A fellow in Venezuela, thought to be dead after an accident,
woke up screaming the other day when the autopsy knife made an
initial incision into his face. And there is nothing more
disturbing at an Irish wake than to turn around and see the
decedent sitting up in the casket in an alcoholic haze, belting out
Danny Boy along with the ne’er-do-well cousins. Once a chap has
checked out, it is bloody bad form to suddenly check in.
But will Dan Rather be bound by such common sense? Oh, no. The
stubborn old coot insists on attempting resurrection by
insurrection, suing the network for all its net worth; well, 70
mil, anyway. He was the victim of an injustice, you see, and that
raised his hackles. Yes, he has been seething. Seething quietly,
doing a slow burn, like a T-bone on a George Foreman. Who do these
management suits think they are? A 48 Short and a 44 Extra-Long
called him into the office, told him it is time for the CBS
retirement plan, “Sixty Minutes.” Turns out it’s not even sixty,
after you subtract the commercials. Boy, could he hear that clock
ticking loudly in his ear.
A patsy, that’s what they tried to make him, a patsy. Who did
they think they were dealing with, some kind of innocent who
doesn’t know the ropes, who will give up his fringe benefits with
no strings attached? Hoo no, those fellers have another think
comin’. Don’t they know he is Dan the Man, the guy who paid off the
makeup girl to hide Cronkite’s teeth that one night? The old guy
was retired to that island in Massachusetts before Martha planted
her first grape.
So they think they can write him off just like that, eh? Well,
he’ll show those guys the only hill he is over is Bunker, and he
can see the whites of their eyes big as snowballs. Those boys are
going down for the count and staying down, like George Foreman on a
T-bone. He was up here writing copy before their Mama ever picked
her prom dress. He already forgot more about this business than
those guys ever learned in their fancy-pants journalism school.
Well, they’ll need those pants, won’t they, because they are going
to be losing their shirt.
And was any of it his fault? Gimme a break. He ran a tight ship
in his newsroom, you know, so tight you could travel four knots on
a tri-sail. None of this vacuous blather you see now in these
amateur hour productions, no no no, we are talking professional
here. Pro is the word. In his day, a fact checker checked a fact
until it squeaked. Accuracy was the watchword. People knew they
could watch CBS and get news the old-fashioned way. Well, not as
opposed to modern. Just as opposed to this sloppy nouveau arty
skin-deep fashion-plate for-your-eyes-only puppet show that passes
for network news in this day and age. Humph!
Well, he’ll show them, he sure will. Seventy mil worth of a
lesson. They’ll think twice before they take on a legend again. Not
that it’s his place to call himself a legend. Much too modest for
that. It’s not about him, oh no. News is much bigger than little
old Dan. It is an institution, a centerpiece of our democracy, a
symbol of our freedom, something sacred, not to be reduced by Rush
Limbaugh types to specious formulas designed to protect the
military-industrial complex.
No sirree, Bob, their crass, boorish behavior will not stand.
They will pony up, my friends, with some bucks in the Bronx. No way
are they shelling out forty mil to a wannabe rancher like Imus and
then walking away from Dan without losing some paint off their
bumper. We have a way of doing things back in Texas, and we don’t
call a job done until it is well and truly done, like a poached egg
on a branding iron. Oh, yes, they said they have to protect the CBS
brand; well, it is time they get the DR brand right there on their
big fat wallets.
Still, that isn’t the part that burns him the most. Money is
just money, after all, cabbage to get you through a patch. What it
is is the principle of the thing. Here he was, Dan Rather, a living
legend, with a paper about that Bush kid’s National Guard service
or lack thereof, and suddenly he had to defer to a bunch of
computer geeks in their pajamas. Which, come to think of it, is
what he is wearing. Well, forget that nap, it is time now to get
redressed.
