I had only reported that the state capital of Texas, Austin, had just one TV station. Lots of would-be station owners applied for more licenses, but the FCC wouldn't grant permission. It just so happened that Johnson's wife, LadyBird, owned the one station. Oh, and one other thing: LBJ also held a majority stake in cable wiring for the city.
Now, I simply outlined the facts in this broadcast. No editorializing. Didn't matter. That towering, notoriously testy fellow Texan was on the horn with my boss, John S. Hayes, president of Post-Newsweek stations. "Sam," Hayes told me, "the Vice President called and said he didn't like what you said last night and he wants me to fire you." I held my breath. Is my career already sunk?
But with as few words as possible, Hayes let me know that my job was secure--for now. "Just don't do it again" was the unspoken but clear message. As I'd go on to cover Presidents Carter, Reagan, and Clinton on the White House lawn, to this day, that lesson about powerful people remains true: they're awfully thin-skinned. You could spend 95 percent of a broadcast praising them, but they'll only remember the other 5 percent.
And despite Hayes' caution, of course, I've never been known for backing off. Admittedly, that philosophy has served me well. Neither the press nor the President takes a day off. Not a minute off, really. Certain questions need to be asked. If an honorable person has nothing to hide, then he or she should have no misgivings about giving a straight answer.
In the Army Now My military experiences early on helped shape my philosophy as a professional. I was 25 in 1959 and in the Army. In my era, people simply went. You didn't talk about whether you would go or not. If you were lucky to go to college on the ROTC program, you went as an officer, as I did. In fact, I felt my first tour of duty was ridiculously short at six months. So I signed up for two more years.
The Army taught me that no individual is bigger than the organization. And the Army instilled a sense of decorum. If I have to ask the President a tough question, I make sure to address him as "sir." As in: "Sir, Juanita Broadrick says you raped her. Would you please respond to that charge, sir?"
Out of the Army, I tried and failed at a few jobs--I was miserable selling mutual funds in Dallas--before pursuing broadcast news. I had done radio since I was a Boy Scout, really, spinning 78 RPM "platters" at a small station in El Paso. Back then, 33 1/3 record albums were a thing of the future. When I was in college and single, broadcasting was more of a way to meet women than a likely career path. Ladies would write for me for an autographed picture, and I'd go on the air and tell them they'd have to send me theirs if I sent them mine.
By 1960, radio and TV were my livelihood, and I was making what I thought was a decent salary at a Dallas station. Then, I took a plunge: The national conventions looked like too much fun to pass up. Network news was the major leagues, so I quit my job and headed to New York.
The Early Years I applied to every station and, of course, no one hired me. I was ready to go back to Texas when WTOP in Washington came through with an offer just in time. I covered the local county commission meetings, and then headed out to a presidential news conference. I was too timid to ask President Kennedy a question. The "tough but fair" approach would come later, after many years of trial and error.
As a young reporter in Washington, I made my first association with David Brinkley in an unusual way. I happened to take up playing bridge at night with his mother-in-law, the dear, late Agnes Fischer. There we were on evenings for hours, drinking vodka and smoking when David would walk in the room. Had he said, "I heard you on WTOP, you're a great reporter," I may have passed out. Of course, this never happened. He was no backslapper. We exchanged polite, brief pleasantries and he went on his way. By the time I joined his Sunday show many years later, I'm sure he never remembered our first meetings.
Today, I look at those early days on ABC as a pivotal proving ground. And even though the characters change, they remain remarkably similar--whether county commissioner, senator, or president. If the mayor's brother is getting a city paving contract, I asked the right questions back then. If the president is trading arms for hostages, you have to ask the right questions. Without those early days of discovery and instinct building, I may have never asked those questions of the men in the oval office.
