How to Keep That Phone Ringing : THE MAN WHO WOULD BE PRESIDENT: Dan Quayle, <i> By Bob Woodward and David S. Broder (Simon & Schuster: $18; 207 pp.)</i>
Access Journalism was to the 1980s what the New Journalism was to the 1960s and ‘70s: the way for an ambitious reporter to make his or her name. Access Journalism is the reportorial mode made possible by access to senior governmental officials and by the bull market for opinion journalism. Officials provide journalists with information and trends on Executive Branch politicking; journalists convey these impressions to the public in a simplified form that doesn’t offend the source.
The temptation of mutual flattery in such arrangements is strong and rarely resisted. Access becomes a professional asset to the journalist, more valuable than Critical Distance, more powerful than Historical Perspective, and infinitely more attractive than old-fashioned Moral Fervor.
Case in point: “The Man Who Would Be President,” a dismally disappointing biography of Vice President Dan Quayle by Bob Woodward and David Broder of the Washington Post. When two good journalists can produce a book this bad, all students of journalism should pay attention.
Woodward and Broder have joined the ranks of the Quayle revisionists. In 1991, leading opinion-makers on the East Coast became increasingly concerned that Dan Quayle was getting a “bum rap” from comedians and the public. But rather than interview the people who laugh at the vice president and explore why Quayle is such an object of fun, these vigilant opinion-makers chose to interview Quayle and explore why he is so misunderstood. Scribblers as diverse as A. M. Rosenthal, William Safire, Charles Krauthammer, James J. Kilpatrick, Morton Kondracke, Rowland Evans, Robert Novak and Fred Barnes all gained access to the vice president and--surprise!--every one of them came away defending Quayle from the chuckling masses.
“Dan Quayle has proven to be a skillful player of the political game,” Woodward and Broder intone, “with a competitive drive that has been underestimated repeatedly by his rivals.”
Now this is enough to make anybody stop laughing at Quayle jokes. Who wants to get caught underestimating a man who says things like “I didn’t live in this century” and who apparently believes that there is life on Mars? When opinion-makers start praising the (vice) emperor’s new clothes, we have to pay attention--to the message and the messengers.
The problem with Woodward and Broder’s thesis is their own evidence. While lathering on favorable generalities about the vice president, Woodward and Broder also provide a wealth of damning detail. They report that the vice president does not even rank among the President Bush’s top eight national security and foreign policy advisers. On the rare occasion when Quayle does takes a substantive stand on issues, such as his call for reform of the legal system, Woodward and Broder report that he fails to follow up. And they show that that Quayle’s passion for golf, a staple of the late-night comedians, is, if anything, even stronger than is generally known: In the summer, Dan Quayle golfs three to four times a week, sometimes for as much as eight hours at a time.
Woodward and Broder open their book with an account of Quayle’s “subtle” campaign to get himself named to the 1988 Republican ticket. The ambitious Indiana senator, they say, “made more Senate floor speeches, wrote more op-ed pieces and issued more press releases than ever before, especially on high-profile issues such as defense that would become the themes of the 1988 presidential race. He spoke up in the weekly closed-door lunches of Senate Republicans.” But while suggesting that this campaign was a testament to Quayle’s political skills, Woodward and Broder report (159 pages later) that virtually no one was impressed: “In 1988, when Bush surveyed Republican senators, not one of Quayle’s colleagues listed him among the top three choices for the vice presidency.”
Instead of developing a historical record about how Dan Quayle made his way in public life, Woodward and Broder rely on the “spin control” babble of their high-level sources in contemporary Washington. “Quayle,” they report in a typical finding, “is now seen (by the White House staff) as someone who gives useful advice, as long as it is generally in line with the direction in which Bush already is headed.”
The publication of such a slippery formulation is useful only to a small minority of readers. The enthusiastic Quayle supporter can take away the impression that Quayle is “in the loop.” The discerning Quayle critic can deduce that if the vice president has any substantive disagreements with the White House he is sure to be ignored. The clever White House officials who dreamed up this line can be content that they have polished Quayle’s image while obscuring the reality of his uselessness. And Woodward and Broder can rest assured that said officials will return their phone calls next week. The vast majority of readers will probably feel confused, if not manipulated, by such nonsense.
It’s not that Woodward and Broder are unwilling to puncture the facade of Quayle photo opportunities created by White House political strategists. In the case of the Persian Gulf War, they do so effectively. Nor are they unwilling to be tough on Quayle about his work habits. But they cast key issues of Quayle’s public career in the most favorable light, and ignore potentially embarrassing incidents, like Quayle’s 1977 call for the decriminalization of marijuana. Worst of all, they ignore the work of other reporters that casts doubt on Quayle’s veracity.
For example, Woodward and Broder say that Quayle’s enlistment in the National Guard in May, 1969, was “somewhat out of the ordinary” but also insist that “no rules were broken.” They skirt the real issue, which is why a hawk like Quayle was trying to avoid service in Vietnam. Instead of pressing Quayle on that question, they give him the last (misleading) word: “I don’t know of anybody that applied (to the National Guard), at least from DePauw, the group that I hung around with down there, that didn’t get in (to the Guard),” the vice president said.
Quayle has apparently forgotten about his old friend, Robert Steele, whom he hung around with both at Huntington High and at DePauw. Steele told reporters in 1988 that he tried to get into several Indiana National Guard units in May, 1969, and found no openings. Steele didn’t fault Quayle for joining the Guard, only for not admitting that he relied on family connections to steer him to a unit with openings. Steele was not among the 200 people whom Woodward and Broder interviewed.
There is little doubt that Woodward and Broder’s book will contribute somewhat to the rehabilitation of Dan Quayle. When two of the most prominent reporters in the country say that Quayle is “a skillful player of the political game,” the statement is true simply by virtue of its publication. But what exactly do Woodward and Broder mean when they talk about “the political game”? These days a lot of people believe that the American people are not players in the Washington political game. Indeed, the suspicion is widespread that Dan Quayle, Bob Woodward, David Broder and other similarly “skillful” Washingtonians are playing a game with the American people. The name of the game is Access Journalism.
