The Only Thing Bob Woodward Cares About
I will not disclose his name.
To protect his reputation.
I saw your other post tracing the callousness of reporters to their days covering the police beat… There are certainly bad characters in every field, but I’ve generally found that my colleagues dread calling or visiting the families of dead people and only do so only out of a reluctant sense of obligation. My own experience performing such tasks has, if anything, made me more sensitized to life’s fragility — and that’s probably one of the few areas where I’m not that different from other journalists.
The ancient Jewish Prophet Ezekiel talked about the human heart being made of stone, but could be turned into flesh. Absent divine intervention our hearts are stone-cold.
I would suggest that that my reporter friend has a heart of flesh with an eternal prospective. And this makes him truly unique among journalists.
However, he still has the heart of a journalist, although not made of stone. His heart bleeds, but he gets his leads.
In the interests of full disclosure I should reveal that…, on the morning after our latest hurricane, I headed straight for the nearest mobile home park and, once inside, sought out the most devastated-looking place to begin my interviewing. So I’m not sure where that puts me on the sensitivity scale. At least I never used the word “trailer” in my interviews or story.
My reporter friend and Bob Woodward are alike only in that their employers buy ink by the barrel. Reporters spill it.
The only thing that reporters get paid for is getting the story.
If they think there is a story. Bob Woodward did not think the Plame/Libbie disclosure was worth writing about.
I would question Woodward’s every motive: He has a heart of stone.
Tomorrow’s post will review the accusation of Bob’s stony heart.
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Thank you (foot)notes: