How Do You Spell Truth?
The technicians are not journalists anymore than a limo driver who takes me to a concert is a journalist. For his premise to stand on its own two wobbly legs, Mr. Rutten had to kiss honesty goodbye. Being a hardline liberal, they were not close friends anyway. Their parting was unemotional. As an aroused apostle of the anti-war set, Mr. Rutten may have been staring at an upside down picture of Cindy Sheehan on his desk when he began to lay out his piece. For the consumption of his readers, he was mourning the serious bombing injury suffered by a veteran but still little known television correspondent. His thesis would have disappeared faster than a Democrat at a church service if he had anchored his essay around the merely injured reporter, Kimberly Dozier. He felt he needed a body to make his case. In desperation, he wadded up his integrity, like a used kleenex, and pitched it through the nearest window.
What Is It That Smells?
While digesting Mr. Rutten’s essay, I wondered, idly, if his family may have been the inspiration for the bon mot that “something is Rutten in .” Anyway, at stake here is the vital but frail concept of journalistic integrity. Integrity is delicate. Like a window, it is easily, sometimes temptingly, breakable. Like a window, you cannot unbreak integrity. You may commit an error. But when you recast facts, this is serious territory, minefield stuff.
A Different Kind of Mess
Earlier this week when I was writing about a car that crashed into a building, I typed that that the car was traveling on “Saturday Boulevard” instead of on
Sepulveda Boulevard
Another Liberal Tendency