The Amazing Don Hewitt: CBS News, Conventions, 60 Minutes and Me

Hewitt JFK You probably saw the 60 Minutes tribute to Don Hewitt last night; I had meant to write about him when he died, got distracted and then, last night, realized I couldn’t not (if you forgive the double negative) recall him a bit.  The photo you see here was during the production, I think, of an interview with President Kennedy.  It shows him in action, rather than in a cute photo so it’s the one I wanted to use.

I was a kid when I first met Hewitt – 21 and new to the CBS Washington Bureau.  It was late 1968 and he’d come down from New York to get everyone excited about his new show, 60 Minutes.  That’s right – it’s almost 41 years old.  He was introduced to me as “the only producer who could make you proud that you were the only one who’d gotten the recipe for Tricia Nixon’s White House wedding cake.”   It was that infectious sense of competition — the joy of it, not the rest of it — that inspired the rest of us.  Oh – and it was only later that I learned he had also been the producer of the Kennedy-Nixon presidential debates, the first ever to appear on TV.

Of course he could also drive you crazy – pushing, making last-minute changes, taking forever to finally appoint women as  producers (his long-time secretary became one of the best) and, like all people of great energy, sometimes yelling.  Really yelling.

I had the most to do with him at the presidential nominating conventions, which used to run “gavel to gavel” – from the moment the convention began until the moment it ended, live on TV.  Four “floor correspondents” wandered the convention hall searching for stories.  Each, and later each two, had a producer.  And these correspondents were the top talent, showcased in the pressure cooker of 8 – 12 hours of live television.  Over the years I worked with Roger Mudd, Mike Wallace, Ed Bradley, Leslie Stahl and Dan Rather, among others.  No shrinking violets here.  And, presiding over them all, in his control room above the floor, was Don.  When you had a story to offer you would go to a “floor phone” and call the booth.  Someone would take your offer and relay it to Don (sometimes you’d tell him yourself) who would accept or reject it.  Remember at the same time he was dealing with Walter Cronkite in the anchor booth and all the live guests who showed up there, remotes” out in the convention city and hometowns of about-to-be nominees and more.  For all those hours, he’d make decisions.  Sometimes you could argue, but usually you lost.  With all the incoming data, he kept things flowing for four days (and evenings.)  And he did it all with the same sense of “story telling” that he described as the secret behind the success of 60 Minutes.  And it was a blast.

So there you are.  Another “legend” gone – and he was a legend who transformed the news business for the better and kept it that way for a long time before commerce made it much harder to sustain the kind of quality he demanded.  Except on 60 Minutes, of course.

 

Back to the Future: Futurism at the Tate and 1968

Futurism

In the early 20th Century there was a band of wild men who created an entire new way of thinking about “Art.”  They were called Futurists and for those of you who took Art 11 and already know about them, I understand that I didn’t discover them – this being particularly true since they are currently appearing in a retrospective at the Tate Modern here in London.  AND for my penultimate (I think) post here I want to tell you about them because they were a real kick.

This painting, by Luigi Russolo, is called “The Revolt.”  On the right you can see “the people” pushing up against the hard line of the establishment.  It’s the same thing the Futurists themselves were doing.  Here’s their major “Manifesto.”

These are our final conclusions:

With our enthusiastic adherence to Futurism, we will:

  1. Destroy the cult of the past, the obsession with the ancients, pedantry and academic formalism.
  2. Totally invalidate all kinds of imitation.
  3. Elevate all attempts at originality, however daring, however violent.
  4. Bear bravely and proudly the smear of “madness” with which they try to gag all innovators.
  5. Regard art critics as useless and dangerous.
  6. Rebel against the tyranny of words: “Harmony” and “good taste” and other loose expressions which can be used to destroy the works of Rembrandt, Goya, Rodin…
  7. Sweep the whole field of art clean of all themes and subjects which have been used in the past.
  8. Support and glory in our day-to-day world, a world which is going to be continually and splendidly transformed by victorious Science.

