Pill-popping Rush Limbaugh has broken my heart. I was so excited when he promised to leave the country if Congress passed health care reform. But yesterday, he said he was misunderstood—that what he meant to say was that he would travel to Costa Rica for medical treatment if the bill passed. I should have expected as much. Rush and the truth are not acquainted.

Before Al Franken gave up hard-edged satire to run for the U.S. Senate, he wrote the book, Lies (And the Liars Who Tell Them). Many of the lies were attributed to Rush Limbaugh. Actually, it doesn’t take a great deal of investigative research to uncover the lies and half-truths. Listen any day of the week, take notes and do a fact check.

Al Franken is one of literature’s giant figures—mainly because he spelled my name correctly in his epic work, Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot. It wasn’t much of a plug, but he acknowledged me as one of “the people who know things.” Since I love to see my name in books, I must acknowledge Al Franken as a great author.

Too bad that he must now restrain himself due to congressional decorum. Don’t laugh. After all, U.S. Representative Eric Massa was forced to resign for merely tickling (groping?) his male roommate aides and using a little salty language that was interpreted as inappropriate. “Hey, lets you and I hop in bed together naked so we can frack.” Whatever the hell frack means.

I don’t know why people are surprised that Congressman Massa displays tendencies of being bi-sexual. We already know he is bi-party. The New York Democrat switched parties to get elected, then cast his House votes for the Republicans. In his surreal world, Massa says his vote against health care reform resulted in a conspiracy by Democrats to out him as a serial tickler. However, nobody believes that to be the case—not even Glenn Beck, who held Massa’s feet, or some other body part, to the fire earlier this week. I hope all the people who believe that I am obsessed with Glenn Beck’s lunacy will take note that I paid him this compliment. Possibly, the last one.

Indeed, the tickler was easy prey. Even Larry King caught him in contradictions. Larry’s confrontational questions are usually something along the lines, “Did you change hairstyle for your last movie?” I couldn’t bring myself to watch the entire King show, but I caught a highlight when Massa said he was unable to contact his closest aide and dearest friend—the man who complained to the House leadership—because he didn’t know the guys telephone number. Larry just shook his head in disbelief.

Anyway, Massa got his 15-minutes plus of infamy, thanks in large part to the 24-hour news cycle. Although there is no credible evidence that he was forced to resign because of his vote against health care reform, the cable news networks repeated the accusations hour after hour, often burying the responses to his allegation.

I wish there was a television show that did nothing but dispel rumors and outright lies—especially the Internet’s viral videos and e-mails. I received one yesterday containing 48 scary facts about health care reform. Since I had not heard anything about some of the assertions, even from outspoken Republican critics of the legislation, I went to factcheck.org.

The non-partisan website is underwritten by the Annenberg Center for Public Policy. The is Director of factcheck is veteran investigative reporter Brooks Jackson, a former CNN colleague in our Special Assignment Unit. Brooks came to CNN from the Wall Street Journal. He is as straight-laced in his reporting as anyone I’ve ever work with, and is not influenced by partisanship. Working with him at the Annenberg Center is a team of experienced investigative journalists. Here, in part, is a factcheck summary of its findings related to the health care allegations.  

Our inbox has been overrun with messages asking us to weigh in on a mammoth list of claims about the House health care bill. The chain e-mail purports to give “a few highlights” from the first half of the bill, but the list of 48 assertions is filled with falsehoods, exaggerations and misinterpretations. We examined each of the e-mail’s claims, finding 26 of them to be false and 18 to be misleading, only partly true or half true. Only four are accurate. A few of our “highlights”:

