I remember most of the kids were petrified. Nobody said a word as we stumbled out of the theater. I can still see that alien guy in my mind to this day. The actor who played him was Paul Birch. I actually looked that up when I got older. Not of This Earth was a serious monster film, and although no one admitted it, I suspect some nightmares took place among my friends.
Is this a blood-guzzling alien or an anchorman on VENUS TV?
Despite that unsettling experience, I loved those movies. Few of them actually frightened me, but just the expectation of fear was exciting. My younger sister was just the opposite. She would never go to see those films, because, like most normal people, she found fear disturbing. But, somehow, I could not get enough of crazy monsters-and-horror mayhem. Every scary movie was a challenge.
War, Children, It’s Just a Shot Away
To this day, I believe in confronting fears, from the imaginary to the very real and dangerous. We are all afraid at times—it’s normal—but as the legendary boxing trainer Cus D’Amato pointed out, fear can be a powerful motivator. True courage is not about being fearless; it’s about overcoming fear, going ahead with something worthwhile even though you’re terrified.
The first time I faced a TV camera, as a reporter in Scranton, Pennsylvania, I was afraid of screwing up. But I never gave in to the fear. Even though I was downright awful during my first few weeks on the air, I persisted. And, after every on-camera appearance, I got better and mentally stronger. I overcame the fear. It was not so different from sitting through Not of This Earth.
As I progressed as a news reporter, the fear factor ratcheted up. The first time I entered a war zone, I did get a bit spooked. It was El Salvador, 1981, and as the Air Florida plane from Miami dropped out of the clouds, I looked out the window and saw tanks ringing the San Salvador airport. This was not a movie set. Less than two hours prior, I had been safe in south Florida. Now all that had changed. Real war, guns, and death lay before me. It was sobering, to say the least.
But, again, I relished the challenge and banished the fear from my mind. When the CBS News bureau chief asked for volunteers to check out an alleged massacre in the dangerous Morazán territory, a mountainous region bordering Nicaragua, I willingly went. And I’ll freely admit it was damn frightening in those heavily forested mountains, with all kinds of armed bad guys roaming around and no law in sight. But I learned a tremendous amount about the conflict and about myself. I could face a high-risk situation. It was a huge confidence builder.
However, I should tell you one very important thing: I was never stupid. I never took foolish chances. I did my job and calculated the safety factor all the time. Once in a while, I made a mistake. But, generally, I kept my head down when the soot hit the fan, as it occasionally did.
In my novel Those Who Trespass, I vividly describe a TV news correspondent’s near-death experience while covering the Falkland Islands war in Argentina. Coincidentally, this bold, fresh piece of humanity was also in that country during that conflict. Suffice it to say that after nearly getting my head blown off in Buenos Aires during a riot in front of the presidential palace, I gained a new appreciation for life and an even greater hatred for corruption.
The Argentine action didn’t stop me, though, from going to Northern Ireland at the height of the troubles, or to the Golan Heights, the disputed territory that Israel and Syria are quarreling over. I’ve always been curious about world conflict and what really happens in violent places. In fact, one of the best stories I’ve ever assembled had to do with the Viet Cong tunnels underneath the hamlet of Chu Chi outside Saigon.
In the summer of 1992, I traveled to Vietnam to interview a communist soldier who lived underground in those tunnels for two years. For the TV segment, I intercut his story with that of an American soldier, a so-called tunnel rat who hunted the VC in those dark caverns. It was a riveting scenario: the ultimate cat-and-mouse chase. Each man was trying to survive by killing the enemy, who was in close proximity. Twenty-five years after the fact, both men told me they still had terrifying nightmares. After hearing their stories, I understood that, compared to their ordeals, any fear I’ve had to face pales in comparison.
Vietnam in the early 1990s was not a dangerous place. But, by traveling through the hot, humid, dense, jungle-dominated countryside, I could clearly sense just how that conflict had spiraled out of control. In South Vietnam, the U.S. military could not tell friend from foe, and it must have been maddening. It is similar, in several ways, to the situations in Iraq and Afghanistan today: terrorists attacking while wearing civilian clothing and hiding behind noncombatants. They even use children as shields.
As you may know, I have visited both of those war zones. Some people thought I was nuts to go, especially to Iraq in 2006, when things were really nasty. But these days, I have a fatalistic attitude about danger, so fear never entered into my mind. It’s my job to see for myself what I am talking and writing about when I can possibly do so. Besides, the U.S. military took great care of us in both places. In El Salvador there was no American military presence, so I had no protection at all. In light of that experience, my recent trips to war zones have been relatively stress-free.
The Eternal Struggle
Why am I telling you all this? Because I believe that overcoming fear is an essential key to living a useful and honorable life. Taming fear also trains a person to stand up to injustice. This is very important. When it is all over, when you are dead in the ground or in an urn, your legacy will be defined by two simple questions: How many wrongs did you right, and how many people did you help when they needed it?
That’s it. Nothing more. No one will care how much money you made or what kind of car you drove. Those things don’t inspire memorable eulogies.