 

The dead shall be buried in the earth’s deepest bowels! The threshold of the future will be swept free of mummies! Make room for youth, for violence, for daring!

 

As I wandered through, alone and more available for being by myself, (this one is Carra’s The Funeral of an Anarchist)  I felt that I knew these guys.  Yes they denigrated women (more on that in a second) but their rebellion, their anger, their passion, their desire to change everything – that was familiar.  Of course I never wanted to destroy; none of us did.  But the feelings of anger, of disappointment in the ways of the world, the desire to find new ways to say things, those were familiar — and swept me back to the determined, impassioned girl I was then.  I can only describe my reaction as delight.

 

You’re going to tell me that this is the kind of blind passion is just what was wrong with the 60’s.  And for those who transformed these feelings not into art but into primitive acts of violence – they were wrong then and they’re wrong now.  That’s what is so amazing about art.  You can act, and express, through representation instead of concrete acts of violence and hatred.  That’s what these enraged men did.  Meanwhile, the women artists were pretty angry, as you can imagine.  One of them, Valentine de Saint-Point, although she agreed with their ideas, had some of her own to go along with them.  Like this:

“Women
are Furies, Amazons, Semiramis, Joans of Arc, Jeanne Hachettes, 
Judith
and Charlotte Cordays, Cleopatras, and Messalinas: combative women who
fight more ferociously than males, lovers who arouse, destroyers who break down
the weakest and help select through pride or despair, “despair through
which the heart yields its fullest return.”  

I wish I knew more because there’s so much more to this; the impact of Cubism on all
of it, the way it affected artists in nation after nation, and, most of all, the sheer energy of
art that, instead of freezing a moment, seems to set it free and follow it.

Colbert, The Word and Woodstock

The Colbert Report Mon – Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Word – Hippie Replacement
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Tasers

I know, I"m in London and I should stop putting up videos of TV shows.  But I love this one.  And, it's what we call "timely" since the 15th is the 40th anniversary of ..  well watch this and see for yourself.

It’s Hard, Ain’t It Hard, Ain’t It Hard, Ain’t It Hard: the No Good, Awful, Terrible, Very Bad Day

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Sometimes things are so sad, and so hard, and not your story to tell – and they follow you in and out of rooms and around corners and out into the street and you feel like you're riding on some perverted, malformed roller coaster.
There's nothing to do, really, but apologize for the maudlin language, sit back and hang on for dear life. 

Like the Counting Crows song about sitting in the hills in Hollywood hoping "this year will be better than the last." The new year is coming so I suppose that's worth considering. It's hard though.

For those of you who know us, nobody's sick and nobody's dead and we're still married and our family seems fine. This is something else. And it's really, really hard – because it doesn't feel right or fair or even sensible. We've gotten through everything else so I guess we'll get through this too. I wouldn't even bring it up but I own those of you who are still taking the trouble to stop by here an explanation for the silences between posts. Just wish us well, OK?

Blogging Boomers Carnival #122: Health, Travel, Books and Marriage

Midlife crisis queen logo in header2 (2)I'm a day late because I'm in London and time is mysterious still, but this week's Blogging Boomers, at Midlife Crisis Queen, is worth waiting for. From what to pack to how to stay healthy, it's got its usual menagerie of interesting stuff. Take a look and you'll see what I mean.

Sons Really Do Get Married, and Their Parents Really Do Love It, (and Nobody Cried)

Our new family 1

There we are, our sweet sweet family with it's newly married eldest and his lovely brand-new wife.   It's an out-of-body experience to watch your son get married, and this was a wonderful one.  I'd been very nervous:  would it go well after the two of them had worked so hard on every detail, would they have fun, would we cry, would I look ok (well, after all, those photos last forever.)

It all did go well.  The groom (in the middle) was so joyous and ready, his speech so sure and calm; his wife so lovely and pleased, his brother (on the right)offering the loveliest, funniest, just-rightest toast ever.  There were only 80 of us so over the weekend we became a kind of tribe, tables shifting as people moved around enjoying the event, and one another. 

