"The Prince of Darkness: 50 Years Reporting in Washington," by Robert D. Novak. Crown Forum, 2007, 662 pages.

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Prince of Darkness or Angel of Light?

by Stephen Cox

If you've ever seen Robert Novak in his natural element — a television panel in which he plays one of the Five Expert Observers of Our Nation's Capital — you know that he's likely to be the smartest, plainest-spoken pundit of them all. It's not just his deep growly voice that makes him special; it's his ability to cut through the jargon and the platitudes and the circumlocutions and say openly what others pussyfoot around. You don't have to agree with his specific views (I suppose I would call him a mildly libertarian conservative, but he's capable of surprising me) in order to respect his candor and individuality.

And now, just as one might predict, he has written a book that is unusual, even strange, in many respects.

One seldom encounters a biography — much less an autobiography — that says exactly how much money the protagonist made, either in general or on specific commercial transactions. Novak flouts tradition by making a detailed accounting of his earnings — and often of his spendings too. He goes further: he insists on translating the sums into contemporary dollars, which nobody else ever does. Novak is neither boasting nor complaining: he made a lot less than one would expect a grade-A journalist to make, but his earnings weren't contemptible, either. What he's trying to do is explain the world he's lived in. If you're curious about how the mainstream media (familiarly known as the MSM) actually run their business, this is the book for you. It doesn't just offer the financial facts; it also shows, in enormous detail, how the deals are done and the money is generated, as illustrated by colorful stories of Novak's experience as a reporter, columnist, and television commentator over many decades. (He's been a fixture on Meet the Press, Evans and Novak, The McLaughlin Group, The Capital Gang, which he founded, and many other shows.)

Few other self-biographers (at the moment, I can't think of one) tell how much they drank. Novak describes a typical day in the 1970s. First, "lunch with a news source," accompanied by one or two Scotches and a bottle of beer; then some afternoon work, followed by an hour at the bar and two Cutty Sarks; then cocktails at home, followed by dinner with wine: "That adds up to around eight alcoholic drinks for me during a normal workday. That's a lot of booze, but there was considerably more intake for me on any day that I attended a dinner party or reception or was on the road, as frequently was the case. And there were occasions when I, a forty-something, would go on a collegiate-style drinking binge." The sorry details follow (298–99). You'll be happy to know that Novak eventually changed his ways; you'll be unhappy to know (though perhaps you would have guessed) that a lot of the elite journalism and politics of the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s floated on enormous tides of alcohol. Novak's passagesabout drinking make you wonder how either he or the republic survived.

Again, he's not boasting — in this case, about his toughness and masculinity. One of the strangest features of this book, given the author's aggressive approach to journalism and the obvious pride he takes in his gift for "making life miserable for hypocritical, posturing politicians" (14), is its remarkable degree of modesty. Where else can you find a writer who describes a column completed after an agonizing trip to the hospital as reading "no worse than usual" (626)? Where else can you find an inside-the-Beltway journalist excoriating one of his own reports as "the worst kind of inside-the-Beltway analysis," completely isolated from America at large (402)? Where else can you find a Washington reporter worrying, after 25 years, about whether he'd pulled his punches on a high-level politician: "It bothered me in 1982 and still troubles me today" (389). Where else can you find the subject of a flattering article in Newsweek reporting that the story was written by "a close friend . . . Little in Washington is on the level" (115).

There's plenty more: "This was just about the worst column I wrote during four decades . . . I was such a sucker for an exclusive story that I sometimes committed errors indefensible even for a cub reporter" (235). "That reeked of overconfidence" (220). "They have not withstood the test of time" (said of columns written in the Kennedy administration [102]). "This poster [advertising the author's writings] was put in New York subway and commuter railroad stations, making my forehead a favorite target for obscene graffiti" (100).

If Novak's book has a fault, it's a fault that is virtually inevitable in a journalistic memoir — a good memoir, anyway: Novak doesn't spend much time on issues that weren't his beat. Thus, you will see a good deal of commentary on Vietnam, which Novak visited repeatedly while the war was on, but very little on the student rebellions against it — events with which he had little contact and, apparently, little intellectual engagement.

