Deadline (23 page)

“Of course not.” Sue’s distrust for journalism irked him.

“On Mondays a dozen of us meet to pray for pregnant moms and their unborn babies. Most of us are women, but there’s a few men too. We could meet right here next Monday morning at 7:00. I’ll have coffee and donuts for you, Jake. Your favorite kind.”

“Okay, why not? Monday will work.” Trying too hard to act casual, Jake glanced nervously at his schedule book and wrote it in.

“Don’t worry, Jake. Nobody’s going to try to baptize you or anything.”

“Thanks, Sue. That’s reassuring.” He started to get up.

“Can you stay a few more minutes?”

“Sure.” He sat down again. “What’s up?”

“I just read your column about Carl Mahoney.”

“It wasn’t really about Mahoney. I just quoted him on some things.”

“What everybody’s going to remember is about him. Listen, I know Carl and Linda Mahoney and their kids. They go to our church. Their kids go to our school. They’re about the sweetest family you’d ever want to meet. I’ve never heard them say an unkind word. Sure, they have convictions, but that doesn’t make them self-righteous rednecks, Jake.”

“I didn’t say they were, did I?”

“Yes, actually you did. Not in those words, of course. Jake, I don’t know how else to say this, but you have a way of putting people down, putting labels on them. The truth is, the Carl Mahoney I’ve known for years is not the Carl Mahoney you portrayed in that column.”

“Look, Sue, you didn’t hear the interview. I asked him questions, he answered, I quoted his answers. Okay, I took issue with him. It was nothing personal.”

“What do you think it’s going to do to Carl and his family?”

“What do you mean?”

“Jake, come on. Words have an effect on people. Proverbs says, ‘Life and death are in the power of the tongue.’ My high school debate coach called what you did in your column setting up a straw man. You state the other person’s position as if it were stupid, then that sets yours up to sound smart. And when your case isn’t strong enough, you resort to ad hominem arguments, attacking the person’s character.”

“I know what ad hominem means.” Sue was in lecture mode and Jake bristled at being lectured.

“You should, because that’s exactly what you did with Carl. Once he’s labeled as a right-wing extremist, people won’t listen to him. So they won’t have to deal with the common sense stuff he’s saying.”

“Are you finished?” Jake asked.

“Not quite. Actually, Jake, every day I read straw man and ad hominem arguments sprinkled throughout the
Tribune.
It isn’t occasional anymore. It’s constant. People with beliefs and values like the Mahoney’s—and mine and Finney’s—are misrepresented. I resent that, Jake. It’s like you’re tolerant of every position except ours. Your new term for moral conviction is ‘bigotry.’ I don’t think it’s right and I don’t think it’s fair. Why can’t you just quote exactly what people say and stick to the facts?”

Jake rolled his eyes, digging in for another skirmish over media bias.

“Come on, Sue. Ever read a courtroom transcript? It’s accurate, but incredibly boring. We have to select and summarize, cut to the heart of the issue as we see it. If we just record every word of an interview, it’s way too long and it’s deadly dull. Nobody would read it.”

“I don’t have to know every word, Jake. Just enough of them to get an accurate picture. And no offense, but when I read the paper I’m not interested in hearing the heart of the issue as the reporter sees it. I just want to know what happened, hear what people actually said, and have the freedom to come to my own conclusions. I’m tired of having to wade through the reporter’s slant in search of the real facts.”

“You do understand a column is supposed to be opinion?”

“Of course I understand that. I like to read columns, even those I disagree with. Give your opinion, give it sarcastically or forcefully if you want to. But you’re not entitled to distort and take out of context. You’re not entitled to misrepresent people’s positions and integrity. I know Carl Mahoney’s positions and I know his integrity. How come I didn’t see either in your column?”

Jake started to respond, but Sue went right on, unfolding the morning
Tribune.
“Look at this, Jake. This article on legal efforts to prevent special minority status for homosexuals. First, it quotes the governor comparing the issue to Nazi Germany and the holocaust. Then, look at this lead quote that supposedly captures one side’s position. ‘Homosexuals are animals. They don’t deserve to have any rights at all.’ Jake, I’ve had dozens of discussions with supporters of this measure, and not once have I ever heard anything approaching this kind of hateful attitude. My bet is the woman was misquoted, but even if she wasn’t it’s grossly inaccurate to portray this as a typical attitude.”