It was a great joy to me to see how much the boys feel for each other.  I have, today, two of my dearest wishes: that my children be good friends and that each son find a partner who is wonderful, honorable and loving.  So far so good.

I'd been thinking for months about the power of time, of change.  One of my friends commented on my Facebook page that "I remember when Josh was xeroxing his little hands in the office!" I do too.  And I thought I'd be consumed by those kinds of thoughts.  But this just felt right, timely and good for everyone.  No nostalgia, not "where are you going my little one, little one"  "sunrise, sunset" thoughts at all.  Just gratitude at the happiness and love that surrounded the bride, the groom and the rest of us.  May it always be so.

Days Before a Son Marries; Mothers-in-Law Get Jittery Too

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These two sweeties will be married on Sunday.  One of them is my son.  My first born.  My baby.  I don’t know why I’ve been so reluctant to write about it; it’s a beautiful relationship and a joyous moment in all of our lives. But I have been silent, or almost so, about it for some time.  Can’t seem to let myself write.  My sweet friend Karin Lippert, noting my cryptic tweet, wrote:

Congratulations… mixed emotions are the new normal, the new black? No, we have all always had overwhelming,wonderful emotions about our kids…

She’s right, I guess.  The mix isn’t between wishing well and not so well, it’s between joy and respect for the place these two have found together in the world, and my profound sense of time passing, and of change.  I’ll keep you posed when I can.

Sunrise, Sunset: an Amazing Day of Jewish Rituals

Images We all feel gratitude for the beautiful moments in our lives.  In the observant Jewish life we live now those moments are often built around life-cycle events, usually moving and sometimes profound.  Last week, we had a Sunday that brought the entire thing into broad relief.  It's taken me a week to think it through and write about it though.  It was just so huge.

We began early, at a bris.  That's the moment of circumcision, welcoming a Jewish boy into the covenant with God on the 8th day of his life.  This one was held at the parents' home, full of their friends and those of the grandparents.  The mother's mom and dad are good friends of ours, kind, generous, no nonsense people, a librarian and a doctor.  Like any mom, she was helping her daughter.  Like any mom, she was greeting guests with hugs and personal welcomes.  Like any mom, she was dashing from counter to table with salads, platters of food, drinks, desserts.  Unlike most moms though, she did it all with a "crew cut".  In the midst of chemotherapy for breast cancer, she's decided there was no sense in "wearing something silly" to cover her hair loss, so she didn't.  Watching her hold her new grandson, both of them reminding us of the value of life at its most basic, was amazing.  You can imagine how it felt to be part of this – new life, fighting for life, affirming life – all in one family in one day.   It was quite a thing.

Blown away, we set off for our second destination, far less nuanced and very sad. A young friend with a toddler, expecting her second child very soon, had lost her mother to cancer.  The funeral, filled with other young parents with infants in their arms, was sad as they always are, laden with the grief felt by both this daughter and her husband.  Her parents had long been divorced, her ailing father lives with them, and for her last months, her mother had as well.  It's a huge thing to be that responsible for each parent singly and still live with one's responsibilities for spouse and children.  This couple took the responsibilities on gracefully and willingly.  

It was heartbreaking to hear the impassioned tribute this young woman gave to her mother, to understand the depth of her loss.   Jewish funerals are immediate, simple and highly symbolic: the 91st Psalm recited as the procession stops seven times on the way to the grave to symbolize the reluctance to bid farewell, internment in a simple pine box, all attendees contributing to covering the coffin until the grave is full, shovel by shovel, to support the lost and the mourners.   I've always said that the way Jews deal with death is one of my favorite of its many beautiful attributes; it seems to add symbolism to the grief and meaning to the death.  

Deeply depleted, as if a gray cloud had descended on our day, we returned to the car and moved on.  We were late, but able to arrive midway through our next engagement – a wedding.  As you can imagine, it was tough to rally but we did our best.  The bride and groom are a lovely (and very tall!) young couple, with a combined sweetness and wry sense of humor that endeared them to everyone.  So we were honored to be there.  It reminds, too, that life is indeed a circle, as corny as that sounds, filled both with sadness and joy.

