My new show has given me the opportunity to build on the strengths I learned on Fox & Friends, especially doing hard-hitting interviews, many of which have a strong emotional pull—such as conversations with veterans and an interview with parents who lost a child in the war. I’ve also created some interesting panels to really mix it up discussing current events. There’s been a faith panel, a women’s power panel, and a “manel,” which is, you guessed it, a panel of men. I do a daily “My Take” at the end of the show, which is a commentary on one topic that I feel especially passionate about. Each day it’s something different. One day it could be about politics, the next our education system—and some days I write about really personal messages, from my daughter’s once being bullied to how important I think it is to stand up for Christian values. From the start I’ve wanted to showcase the real me, so I’ve included lots of personal segments, views behind the scenes, stories from home, and a blooper reel. I always share comments from viewers and am constantly looking for ways to make the show better. It’s a work in progress and always will be.
The environment is very high energy. At our daily meetings people are expected to come in with ideas to pitch, and then we have to make sure we have all the elements—videotapes, rights, guests, and so on. This is TV, so the best idea in the world can die because the elements aren’t there, or a guest we want books on another show. And, let me add, working in an environment where there’s breaking news puts a whole new perspective on things. I could have the most amazing show planned and it can get scrapped in a heartbeat when an important world event occurs. It just goes with the territory. It’s very challenging, but in my mind there is nothing as exhilarating as live TV.
When the weather got nice, I started going outside to the street to do segments like the one testing the fare of the food trucks (my favorite!). It takes a lot of machinations to get outside. One day I taped a video to show viewers just how hard it is. I had exactly three minutes to get from the set on the twelfth floor down the elevator to the street, change the microphone packs on the back of my bra, then race outside, get new mic packs, catch my breath, and start talking.
Having my own show has allowed me to lend my voice fully to the issues I care about. It’s challenging to be on my own and to set my own style, but I love covering the important issues of the day in an authentic way.
Soon after I started my show, I made a big statement on October 11, which was the International Day of the Girl. I decided to go on air without makeup, to present a positive role model for young girls. It was a “first” on cable news! My guest on the show—also without makeup—was Jodi Norgaard, CEO of Dream Big Toy Company, which promotes self-esteem for girls. Norgaard told my viewers about the Brave Girls Alliance, formed to encourage the media and retailers to provide healthy messages and healthy images for girls. “Let’s stop sexualizing our young girls, because it’s not right,” Norgaard said. I was proud to stand up as a role model in the fight to let girls be girls.
These days my mother has become an unexpected role model for me as an executive woman. Mom has always been amazing; she embraced her role in the home, and we were all better for her loving attention. But a few years ago when Dad decided to retire, Mom took over the helm.
Her motivation was in part inspired by the dramatic rescue of the dealership in 2009. That year, at the height of the financial crisis, General Motors announced it was terminating Main Motors’ contract. That was crazy—the dealership had just hit 105 percent of its earning projection and was doing very well, even in the bad economy.
Some people wondered if my parents ended up on the hit list of dealerships shuttered because I worked at Fox News. I guess we’ll never know, since there was no real formula for who got canceled and who didn’t. I did an interview with my parents on Fox & Friends when they were in town one time after the cancellations had started. Their dealership had made it through the first two rounds at that point, but was terminated a few weeks after the interview. When they called to tell me they’d received the notice, I broke down crying. I just didn’t understand how GM could close down a profitable business that had been in our family for almost a century.
My parents decided to fight. My mother proclaimed, “I will walk outside without any clothes on my back before I let this thing go under.” Dad taped a moving appeal to Congress, and I even got in on the act, talking about it on air. Finally, thanks in large part to a phenomenal effort from the Minnesota congressional representatives, the contract was restored. In the process, my smart, outgoing mother became friends with every politician in the state and on Capitol Hill.
When they got the dealership back, my mother quipped, “I’ve never worked so hard to get back something I already owned.” And with Dad in retirement mode she announced that she wanted to step in, at the age of seventy-three, and run the dealership. Mom has been hugely successful in that role, in large part because she understands people so well. Her philosophy is that running a dealership is about building relationships, both with the employees and the customers. She tells me that she loves going to work every day.
I have to smile sometimes, because Mom used to get so irritated when I was a young journalist talking about women’s rights in the workplace. She’d say, “Gretchen, I wish you wouldn’t talk so much about those issues.” But now that she’s running a company, it’s a different story. She wants to talk about the ways women get treated differently in business. It’s not just rhetoric to her—it’s real.
• • •
When you ask viewers to invite you into their living rooms, you have to expect them to treat you with an intimacy that can be jarring. I love my viewers and fans, and their daily supportive messages really give me a lift. But in this era of social media, the flood of commentary that follows me through each day is not all love. Not surprisingly, many of the comments are not about what I say or the issues I discuss on the show, but how I look or what I’m wearing. No surprise—male anchors don’t get the same scrutiny over their physical attributes. Aside from occasional comments about Brian’s hair, I can’t remember Steve or Brian receiving many comments about their looks in the seven years I sat beside them on the couch. But I sure did! Being on TV sometimes feels like a running fashion commentary:
“Gretchen needs a jacket . . . PLEASE!”
“Please sit up straight and look like a lady.”
“You’re a lovely woman, Gretchen. No need to expose yourself.”
“You should NOT wear short skirts . . . ever . . . with your thunder thighs and legs.”
“Just lose weight or cover up.”
“Those are not arms for sleeveless styles.”
Some of the comments veer away from the helpful and into the mean—not just about the way I look, but the content of my show and how I express my ideas. There’s a tendency on social media to let the mockery get out of hand, and the fact that it’s anonymous makes it easier for people to say things they wouldn’t say to your face. My “Mean Tweets” segment on The Real Story is popular with viewers because they get it. One day when I tweeted I’d had a car accident on an icy road on my way to work, writing, “Nothing like seeing life flash before your eyes—thankful,” one Twitter responder wrote, “Did you hit a Festivus pole?” Another person tweeted, “All about you, you did not have the accident, the driver did, your dumb blond life flashed? ha.” On air I responded, “I’ve got news for you, that is not the first time I’ve heard a dumb blonde joke. Try somethin’ else, somethin’ new.” It’s important for me to occasionally air mean tweets. I can poke fun at myself and also expose social media bullying—to help young kids who face an ever-growing problem with this. I figure if I can be bullied relentlessly and feel the sting at my age, I can only imagine how it affects kids who are so vulnerable.
Truth is, it just doesn’t bother me anymore. I think my mental attitude shifted when I turned forty. It doesn’t matter so much what people say about me. I know who I am. But
faced with the negative barrage of social media, I’ve also decided to inject a positive note. Most of these people don’t expect to hear back from me, but when I get a particularly vicious comment, I’ll respond to the person, “Thank you so much for writing. I hope you have a fantastic day.” The strangest thing happens when I reply positively. Sometimes the negative commenters fall all over themselves to retract, writing, “Oh, I hope you have a good day too, I love your show and I was just pointing out that I thought maybe . . .” and then they are apologetic. It’s cathartic to respond with a positive comment—and in an important way it helps break the cycle of meanness.
One of my role models in responding to mean comments is Carey Smith Steacy, a pilot for the Canadian carrier WestJet. After a flight, she was shown a note that had been scribbled on a napkin and left by “David,” a passenger in seat 12E. He complained that WestJet should have told him there would be “a fair lady . . . at the helm” so he could have booked another flight. He wrote, “The cockpit of an airliner is no place for a woman. A woman being a mother is the most honor, not as ‘captain.’”
Steacy’s reply on Facebook was a brilliant example of a positive response: “To @David in 12E on my flight #463 from Calgary to Victoria today. It was my pleasure flying you safely to your destination . . . Funny, we all, us humans, have the same rights in this great free country of ours. Now, back to my most important role, being a mother.”
The comment threads are not all snark, though—not even close. The best communications are the many wonderful letters and e-mails from my fans, who feel as if they know the real me. Sometimes it seems as if I am a part of their family. It always strikes me how little effort it takes to reach out to viewers in a personal way, yet how much it means to them. For example, I received a letter from a woman telling me that her elderly father was my biggest fan. The family was coming to New York to celebrate his eightieth birthday, and his only wish was to meet me. It was a no-brainer. I invited the family to the show and gave her father the star treatment, including presenting him with a birthday cake. Afterward, his daughter wrote me a beautiful, heartfelt letter about the visit: “Gretchen, I am sitting here writing with tears in my eyes as I am overcome with gratitude toward you. So many times I have wondered why someone like you would have done all of this for perfect strangers. You are truly an incredible person! Honestly, if we had won millions of dollars in a lottery it would not have matched the gift you gave our family in a single day.”
Wow! Her letter made me cry. I don’t have to wonder why I get up and do what I do every day.
Chapter 10
To Whom Much Is Given
Catherine Violet Hubbard was a little six-year-old redhead with a bright spirit and a beautiful smile who loved animals. Grace Audrey McDonnell was a sweet-faced blonde, also six, with an artistic flair, who dreamed of being a painter. Both were gunned down on December 14, 2012, with eighteen of their classmates and six teachers in the Sandy Hook school shooting. As a family we shared the grief and outrage of the nation. As a journalist I struggled to keep my emotions in check while reporting the news. When my daughter decided to do something special as a tribute to Catherine and Grace, it was the proudest moment of my life.
Kaia is an extremely sensitive and caring young girl. Living in New York City when she was little, she noticed homeless people and asked me why they lived on the street. I tried to explain as best as I could, and she insisted on giving her own money to them when we passed by. Years later, after we moved to Connecticut, I was planning to meet Kaia and a friend and the friend’s mother for lunch in the city after finishing up Fox & Friends for the day. They arrived fifteen minutes late. The other mom apologized with a smile. “Sorry we’re late, but Kaia wanted to make sure we found enough homeless people to help with all the money in her wallet before we came to lunch.” That’s my daughter! She’s always the first to reach out, whether it’s giving money to the poor or packing up the clothes she’s grown out of to take to the homeless shelter.