“Look, Sue, I know the reporter who wrote this. He’s a nice guy. He wouldn’t make this stuff up.”

“I’m not saying he’s not a nice guy, Jake. The drunk driver who killed Jenny was a nice guy. I’m just looking at the results.”

“Look, Sue. We’ve got better things to do at the
Trib
than plot to overthrow the church or whatever it is you people think we’re doing. While you send us letters telling us we’re going to hell, your political adversaries send us nice concise press releases. They also return our phone calls, which your side often doesn’t. Any wonder if they come off looking better?”

“I’ve never sent a letter like that and I hope you know it, Jake. And could it be past experience that makes people hesitate to return your phone calls? But maybe you’re right—maybe we don’t relate to the media the way we should. But help me with this, will you? Reading the
Trib
every day I keep getting the distinct feeling that to not be a bigot you have to believe every choice and every action is as good as every other one. The only way to avoid bigotry is to have no morals. And the one group it’s okay to have hateful intolerant attitudes toward is Christian conservatives. Am I wrong? I really want to know, Jake. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“What I’m thinking is, you don’t like the message so you shoot the messenger. Journalists are just messengers. We tell people what’s happening. If they don’t like it, they blame us for it.”

“Okay, I can identify with that. When I say abortion kills children, I’m just stating a scientific fact, but I feel like people get so angry at me, like it’s my fault.”

“That isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Of course it isn’t. I’m just telling you I relate. When you say something that’s true but unpopular, people take it out on you because they just don’t want to deal with the truth.”

“Right. So you understand our dilemma?”

“I understand your shoot-the-messenger analogy. What I disagree with is your application. If you carefully communicate what really happened and what was really said—like a messenger is supposed to—and then people blame you for it, then yes, they’re being unreasonable. But I don’t hear anyone blaming the media for the famine in Africa or the scandal on Wall Street. I certainly don’t blame you for the mass murderers and the rapists. But what I’m saying is that often you
don’t
do what messengers do. You don’t just convey what actually happened or what was actually said. You don’t just tell the truth. You put your own spin on it. You don’t let the reader take the facts and relate his own values to it, you impose
your
values on it. Like the idea that anyone who believes homosexual behavior and abortion are wrong is a bigot.”

“Well, Sue, if the shoe fits…”

“But does the shoe fit, Jake? Am I a bigot just because I believe what virtually everyone in this country recognized only forty years ago? Because I agree with Abraham Lincoln that homosexual acts and abortion are morally wrong? Is it wrong to believe there are some moral absolutes? Do we wake up every morning and take a new vote, and if 51 percent decide something that used to be wrong is now right, does that make the other 49 percent a bunch of narrow-minded hate-mongers?”

“Anyone knows it’s wrong to hate people and discriminate against them. If people think you’re a bigot, maybe it’s because you make gays sound like they’re garbage.”

Sue stared at him, hurt and confused. “I’ve never thought or said
any
thing like that. Doc committed adultery and I believe it was morally wrong. But I still loved him, and I saw a lot of good in him. A person can engage in homosexual acts and I think it’s wrong. But I still love him, and I know in many areas he may be a fine person. I believe homosexual acts are terribly destructive to him, that he should live by the right standard, and that’s in his best interest. I honestly want what’s best for him. When people steal or lie you tell them it’s wrong. It isn’t loving to tell them whatever they want to do is okay. It’ll just destroy them. And hurt our whole society, our children and theirs.”

“Sexual orientation is like race. You can’t expect people to deny what they are.”

“I can introduce you to a half dozen former homosexuals. Four of them go to our church. Want their names? You could write a column on them. No? I didn’t think so. There are thousands of them around—people who used to practice homosexual acts and no longer do. But there’s no former whites and former blacks and former Hispanics. Race and sexual practice aren’t the same thing, Jake. People need hope. They need to hear there’s right and wrong. And I believe God can change people and give them the strength to live by what’s right.”

“You make it sound so easy, your nice neat little Christian world. It’s just not that easy, Sue.”

“It’s not easy at all. It never has been. But it’s still true.”

“You know how I felt about Finney—and about you. Forgive me if I’m blunt.”