We ended this amazing Sunday with a kind of interim ritual – between the beginning of life and the rituals of adulthood: a bar mitzvah party.  The young man celebrating his Saturday Torah reading and entry into Jewish adulthood is a remarkable kid, and the joys of this celebration were compounded by the special nature of this boy and his family – all hugely active in the community – fun, scholarly and kind.  They were the first people we met when we moved to this aging community that has since grown into a thriving, intergenerational congregation.   Newly arrived from Boston, they had chosen it because it needed new members to replace those who had moved away or died.  When we got here, the "bar mitzvah boy" was a little kid.  Now he's a poised young man with legions of friends from age two (really) to 82.  We all consider them a gift.  It was wonderful to celebrate with them.

So that was our day: a journey through Jewish tradition, commemoration of joy and grief, birth and loss, life and death — and a reminder of what an amazing journey we all – Jewish or otherwise, travel together.

Playing With the Big Boys: Bruce Springsteen’s New Drummer and the Rest of Us

Jay Weinberg 2
Does the young drummer in this photo look familiar? He's definitely not Bruce's long-time drummer The Mighty Max Weinberg. He is, however, a Weinberg, Max's son Jay.. I learned about this from my own son, who IM'd

"Did you know that Max Weinberg's son is now the drummer for the E Street Band?  It's a great story – little coverage.  Seriously – he is 18 and no one has picked up that an ageless band now has an 18-year-old on drums."

He's right.  It's a wonderful story, for many reasons.  Just because it is, first of all.  But also because all parents love it when their kids go into the family business; at least I think they do.  That's not all, though.  To be fair, Jay is only going to tour with them when his dad has to stay in LA to help launch the new Conan O'Brien Tonight Show. Even so, there's something lovely about Bruce calling and inviting him to join the band. Anyone who's ever watched a sound check or read about Bruce knows he's got high standards; this was NOT a sentimental decision. Jay can play the drums.

So why do I love this?  A demonstration of that kind of trust by a national legend close to three times  his age is pretty impressive.  The idea of two generations on stage together as peers is an example of something that's been important to me for years: alliances across generations in all manner of venues.

I've been writing both here and on SVMoms about the tensions between Boomers and Millennials.  There is a growing stress between us.  Just a month ago I heard a young political social media genius – a serious one – mock the Boomers who claimed they helped to end the Vietnam War.  "Dead soldiers ended the war, not you guys." he said with determination.  Permutations of that attitude abound; although perhaps less so in families where parenting was respectful and strong and included a history of those times and a modest explanation of what we were trying to do.  

President Obama, whose attitudes and capabilities I admire, tends to imply that it's time to ditch, at the least, a lot of the rhetoric and style of that time.  I don't disagree.  All that I want is for those of us in my generation and the younger people whose core values we share to be free to travel across the boundaries of style and execution to be allies and friends rather than adversaries.  That kind of sharing emerges from respect in both directions, from engaging younger people more as peers than acoytes.  That's what the Obama campaign did, and look what happened.

I've been fortunate, because of my relationship with my sons, because I've worked in the Internet world for ten years — so much with younger people, and because I am part of a community full of young families, to be able to do the same.  But the divisions are growing for many of us, and they're sad.

So when Bruce, who has so often spoken for so many, crosses two-thirds of his life to, at 60+, add an 18-year-old drummer to his band, it's an example and a message for which I am grateful.  No one who knows his music would ever think he would add a drummer to send a message; he takes his music, and his fans, too seriously for that.  He is, however, reminding us all that, 18 or 80 – talent, music, dreams, ideas, faith or fun, the walls need not be so high.  Whether it's campaigning for a candidate, working for women's rights, writing a poem, cooking a meal, building a house, growing tomatoes or making music, we are all pooer for the walls we build, and richer for the gifts we share.