by Wendy Walker
When I look at the historical origins of CNN, I realize that if I had waited around for someone to show me what to do, I would still be waiting. I never studied political science or communications in college. I just used the old trial and error method as did my colleagues, and we got back what we put out. March 2010 marked my thirtieth year at CNN, and I can say without reservation that just about everything that has occurred in my adult life has had something to do with CNN.
MENTOR YOURSELF
We are each blessed individually in this life. Some of us are lucky in love, others have great mothers, still others have terrific kids, and then there are the people who are graced with mentors. The rest of us have to mentor ourselves.
Anyone who has a real live mentor is truly fortunate, but that is not the tipping point of whether or not we can become successful. I managed to build a wonderful life and a rewarding career and I never had a mentor. I just wasn’t that lucky and you may not be, either. But there is no cause for alarm. If you are not fortunate enough to have met up with a live mentor, you can relax because they are everywhere.
You have only to go on the Internet to find information on any topic you can dream about: how to lose weight; how to dress on a budget; how to stop your kids from throwing tantrums; how to have great sex; how to get your PhD at home. You name it; someone is offering it to you. If you have favorite geniuses like Warren Buffett or Bill Gates, read up on them. Pick up a copy of Fortune and find out who the most powerful people in the world are. How did they get there? What are their hobbies and who are their friends? That is one publication I would turn to if I were trying to mentor myself these days.
If you love to write and have a favorite author, take a leap of faith. Look him up on the Internet and send him an e-mail. For all you know, you may end up meeting this person. But if you do nothing, you will be eliminating possible opportunities. The point here is that the Internet, magazines, and instructive television programs are all over the place and they are filled with mentors. Have you checked out the Horatio Alger Awards? The Horatio Alger Association rewards successful people who started with nothing and are focused on giving something back—like actor James Earl Jones who started his life as a stutterer. One man I read about in Fortune was raised in an orphanage, got his first pair of pants when he was fourteen, and today is the CEO of a major corporation.
There are no more excuses about why you can’t learn to do anything you choose. Pick up some biographies and see the obstacles that successful people have managed to overcome with their own wit and work ethic. Just be observant and watch for what works and what doesn’t. I have read extensively about one of our Founding Fathers, Thomas Jefferson, who is a great role model for me. The point is that living or dead, the world is full of mentors and their teachings, so we all have access to whatever we are interested in. Take advantage!
And always thank anyone along the way who helped you become who you are today. Never forget these people. This is very important. It says a lot about who you are.
CHAPTER 8
Think Bigger Than Big
What I love most about Ted Turner is his penchant for thinking bigger than big, and fighting for what he wants. No one could talk him out of creating CNN, and he ignored naysayers, taunters, and anyone who tried to talk good sense into him. He had a huge vision and he followed it. I didn’t know Ted when I first began working at ABC in 1979, but in a very short time, he would be a major influence in my career as someone who thought so far outside the box, we lost sight of the box.
When I first got my job at ABC, I reveled in the bustle of the newsroom. There was constant activity, the space was filled with smoke, and the ticker tape was clicking constantly. The personalities were larger than life and I remember feeling a virtual energy explosion when I met reporter Sam Donaldson for the first time. He burst into the newsroom on my first day, jumped on top of my desk in a navy blazer and a red tie, and shouted, “Where are my nuts? My pistachio nuts. I’ve misplaced them.” He pulled a package of pistachio nuts out of his pocket, but I had a pretty good idea where the other set was when I looked upward to see his long, skinny legs straddling either side of my typewriter!
Born in Texas, Sam had grown up in a small farming community in New Mexico. As ABC chief White House news correspondent for the previous twelve years, Sam was in his heyday and he loved making a ruckus and getting a lot of attention. He would growl loudly when he entered the newsroom, and he was a biter. I’m speaking literally as he liked to teasingly bite people to get their attention. That would never be allowed these days; he would have been a human resources nightmare as someone would have slapped him with a harassment lawsuit. Back then, though, people put up with it. And while some of the staff were annoyed by his aggressive behavior, I have to admit that I was mesmerized by him, his energy, and his unconventional looks.
Sam was a thin man, all legs, with a Mr. Spock kind of face with heavy dark eyebrows that made his expression always seem intense. He would arrive at my desk and say much too loudly, “What’s going on?” When he did, you better know what was going on, because he really intimidated everyone. Actually, he was an odd combination of class clown and a determined, highly knowledgeable, and powerful reporter who had his finger on the pulse of whatever or whoever was making news at the time. Sam endlessly teased me throughout my life, and he likes to tell people, “Her relationship with Ethel Kennedy and their work together ended as friends. I don’t think Wendy stole any silverware or anything like that.”
Thanks, Sam, for your vote of confidence.
In an effort to stay current, Sam constantly pissed off his producers by waiting for the last minute to make changes in his evening stories. It was common practice to see someone running through the newsroom, holding that precious tape that was late, all because of Sam. He was always in a hurry, running into the Washington bureau at Connecticut and L Street to set up his next piece and then rushing back to the White House lawn to do a stand-up. The looks on the faces of Sam’s staff were classic while he was cavorting back and forth, never quite sure that he would make it.
