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The Magic of Numbers

On September 13, 2005, Bill O’Reilly started off his program with a Talking Points Memo titled “America and the Poor.” He took time out of his busy schedule to confront critics who felt the poor were losing ground under the Bush administration: “Halfway through President Clinton’s tenure in office in 1996, the poverty rate was 13.7 percent. Halfway through President Bush’s tenure, the rate is 12.7 percent. A full point lower.”

Of course, we had no idea Bush had reduced the number of people living in poverty in the United States. Well, that could be because he hadn’t.

In 1993, Clinton’s first year as president, the poverty rate was 15.1 percent (up from 12.8 percent in 1989, when George H. W. Bush’s term began). By 1996, Clinton had lowered it to 13.7 percent, and in 2000, Clinton’s last full year in office, the poverty rate was 11.3 percent.

Enter George W. Bush. People living under the poverty line rose to 12.1 percent in 2002, to 12.5 percent in 2003, and to 12.7 percent in 2004.

So, clearly, the poverty rate had escalated every year under Bush while consistently falling under Clinton. And, just as clearly, O’Reilly looked like an idiot.

But the next day on his radio program, Bill was still defending his fuzzy math:

CALLER: Let’s see, poverty is up since George Bush took office.

O’REILLY: That’s not true.

CALLER: It is true.

O’REILLY: I have the stats right here, Larry.

CALLER: I just looked at the figures.

O’REILLY: All right, Larry, hold it, hold it, hold it. The only fair comparison is halfway through Clinton’s term, halfway through Bush’s term, okay? That’s the only fair comparison. You gotta go real time.

CALLER: Bill, I . . .

O’REILLY: Poverty is down, Larry, one full percent in real time from 1996, halfway through Clinton, 2004, halfway through Bush. That is the truth, Larry, and if you’re not willing to acknowledge that’s the truth, this conversation is over.

Why “real time” has to be considered halfway through a president’s term is a mystery, but Bill was sticking to his own no-spin interpretation.

Of course, by his standard, one could argue that George W. Bush is a better slave emancipator than Abraham Lincoln. Halfway through Lincoln’s presidency, very few slaves had been emancipated. Halfway through Bush’s tenure, all of them had been freed. So why isn’t George W. Bush’s face on the $5 bill?

from
SWEET JESUS, I HATE BILL O’REILLY
by Joseph Minton Amann and Tom Breuer
Nation Books. 291 pp. $14

The Disadvantaged Overprivileged

Much as we might deny it, I believe most journalists get most defensive when their accusers come from the ranks of the overprivileged: large corporations; government agencies; political figures. With a few exceptions, reporters and editors alike seem to enter these disputes in a defensive crouch. They dismiss the complaints as self-interested, the elaborate supporting documents presented with them as attempts to obfuscate or intimidate. They do not begin by asking, “Is it possible that they have a point? Did we maybe get something wrong?”

Of course, when things are working, that second question is asked before publication. Time and again, I would see how first-rank investigative reporters would have already presented their findings to the individuals or entities under examination, giving them the opportunity to disprove or mitigate those findings before publication. But that wasn’t always the case, and the three-way conversations that ensued — the [New York] Times, the story subject, me — were among the most difficult: it’s hard to look at Halliburton or Wal-Mart as the disadvantaged party in a conflict. However, when they’re up against the Times, they might well be.

from
PUBLIC EDITOR #1
by Daniel Okrent
Public Affairs. 291 pp. $22

When the Cheering Stopped

Behind me the Alabama stands released a gush of sound that crashed like a tsunami upon the sideline jubilation. To my left, I saw Coach Bear Bryant disappear behind a mass of players who came off the bench like jumping jacks. I began jumping, too, and cheering Raymond Ogden, the kick returner, as he came loping past, his head back, his feet striking the ground but four times in ten yards. I suspect life has held nothing grander for him than that moment, just as for me there has been no crisper and more seductive moment of definition than the instant in which he drew even with me on his way to the goal line.

I was actually in the air when the revelation struck me. I realized that I shouldn’t be jumping and I shouldn’t be cheering. I was not there as a fan. This knowledge hit me as abruptly as a slap. This was my defining moment as a journalist. I leapt into the air as a fan, and as Raymond Ogden passed on his journey into obscurity, I came down a reporter.

The day produced my first byline and my last cheer on company time at an event I was covering. In the hundreds of campaign rallies I was destined to attend over the next four decades with my notebook in hand, I never clapped or booed at a partisan jibe. I tried not to laugh at the jokes, which was easier with Carter than Reagan and easiest of all with the Bushes. I never joined a political party and never felt deprived when some hack politician defended himself by quoting Teddy Roosevelt on the glories of “the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood.” It seemed to me then and it is still so now, for me, there was something more lasting and important than running the touchdown or making the money or winning the election or choosing a side. That is to see events wholly and coldly and try to write about them for the informational benefit of the Republic.

from
THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY: A MEMOIR
by Howell Raines
Scribner. 325 pp. $25

The Compleat Sportswriter

Stanley Woodward, the Herald Tribune’s sports editor, was classically educated and proud of it. About once a year he journeyed to Yankee Stadium to cover a game and write a story that always included this line: “Casey Stengel stared out of the Yankee dugout under brows of dauntless courage and considerate pride.” Regularly a copyreader changed the word “considerate” to “considerable.” Next day Woodward marched into his sports department and yelled at the deskman. “I don’t mind you changing my stuff, but you just changed John Milton. ‘Considerate pride’ comes from Paradise Lost.” This was not simply braggadocio. Woodward wanted, indeed, demanded, that his staff be literate. “Do you happen to know Rogers Hornsby’s lifetime average?” he asked me one night, seemingly out of nowhere. “Something outrageous like .350,” I said. “I don’t know the exact number.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “I don’t like figure filberts. You can always look up the numbers. But take a pennant race between mediocre clubs and call that ‘a dubious battle.’ That’s the ticket. Where does it come from, the phrase ‘dubious battle’?”

“A novel by John Steinbeck. He took the title from Milton: ‘In dubious battle on the plains of heaven.’”

“You know Milton and you like baseball,” Woodward said.

“My mother thinks baseball is my religion.”

“Keep running errands and answering the phones,” Woodward said. “Something may turn up for you in sports.”

from
INTO MY OWN
by Roger Kahn
St. Martin’s Press. 290 pp. $24.95

What Price Glory?

An editor knocked at the Pearly Gates,
Her face was scarred and cold;
She stood before the man of fate
For admission to the Fold.
“What have you done?” St. Peter asked,
“To gain admission here?”
“I’ve been an editor, sir,” she said
As she shed a tear.

The Pearly Gates swung open wide,
St. Peter touched the bell —
“Come in,” he said, “and choose your harp,
You’ve had your share of hell.”
— Anonymous

from
WATCHDOGS, BLOGS, AND WILD HOGS: A COLLECTION OF QUOTATIONS ON MEDIA
by Gordon S. Jackson
New Media Ventures. 269 pp. $18.95

To read the articles in the July/August 2006 issue, click here.

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