Memories of Paul

The value of the free press

It was about this time three years ago that the then-president of the United States referred to the press as “the enemy of the American people.” It was not the first time that he had used such language. It did not pass unnoticed, you may recall.

The president had stepped over a line, in the eyes of many. Past presidents had complained privately and, on occasion, publicly about their treatment at the hands of certain segments of the media. But here was the leader of the free world painting with the broadest possible brush … it was the entire “mainstream” press that now constituted a clear and present danger. Immediately the smoke alarms went off. “Isn’t this what dictators do?” we asked ourselves. “Didn’t we learn that in school?”

Well … yes. Yes, we did. And remembering all this got me to thinking about the late Paul Greenberg. Let me try to explain.

I grew up in a midsized town in southeast Arkansas, Pine Bluff. My intellectual coming of age, if you can call it that, occurred in the mid- to late ’60s. Pine Bluff had its problems even then, but the quality of the local newspaper was not one of them.

We were fortunate to have one of the best small-market newspapers in the nation, which for many years had been run by an enlightened family who attracted an incredible amount of young journalistic talent to our town. Among these young men was one Paul Greenberg. That should be a familiar name to the Arkies among you and to others as well, I suspect.

The young Greenberg made his mark with his fearless and outspoken editorials on civil rights. He was for ’em at a time when such views could ruffle feathers in these parts. And, of course, he had a platform, the editorial page of the Pine Bluff Commercial.

I first became aware of Mr. Greenberg’s writing in those years, and suffice it to say that a sizable portion of Pine Bluff’s white establishment took issue with his editorials. “That Yankee Jew that the Freemans brought to town to stir up trouble …” was what you were likely to hear in the barbershops. Well, they sure managed to get their geography wrong, apparently mixing up the east side of Manhattan with Caddo Parish, La. The rest was correct, though, depending on how one chose to characterize “stirring up trouble.” His star rose quickly in journalistic circles and in 1969, he won a Pulitzer Prize. He would later be a finalist on two other occasions.

So what does the ascent of Mr. Greenberg’s journalistic star have to do with our recent state of war with the press? Let me try to make the connection.

I grew up reading Paul Greenberg. I agreed with him wholeheartedly on the issue of civil rights, but I soon discovered a whole range of other issues on which we disagreed. Turns out, Mr. Greenberg was a by-god conservative!! And I was being swept up in the liberal ether of the ’60s. So his writing challenged my most cherished beliefs on most occasions. At times they would infuriate me. But I read virtually every word of his stuff from the ’60s on, and here is why.

This man challenged me intellectually. He caused me to proofread my ideas for errors in logic. His role was not unlike that of the wonderful college prof who confronted you, perhaps infuriated you at the time, but ultimately deepened you intellectually. I owe Paul Greenberg a lot. I later had the opportunity to become acquainted with the family, having taught one of his children. They were unfailingly gracious and hospitable.

My story, it seems to me, is far from unique. I benefited from exposure to a brilliant mind whose political views happened to be different from my own. I suspect that is just about what Mr. Thomas Jefferson had in mind in his musings on the virtues of a free press.

So don’t ask me to go to war against the First Amendment, Mr. ex-president. Because I ain’t goin’. And I’m betting I’m not alone.