Yet on issues that he did cover, he is perfectly willing to get down and dirty. I think it's unfortunate that he highlights his involvement in the Valerie Plame "CIA leak"; he was the central journalistic figure in that affair, yet the affair itself was of no importance, as he himself recognizes. The hue and cry over the revelation that Ms. Plame-Wilson had a desk job at the CIA was nothing more than anti-Bush agitation, to which the Bushites lent their asinine cooperation. Still, something can be learned from Novak's revelations of the folly and pomposity of other participants. Thank God, he is not a member of the smarmy, humorless, pseudo-statesmanlike, Walter Lippmann school of journalism; so there's some chance of getting the truth out of him.

A lot of that truth has to do with the biases of other high-class journalists. Other mainstream Washington reporters routinely express round-eyed bafflement over the impression — generated somehow — that they are dedicated partisans of modern liberalism and the Democratic Party. Novak offers a lifetime of evidence substantiating the charge.

One of my favorite episodes in the book features Joseph Alsop, a "conservative" news guru of the '50s and '60s. Hearing John Kennedy deliver some remarks that he'd heard many times before, Alsop "jumped on the press table and began chanting: 'Jack! Jack! Jack!'" Odd behavior for a nonpartisan reporter. Yet Alsop, Novak observes, was simply "more ostentatious than other journalists . . . [T]he press corps was solidly for Kennedy. Traveling with Nixon the last week of the campaign, I was having drinks with other reporters in a hotel bar. Somebody mentioned to star reporter William Lawrence of the New York Times that it was tough duty on the Nixon tour. 'No,' Bill said, 'I think I can do Jack more good when I'm with Nixon'" (73).

Flash forward to election night, 2004, when exit polls indicated that John Kerry, the Democratic nominee, was going to win. At CNN studios in New York "a celebration was in place . . . CNN staffers were ecstatic" (626–27). The fact that the Democratic Party of 2004 stood for very different things from the Democratic Party of 1960 appears to have made little difference to the ecstatic MSM. "Whither thou goest, I will go" — so long as thou art a Democrat.

But journalistic bias isn't necessarily limited to political parties or causes. It is also extended to power per se. Novak recalls abominable personal behavior by both Republicans and Democrats, by politician after politician, that no reporter ever considered reporting. Novak was there, during Richard Nixon's 1960 campaign, when the candidate discovered that a TV set had not been arranged to his liking. He exploded, and he "continued his profanity-laced rant up to airtime, but not a word appeared in print or on the air. The wire service, radio-television, and periodical press pool reporters did not report his conduct. Neither did I as the daily press pool reporter. That's the way journalism was in those days" (76).

Novak makes a similar report about Bill Clinton's 1992 campaign. Clinton and his people could simply lie in the face of the few reporters (Cokie Roberts of NPR was one of them) who dared ask questions about his remarkably repulsive "private" life, without any fear that the MSM would make an issue out of it. Clinton and his handlers knew that the MSM "shared my view that Clinton's dalliance with Gennifer Flowers and however many other women was not grounds for political inquiry" (although, of course, the displays of marital bliss doled out by Mr. and Mrs. Clinton were eagerly retailed). "I had not seen the press corps so excited by a presidential candidate since John F. Kennedy . . . They did not want Clinton brought down by the tabloid press" (494–95). Novak later repented of his paternalistic attitude toward voters. His colleagues, basically, didn't. They had to be driven like cows into reporting on Clinton's corruption, and they found plenty of ways of evading the part that went beyond sex.

For over 40 years Novak has been known by the unflattering title of "Prince of Darkness" — a name first given him by a Washington reporter who noted his "unsmiling pessimism about the prospects for America and Western civilization" (102). In a way, his book lives up to the phrase. One reads it with the grim pleasure of finding one's worst imaginations confirmed. If "what's past is prologue," if the events he chronicles and the important people he knew are Act IV of American history, we may see complete disaster in Act V.

It's not that most of the people he describes were evil; it's that there was a total disjunction between their professional competence and their vision of the world. Novak identifies many journalists and other opinion leaders (even politicians) as smart, competent, and fun to be around; but these good qualities exist in isolation from their ignorant, reflexive politics, whether modern liberal or neo-conservative (Novak hates both kinds). One doesn't care how nice a guy Al Hunt or Jack Germond may be, when off the TV set; their intellectual quality still appears to be nonexistent. Even Novak's longtime journalistic partner, Rowland Evans, a man he liked and even respected, lost his head over Bobby Kennedy. Most of the people we meet in this book never had a head to lose.