• The e-mail claims that page 30 of the bill says that “a government committee will decide what treatments … you get,” but that page refers to a “private-public advisory committee” that would “recommend” what minimum benefits would be included in basic, enhanced and premium insurance plans.
• The e-mail says that “non-US citizens, illegal or not, will be provided with free healthcare services” but points to a provision that prohibits discrimination in health care based on “personal characteristics.” Another provision explicity forbids “federal payment for undocumented aliens.”
• It says “[g]overnment will restrict enrollment of SPECIAL NEEDS individuals.” This provision isn’t about children with learning disabilities; instead, it pertains to restricted enrollment in “special needs” plans, a category of Medicare Advantage plans. Enrollment is already restricted. The bill extends the ability to do that.
• It claims that a section about “Community-based Home Medical Services” means “more payoffs for ACORN.” ACORN does not provide medical home services. The e-mail interprets any reference to the word “community” to be some kind of payoff for ACORN. That’s nonsense.

Go to factcheck.org for the full summary. Unfortunately, Brooks is always too polite in assessing the falsehoods spread on the Internet, in newspapers, on Fox “News,” and other forums—including CNN. To give more oomph to corrections, I suggest that Al Franken resign from the Senate and do what he does best. Expose Lies (And the Liars Who Tell Them). We need you now, Al. And you don’t even have to put my name in your books.

And now we know. Despite Rush Limbaugh’s macho posturing, he is really a closet supporter of health care reform. The truth emerged this week when Limbaugh promised to leave the country if Congress passes the health care package. His startling announcement will no doubt cause many opponents of the the bill to re-think their opposition.

I can only presume that Rush experienced an epiphany during a New Year’s  visit to the “socialist” state of Hawaii, which offers universal health care similar to the plan supported by the Obama Administration. Following his December 30th, 2009, treatment for chest pains thought to be a minor heart attack, he praised the Honolulu “socialist” hospital for the care he received.

Rush is a pretty shrewd guy. For years, he has exploited the worst fears of his audience with moronic analysis of public affairs issues, his racist comments, personal attacks on Democrats, and a lack of compassion for people at the bottom of the poverty scale. Now we know that he was simply using scare tactics to make a few bucks. It is the “ditto-heads, who are the simpletons since they believed he was a serious about his opinions.

In salesmanship, Rush’s techinique falls into the category of a negative pitch. For example, when car buyers are at the brink of a purchase but can’t quite make up their minds, a salesman may say as a last resort, “This car seems a little too expensive for you. Why don’t we look at something a bit cheaper?” At this point, pride causes a lot of people to respond, “Sure I can afford it.” To prove the point, they buy the car.

By emphasizing the negatives of health care, Limbaugh convinced listeners that they can’t afford the President’s plan. But the backlash by the GOP politicians and tea partiers was more than he bargained for. Realizing he needed to do something desperate to get the bill passed, he promised to do what many of us have hoped for years would happen. He pledged to leave the country. Costa Rica is his intended destination. It is a beautiful place with rain forests, beautiful beaches and hospitable weather. I’m certain Rush will enjoy his new home.

Unfortunately, I have bad vibes about the country. Costa Rica is the only place I ever walked off an assignment—at least during the 39 years I’ve been sober. In 1998, I traveled to Costa Rica to do a CNN story about child prostitution. I was working for the first time with a new producer in our Special Assignment Unit. She was a veteran reporter, who I wrongly assumed to be competent. I didn’t know that her skills and journalism ethics were non-existent. Nor did I realize that she knew nothing about production planning. Indeed, only one member of our crew spoke any Spanish at all, making it nearly impossible to effectively interview non-English speaking Costa Rican’s she lined-up. Even worse, a Honduran human rights advocate with pre-conceived notions about the direction of our story accompanied us. At the same time, I discovered my producer had previously been involved as an activist in the 1980’s and early nineties ”recovered memory” craze in which children were manipulated into making sexual allegations that turned out to be fantasies prodded from them by inept therapists.

