In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

163 19 The Ups and Downs of Celebrity Pick a day, any day. I’m at work at my desk when a good friend calls to ask if I’d please make a reservation for him for dinner at RL, on Chicago Avenue off Michigan, currently the most “in” place in town, where Mayor Daley brings a few close friends, and Oprah Winfrey a table-full. It’s nearly impossible to get in, especially when calling at four-thirty for a table at six. I say to my friend, “I don’t want to do that. I’ll feel like a hypocrite,” which is honest. He says to me, “But it’s the only way we’ll get in,” which is true. The choice eateries in Chicago are over-reserved, and full-up for dinner. But they manage to save tables, the good ones, for celebrities who call at the last minute, which most of us do to maintain our status as celebrities. I don’t like doing it—and rarely do—because I’ve made a career out of railing at VIPs flaunting a sense of entitlement, and I don’t want to be the subject of a newspaper story about television anchors throwing their weight around in restaurants where people are standing in line for a table. Also, I can’t very well say, “This is Walter Jacobson of Fox News,” because I’m not anymore. And I don’t want to say, “formerly of Fox News,” because who cares? And the worst is how bad I feel when a fresh-out-of-college host answering telephones at RL asks, “Who did you say is calling, Walter who?” That’s embarrassing. Celebrity life sometimes is. Way back when Fahey Flynn was an anchor, I remember one morning standing in line at a ticket counter at an American Airlines departure gate at O’Hare. I watched Fahey, then of Channel 7 News, strut to the front of the line, thrust his ticket onto the counter, and smile. “Oh, Mr. Flynn,” fluttered the ticket-taker. “We have space up front and are happy to have you use it.” “Why, thank you,” gushed Fahey, off to his seat by a window in row 3. I waited a half hour more for my seat, and a processed ham sandwich in the middle of row 41, between a three-hundred-pound hulk and a mother with a fidgety baby. 164 T H E U P S A N D D O W N S O F C E L E B R I T Y Celebrity got Fahey, and gets most media “stars,” what we want. Ask any ten anchors in Chicago, including me, how we like being famous, and I bet the answers you get from nine of the ten will include these words: “don’t care about being famous.” “only want to provide information,” “expose corruption,” “explain the meaning of things,” and “not interested in fame.” Sounds good, but it’s not true, because fame is the measure of an anchor’s success. If viewers don’t know the name of the anchor they’re watching, and are not tuning-in to see him or her, then the anchor has no standing in the market and need not be paid a big anchor salary. So we do care about celebrity and ought to be honest about it. The perks come along for the ride. I began mixing into the celebrity crowd about thirty-five years ago, soon after CBS gambled on Bill Kurtis and me at an anchor desk in a working newsroom . Because that hadn’t been tried in Chicago before, it drew us inordinate attention. Day after day, for days on end, there were newspaper columns about things, often nothings, going on at Channel 2 News: “Sad news to report today, Walter Jacobson’s new mustache is going to go,” said the Daily News. “Jacobson, as all Chicago knows by now,” said the Tribune, “got a suspension last week for exchanging hot words with an associate producer.” In his annual Chicago Cubs trivia quiz, Mike Royko asked, “Which TV commentator used to be a Cubs batboy? The answer is the immortal Walter Jacobson. He said he didn’t enjoy it because the rowdy players always threw their underwear at him,” etcetera, etcetera, etcetera for another five hundred words. “Now I must go and watch the late news show. I don’t want to miss Jacobson’s commentary. I always...

Share