The Last Debate
Jim Lehrer
Language: English
Pages: 336
ISBN: 1586480049
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The Borgia Apocalypse: The Screenplay
from on a short flight to Tulsa, Oklahoma, and then drove in my rent-a-car down to the Ouachita Mountains of southeastern Oklahoma. Another similarity to Santorini was the beautiful sights. But instead of a blue sea and high volcanic cliffs, there were majestic pine and fir trees atop a magnificent and unspoiled range of small mountains. I had imagined Oklahoma to be a place of cowboys, flat red land, and oil wells. I saw some of all of that on the road south from Tulsa, but I was stunned by
smelled the money of the stars and followed the odor. There are those who reject much of his Old Journalism whine out of hand. I am one of them. We argue that a more vigorous, more pressing, more aggressive, more penetrating, more visible press is exactly what this country needs. Why shouldn’t reporters be the well-paid stars of a democratic open society? They still don’t make as much as basketball players and corporate CEOs. Why shouldn’t they give their informed opinions about the subjects on
short stories and maybe even plays. But there had never been time. Hemingway or somebody said only those who have to write fiction or die do it, because it’s too hard otherwise. Clearly Mike Howley hadn’t had to or die. Did he now? “Mr. Howley?” said a stewardess, leaning across the man in the aisle seat. Howley smiled in the affirmative. Yes indeed, he was the famous Mr. Howley. Do you want me to autograph your manifest? “I sometimes see you on ABS in the morning,” she said. “I think you are
to?” “Who knows? Where everybody else is going.” I followed him out from behind our small table into a narrow aisle. We were immediately hit with the force of moving bodies behind us, almost picked up off the floor and swept away as if by a roaring current of a river flooding out of its banks. There was a lot of good humor at first as we moved along toward the door. People laughed and there were jokes about pack journalism and feeding frenzies. Then I heard a scream up ahead. It sounded male,
to 30 percentage points on average. “So, as usual, our powers-that-be at the network want to go with the numbers,” Carol Reynolds said. “They want to make you America’s first solo woman principal network anchor.” They want to make you America’s first solo woman principal network anchor. Those were the cumbersomely arranged words Joan Naylor had worked toward and dreamed most of her adult life about hearing, words she thought she probably never would hear. Some other woman might hear them in a