixon graciously accepted defeat but Greenberg's research indicated that the opposite is true: "It turned out that far from rolling over in the wake of Kennedy's victory, as I had always believed they did, Republican officials, including some of Nixon's closest aides, waged aggressive challenges in 11 states." Greenberg did not have trouble discovering the truth: "Like the purloined letter, this information was hidden in plain view--in the pages of America's leading newspapers."

Despite the fact that any dedicated and competent researcher could determine that Nixon's allies vigorously contested Kennedy's electoral triumph, many media commentators insisted that Nixon had lost graciously and that Gore should do likewise. Greenberg wrote an op-ed piece for the Los Angeles Times in an effort to explain what really happened after the 1960 election. In his Brill's Content piece, Greenberg made it clear that he had no political ax to grind: "My point wasn't to bash Nixon or to succor the Gore forces. I wanted to correct the historical record, which I believed was being twisted and wrenched from context for expedience. It seemed to me that if pundits were going to cite the 1960 election as a precedent, they ought at least to know all the facts."

After the publication of his Los Angeles Times' piece, Greenberg was invited to appear on several national TV programs, including 20/20, Inside Edition, Hardball and NBC's Nightly News. Greenberg recalled that at first he thought that his efforts to publicize the truth would be very successful: "The reaction induced some delusions of grandeur. I entertained fantasies that I was going to set the historical record straight, that other historians would start scouring the sources, forging beyond the self-serving memoirs and timeworn memories to piece together the neglected story of the 1960 election aftermath. Good information would drive out bad, and whatever would become of electoral accuracy in this affair, historical accuracy would at least claim a small victory."

It did not take long for Greenberg to realize that nothing of that sort would happen: "I was mistaken...For every pundit who corrected the record about Nixon--and several did--dozens more rehashed the canned version of events. Like a hapless gardener, I would root out one weed only to have more sprout elsewhere."

While it is easy to understand why partisan figures perpetuated the Nixon mythology--Republicans wanted to rehabilitate Nixon's reputation as much as possible while also pressuring Gore to not contest the election--it is more difficult to understand and much more disturbing to consider why so many media members did not actively seek out the truth. Greenberg speculated, "In the case of the pundits, the bias was rooted, I think, not in ideology but in how they do their job. Newspeople love a good story, and the tale of Nixon's magnanimity teems with irresistible irony...The story also lends the pundits a veneer of credibility and fair-mindedness: They can show everyone that they're neither knee-jerk Nixon haters nor congenital JFK courtiers."

As disappointed as Greenberg was in the conduct of the pundits, Greenberg found it "most troubling" that television news reporters--most notably those affiliated with 20/20--made no effort to uncover and report the truth. Greenberg's experience with 20/20 was, in his opinion, "reflective of the shoddy way in which TV news is sometimes reported." While Greenberg's Los Angeles Times' article brought his research to the attention of 20/20, Greenberg's interactions with the show's booker demonstrated to Greenberg that, as he paraphrased the perspective of 20/20's producers, "It was easier to run with a familiar story (even one demonstrably untrue) than to take time to consider new information."

Greenberg concluded that "most journalists enlist a historian not on his or her own terms but on their terms. Journalists seek not to get a lengthier, more subtle, and more complicated take on the past, but to borrow the aura of authority that emanates from a 'historian' and thus be relieved of having to make sense of history for themselves."

TV news shows often do not seek out historians or other figures who are experts in the specific subject matter being covered but rather the producers simply interview any alleged authority whose credentials make him seem impressive and well-informed. Greenberg criticized even the journalists who correctly reported the Nixon story, because many of those journalists did not in fact do their jobs any better than the journalists who incorrectly reported the story: "...I was struck by another irony. Although several commentators had reported my findings, few inquired into my sources, looked at my research, or quizzed me about how I knew what I knew. In other words, many of those who adopted my argument were as guilty as those who repeated the tales of Nixon's magnanimity. They, too, uncritically accepted what I said simply because I wear the label of historian...Constrained by the demand for sound bites, the allure of neat historical lessons, and the culture of competitive deadline journalism, most newspeople place getting a good story above honoring the richness and fullness of history. They rarely track down the right experts, or air competing points of view, or linger over wrinkles in an argument. They don't make room for the immense amounts of research, the careful sifting of evidence, and the nuanced verdicts of which history consists."