Among major politicians, only Ronald Reagan and Daniel Patrick Moynihan come out looking really good — Reagan for understanding the threat of collectivism, both internal and external, and working cleverly to meet it; Moynihan for understanding the dangers of social planning and issuing courageous warnings about its effects. Yet Reagan is depicted as a man surrounded by mediocre assistants and allies, and Moynihan (a personal friend of Novak's) as a politician who withdrew into a protective shell of official liberalism.

"I found it hard," Novak says, "to fall in love with any presidential candidate (even John F. Kennedy and Ronald Reagan, both of whom I liked personally) because, as a reporter, I observed them at close range" (497). As for other politicians: Eugene McCarthy was little more than an embittered "cynic" (155–56). Al Gore "demonstrated that he was even more of a phony than I had thought" (566). Newt Gingrich exemplified "the desire of politicians without inherited wealth to become powerful and rich . . . As politicians dealt with fabulously rich benefactors benefiting from their legislative decisions, they yearned for their share of the gold" (519). "Jerry Ford, the nicest person to be president during my career, was ill equipped for the job. He was a quintessential product of the House and of the minority Republicans, suffering from a pernicious side effect of perpetual minority status: lack of a clear ideology guaranteeing the absence of a clear agenda" (261).

John Kennedy's anticommunist idealism was "mostly posturing," while "Nixon's conservatism was mainly rhetorical. Nobody can claim he was less committed to big government than Kennedy, who had the saving grace of being a tax-cutter — a quality that eluded Nixon" (77). And there was the inimitable Lyndon Johnson: sometimes a disgusting drunk, always a crude manipulator and sufferer from "megalomania" (82). Kennedy was "a failed president," but "Johnson was a disaster" (103).

It is Jimmy Carter, however, who fares worse than any other president in this book. From Novak's point of view (and who can differ?) Carter was a self-important nobody, a silly demagogue, "a liar and charlatan" with a "manic grin" and a phenomenal degree of stupidity (289, 295, 283). Novak reports that Carter's treasury secretary, proposing to inform him about problems of taxation, recommended that he read some books. "I'm way ahead of you," Carter replied. "I've started reading the Internal Revenue Code." "It was," Novak comments, "as if somebody interested in automotive engineering had started by reading a mechanic's manual word for word." The treasury secretary tried to argue: "Mr. President, I really don't think that's the way to go about it." Carter, invincible in self-righteous ignorance, "flashed the frozen smile and steely gaze, saying, 'But, Mike, I do, and I am the president.' That summed up the Carter presidency" (302).

By the time Clinton rolled around, Novak's appetite for stupidity was well nigh sated. But I do like his anecdote about Clinton's way of choosing an attorney general. After two nominees, both women, had to withdraw because of scandals over illegally employed nannies, "Clinton, in a temper tantrum, demanded a woman who did not have and never would have any children and, therefore, no nanny. That peculiar standard for an attorney general produced Janet Reno . . . Reno critics in Miami [where she came from] could not have cared less about her sexual preferences, but they were stunned that this woman of minimal talents was to be attorney general of the United States" (502). Not everyone was capable of such objectivity. Because Reno was suspected of being a lesbian, the MSM unleashed a "deluge of praise for a woman nobody knew" (502). The nation would endure this Frankenstein's monster, this hero of Waco, Texas, for eight long years.

Novak regarded the first George Bush as a blunderer, hopelessly out of touch with the American people, and his White House as a place "where the spin doctors believe their own spinning" (479). Even before the second George Bush was in office, he detected "an ominous tendency by the Bush inner circle toward secrecy and deception" (568). In Novak's opinion, Bush Jr. is plainly a failure, a person who has accomplished almost nothing of the conservative domestic agenda, has led the nation into an unnecessary war in Iraq, and now refuses to "let the Iraquis sort out their own problems" (628). Novak's skepticism about Iraq has led to violent attacks by fellow conservatives. He responds by suggesting that the Republicans may have run "out of [useful] things to say" (628). It's hard to disagree with him.

