I’m speaking today to the Sons of the American Revolution, so I’ve spent a little time pondering 1776 and what it means. To a great extent, my early investigative reporter ancestors sewed the roots of revolution. They distributed pamphlets raging about the rule of King George III. Indeed, I was among the muckrakers doing an exposé of the King. But 200 years later.

In 1976, Miami’s NBC affiliate produced a faux newscast on July 4th  depicting stories of the revolutionary era. As the station’s investigative reporter, I appeared in costume slinging mud at the King over corrupt activities. I don’t recall the specifics, other than it had something to do with profiteering by the monarch’s friends. Sound familiar?

As an aside, my 18th century costume was more appropriate than the garb I wore for my television debut three years before. On that occasion I dazzled south Florida with a gleaming white polyester coat, a black silk shirt, a sparkling, wide-body white tie and tinted glasses that turned opaque under the glare of studio lights. The station owner was not among those dazzled by my fashion. “I thought we hired this guy to investigate the mafia, not join it,” he said to the man who hired me.

But what the hell did I know about fashion? I had spent the previous five years in Louisiana dealing with bookies, ambulance chasing lawyers and colorful state legislators. In my mind, the outfit was the most suave clothing in my tacky wardrobe. Anyway, besides developing a taste for fashion in Louisiana, I learned about dirty politics—even becoming a participant.

In early sobriety in 1971, while trying to get my financial house in order, I committed  to paying bill collectors a certain amount of money each month. A few months later, I was $300.00 short of meeting the obligations. Not very much money, although it then seemed like thousands to me. At the very moment I sat pondering my dilemma, a political consultant friend called and asked me to do a television spot on behalf of a fringe gubernatorial candidate named Puggy Moity.

As was the custom in those days, political groups secretly underwrote the campaigns of straw men, who acted as attack dogs on behalf of candidates. The target in this instance was Edwin Edwards—running for the first of four terms he served as Governor. I had never done a political commercial, nor have I done one since. But the consultant, the late Brooks Read, made an offer I couldn’t refuse. He would pay me $300.00 to do the spot. I considered it an early miracle of my sobriety. As I recall, it was a 30 second ad that attacked Edwards for his frequent gambling junkets to Las Vegas.

Cheap shots have a long history in politics. Thomas Jefferson was attacked for his alleged affairs with slaves. And during the ensuing years, nearly every presidential candidate has withstood withering criticisms based on truth, half-truths, rumors and outright lies. Hence, I take in stride contemporary attacks that I know have no basis in fact. It’s our tradition.

Fifteen years ago, I learned first hand how vicious politics can be. As CNN’s designated muckraker covering the debacle called, Whitewater, I was a front row witness to abuses by the office of Independent Counsel Kenneth Starr. He and his minions aided and abetted the Republican Party in an effort to bring down Bill Clinton.

Before my right-wing friends and relatives get their bowels in an uproar, let me add that I have also been an eyewitness to the rhetoric of the left. I covered the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago and the 1972 Republican National Convention in Miami Beach. Those were the hippie years. And although our minds eye image is of young anti-war demonstrators marching against Vietnam, it was older and more extreme left-wingers, who gave a voice to the protestors.  

In 1968, establishment Democratic candidate Hubert Humphrey narrowly lost in an election that was influenced by a backlash from television images showing out-of-control demonstrators in Chicago. And responding to the left in 1972, Democrats nominated George McGovern. He was soundly defeated by Richard Nixon by a margin equal to that of the John Birch Society’s favored candidate—Barry Goldwater. He was crushed in 1964 by Lyndon Baines Johnson. If there is a lesson in all this, it is that people who scream the loudest don’t have much influence on elections. At least not in a positive way. Nonetheless, journalists—especially cable news—give them more coverage than they deserve.

No doubt, many of screamers of the 1960’s and seventies are now involved in the Tea Party movement. That’s what makes the country great. Not only do they have the right to march and protest, they also have the freedom to change their minds and jump from far-left to far-right.

From my perspective, dirty politics is good clean fun.