introduction, and so she gave him none.
Bob McConnell said, “I bet he says, ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’”
Crystal and Fletch shrugged at each other.
Hy Litwack, anchorman for evening network news, was highly respected by everyone except other journalists, most of whom were purely envious of him.
He was handsome, dignified, with a grand voice, solid manner, and had been earning a fabulous annual income for many years. He was staffed like no journalist in history had ever been staffed.
An additional point of envy was that he was also an incredibly good journalist.
Unlike many another television newsman, he kept his showmanship to a minimum.
And, unlike many other journalists of roughly comparable power and prestige, there was minimal evidence of bias in his reporting—even in the questions he asked in live interview situations. He never led his audience, or anyone he was interviewing.
Also enviable was his on-camera stamina, through conventions, elections, and other continuous-coverage stories.
Hy Litwack had been at the top of the heap for years.
Next to him at the head table sat his wife, Carol.
“Good evening.” The famous voice cleared his throat. “When I have an opportunity to speak, I try to speak on the topics I find people most frequently ask me about, whether I wish to speak about them or not.
“Recently, people have been asking me most about acts of terrorism, more specifically about television news coverage of acts of terrorism, most specifically whether by covering terrorism, television news is encouraging, or even causing, other terrorists to implement their dreadful, frequently insane fantasies.
“I hate witnessing terrorism. I hate reading about it. I hate reporting it—as I’m sure we all do.
“But television did not create terrorism.
“Terrorism, like many another crime or insanity, is infectious. It perpetuates itself. It causes itself to happen. One incident of terrorism causes two more incidents, which cause more and more and more incidents.
“Never was this social phenomenon, of acts of terrorism stimulating other acts of terrorism, on and on, more apparent than at the beginning of the twentieth century.
“And television, or television news, at that point had not yet even been dreamed of.
“An act of terrorism is an event. It is news.
“And it is our job to bring the news to the people, whether we personally like that news, or not.”
Bob McConnell whispered, “Here it comes.”
“Blaming television,” Hy Litwack continued, “for causing acts of terrorism simply by reporting them is as bad as shooting the messenger simply because the news he brings is bad.…”
Eleven
In the privacy of their bedroom, Carol Litwack was saying to her husband, “… Live to be a hundred, I’ll never get over it.”
“Over what?”
“You. I don’t know.”
At a distance there was the sound of gargling.
Before leaving for dinner, Fletch had tuned the receiver to Leona Hatch’s room, Room 42, so he could check on her later, make sure she was as comfortable as possible. All he had expected to hear on the tape was snoring and “Errrrrrrr’s.”
But that wasn’t the way the marvelous machine worked.
Like all things governmental, it had its own system of priorities.
It took him a while to figure it out.
First he heard Leona Hatch snoring in Room 42, on Station 22, then Station 21 lit and he heard Sheldon Levi’s toilet flushing in Room 48, then Station 4 lit and he heard Eleanor Earles saying in Suite 9, “… Dressed to hear Hy Litwack’s stupid speech. Ugh! But if I don’t, I suppose there’ll be three pages in
TV Guide
about my snubbing the pan-fried son of a bitch at the American Journalism …” and then Station 2 lit and he heard Carol and Hy Litwack talking in Suite 5.
Any noise in any room in which he had placed alower-numbered bug had precedence over any noise in any room in which he had placed a higher-numbered bug.
Fletch studied his telephone
Bob McConnell said, “I bet he says, ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’”
Crystal and Fletch shrugged at each other.
Hy Litwack, anchorman for evening network news, was highly respected by everyone except other journalists, most of whom were purely envious of him.
He was handsome, dignified, with a grand voice, solid manner, and had been earning a fabulous annual income for many years. He was staffed like no journalist in history had ever been staffed.
An additional point of envy was that he was also an incredibly good journalist.
Unlike many another television newsman, he kept his showmanship to a minimum.
And, unlike many other journalists of roughly comparable power and prestige, there was minimal evidence of bias in his reporting—even in the questions he asked in live interview situations. He never led his audience, or anyone he was interviewing.
Also enviable was his on-camera stamina, through conventions, elections, and other continuous-coverage stories.
Hy Litwack had been at the top of the heap for years.
Next to him at the head table sat his wife, Carol.
“Good evening.” The famous voice cleared his throat. “When I have an opportunity to speak, I try to speak on the topics I find people most frequently ask me about, whether I wish to speak about them or not.
“Recently, people have been asking me most about acts of terrorism, more specifically about television news coverage of acts of terrorism, most specifically whether by covering terrorism, television news is encouraging, or even causing, other terrorists to implement their dreadful, frequently insane fantasies.
“I hate witnessing terrorism. I hate reading about it. I hate reporting it—as I’m sure we all do.
“But television did not create terrorism.
“Terrorism, like many another crime or insanity, is infectious. It perpetuates itself. It causes itself to happen. One incident of terrorism causes two more incidents, which cause more and more and more incidents.
“Never was this social phenomenon, of acts of terrorism stimulating other acts of terrorism, on and on, more apparent than at the beginning of the twentieth century.
“And television, or television news, at that point had not yet even been dreamed of.
“An act of terrorism is an event. It is news.
“And it is our job to bring the news to the people, whether we personally like that news, or not.”
Bob McConnell whispered, “Here it comes.”
“Blaming television,” Hy Litwack continued, “for causing acts of terrorism simply by reporting them is as bad as shooting the messenger simply because the news he brings is bad.…”
Eleven
In the privacy of their bedroom, Carol Litwack was saying to her husband, “… Live to be a hundred, I’ll never get over it.”
“Over what?”
“You. I don’t know.”
At a distance there was the sound of gargling.
Before leaving for dinner, Fletch had tuned the receiver to Leona Hatch’s room, Room 42, so he could check on her later, make sure she was as comfortable as possible. All he had expected to hear on the tape was snoring and “Errrrrrrr’s.”
But that wasn’t the way the marvelous machine worked.
Like all things governmental, it had its own system of priorities.
It took him a while to figure it out.
First he heard Leona Hatch snoring in Room 42, on Station 22, then Station 21 lit and he heard Sheldon Levi’s toilet flushing in Room 48, then Station 4 lit and he heard Eleanor Earles saying in Suite 9, “… Dressed to hear Hy Litwack’s stupid speech. Ugh! But if I don’t, I suppose there’ll be three pages in
TV Guide
about my snubbing the pan-fried son of a bitch at the American Journalism …” and then Station 2 lit and he heard Carol and Hy Litwack talking in Suite 5.
Any noise in any room in which he had placed alower-numbered bug had precedence over any noise in any room in which he had placed a higher-numbered bug.
Fletch studied his telephone
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