I began calling myself an award-winning reporter in 1973. In the years since, the title changed to Peabody award-winning reporter. And it has progressively been altered to my present ego-inflating designation as four time Peabody award-winning reporter. “Hi, my name is John and I’m a four-time Peabody award- winning reporter.” Has a nice ring to it.

Actually, I’ve been more subtle by waiting at least a few minutes to brag about my exalted journalistic achievements in an effort to impress people within hearing range.  However, I haven’t missed many opportunities to indulge in narcissitic proclamations of self-importance. Exceptions include my marriage certificate and drivers license. Neither describes me as a Peabody award-winning reporter.  

But I do have a weak defense for my braggadocio— or a rationalization depending on one’s point of view. As an under-educated ex-drunk, my journalism prizes became a suit of armor concealing underlying insecurities. Readers of Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger will discover that I had a lot of reasons to feel insecure. Given my trailer trash past, any kind of positive recognition was vital in building a sense of self-worth, and putting me on a path that eventually led from wine-sipping on a New Orleans curbside to semi-prominence as Senior Investigative Correspondent for CNN.

This is the journalism awards season, and I hope reporting prizes will have the same beneficial impact on the lives and careers of recipients.  Pulitzer winners were named this week. Peabody announcements were made a couple of weeks ago. Indeed, a Peabody was awarded to former colleague Graham Messick—now a 60 Minutes producer who gives me far too much credit for advising him when we worked together at CNN. But what the hell, Graham. If you want to say nice things about me, I will confess to making you the man you are today. No need to engage in false modesty at this late stage of my life.

Anyway, several prize panels will disclose winners of various journalism citations this spring. For some reporters, the awards will put them on a career fast track. For others, the recognition validates years of hard work. In either case, the phrase “prize-winning” will be attached to their names for the remainder of their careers.

Since I pretty much built a career on awards, I feel like a world-class hypocrite in saying this. But journalism prizes are not a real measure of the quality of reporting. In my thirty year investigative reporting career, I collected more than two dozen of broadcast journalism’s most prestigious prizes. About half were truly deserved, though none were ever sent back with a notation, “Return to Sender.”

I won’t demean my first two Peabody medallions for investigative reporting by calling them bogus. But the winning entries fell short of what I now define as significant enterprise journalism. My first Peabody story simply added film to  law enforcement intelligence reports that were leaked to me by friendly cops, who wanted to embarrass public officials suspected of corrupt activities—and getting away with it. 

Peabody number two also relied on law enforcement reports. I was provided the names, backgrounds and ongoing suspicious activities of so-called mafia figures living in south Florida. Hiding in a van with a photographer, we captured images of mobsters as they cavorted in the wild. My reports matched the video with their criminal records, and I declared, “There they are folks. Real mobsters.”

The third and fourth Peabody medallions I received were more deserving. Give Me That Big Time Religion was a breakthrough investigative documentary dealing with television evangelism—and Jimmy Swaggart in particular. The one-hour program, which required months of research, combined hard-edged interviews with subtance and style.

A documentary titled, The Best Insurance Commissionere Money Can Buy, earned me a fourth Peabody. It was my most satisfying investigation, prompting a criminal investigation that resulted in prison sentences for state regulators and insurance company executives. But enough about my journalistic heroics. If anyone wants more details, buy the damn book. In short, my point is that Peabody awards are overrated.

The most closely scrutinized broadcast prizes are Columbia University’s DuPont  awards. Columbia also awards Pulitzers. Not to brag (joke), but I have three. Big Time Religion and Best Insurance Commissioner both received DuPonts. I collected another DePont back in my radio days for exposing a bribery scheme that eventually launched my career as an “investigative reporter.”

Although the 4000-member Investigative Reporters and Editors (IRE) has cited me for prizes on three occasions, I find its judging criteria the most disappointing. In the years when I was in hot pursuit of prizes, the IRE awards panel put too much emphasis on “gotcha” stories. My final citation from the organization was in the same year I produced the insurance documentary, however, my IRE prize-winner was a ”gotcha” exposé of corruption in Louisiana’s Alcohol Beverage Control division—a decent yarn, but not nearly as significant as the Best Insurance Commissioner.

That brings me to another topic. Reporters and news organizations with reputations for winning prizes often have an unfair advantage. I’m speaking from ignorance, but it seems the The New York Times and Washington Post regularly receive Pulitzers for stories that are simply a reflection of the superior resources the two newspaper’s, rather than a display of the kind of commitment and enterprise required by smaller publications to produce award-winning projects. But that is just a gut reaction. It’s based on a belief that I probably collected a few awards because judging panels gave me an edge as a result of my reputation, which was greatly exaggerated in the latter days of my career. I was as good as the commitment and resources of the organizations I worked for, and in that respect, I was very fortunate.

My false modesty, by the way, is for the purpose of pointing out flaws in the awards process. It occurs at many levels. The most dangerous is an obsessive attempt by reporters to win prizes. This is especially true for investigative reporters, who too often take shortcuts. Many “investigative stories” nowadays lack context, or omit information that minimizes the impact of exposés. Was I guilty of these sins?

In retrospect, there are investigations that I could have approached differently. But I believe my transgressions were about spin and the occasional deceptions that I used to gather information. I never intentionally reported a story that I even suspected was  inaccurate.

Anyway, congratulations to the winners this year. May they have long and fruitful careers. The nation is in dire need of prize-winning journalism.

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. It is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career.