The really bad part of this is the fact that the Republican Party used to be a major vehicle for many essentially libertarian ideas, ideas that Novak espouses: "limited government, economic freedom, and a strong, prudent America" (14). To give this another formulation: "small government, low taxes, individual economic freedom, civil liberties, defense preparedness, restraint in foreign policy, free trade, and [opposition to] reliance on politicians" (637). You can argue about "defense preparedness" (though I wouldn't); and it's evident that Novak came to some of these ideas in the midst of his career, not at the start. But this only makes his narrative more interesting, and more poignant. He frequently projects the attitude of a person who embraces important ideas just at the moment when other influential people are rejecting them.

But is that true? Do the misfortunes of the Republican Party advertise the eclipse of libertarian-conservative ideals? I doubt it. I believe we have entered an era of confusion, in which certain libertarian ideas, those most directly associated with free expression, in the broadest sense of that term, are becoming more firmly established every day; and in which other libertarian ideas, while contested, have nevertheless rooted themselves deeply in major political communities: property rights, tax limitation, small government, skepticism about foreign intervention and alliance.

Yet I am troubled (as Novak is) by the fact that the advocates of these various ideas often turn out to be advocates of other ones, too — ideas inimical to liberty. I think, for example, of modern liberals who are firm on certain kinds of "personal" rights but crusade to destroy "economic" rights. And, overshadowing every debate, there remain the commanding heights of state power: vast and ever-growing institutions and institutional cultures devoted to "education," "healthcare," "security," "minority advancement," and meddling of every kind. Any additional meddling could prove disastrous to American liberty and American well-being.

Novak anticipates a continued regime of bad ideas and destructive policies. Yet one ray of optimism appears, at least by contrast: Novak's copious notes on past journalistic and political practices indicate that the American public now has much more opportunity to learn the truth than it had before.

One pungent example can stand for many: Novak spends several amazing pages discussing the career of Edmund Muskie, a man who, by the grace of God, is now forgotten but who was Hubert Humphrey's running mate in 1968 and might have been nominated for president in 1972. Publicly known for his somber judiciousness, Muskie was actually "an erratic personality with an uncontrollable temper . . . dull and devoid of ideas." Novak describes a bibulous luncheon with Muskie, during which the candidate "dron[ed] on about his agenda for America." Novak was nearly asleep when the senator surprised him by asking for his views. Novak started to answer, but in only a minute Muskie himself dropped off — "a deep slumber with snoring. I stopped speaking, but that had no effect on the sleeping senator. At last, I cleared my throat loudly. Muskie awoke with a start, and I said: 'And those are my views, Senator.' 'Very interesting, Bob,' he said" (212–213).

Later, Novak joins Muskie for an interview on his campaign plane, and Muskie occupies the whole ride by yelling at an aide for arranging his schedule so that he missed a Sunday mass. But here's the important part. Even Novak, who was outraged by Muskie's behavior and considered him wholly unfit for public office, never divulged his experience. He merely reported that "irrational scheduling, uncoordinated speechwriting and tardy organization" weakened the Muskie campaign: "I didn't write about his Sunday morning temper tantrum. Reporters permitted close access to candidates did not reveal such incidents in those days. Nor did I write about whether a person with a hair-trigger temper was the right man to be president" (214). As always, Novak's candor is refreshing. Still more refreshing is the implication that today, this behavior might possibly be reported.

But another example makes me wonder. This one comes from Teddy Kennedy's campaign for the presidency in 1980. An incident took place in which Kennedy's psychological and marital problems came to light. The press response was silence: "We all knew that Joan [Kennedy] was an alcoholic, that Teddy had a severe drinking problem, and that the marriage was doomed. But nobody, myself included, wrote about those things. . . . I strongly suspected he never would be president of the United States" (346).

The good thing about this is that the dynamic forces within American society — the competition of ideas and interest groups that are bound to arise in a free economy — meant that a demagogue like Kennedy could be beaten in the primaries even by such a ludicrous failure as Jimmy Carter, whether or not Kennedy's problems of character were insisted upon by the national press. The bad thing is that even Chappaquiddick couldn't oust him from the Senate. Meanwhile, the internet and the ever-to-be-cherished tabloid media, with some lagging assistance from the MSM, have demonstrated that Bill Clinton has virtually all the characteristics one associates with the villain in a Victorian novel, and his wife is probably worse. Still, he has supporters, and she may be president.

In other words, if you're looking for the final battle between good and evil, I don't think we've arrived at it yet. That may come in Act V. In the meantime, Act IV, scene 7, Robert Novak's autobiography, provides a welcome relief, at once comic and tragic, entertaining and disturbing.

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