So you can go ahead and hose people all day long, amassing great wealth and power, but what, exactly, does that mean? Nada, that’s what. Note to the greed-heads and evildoers: you may be remembered for your misdeeds, but only as objects of ridicule or revulsion. On the other hand, the person who makes things better in this world will not be easily forgotten; his or her legacy will likely carry on. The good that you do in your life remains in the world.
But make no mistake: to attempt to right wrongs means conflict, and you will suffer. Most people are afraid of that suffering, so most people sit it out. My father was a role model in this regard, a good man afraid to stand up.
My core belief, as stated in my book Culture Warrior, is that life is a constant struggle between good and evil. That each person has free will and must choose a side. Refusing to choose puts one in the evil category by default, because bad things will then go unchallenged. The German people during the Nazi era demonstrated this better than anyone else. Most Germans were not Nazis, but most stood by and allowed incredible atrocities because they were either afraid or apathetic. Then they were forced to defend those atrocities by fighting World War II. Germany is still branded by that disgrace to this day.
But most evil is not as obvious as the work of Hitler and his pals, who flat out told the folks they were murderous racists. No, most bad people, out of cowardice or self-interest, attempt to disguise their evil. Some get justice, but some do not. For me, that’s the most frustrating part of life: seeing evil individuals continue to harm people with impunity.
That’s why I created the Factor, to hold those people accountable. To make sure that child rapists serve decades in prison, to expose judges who allow violent convicted felons to walk free, to call for aggressive action against terrorists who slaughter women and children. If you watch me on television, you know I am deeply invested in those things, and in the following chapter we’ll specifically address the battle against evil in America and abroad.
But here’s a fascinating subplot: some folks think I am the evil guy. If you don’t believe me, just check out some of those loony extremist Web sites—there are plenty of people who hate me and would hurt me if they could.
Unfortunately, I mean that literally. My job c
ommenting on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness has led to constant threats against me and, on a few occasions, against my family. This is where confronting fear comes in. These threats come in a variety of ways and are disconcerting, to say the least. One guy was actually sent to jail for stuff he did to me. This kind of garbage is, by far, the worst part of my life.
Going into detail about those threats serves no purpose here. But you should know that some very powerful people have encouraged that kind of vile activity, have encouraged people to harm me. We know who those people are, and I intend to deal with them sooner or later. Not a threat, a promise. Obviously, the struggle is intense, and if I weren’t emotionally equipped to deal with fear, I could never do what I do every day. Not bragging, just stating.
There is no question that it would be far easier for me to do what most other TV people do: that is, go to work, let other people write and produce the program, and stay away from hot issues. I could make a nice living doing that, but I’d be bored stupid.
Some will call me delusional, but I truly believe that I was put on this earth for a reason and confronting evil is that purpose. At the risk of sounding self-righteous, I want to quote evil guy Hyman Roth who, when speaking to Michael Corleone in Godfather II, dismissed the dangers of Mafia life with a pithy summation: “This is the business we’ve chosen.”
When you strip it all down, that’s what I choose to do with my media power: expose bad guys. But, obviously, the bad guys don’t like that and will do what bad guys do: that is, try to hurt you.
Now, sometimes, I make a wrong call on assessing evil but, fortunately, not too often. Before we go after someone, my staff does intense research, and a producer always calls the person in question to hear his or her side of the story. The Factor has been on the air for more than twelve years. We have never lost a court case and have never had to retract a story. When we make a factual mistake, we correct it as quickly as possible. But we never, ever back away from a story or an opinion because we’re afraid it will lead to conflict. We embrace the challenge.
Hit ’Em Again, Harder, Harder
Two more stories on the subject of fear. First, in the late fall of 1967, I was a freshman at Marist College, one of three first-year guys to make the football team. In the music world, the Doors were just breaking through to the other side, Cool Hand Luke was failing to communicate in the movies, and The Flying Nun, with actress Sally Field, was soaring to the top on television.
On the field, I was a bit like Paul Newman’s Luke character on the prison farm. I was getting pounded. Each week in practice, the third-stringers ran the plays of the opposing team so that the first string could see what might happen on game day. I, the bold, fresh guy, was the quarterback of the third team. The problem here was this: FULL CONTACT. That meant the third-stringers were going up against the first team as if we were playing a regular game. No “red shirt” on the quarterback so he wouldn’t get hit. No, sir, I got smashed just like everybody else.
Gen. George Armstrong Custer would understand.
One very cold late November evening, the Marist Vikings were practicing at Riverview Field in Poughkeepsie, New York, preparing to play a night game the following Friday. The numbing wind whipped off the frigid Hudson River; the ground was as hard as Dick Cheney’s heart; in short, the entire atmosphere was one of pure misery.
Predictably, such conditions teed everybody off. But one part of the team had an outlet for their frustrations: the first-team defense. If they wanted they could take the third-team quarterback, me, and the running backs apart limb by limb. Unfortunately, that evening, they wanted.
A mutiny was under way inside my huddle. The opposing first-string defensive goliaths outweighed my offensive linemen by about a ton. Upon receiving a handoff, my running backs would simply fall down, correctly assessing that humiliation was better than decapitation. All I had left was the pass. God help me.
