The Presidency

By Hugh Sidey

Those television-network correspondents who cover the White House are able and competitive men. But with one foot in show business and the other in journalism, they must perform a difficult straddle. The question in Washington is whether they are becoming more like rock stars than reporters -- the Mick Jaggers of journalism, so highly paid, so powerful and self-important that they feel no personal constraints. Indeed, it sometimes seems that the more bizarre their behavior, the greater their fame and audience.

This has long been a point of tension between writers and broadcasters and has bothered many television viewers as well. But the issue emerged starkly a few days ago, when President Reagan showed up in the pressroom to announce a tentative agreement with the Soviets to reduce intermediate-range nuclear weapons. He had hardly finished when ABC's Sam Donaldson, CBS's Bill Plante and NBC's Chris Wallace simultaneously shouted questions at him for almost 20 seconds, creating an incredible din and an embarrassing spectacle. Reagan had little chance to respond to -- or sort out -- their jabbering. None of the correspondents would yield to the other, even though it was a live broadcast. Print reporters, no saints themselves, shook their heads in despair. Secretary of State George Shultz laughed in thinly veiled disgust. Reagan let the scene play out to his advantage. ABC Anchorman Peter Jennings, standing by in New York City, was appalled by the "babble," and said so over the air.

Backstage at the White House, there was some gratification derived from the fact that the American people had at last been able to witness the arrogance of electronic journalism. "The network correspondents quite often think they are more important than the President," says a Reagan aide. When Newsday's veteran White House hand, Saul Friedman, upbraided Wallace for his performance, the NBC man told him to lay off, since they were both in the same business. "Oh, no, we're not," shot back Friedman. That is the point. Do the highly charged careers of these television stars require them, even against their better judgment, to prance shamelessly on the electronic stage? Must their efforts to capture the President with their big-bore cameras and intimidating snarls become a prime-time animal act, information be damned?

Now, in calmer waters, the Big Three are a bit contrite. "It won't happen again," says Donaldson, who called the display "idiotic." Yet he is the leader of the shouters. Wallace too says he is "very concerned" -- but he feels compelled to match Donaldson. Plante apologized to the public, but won't drop out of the cacophony. None of the three was criticized by network owners or editors. All blame Reagan for not having enough news conferences, interviews and appearances to fill their needs. When the President does show up, the result is what one network official calls a "feeding frenzy," with flying elbows, shouts, roars, groans. Reagan could shut it off with a stern finger-pointing. Harry Truman would have cut the bunch down to pips and squeaks with one of his nasal tongue-lashings. It used to hurt good.

Television journalism demands presence. The first and loudest question is apt to net presidential attention and response. That is the gold. The second, more muted question is apt to be ignored and forgotten, and the asker is apt to feel his stardom and celestial salary threatened. Network White House correspondents can now come close to a million a year. A startled Lyndon Johnson once grumped, "My God, do you realize they pay some of those telly- vision reporters $60,000 a year?" Mere peanuts today.

Plante, Wallace, Donaldson & Co. are rightly proud of their dogged surveillance of the most powerful man on earth. But the bright lights of power sooner or later blind almost everyone who bathes in them. Journalists were originally created to enlighten, not to threaten; to inform, not to perform; to know, not to show.