Trump could be savior of newspapers
I once knew a rather milquetoast editor, not an extraordinary wag like many editors I’ve known, so it’s strange that I quote this otherwise forgettable man every time I get melancholy about the news business.
Used to be, he said, newspaper folks would get the paper to bed and then hurry off to their favorite bar. But now—and he sighed—they rush home to water their ferns.
Newspapers and reporters are not what they used to be. It is more of a career and less of a calling. More planning meet- ings than purple passion. The papers that have survived a technological melee are understaffed and anemic. Some have gotten so small and bad that the readers even notice.
So imagine my surprise that something good has happened of late to energize newspapers, to put starch back into reporters. The profession I passionately defended for decades but then lost faith in has been, it would seem, reborn.
Once again, journalists are wearing green eyeshades, working their sources, hitting the streets. They are ending long solitaire games at desks and, for the moment, have put on hold worries about the next round of massive newsroom layoffs. We have one person to thank for this revival of spunk and stamina and subscribers: Donald Trump. Solid reporting from a couple of major papers has done what congressional committees only dream about—and famous television pundits don’t have the time to do.
Newspapers are getting to the truth about the president.
It’s no wonder Trump hates the press. He says he hates journalists because they are out to get him. Could it be instead because they are “getting” him, as in understanding him?
He hates reporters because they are unveiling his feet of clay, his thin skin and floating convictions. He hates the fact that the people have a right to know—and to know him.
When someone is described as a “Casper Milquetoast,” we understand what is meant, even if we don’t remember the name came from an old comic-strip character. Timid, dull, someone bland as milk toast, said good for nervous stomachs.
When we call someone “Houdini-like” we intend it to mean an escape artist like the famous magician. Wily and evasive, impossible to cage.
Same with a Walter Mitty, a Charles Atlas, a Martha Stewart.
Some describe Trump as “Nixon-esque.” The two have in common being U.S. presidents who both hated the press and trampled on the Constitution. But there the comparisons end, unless eventually Trump resigns. Trump is his own man. His name is memorable, too, and will enter the lexicon. Others through the ages will be called “Trump-like,” or “Trump-esque.” And we’ll know what is meant.
He’s a real Trump of a fellow. Empty suit, smarmy salesman, a blowhard lying if his lips are moving.
Watch out, you don’t want to do business with a Trump. He won’t pay you for your work, your diploma will be meaningless, there’ll be sexual harassment.
It can be used as a verb, too. You can’t Trump your way out of this one. No matter how many times you repeat your lies, the world’s not buying it.
So Donald Trump has given us scribes a reason to act alive if not live, and added another descriptive proper name to make for more colorful language. Now that’s not a bad contribution for only a little over 100 days.