At this point, I should tell you that in addition to being a quarterback, I was also the punter and placekicker on the team. And I know this is hard to believe, but I was somewhat cocky on the field. In fact, just like my idol, Joe Namath of the New York Jets, I wore white cleats. It didn’t matter that Namath had more football talent in his shoelaces than I had in my entire body; I still wore those shoes.
Some of the bigger, meaner guys on the Marist team did not quite understand the shoes, if you know what I mean.
That’s me on the far right. Note the Namath number and white cleats.
Anyway, back to the cold, bleak, Stalingrad-like practice. Our coach, Ron Levine, admired guys like Darryl Royal and Bear Bryant, legendary college coaches who embraced brutal practices. So, a test of wills began to emerge. I, being bold and fresh, was not going to show the first team any fear or weakness. That was not going to happen.
Of course, given the circumstances, my attitude was beyond dumb. The entire third team was one big weakness. We were terrible. If we were any good, we would have been playing on the first team, right? Apparently, everybody knew this but me.
Realizing that the running game was nonexistent, I began calling pass plays. The problem was, I got hammered exactly three seconds after taking the snap from the center. Sometimes, I actually threw the ball in that short period of time. But it really didn’t matter. No way were my receivers going to catch anything, primarily because their average height was five feet five inches.
So, time after time, I threw the ball and got slammed to the turf. Always, I sprang back up and snarled stupid stuff at the defense like, “Is that all you got?” Genius.
At that point, I should have been placed under psychiatric care. Any responsible institute of higher learning would have ordered that. But I was not given the head help I so obviously needed. Instead, I toughed out the practice and walked off the field under my own power, numb from the part in my hair on down.
After that pathetic display, a few of the first-teamers actually came up to me and mumbled stuff like, “Nice job.” But then an incredible thing happened. The defensive coach, a crusty guy named Bill Linnehan, who rarely spoke to the leprous third string, stopped at my locker, stared at me for a second, and kept it pithy: “You may not be smart, O’Reilly, but you got guts.”
Okay.
Taking that kind of beating way back then actually helped me in life. Every year, I get together with some of the defensive guys who pounded me into pudding. They usually bring up the frigid, brutal practice, and we have some laughs about it. After more than forty years, walking off that field remains a source of pride for me. Even though I was insane.
The final story about fear happened on January 5, 2008. I was up in New Hampshire covering the presidential primary when something very unexpected happened. My Fox News crew and I were stationed behind a short barrier waiting for a campaigning Barack Obama to walk by. I was hoping to get one question to the candidate.
All at once, a huge guy wearing an Obama jacket walked over and stood directly in front of my cameraman, blocking any shot he might have had. The shooter quickly moved a few feet to the left; the guy moved also, continuing to intentionally block the shot.
I then asked the guy to move, telling him he was interfering with our work. But he did not move. Because Obama was just seconds from passing us, I made the decision to move the guy myself. So I pushed him out of the way with precision. Did I mention he was six feet eight inches tall?
We later learned that the guy was a committed left-wing zealot. Not surprisingly, the incident made national news with some pinhead commentators actually calling me a bully. Sure. Too Tall Jones was the innocent victim. I love the media.
Even some of my Fox colleagues looked askance at my removal effort. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat. No one is going to do that to me. Ever. And the truth is that I never even thought about a reaction from the big guy; I guess he could have slugged me. But in my mind, he was going to move one way or another, and whatever happened, happened. No fear.
Get a Patton on It
While preparing to invade Sicily in 1943, Gen. George Patton issued a list of twenty-seven tactical adages to his commanders. One of them stated: “Never take counsel of your fears.”
Simply put, Patton was acknowledging that every human being, even hardened military personnel, is afraid at times, but a leader cannot give in to fear, cannot allow it to dictate behavior or alter thinking.
That adage should be taught in every American school. Alas, in our soft and disturbingly selfish society, it never will be. Puts too much pressure on the kids, you see. But to make a difference in this world, to right wrongs and to truly combat evil, you must never let your fears control you. You don’t have to be in the military or be an obnoxious TV commentator like some bold, fresh guy we know. In your own life, you can slap down fear by following Nancy Reagan’s advice and just saying no to it.
Patton and most other great American leaders understood that. Now, hopefully, so do you.
EVIL
No one knows about the times you’ve had,
You’ve been so evil, you’ve been so bad,
There’s the devil to pay for what you’ve put them through,
And you’ve got a feeling somebody’s following you.
—EAGLES, “SOMEBODY”
My definition of evil, like just about everything else about me, is simple and straightforward: If you knowingly hurt another human being without significant cause, like self-defense, you are committing an evil act. And if you do this as a matter of course, you are evil.
As I’ve noted in Culture Warrior, some people do not acknowledge evil at all. For them, it doesn’t exist. They always come up with some excuse, some rationalization to explain away destructive behavior. Folks who embrace the secular-progressive philosophy often tend to believe that individual pursuits and desires are justification enough to harm people. That is, if someone is standing in the way of your personal gratification, then you can hurt that person with impunity.
A Bold Fresh Piece of Humanity Page 5