Dan Rather revealed in Texas Monthly that to stay alert during his long hours on the air after September 11, he relied “on something I call 'zoom juice,' a heavy protein mixture that's whipped up in a blender.” He also recalled that the morning after the first night he went home and read the Bible.
Rather repeated his assertion that “in the first stages of this national emergency, I was willing and in some ways am still willing to give more of a pass to the official government spokesmen than one would otherwise do,” but, he emphasized, “Those of us in journalism have to remind ourselves that part of patriotism is continuing to ask the tough questions.”
Rather's recollections and comments appear in a first-person account published in the November Texas Monthly, an article highlighted by Jim Romenesko on his MediaNews page.
An excerpt from the Texas Monthly account by Rather:
…I knew from going through long periods on the air before — following the Challenger explosion, for instance — that this wasn't going to be one day but day after day. Early on I remember saying to myself, “You have to pace yourself.” Keeping your energy up is not hard in a situation like this, but I did rely on something I call “zoom juice,” a heavy protein mixture that's whipped up in a blender. Frankly I don't know what's in the d— stuff — someone on my staff makes it — but it's good for a few reasons: It gives you a burst of energy, you can gulp it down quickly, and it's liquid, so you're not chewing when you come back on the air.
That first day, I got home at five-fifteen in the morning. I know from past experience that you can't just have a glass of milk and go to bed. There's always a long glide down. This time, there was no glide down. My head was so full. I had to be back at the office at nine the next morning. I tried to read for a while, something completely different. I read the Bible. Frequently that will take my mind off things. It didn't. Then I picked up whatever I could find. I tried to read Richard Reeves's new book about Richard Nixon. I got through three sentences. I ate, paced, tried to sleep. Sleep wouldn't come….
The line dividing what's appropriate for a journalist or any of us to say moves from time to time. I'm not sure I could defend this in a post-graduate seminar, but in the first stages of this national emergency, I was willing and in some ways am still willing to give more of a pass to the official government spokesmen than one would otherwise do. As time goes on, we're still in a national emergency, and we stretch out for the long haul — but it's more important than ever that you stand up, look them in the eye, and ask the toughest question you can think of. That's my definition of patriotism in these circumstances. It can get uncomfortable. You have to face the furnace and take the heat. Nobody does it with perfection, but you keep telling yourself, “This is what I have to do.” I'm aware of what went on in Texas City and other towns and cities when journalists wrote stories or editorials critical of the president and got hate mail or were officially reprimanded. I'm here to argue that that's not in the American tradition. We're all taught a saying no later than the seventh grade: “I disagree with what you say, but I defend to the death your right to say it.”
That's the larger point to be taken from all this. Those of us in journalism have to remind ourselves that part of patriotism is continuing to ask the tough questions. I've never subscribed to the idea that journalists should be cynical, but they should be skeptical. There's a great and important difference between cynicism and skepticism. As they say, “You trust your mother, but you cut the cards.”
To read Rather's observations in full, go to the Texas Monthly site.
(This update courtesy of the Media Research Center.)