None of the above caused me to depart Costa Rica in a huff, although I was sorely tempted when the producer suggested I wear a hidden camera and microphone while shopping for under-aged girls in whorehouses. I refused. The final straw for me finally occured during a stake-out of a place where police had earlier found a sixteen year-old prostitute. I did a telephone interview with the pimp who ran the house. He answered questions, claiming the girl produced a birth certificate indicating she was eighteen. However, the guy refused to do an on-camera inteview. The next next afternoon, our  producer decided to station a camera on a public sidewalk outside the gate of the house of ill-repute. An hour passed and nobody emerged. However, the cops were summoned. Hearing the producer’s explanation, they cautioned us remain on the sidewalk and left. So we continued to idiotically stand there with the camera pointed toward the doorway. I asked what this charade would accomplish. The pimp was obviously staying inside. The producer only shugged. In disgust, I said, “Adios (one of the few Spanish words I knew), stopped by the hotel to get my baggage, and headed home.

A postscript. As the result of a series of events, CNN’s then president, Rick Kaplan, named the incompetent producer to head the Special Assignment Unit. She was an old friend of Kaplan. Thus, her competence made no difference. A few days after the appointment, the network offered to give me a bonus and continue paying my salary for two years if I would consent to stay at home. I considered the proposition for all of 30 seconds before again saying, “Adios.” My Spanish was getting better.

I hope Rush Limbaugh has better memories of Costa Rica. While in exile, he will need to master Spanish in order to accomodate radio listeners—no easy accomplishment for a man his age. My suggestion is that he move to Australia.

By the way, I need to clarify yesterday’s post in which I questioned whether Wyoming was a real state, or a myth. I have never been to Wyoming, nor knew anyone personally, who claimed to be from the state. But relying on my skills as an award-winning investigative reporter, I have now determined it was admitted to the union in 1890. I guess the ancestors of Wyoming natives Dick and Liz Cheney failed to inform them of this development. Hence, they have not yet grasped the freedoms guaranteed by our country.

Over the years, I have traveled throughout the far west—recreationally and professionally. My itinerary has included Nevada, Idaho, Montana, Utah, Arizona and states along the nation’s west coast where I once lived. But I have never crossed a state line or landed at an airport identified as being in  Wyoming. Nor do I know anyone claiming to be from Wyoming. I’ve seen photographs of  the Grand Teton mountain range and other landmarks that are supposedly located in Wyoming. And history books allege Wyoming was admitted as the 44th state to the union. Therefore, I assume it really exists, especially since my wife, Annette, claims to have seen Wyoming with her own baby blue eyes. And I know she would never tell me a lie.

My doubts about the existence of Wyoming, particularly as being part of the United States, stems from years of listening and reading about the rants of former Vice President Dick Cheney and his daughter, Liz. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen Mr. Cheney’s birth certificate. Could it be…..? Nah, he and Liz probably just live in ignorance of basic rights guaranteed by our country, as do many others, unfortunately. In the Cheney”s Wyoming world, torture is okay and legal representation of suspected terrorists is not okay.

Indeed, Liz Cheney is co-chairman of an organization called, “Keep America Safe.” Its most recent cause in keeping America safe from lawyers, who have the audacity to represent terrorists before tribunals and/or in criminal trials. In her zeal, she has outed group of Justice Department lawyers described  euphemistically as the ”al-Qaeda seven” because they once defended suspected terrorists. In the narrow minds of Liz and her cohorts, protecting the rights of defendants apparently makes the attorneys traitors. 

Could it be that she is not stupid as she seems—that her smear tactics amount to gutter politics in an effort to damage the Obama Administration? Would she stoop that low in the face of criticism leveled at her by arch conservative friends, who are lawyers or former officials in the Bush Administration. No doubt, Liz’s daddy gave her lessons in how to fight dirty. He is a master at allowing politics to overshadow conscience and morality.

Although I occasionally covered national politics during my ten-year CNN tenure, I am quick to acknowledge that my Washington ”inside-the-belt” wisdom is limited. Nevertheless, in the course of my 30-year investigative reporting career, I associated with a lot of criminal defense lawyers. They sometimes represented defendants accused of heinous crimes, ranging from drug smuggling to vicious killings to organized crime racketeering to murderous dictatorships. The obligations of these attorneys were to protect the rights of the accused. Legal advocacy does not translate into advocacy of crimes, whether it is defending terrorists or shoplifters.