There is a cliche that anyone who knows how sausage is really made would never eat the stuff; that is how I feel about the mainstream print, internet and TV media: anyone who knows how those products are assembled would take most pundits' words for what they are worth--not much.

Brill's Content Exposed the "Fuzzy Math" in GQ's Turn of the Century Men of the Year Awards

Brill's Content only existed from 1998-2001 but during that brief period the magazine fulfilled its mandate to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. Some might consider it unwise to challenge those who buy ink--and/or bandwidth--by the barrel but Steven Brill and his capable staff never shied away from calling out the liars, the hypocrites and those who are just incompetent.

The February 2001 issue included an article by Kaja Perina titled "Men of the Year: GQ's Fuzzy Math." Perina noted that GQ declared to their readers, "Who said no one ever listens to you? We listen. So tell us: Who should be GQ's Men of the Year?" Perina wryly commented, "The answer appears to be whoever agrees to show up."

GQ's awards were presented on a show televised by the Fox network, so GQ preferred to give the honors to celebrities who agreed to participate in the telecast--regardless of how the reader voting actually turned out. Perina reported that an anonymous source with the L.A. Lakers said that when Phil Jackson was one of the Men of the Year in 1998 but declined to appear on the show the magazine gave him the honor in absentia--but when Jackson won again in 2000 and snubbed the telecast for a second time, GQ gave the award to Doc Rivers instead.

GQ spokeswoman Kathleen Madden admitted that the magazine not only elevated second place finisher Rivers ahead of the winner Jackson but that in the "Individual Athlete" category the runner-up Pete Sampras took home the hardware after the champion Tiger Woods declined to show up.

GQ editor Arthur Cooper did not see the problem with asking readers for their votes and then ignoring their choices: "You can't give an award to someone who doesn't want it. It's a nice award, but is it an Oscar? I'd like to think so, but I'm not fooling myself." Actually, you can give an award to someone even if the honoree declines to be on the TV show--and, as mentioned above, that is exactly what GQ did with Phil Jackson in 1998.

The "Great Honor" of Writing for Free

The next time a plumber fixes your sink or toilet, offer to give him exposure in lieu of payment and see how well that conversation goes--or tell the waiter at your favorite restaurant that instead of paying for your meal you intend to tell all of your friends just how great the restaurant is. That sounds ridiculous, right? If someone provides a service and/or a product to you, that person expects to be fairly compensated and you have no problem with providing fair compensation. Most businesses operate that way but, sadly, that is not how the writing business functions (or the chess teaching business, in many cases, but that is a story for another day). Writers are often expected to feel honored to have the opportunity to give away their work in exchange for nothing more than supposedly valuable exposure--but any self-respecting professional should feel insulted by such offers.

From 1998 to 2001, Steven Brill's Brill's Content provided a welcome corrective to a variety of media excesses. Brill's Content fulfilled the classic journalistic credo to "comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable"--which is a noble and necessary calling but not necessarily a commercially viable venture. The June 1999 issue contained an article by Josh Greenfeld, who wrote seven books, received an Oscar nomination for the screenplay Harry and Tonto and reviewed books for a variety of publications in the 1960s--including The New York Times, The Herald Tribune, Time, Life and Playboy. In 1969, Greenfeld reviewed Philip Roth's novel Portnoy's Complaint for The New York Times Book Review. Then, in 1996, Greenfeld received a letter from The New York Times Book Review explaining that they were putting out a special 100th anniversary edition and they would like to receive Greenfeld's permission to include all or at least part of his Portnoy's Complaint review. Greenfeld writes, "The letter makes it sound like a great honor for both me and the book and asks me to sign the bottom of the letter granting permission. I figure Portnoy and his author, Philip Roth, might want to be included in the honor roll of the most 'significant' books reviewed in the Book Review since its inception. Besides, I'm sure they'll send me a few bucks as an honorarium. Enough for a dinner. So I fax back my permission."

The special edition is published in October 1996. Greenfeld notes that it has "page after page chock full of ads interspersed with reviews. But nary a word of thanks to the reviewers. Which annoys me. But what the hell? With the revenue coming in from all those ads, they'll surely be sending me a bigger honorarium than I'd anticipated. Maybe even enough for a dinner or two."