I had a crush on Sam for quite a while, and we dated on and off. I was smitten back when I started as White House producer for CNN, but Sam and I had separated by then and I was none too happy about it. I made a decision to immerse myself in work and forget about him.
On my first day in my new White House job, NBC reporter Lesley Stahl came running downstairs. “Ladies,” she said, “Please come over here.” We all gathered around and she proceeded to let us know that she was giving Sam a luncheon to celebrate his upcoming marriage. Then she addressed me and said in a nice enough way, “You just started here, Wendy, so you don’t really know Sam. You don’t have to come. I’m just inviting the people here who have worked with him and who really know him.”
Little did she know how well I knew him before I ever joined CNN. While the other women went to lunch to celebrate Sam’s upcoming nuptials, I buried myself in my relentless work. But I bumped into him constantly, as fate would have it, since we worked in the same place. And we were eventually able to forge a friendship that continues to this day. And he has been married ever since then to his lovely wife, Jan, to whom he is incredibly devoted.
Cut to March 30, 1981, before I worked at the White House, the morning when President Reagan and three other people in his entourage were shot. Sam told me he had been a little grumpy that morning since he had to show up early at the Hilton Hotel in Washington to cover a speech by Reagan. To make matters worse, Frank Reynolds of ABC had called Sam, also at ABC, and said, “This really is a nothing speech Reagan is giving. He’s just talking to the building trade union. Send your number two guy and let’s have lunch.”
Sam was tempted but he decided he better be there. ABC counted on him to do stand-ups wherever the president went, so despite his reluctance, Sam went off to the hotel to do his job. A consummate professional, he always showed up, even if he was grumbling about it. Meanwhile, I was at home in Georgetown
having a day off.
But just as I began to settle in, I discovered that the electricity in my apartment was out. I walked across the street to a phone booth at the fire station to call the power company when I noticed a number of firemen standing around, staring at a TV monitor, with long looks on their faces. There was a familiar face on the screen, with his head tipped downward like he was dead. There had been an attempt to assassinate the president and apparently Jim Brady, his press secretary, had gotten caught in the crossfire. I had met Jim one week earlier at a Georgetown party that he was hosting and I’d found him to be pleasant and vivacious. Was that really the same man whose head was drooping after being seriously wounded during an assassination attempt on the president?
My electrical problem got relegated to the bottom of my priority list as I drove straight to CNN to find everyone in a panic. The events had unfolded like this:
Reagan had been in office for sixty-nine days when he spoke at the Washington Hilton. Ironically, his topic that day concerned government’s role in protecting society. It was 2:25 p.m., the talk was over, and he stood at the side entrance of the hotel at T Street NW, ready to get into his limo, when six shots rang out.
The first bullet hit White House press secretary Jim Brady in the head. The second one hit DC police officer Thomas Delahanty in the back. The third bullet overshot the president and hit the window of a building across the street, while the fourth hit Secret Service agent Timothy McCarthy in the abdomen. The fifth hit the bulletproof glass on the open side door of the limousine. Finally, the sixth bullet ricocheted off the side of the limousine and hit the president in his left armpit, grazing a rib and lodging in his lung, stopping about an inch from his heart.
Sam was there when it happened. He’d told his cameraman to stay behind for some cutaway shots while Sam stood by the door, waiting for the president to exit. When the shooting occurred, since the ABC news bureau was only five blocks from the Hilton, Sam gave the first report among the big three networks:
Here at the Washington Hilton, shots rang out as President Reagan was leaving the hotel and about to enter his limousine. At least one person was hit and fell to the sidewalk with blood coming from his body. It was not the president. I don’t know whether the president was hit. I do not believe he was. His car left rapidly under police escort. The shots were fired by someone in the crowd of people watching the president depart. Five or six shots rang out. It sounded like a pistol shot. At least one person has been hit and fell to the sidewalk. I do not believe the president was hit, but I’m not certain. His car drove off rapidly.
No one knew for sure that Reagan had been hit in the armpit, not even the president himself, until he was taken to George Washington University Hospital. Almost as quickly as he was spirited away, the police nabbed the shooter, John Hinckley, Jr., placing him in custody and confiscating his Röhm RG-14 .22 caliber blue steel revolver. We would soon find out that his motivation was to get the attention of young actress Jodie Foster. It had nothing to do with the president at all, which would explain why Hinckley asked his arresting officers whether that night’s scheduled Academy Awards ceremony would be postponed due to the shooting. He was a stalker of the worst kind.
In the early days of Cable News Network we didn’t have enough people to assign a reporter to be with the president every day in case something happened. No one could predict what would occur on any given day, but since we had missed taping this sudden and astronomical event, how would we get hold of the coverage so we could contribute something? Unsure what to do, I thought about what ABC would have done.