For several years, criminal defense lawyer and political activist Camille Gravel, served as  legal counsel to Louisiana Governor Edwin Edwards. I was a longtime acquaintance, though we were never close. The Alexandria resident was among the most respected political figures in the state as evidenced by the eulogies that followed his death five years ago. While working for ABC Close Up in 1981, I happened to run into Camille at a convention of the National Association of Criminal Defense Lawyers in Alberquerque, New Mexico. I was then living in Boston and working out of New York City, so I was only vaguely aware of what was going on in my adopted home state. When our conversation turned to the subject of Governor Edwards and legal problems he faced. I joking asked, “Can’t you keep him out of trouble, Camille?”

The answer is one that defines the role of legal advocates. “My job, John, is to explain the law to the Governor. Or for that matter, anyone I represent. If I defend client against criminal charges, my obligation to protect their rights to a fair trial.”

I don’t know how the law works in Wyoming. Most likely, the same as in the other 49 states. However, it must be different in the state of the minds of the Cheneys and other wing-nuts willing to reliquish the principles on which our country is built. Syndicated Washington Post columnist Eugene Robinson used the term, “McCarthyism,” this week in describing Liz Cheney’s outing of Justice Department lawyers as being disloyal in their defense of the rights of suspected terrorists.

I think Robinson was being too fair to her.

Inside journalism circles there is much weeping, wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth over the National Enquirer’s Pulitzer Prize nomination for an exposé of John Edward’s loose zipper. As someone who built an investigative reporter career based on journalism prizes, I say, “Who gives a flying…whatever?”

I evolved over 30 years of muckraking from reporter to ”investigative” reporter to “award winning” investigative reporter to “Peabody” award winning investigative reporter  to “four-time” Peabody award winning investigative reporter to ”retired” four time Peabody award winning investigative reporter. At various junctures, all the above phrases were used in job-seeking letters and various other capacities—including egotistical boasts about my prowess as a journalist.

But the fact of the matter is I didn’t deserve all (emphasis on all) the accolades, which is easy to say since I no longer send résumés to prospective employers. Indeed, these days my boasting is confined to Facebook, mass e-mails, my website, this blog, book peddling in radio and TV interviews, during personal appearances and in conversations with everyone in earshot. Why? Because the prizes give me a sense of legitimacy.

And legitimacy is what the National Enquirer seeks. That ain’t going to happen, whether it receives the Pulitzer or not. The weekly tabloid will continue to be a supermarket curiosity that features blazing headlines to  titillate shoppers standing in line at check-out stands. Who among us has not been tempted to buy the Enquirer after seeing a particularly provocative headline? I’m reasonably certain I have bought an issue, though I don’t know when and why. Maybe it was after I received a $50.00 check from the Enquirer.

 An Enquirer reporter had contacted me about some aspect of the Jimmy Swaggart sex scandals. My recollection is that I was not much help. Surprisingly, though, a check arrived a few days later and I faced the dilemma of taking money from a trashy tabloid. I considered my options for at least a full minute before racing to the bank to cash the windfall.

Anyway, regardless of what pointy-head journalism professors and self-righteous reporters say, I believe the Enquirer deserves a Pulitizer. The damning pictures and accompanying stories about John Edwards knocking up a woman who worked for his Presidential campaign significant. It is not comparable to the Washington Post’s Watergate reporting by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward. Still,  the Enquirer’s enterprise exposed the hypocrisy of a leading candidate and even the possible misuse of campaign funds.

In my mind, that fits the definition of investigative reporting, although a better definition would be ”investigative skulking.” The reporters nailed down the story by staking out the offices of obstetricians and a hotel lobby where Edwards was photographed before and after a visit with his paramour.