“Be blunt, Jake. I’ve always found it refreshing.”

“All right. Don’t you think you people do an awful lot of whining about media bias? You act like we’re picking on you just because we don’t share your beliefs. Like we sit around in smoke-filled rooms plotting your destruction. And the fact is, the
Trib
carries two syndicated conservatives, George Will and William F. Buckley. These guys make Ronald Reagan look like Chairman Mao. I mean, they probably thought Barry Goldwater was a communist. They’re just as conservative as…well, as you are.”

Sue laughed. “That bad, are they? Jake, you point to a couple of columns that run a few times a week in a paper so thick I can barely lift it with one hand anymore.” She laughed, looking over her five foot even, barely one-hundred-pound frame. “I guess I’m a wimp, but you know what I mean.”

“One thing you’re not is a wimp, Sue.”

“Anyway, my point is, where’s the rest of the story? If you’ve got time, I can show you a half dozen other examples in today’s paper alone.”

“Sorry, Sue. I don’t have time. And even if I did, we’ve got some basic philosophical differences that just aren’t going to change. To you, it’s all black and white. Well, the world has a lot of gray, and I’m just trying to do my job the best I can. I’m afraid the
Trib
is never going to suit your tastes no matter what we do.”

“I don’t expect you to agree with me, Jake. I was just hoping you’d understand. I’m afraid I’ve done a poor job communicating. I can come on pretty strong when I’m upset. Anyway, I hope you know I love you. I didn’t mean anything personal.”

Jake nodded. “I’ve really got to go.”

“Jake, Little Finn asked me to give you something for him. Actually, it’s a loan. But he wanted you to have it awhile.” Sue handed Jake an old, well-worn leather covered book.

“Finney’s Bible?” Jake had seen it on hunting trips, on the coffee table, at Finney’s office. It was Finney’s shadow. He never went far without it. Until a week ago Sunday.

“Yeah. Little Finn just loves to thumb through it. He reads all the notes Finney wrote in the margin. And he thought maybe you’d like to look at it. You know Little Finn.”

“Yeah, I know Little Finn. Always trying to convert me, isn’t he?”

“He thinks you’re a worthy cause, Jake. That’s another way he’s like his dad. And mom.”

“Well, okay. Tell him I’ll take good care of it. I don’t promise to read it, but I appreciate the thought.”

Jake edged toward the door, feeling strangely awkward with a Bible in his hand.

“One more thing, Jake. You know how Finney was interviewed in that
Trib
article a few weeks ago? The one that quoted maybe half a dozen prolifers? I assume you read it?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, he felt he’d really been misquoted, and the most important things he’d said weren’t reported at all.”

I thought this discussion was over.
“That’s a common complaint. The interviewer can only use so much, and it’s rarely what the person wants.”

“I know. Finney understood that. But he wrote a letter to the editor. He stayed up late two nights in a row banging it out on his computer. He finished it early Sunday morning—the day of the accident…or whatever it was. It’s been sitting on his dresser since then. I couldn’t mail it. But since it was the last thing he ever wrote, and since it was going to the
Tribune
, I thought he’d want me to give it to you.”

Sue stretched out her hand and gave the envelope to Jake. The
Trib’s
address was neatly printed by Finney’s laser printer.
Palatino, fourteen point
, Jake thought.

“Thanks, Sue. I’ve really got to run.”

Jake, Bible and envelope in hand, walked out the door toward his car. He glanced around subconsciously, wondering if there was a proper way to carry a Bible. Like a brief case, a hunting rifle, or an infant? Oh, well. No one was watching him. At least, he didn’t think so. As he walked out Sue’s front door he heard the phone ring inside. They both waved a quick good-bye.

As Jake approached the door to his car, Sue picked up the kitchen phone. The woman on the other end was in tears. “Linda,” Sue recognized the voice. “Are you all right? Yes, I read the column. Yeah, he’s the one I know, one of our good friends. No, I’m sure it
wasn’t
fair. In fact, I told him that just a few minutes ago.”

Sue listened as Linda Mahoney told her of two angry phone calls they’d already received, one from a new next door neighbor, a school teacher deeply offended by Carl’s “arrogant and nitpicky” attitude. Sue shook her head, wondering if Jake had any clue how his words affected people’s lives.