In the aftermath of Sandy Hook, Kaia, then ten, a serious piano student, had learned eleven classical pieces, and her teacher was urging her to do a solo recital. But she told me that she only wanted to do a recital if it would help somebody, and she came up with the idea of performing to raise money in honor of victims of Sandy Hook. Many of the children had charities formed in their memories, and Kaia studied their stories and chose Catherine’s and Grace’s charities because they touched her heart—an animal sanctuary in honor of Catherine and a playground and an art scholarship in honor of Grace. “I love animals and the arts,” Kaia said simply, “and I wanted to give to charities that are things I like to do.”
The recital took place at our church in May 2013, and Catherine’s and Grace’s families were in the audience as Kaia performed. We all had tears in our eyes, not only because the music was so beautiful, but because Kaia, a little girl herself, had orchestrated this remarkable event as a way of doing something to help.
In July 2014, Kaia and I visited the plot of land that will eventually be the Catherine Hubbard Animal Sanctuary in Newtown, Connecticut. It was a very moving day, and Kaia was thrilled when she was asked if she’d like to join Catherine’s brother Freddy as one of the first two children advisory board members. I have a feeling that this work will be a part of Kaia’s life for years to come.
• • •
I’ve carried the Carlson family dictum—“To whom much is given, much is expected”—with me as a core philosophy my whole life. When I think about it I can still hear the rich tones of my grandfather’s voice as he preached about love and charity from the pulpit. I can see my parents opening their hearts and their checkbooks time and again to help others in our community in Anoka. I can recall the intense feelings of compassion when we traveled overseas and met families who could barely afford to put food on the table. We were blessed, and my parents were determined that we would not squander our good fortune or feel prideful, but learn humility and use our advantages to help others.
It is a lesson that Casey and I have passed on to our children. We have taken special care to see that Kaia and Christian are not swept up in the entitlement culture that is so prevalent today. Our life in the church gives us a way to practice daily charity. We are a family that volunteers—whether that’s Thanksgiving dinner at our church or playing chess and participating in dance parties at homeless shelters. We teach our children that in giving back you are the winner too.
I learned that spirit of giving from my parents. Today they always tell me that my giving spirit is what makes them the most proud of me—not that I’m famous as a journalist on Fox News, or that I was Miss America, or that I was a concert violinist, but that I’m a good person. It’s what I will someday say to my own children.
I believe that every person has something to contribute to the community and the larger world, which is why even with my full schedule I think it’s important to do my part. It’s why I’m on the March of Dimes board of trustees and also the board of directors for the Miss America Organization. When I moved to New York I started getting involved in the pageant again. During that time ABC was considering removing the talent portion from the broadcast, and a group of former Miss Americas got together and said, “Over our dead bodies.” We managed to help put a stop to that idea and also lobbied for the organization to put a former Miss America on the board. I’m proud to say there are now four former Miss Americas on the board, including me.
For our family, faith is what binds us together. I always joke that some weeks I may not see Casey very much with our busy schedules, but I know I will almost always see him for our one hour at church on Sunday. Also, each spring we teach Sunday school together, switching off between our kids’ classes. It’s important for kids to see their parents at church. Studies show that when dad doesn’t go to church, the kids end up not going either later in life. In our life together faith is the greatest gift we can give to our kids, realizing that the
re’s a higher power and always something more important in your life than whatever you’re going through each day.
I work on TV, but my most important job is being a mom. I think that’s true of any woman with kids. We share a common purpose—to help our kids be the best they can be. But there is no clear road map, and it is up to each of us to find a way to instill core values in our children, and there is plenty of debate about how to do that.
A couple of years back I interviewed Amy Chua about her best-selling book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. She wrote about being strict and demanding with her two girls. She did things like make them practice the violin and piano for three hours every day. Her parenting methods sent the nation into a passionate conversation about what it meant to be a good parent.
Most of the media was raking the tiger mom over the coals for her views on parenting. It seemed that all anyone could talk about was the fact that she didn’t allow her girls to have sleepovers. I didn’t necessarily agree with all her views, but when I interviewed Amy, I wanted to make sure she had a chance to tell the other side of the story.
Even one of my own colleagues disapproved. When I appeared on The O’Reilly Factor the night my interview aired, Bill didn’t mince words. “Carlson” (he always calls me by my last name), he said, “you’re a tough interviewer, but I think you were pretty easy on her this morning.” I didn’t really go easy on her, but I just wanted to be fair. I didn’t like a lot of what she had to say, but I thought it was important to hear her out and try to understand. Maybe it was because I was also raised by a so-called tiger mother, only mine was a blonde, blue-eyed Swede.
Getting Real Page 22