In my early days as an “investigative reporter, skulking was a television speciality. The first two Peabody medallions I collected were for secretly collecting video in Miami while concealed in a “snoop van.”  My initial spying adventure caught south Florida’s top state prosecutor and a prominent judge meeting on a weekly basis with bookies, who had close ties to notorious mobster Meyer Lansky. My reporting consisted of learning about the meetings from law enforcement sources, then sitting in the back of the van in a shopping center parking lot for several Saturdays as a photographer filmed the encounters. I expended a little bit more effort in documenting the story by tracking the gamblers back to meetings with Lansky.

By primitive television investigative reporting standards, my reporting and the video passed for high art. So much so that TV Guide did a lengthy article praising me and reporters at other Miami stations for our innovative skulking.  

My second Peabody was also a  result of spying—this time on so-called mafia racketeers. My enterprise consisted of adding pictures to law enforcement intelligence reports that were leaked to me. Again, I spent considerable time in the back of a van, as well as going out on my own with a hand-held camera to catch the bad guys on film. In retrospect, neither of my early “investigative” stories would warrant consideration for major journalism prizes today. Despite these disparaging comments about two of my Peabody awards, both remain displayed on the wall of my office. I never considered returning them to sender.

More deserving were my third and fourth Peabody awards—one for an investigative documentary about TV preacher Jimmy Swaggart’s financial dealings and his spiritual manipulation of followers, the other a documentary exposing the corrupt dealings between Louisiana’s Insurance Commissioner and a company he was supposed to regulate. The regulator and executives of the insurance company all went to prison.

These kind of results are an important consideration in awarding journalism prizes. There is no doubt that the National Enquirer  investigation of John Edwards got results, even though the mainstream media was slow to acknowledge the truth of the stories. Now that we know the truth, I hope the Pulitizer panel will give the tabloid its just reward.

In today’s journalism environment, the threshhold of legitimacy has sunk so low that anything deserves award consideration if it goes beyond the speculation of idiot pundits and the opinions expressed by airhead anchors and correspondents. 

I have deliberately omitted the “F” word because bad journalism applies to every television network.

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.

Yesterday’s blog post, The First Black Whatever,  really pinched a few nerves. I’m not surprised. Race is one of the most sensitive subjects in America. And perhaps the most important. The portion of my post that stirred the kettle was a suggestion of subtle and sometimes overt racism exhibited by a lot of folks involved in the Tea Party movement. I was accused of race-baiting in comments that ranged from “Democrats do it” to “What difference does it make the color they (the tea partiers) are?” Indeed, there were even Google searches of Tea Party demonstrations to find a black face in the sea of white and prove me wrong. Sure enough, one was found.

Let me be clear, I don’t know shit about what it is like to be an African-American in this country, which is the case with most so-called enlightened white liberals. One has to be black, to live black and have the experiences of blacks to understand what it is like. Over the years, I’ve had opportunities to learn just a little bit about the black experience. Most recently, I attended a six week Racial Dialogue workshop in Baton Rouge. It taught me again how much I don’t know. Learning anything requires willingness. The point of my essays is to share experiences have made me the person Readers who don’t care can tune out, or take me to task when they disagree. I have thick skin and a sense of humor that allows me to laugh while standing at fresh graves.

Excerpts from Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger provides insight into the early lessons I learned about race and I pass my perceptions along free of charge. Apologies about my repetiveness to those who read the book.

Like a majority of native born Southerners, I grew up in a family that used the “N” word. My parents denied being bigots. They just wanted “blacks to stay in their place.” I have a lasting memory of daddy’s reaction following my encounter with baseball star, Jackie Robinson.

I was thirteen years old and working as “roof boy” for the minor league Mobile Bears. The job entailed retrieving foul balls that landed on top of the grandstand. A screen at the rear of the roof prevented the balls from going into the parking lot. Before and after games, I ran errands for players and was paid fifty cents a night, plus tips, to watch baseball and spend time around professional athletes. It was great.