Today there are endless places to obtain information on a story like this. Back then, however, since there were only three networks, I got three TV sets and set them up side by side. Then I sat there, watching each set on a different network, and writing down what the other networks were reporting. I gave my notes to Scott Willis, executive producer and a colleague of mine back at ABC. Bernard Shaw, another ABC veteran, was in the anchor chair.
Here is Shaw’s original Cable News Network report on the shooting:
Wielding a .22 caliber “Saturday-night special,” John Warnock Hinckley shoots President Reagan in the chest outside the Washington Hilton Hotel. The twenty-five-year-old drifter with a history of psychological problems also shoots the president’s press secretary, James Brady, in the incident. The president is rushed to George Washington University Hospital and quickly recovers, although the gunman’s bullet inflicts severe damage on Brady.
I spent the next several days and nights in the newsroom, watching the other networks and preparing our coverage. The actual assassination attempt had been captured on video by ABC, while our CNN camera crew had been broadcasting Reagan’s speech live moments earlier. Since we had only one crew, they were still inside the hotel so we missed taping the shooting. We were still so underequipped, we needed help, but we sure weren’t about to get any from the other networks.
The three major networks had what they called a pool: a small group of reporters, a still photographer, a network correspondent, and a small crew. The pool was arranged by the White House to shoot cutaways close to the president and to ride in the motorcade. There is no way the entire press corps could do all of that, so one network would shoot the events of the day and share it with the other two. That meant that every three days, one of the networks shot tape. All of the big three could use the pool tape, but no one outside of the three networks was given access. That was a problem for us, because Cable News Network was still on the outside.
We were all working overtime to cover this huge story, so I hadn’t seen Sam for a couple of days when I met him at a restaurant near the hospital where President Reagan was recovering. I joined him for lunch and Sam said smugly, “So, Wendells (a nickname he gave me), how’s it going over at Cable News Network? What are you guys doing over there? Here we have the biggest story in the whole world and you don’t even have tape of the assassination attempt.”
“Oh, yes, we do,” I said, ready to meet his attitude with my own.
“No, you don’t. You don’t have access to the tape,” he said adamantly.
“I just told you we do have access,” I repeated.
“What do you mean?” he exploded in a booming voice. He was enraged as he said, “That was pool tape. Pool tape is only shared with the three networks. You know that, Wendy. We pool our resources together and that tape belongs to us.”
I nodded my head calmly, uncomfortable at his outburst. And yet, it felt satisfying to say, “Well, we got it.”
Sam would not let it go. He made a huge fuss, calling us every name under the sun. “This is the lowest thing I’ve ever seen in the history of the news business,” he said. “How can CNN survive and hold its head up when it has shamed itself beyond recognition?”
True, Sam had a penchant for drama, but maybe he felt ownership rights since he had been the first person to report the shooting. He continued to question me, saying, “Now wait just a minute here. I want to know right now how you got that tape, because you shouldn’t have it.”
“The pool gave it to us,” I said.
“No, that didn’t happen,” he said. “Nobody in the pool would ever give it to you.”
He continued to glare at me as I asked our waiter to bring a phone to the table so I could call Scott Willis at my network. “Scott,” I said, “I’m here with Sam and he wants to know how we got the pool tape.”
Willis said something about the tape being given to us. When I repeated it to Sam, he stood up, outraged. “That did not happen,” he repeated.
“Hey,” I said, “I’m not sure how we got the tape, but Sam, you’re going to get me fired if you keep going on like this.”
“It isn’t your fault, Wendy, but you should never have had access to that tape. It’s a White House tape” (meaning that only he and the other two networks had the right to use it). In the next moment Sam got up and left the restaurant abruptly, taking gigantic strides out the door and head
ing straight over to the ABC bureau in Washington. He got on the phone to ABC in New York and demanded to speak to Roone Arledge, then chairman.
“Roone,” Sam said, “you might want to find out whose tape CNN used during the shooting coverage.”
Roone sent a telegram to Ted Turner, asking him if he had used the White House pool tape. But if he thought he might be successful in intimidating Ted Turner, he was dead wrong. The response was typical Ted Turner as he wrote back, “Hell, yeah, we used that tape. In fact, we’re suing the White House right now to be part of the pool. We asked and you said no, but we have every right to the tape and to be part of the pool.”
We rolled that infamous tape in Atlanta and used it over and over again. I am proud to say that as much as Sam was fuming, I was one of the people in a small group who prompted Ted Turner to sue the White House for CNN to become bona fide members of the White House press corps and, therefore, a member of the pool. We won the suit, much to the despair of the other networks. Ted had proven that he was not going away, so they might as well make room for us. From the day we won the lawsuit and joined the pool, our access and ability to report the news in a timely fashion escalated, thanks to Ted who knew what he was about and was not afraid to claim his place.
Now there would be four networks instead of three in the pool, and the rotation would give each network access every fourth day instead of every third. No wonder Sam and the others were upset. They didn’t need any more competition, but we were here to stay.