You can guess what happened next--or, rather, what did not happen. Greenfeld allowed a few months to pass, then he sent a short note to the publication's editor, Charles McGrath. McGrath did not bother to reply but in the summer of 1998 he had the gall to write to Greenfeld and request permission to include Greenfeld's review in an upcoming book-length version of the 100th anniversary issue. Greenfeld immediately responded and declined to grant permission, prompting a phone call from Mike Levitas, an executive from the New York Times' book division. Levitas told Greenfeld that none of the reviewers had been paid but that he would be willing to send Greenfeld $50 out of his own pocket. Greenfeld comments, "That's insulting, but I let it go and repeat my grievance. He says that the people at the Book Review say they never got my note. Nonsense, I say, that's the other side of 'The check's in the mail.'" Then Levitas tells Greenfeld that the book has already been put together and it would be too late to pull the review and that even if they could do so this might upset Roth. So Greenfeld calls Roth and Roth tells him that he is fine with whatever Greenfeld decides. Greenfeld's subsequent letter to Levitas deserves to be reprinted in full:

Dear Mike:

I've thought a great deal about the Portnoy review and decided that though I have great personal affection for you and we go back a long way together, I cannot in good conscience as a lifelong freelance writer give permission for the Times to print that review gratis again. The Times originally paid me $150 for it and three runs for that sum is just ridiculous even if two of them are recycles. After you told me that no other reviewer has asked for any payment I looked through that issue and discovered that at least half of the other reviewers were dead and a good deal of them were Times staffers and of those still among the living, many are in the danger zone of still publishing books. You said you thought Philip might have a concern if he were not included so I called him and he told me he would not care in the least if he were not.

Neither the Times nor its Book Review are charitable institutions. And neither am I. But let's all act as if we were as a matter of principle. I suggest that in order for me to grant permission for the reuse of that review the Times donate $500 in my name to a charity of my designation. If that's not possible let's just forget about it and let sleeping reviews lie.

All my best,

Josh Greenfeld

One might expect that Greenfeld's cordial and direct letter concluded this matter; the Times could elect to make the charitable donation or to leave Greenfeld's review out of the book. Instead, the Times first pressured Roth to call Greenfeld and ask him to change his mind--and, when that failed, the Times simply published Greenfeld's review without his permission! I have a theory that some people just need to be hit--feel free to interpret that metaphorically or literally (I got the idea after hearing Charles Barkley say that the one way to tone down Dennis Rodman's antics on the basketball court was to give him a stern elbow, after which Rodman would calm down and just play ball); such people do not respond to logic and they do not seem to get the message until someone grabs them by the collar and makes it quite clear that they would be well advised to change their conduct. Levitas and McGrath seem to fall into that category.

Greenfeld had no idea that his review had been published without his permission until November 1998, when he received a "Dear Contributor" form letter accompanying a complimentary copy of the book. Greenfeld replied:

Dear Book Review Editor:

My enjoyment of the holiday season was not enhanced by the arrival of a copy of your "anthology of the Book Review's greatest hits." Nor did the "thanks" in your accompanying "Dear Contributor" note make me feel any better. Because I distinctly and categorically withheld permission, both in writing and over the phone, for the inclusion of any portion of my review of Portnoy's Complaint in your hit parade. Now I don't know whether it's a policy of the New York Times descending from on high, or simply some loyal 43rd [S]treet apparatchik's idea of following a party line, but the malign neglect of a writer does not sit well with me.

McGrath responded by essentially claiming that it was all a misunderstanding and that, in any case, Greenfeld should not get so worked up about the republication of a 30 year old review. That last dig particularly offended Greenfeld, who offered this rebuttal as the coda to his Brill's Content piece:

That is exactly the point and one not to be disparaged. As a retiree receiving a pension from the Writer's Guild of America, I am, in a sense, being sustained, in addition to my residuals, by the screen work I performed on a freelance basis decades ago. The same goes for my Social Security payments. And perhaps one day when McGrath achieves the age of serenity as I have, he will receive pension checks from The New York Times for the editorial chores he once performed in some distant past as what the Japanese aptly describe as a 'salary-man.' Meanwhile, why quibble with him or the The New York Times? I feel like a gnat flying over an armadillo's nest. 

Except that I'm right.

Shame on the New York Times Book Review and all other entities that treat writers like dirt. R.I.P. Brill's Content--it is unfortunate that your voice has been stilled. Bravo to Josh Greenfeld for speaking truth to power.