On trips north from Florida spring training in those days, major league teams played exhibitions against minor league farm clubs. The Bears were affiliated with the old Brooklyn Dodgers. And when the team bus arrived at Mobile’s Hartwell Field in 1949, I helped the Major League’s first black player carry his equipment bag to the clubhouse. Daddy was not impressed. “Hey, Marie,” he called to mother. “Come and listen to Johnny brag about carrying a nigger’s suitcase.”  It was supposed to be a joke―a symptom of culturally ingrained Southern prejudices. In dad’s defense, when I took up the civil rights banner years later, he bragged to friends about my support of the cause.

It is important to know that in later years my dad was later willing to re-consider ever so slightly the racial attitudes that were part of his upbringing. To me, that is a key to gaining knowledge and growing spiritually. Yes, I said spiritual. Read the New Testament. 

As I wrote yesterday, the only radio station willing to hire me after I plugged the jug in 1971 was Baton Rouge’s black programmed station, WXOK. Before getting fired by the city’s most prestigious station for being a drunk I was a talk show host for three years—a liberal voice of sorts during a time of racial discord in Louisiana. I thought I knew some stuff.  After all, I was the first airman in my barracks on Okinawa in 1954 to choose a black roommate. But after listening to African-American guests on my talk show, I began to recognize that I knew so litte about the black experience.

It didn’t take me long at WXOK to realize that my “enlightened” understanding of discrimination was superficial at best. I had never been the victim of blatant bigotry. Nor had I experienced the humiliation of being turned away from a segregated school, public facility, or denied a job because of my skin color. Working at WXOK taught me lessons that I could only learn in predominately African-American surroundings.

But despite a self-proclaimed empathy for those deprived of the American dream, I was a phony. My outsized ego had been severely damaged by the tumble from News Director, ace reporter and talk show host at Baton Rouge’s leading radio station to my job as WXOK’s token white boy. Instead of feeling gratitude for a career reprieve, I began fabricating an excuse for my presence at the station. I would tell former colleagues that the job was an assertion of my commitment to civil rights―foisting myself off as a self-sacrificing Peace Corps journalist.

The opportunity to promulgate the fiction presented itself at an NAACP news conference. For the first time since my failed attempt to succeed as a skid row bum, I was about to come face-to-face with reporters I had avoided since my day of reckoning. The prospect of seeing them at a Baton Rouge hotel was so unnerving that I sat in the parking lot for several minutes summoning up the courage to go inside. Entering the lobby, I immediately ran into Louisiana’s United Press bureau chief, Charles Layton. He greeted me with a smile and a handshake.

“Where have you been, John?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you for awhile.” My answer was so stunning I thought it was the voice of another person. “WJBO fired me for being a drunk,” I blurted out. “I’m working at WXOK, trying to get things back together.”

Had I actually made this humbling admission to someone? I could not believe my own words. Charlie took the sting out of my confession. “That’s great. I knew you were having problems. I hope things work out.” It was no big deal to him. Like most other reporters, he knew about my drinking. 

So there it is—a combination of claiming to have knowledge of the black experience, fooling myself into believing I understood racism from the perspective of African-Americans, and a dose of attempted hypocrisy in trying to conceal my embarrassment I felt of being relegated to an all black environment—even though ten months at WXOK saved my career and very possibly, my life.

I admit my shortcomings when it comes to underlying prejudices. But I continue to have a willingness to acknowledge my ignorance. It is a step toward brotherhood.

Am I hokey, or what?

This past weekend, the New York Times Magazine did a feature story on the Reverend James Fields—a black preacher and retired state employee, who was elected in 2008 to the Alabama legislature. He represents Cullman County, in which only 401 of the 81,000 registered voters are African-American. Fields falls into the well known category of “the first ever.” In his case, the first black to win a county-wide election in Cullman.

