page 4
daily ncbraskan
thursday, november9, 1978
opinioneditorial
Journalism can sometimes by pain in the notebook
Don't let anyone kid you, being a
journalist involves a lot more than
just going to jail for the First
Amendment, covering protesting
Iranian students, getting free passes
to a Bob Dylan concert or the
Nebraska-Oklahoma game.
It's not all glamour.
A reporter has to be in top
condition to wait three hours for the
winning candidate's speech on
election night. He has to occupy his
time someway, so he graciously
accepts the unlimited amount of free
liquor at the victory party. He also is
forced to mingle around the podium
where every kind of obnoxious
broadcaster is setting up his equip
ment. Because the reporter remem
bered the gold rule: Those politicians
like to talke to the camera and those
tee vee bosy.
After the reporter cools his heels
for three hours, the winner finally
makes his appearance with his wife,
four kids, his brother and sister-in-law,
his mother and father.
Before the winner thanks his
family for their hard work on the
campaign trail, he throws up his arms
and gives the cameras the victory
sign.
At this point, the reporter thinks,
"Not four more years of this junk."
The newly elected official pro
ceeds to make a statement that is
worthless. The crowd may sing
"Happy Days are here again." And
the winner rambles on and says
something like, "I want to thank my
campaign workers, the people that
voted for me and the election results
prove the people bought my cam
paign." End of long awaited speech.
The deadline is approaching fast.
The student or semi-reporter finds a
familiar face-a real reporter.
Quickly the semi-reporter asks the
real reporter if he can give him a ride
back to work. (This problem seems
to plauge semi-reporters).
The real reporter (who just got a
haircut and isn't that much older,
but is over thirty) says, "Look kid.
You can't be messing around, your
deadline is approaching. Here's a
dime. Phone it in. Make it sing and
dance."
The real reporter prominades back
to the party, because he works for an
evening paper and his deadline isn't
until 10 a.m.
The semi -reporter, disheartened,
because a simple yes or no would
have done, stands in the middle
of the hotel lobby and screams his
story over the phone.
Ten minute later. The real
reporter shouts, "It's about time you
got that pushed out."
The semi-reporter trots back to
work, and offers to help write
headlines to put the paper to bed.
Election night heat burns out journalists, parties go on
Election night for politicians is a
mixture of the Mardi Gras, a Jewish
wedding and an Irish wake, depending on
the outcome of their particular contests.
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The liquor flows freely at the parties,
Uncle Walter tells the celebrants what is
happening all over the country while local
polls gather results to announce to the
crowd, results which determine the course
of the evening.
But regardless of the outcome, the
participants will continue their party,
either drowning their sorrows or celebrat
ing their long awaited victory.
Election night for the journalist, on the
other hand, can be an evening of great fear
and loathing, to use Hunter Thompson's
words.
The constantly shrinking time before
deadline does a fine job of providing the
fear, the loathing is left for every individual
to find.
Hurry up and wait
By nature, a hurry up and wait
profession, journalism reaches the point of
ridiculousness on election nights.
A campaign schedule tells you the great
man will arrive at his victory party at 9 or
9:15, so you get into the old Chevy at
8:30, because you can't afford to miss any
thing important, and head for the party.
Arriving well ahead of time, you make
the rounds of the affair, talking with the
celebrants, catching a glance or two at Dan,
Harry, Roger and Walter. And you wait for
the arrival of the winner.
Only about half an hour late, your man
arrives, makes a few comments and then
announces he will have a statement in
about an hour. So, you are confronted
with your first major decision, do you stay
and wait or go to another party?
You make the break and head across
town to another party for another race.
You press through the crowd to reach
the candidate, projected to be the winner,
grab him by the shoulder and ask him for
a comment and receive the standard
election night line, "IH have a statement
after my opponent concedes."
No comment
Given that option, you look for the
opponents to see what they have to say.
Your luck holds true to form and he won't
comment until he sees more results.
By this time, your initial candidate is
giving his statement, but you are rescued
by a colleague who happens to be at the
party.
You call in a story to the office and
then you play the waiting game again,
smoking cigarettes, cursing politicians and
playing political analyst.
An hour later, all hell breaks loose, you
get an interview with one winner, and then
arrive at the party of another to hear his
acceptance speech.
You make a final, futile attempt to
contact a loser and then return to the type
writer and try to make sense out of what
you have seen and heard with less than one
hour before your final deadline.
So, seven hours after you started, you
have finished, you feel like someone has
used Drano on your brain and you're not
sure what happened anywhere.
But you don't complain, because you
are, in the learned words of Joe Starita,
"in seventh heaven" an event which only
happens every two years.
For a political reporter, covering an
election is the high point of your job and
election night is the grand finale of the
campaign.
It may indeed be by a trial by fire, but
it is a fire you enter over and over and
enjoy the heat.
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Unfulfilled health nuts turn to newest craze drinking
A new health fad is sweeping the nation
drinking.
Writing in the current issue of Human
Nature Magazine, Dr. William J. Darby,
professor of biochemistry at VanderbUt
University and president of the Nutrition
Foundation, cites a number of recent
studies indicating drinkers are at least 30
percent less likely to have heart attacks
than teetotallers.
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Given the preoccupation of Americans
with their bodies, these statistics have, of
course, created a new craze among health
nuts. Their guru is unquestionably Dr.
Milton Haberdash, Phys. Ed., author of
that new bestseller. The Three-Martini
Lunch and Other Keys to Keeping
Physically Fit.
In his forwarder. Haberdash candidly
admits that for years, he depended solely
on a daily regimen of eight miles of
jogging, 17 macadamia nuts and a casaba
melon.
Missing something
"But I had the feeling that I was missing
something," he said. "And it wasn't until
I took up drinking that I knew what it was.
Since then, I've been a new man."
In his first chapter, "Getting Ready",
Dr. Haberdash notes that drinking requires
a minimum of equipment. "All you need
to start," he says, "is a glass, some ice and
a bottle of gin. Any kind of comfortable
clothing will do, although you might wish
to spruce up a bit if you plan to drop in on
your neighborhood health spa or, as they
are more accurately called, 'body shop.'"
"Don't gulp that first martini down all
at once or you may - be heading for
trouble," he warns. "Try alternating
between sipping a little and resting a little
until you determine just how fast and how
far you can comfortably go."
He goes on to say that no one is too old
to take up drinking, and it is an activity
that the whole family can enjoy, except for
tiny toddlers. But he does caution the
beginner to pace himself.
Dr. Haberdash recommends that the
novice ingrain his drinking habit by picking
a certain time of day and sticking to it
'like before breakfast or when you're
listening to the Six O'clock News."
Don't go too far
"YouU be pleasantly surprised by how
much better even half an hour's drinking
makes you feel," he says. "And many
drinkers reach a state of euphoria in which
they can completely forget the worries of
the daily world."
(Copyright), 1978, Chroniclt Publishing Co.
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