The election is significant. As late as the 1970’s, the town of Cullman was among the infamous southern communities where signs were posted at the city limits by the KKK and other racists groups warning, “Nigger, don’t let the sun go down.” Ironically, Cullman has another distinctive first that is quite the opposite of the road sign and parallels the breakthrough of Fields.

Sixty years ago, then Governor (Big) Jim Folsum—a Cullman resident—was the first southern governor to explicitly voice support for racial integration. Other governors like Louisiana’s Long brothers, Huey and Earl, were moderately supportive of blacks. But they kept their views quiet. This was not the case with Big Jim. In his 1949 Christmas Day address, he stated, ”As long as the Negroes are held down by deprivation and lack of opportunity, the other poor people will be held down alongside them.”

It was a radical statement given the time and mood of Alabama. I’m well aware of the ingrained racism that existed in the state since it is where I spent most of my childhood and adolescence. I grew up hearing the “n” word. The only thing I recall about Cullman, other than it being the hometown of Jim Folsum, is that on trips through north Alabama, my parents usually planned to eat at a steakhouse in the town that was well-known throughout the state.

Governor Folsum politically survived his break with Dixie racism. He was reelected after a one term absence from office as required then by state law. A quarter of a century after Big Jim’s death, the election of James Fields creates a bit of symmetry for Cullman.

Reading the Times article brought back memories of more than forty years ago when I was a radio talk show host in Baton Rouge and regularly introduced “the first black ever.” Among the guests was New Orleans political figure Ernest (Dutch) Morial. In 1967, he was the first African-American elected to the Louisiana House of Representatives since post-Civil War Reconstruction. After leaving the legislature, he became the first black juvenile court judge and then the first black Mayor of New Orleans. His son, Marc, followed in Dutch’s footsteps. He was the city’s Mayor for eight years.

Fried chicken entrpreneur Joe Delpit broke the racial barrier in Baton Rouge in 1969, becoming the city’s first African-American councilman. He was later elected to the Louisiana legislature and became Speaker Pro Tem, then the highest state government position of any black since reconstruction. In many respects, Joe Delpit paved the way for present Baton Rouge Mayor, Kip Holden, again a first ever African-American elected to the office.

Kip and I have our own “first ever” symmetry. Many years ago, he followed in my footsteps as a news reporter at WXOK radio, Baton Rouge’s only black programmed station. I was the ”first ever” fulltime white on-air newsman. In fact, WXOK saved my career. After a failed skid row audition in 1971, the station hired me to set-up its news department.  No other radio station in Louisiana was willing to take a chance on me because of my reputation as a drunk. But during my ten month tenure at WXOK, I stopped drinking. It has been 39 years and I’m still counting.

Anyway, four decades-plus have rolled by since my “first black ever” talk shows. And it seems to me that the  term, “first ever” in reference to African-Americans, should have been retired by now—especially with the election of a black President. It was a leap forward that many of us could not envision in the 1960’s and early seventies.

Even so, progress in race relations remains gradual. Sometimes when it seems that giant steps forward are being made, there are reminders that racism is still alive, but in more subtle forms. Indeed, groups that are not so subtle have found refuge in Tea Party organizations that have been recently established around the country.

Watching the tea partiers at protest demonstrations and other gatherings, I can’t help but wonder, “Why are there no black faces in the crowd? None, zilch.”

Are the tea partiers and other white-only protest groups a true face of America? It’s worth pondering.

The First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution gives us freedom of speech and press to express opinions, thoughts and complaints. As an investigative reporter for thirty years, I had the freedom to practice my craft without fear of government intervention—although there were two occasions in which the judiciary unsuccessfully attempted to infringe on my freedom by issuing prior restraining order. The first involved a Boston area murder case and the second related to the Miami trial of a Panamanian dictator Manuel Noriega. In both instances my exposés accused prosecutors of misconduct.

I would never dream of depriving Fox “News” of its First Amendment protections. My only complaint is the network’s use of the word “News.” Pure and simple, Fox is a propaganda arm of the Republican Party and several far-right groups that the GOP tries—though not very hard—to disavow. 

My characterization of Fox is not an opinion based on idle speculation. The portrayal is based on, among other other things, an admission by a top network executive of an agenda that is politically motivated. Following the election of Barack Obama, Fox “News” Vice President Bill Sheet described the network’s role as “the voice of opposition.”  This has turned out to be an honest appraisal. 

By fulfilling role as the “the voice of opposition,” Fox “News” loses its credibility as a legitimate journalism organization. The network’s slogan of “fair and balanced” is now even more laughable than when first adopted. In an effort to exploit the fears of viewers caught up in bad economic times, Fox has distorted Obama’s positions on nearly every public policy issue he supports, or piece of legislation sponsored by Democrats. 

Distortions of the health care bill are particularly egregious. The network has warned viewers of death panels and granny euthanizations  designed to reduce medical costs. Relying on the scare tactic, “socialized medicine,” Fox consistently warns of dire consequences caused by huge health care deficits—a claim disputed by the independent Congressional Budget Office. 

The Fox campaign of misinformation has paid of in the form of ratings, and in terms of effectiveness. A study by the non-partisan Pew Research Institute found that Fox viewers were much more vulnerable than others in survey to believing lies about health care legislation.

If the distortions were limited to pundits like toe-sucking Roger Morris, and personalities like Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity and Bill O’Reilly, I would have no reason to complain about Fox’s claim of being a “news” network. But reporting propaganda as fact is part of the network’s daily newscasts. A disproportionate number of so-called experts interviewed by anchors and reporters are, in fact, spokespersons for the GOP and far-right conservative organizations, some of which border on sheer lunacy. Ann Coulter for example. Her idiotic comments usually go unchallenged. By the same token, more liberal and/or reasonable guests are bombarded with loaded questions that often have no basis in truth.  

Propagandizing under the guise of ”news” was exemplified a few months ago when by a Fox correspondent’s “fair and balanced” report that was in reality a verbatim Republican news release. Then there was the video of a Fox producer acting as a cheerleader by encouraging a crowd of “tea partiers” to yell and scream for the benefit of cameras. And also let us not forget the two recent intentional uses of manufactured video that misrepresented the size of a crowd attending a Fox-promoted political rally, and a few days later exaggerated the number of people standing in a bookstore line to purchase Sarah Palin’s ghost-written autobiography. The gaffes prompted network apologies—a rarity since Fox never acknowledges just how low its brand of journalism can sink.So why do I give a shit? In part, my criticisms are an extension of my disgust with television “news” in general—network and local. CNN, MSNBC and the three broadcast networks are all guilty of journalistic misconduct, though none can match Fox. 

My career as a fulltime television investigative reporter overlapped the Watergate scandal. In its aftermath, TV journalists began establishing a degree of legitimacy. That, of course, was before the advent of “news doctors”—the consultants who created “Eyewitless News” various formats.  As an under-educated ex-drunk who staggered into muckraking, my deep-rooted insecurities caused me to obsess about being considered a “real” journalist, instead of a guy perceived as a television airhead. To that end, I put a high premium on truth—the sole purpose of investigative reporting. Therefore, it offends me to see distortions, misrepresentations of fact and outright lies represented as “news.” That said, I keep in mind that the Constitution’s protection of freedom of press and speech is not contingent upon journalistic integrity.  

Still I find it disturbing that Fox lacks a conscience. I’m not alone in the belief that the netrwork’s abuses have contributed to the sharp political divide that exists in the country today. Fox’s influence is evident by the number of people I hear parroting misinformation proselytized by the network. And nothing I or anyone else can say will change their minds. 

The good “news” from my standpoint is that Fox gives me something to bitch about in my blog on regular basis. And that is fun.