draw.
We would put numbers in a hat from 1 to 4, and someone from each network would pull one out. Whoever got number 1 had the
right to choose the best location, and it went backward from there. I always considered Towriss to be lucky since he had drawn
much better numbers than I had over the years, so he was the one who inevitably drew the straw for CNN. And he often pulled
the best numbers. He had pulled a prime location for this Helsinki summit and I was relieved because it promised to be monumental.
The thing is, while all the networks were like family and we smiled and supported one another overtly, we also were trying
to outmaneuver and outfox one another all the time. In fact, we watched each other and our own backs like hawks, which added
to the ongoing stress and battles against time we all waged. That’s known as good old American competition, which is pretty
foreign in a communist country. I remember being in Moscow when we needed setups for the four networks. The Russians had a
controlled press corps and it was difficult for them to grasp the concept of a free press. Why did we need setups for four
cameras instead of one? Couldn’t we all share? We had to educate them about how we did things in America, and they had to
educate us about what they could provide and what they couldn’t.
But the considerable discomfort, confusion, and pressure of these events on so many levels was always offset by the fact that
those of us who were there saw history being made right in front our eyes. What an opportunity for a group of youngsters (only
someone young could keep up with such insane scheduling and loss of sleep!) who knew we were changing the way the world communicated.
So much of producing summit coverage, wherever they were, was getting accustomed to the local timing and logistics. For example,
at a 1988 summit in Moscow, I met with the CNN Moscow bureau chief as soon as we arrived there. It was early in the morning,
I was ready to hit the ground running, when he said, “First things first. We need to make reservations for lunch. When would
you like to eat?”
Exasperated, I said, “There’s so much to do, I really don’t care about lunch right now. Don’t bother with reservations. When
we get hungry, we can go pick something up.”
“You don’t get it, Wendy,” he said. “You’re in Moscow. Food runs out here. We have to make reservations so you and your people
have something to eat. Unless you want to work on empty stomachs all day.”
I was shocked but I acquiesced. We made it to our lunch reservation and I have to say that the food was horrible, fatty brown
meat and wilted lettuce, but at least we got to eat.
I recall being in Beijing, China, when one of my close friends and colleagues, CNN reporter Charles Bierbauer, and I butted
heads. I had the occasional disagreement with my colleagues because we worked too closely under strained circumstances for
us to always see eye to eye. The flare-ups were petty and they amounted to nothing in the end, but I have to say, this disagreement
with Charles taught me a good lesson.
We were walking down the street in Beijing, short on sleep, when we got into a heated (and ridiculous) argument about who
needed to be more focused, a reporter or a producer, a topic that would be compelling only when you’re exhausted, running
on empty, and you need to do something to let off steam.
Charles was busy telling me that his job was to observe, ask, synthesize, and then give his report. He described my job as
“simple logistics,” which angered me.
“Well, whatever you call it,” I argued, “you owe me a lot. I do all this work on the setup and production so you’ll look good.”
“No, you don’t,” he replied. “You do your work because it’s your job. We both do this because it’s our job. I don’t do it
for you and you don’t do it for me. Nobody gets any personal praise or recognition. I just happen
We would put numbers in a hat from 1 to 4, and someone from each network would pull one out. Whoever got number 1 had the
right to choose the best location, and it went backward from there. I always considered Towriss to be lucky since he had drawn
much better numbers than I had over the years, so he was the one who inevitably drew the straw for CNN. And he often pulled
the best numbers. He had pulled a prime location for this Helsinki summit and I was relieved because it promised to be monumental.
The thing is, while all the networks were like family and we smiled and supported one another overtly, we also were trying
to outmaneuver and outfox one another all the time. In fact, we watched each other and our own backs like hawks, which added
to the ongoing stress and battles against time we all waged. That’s known as good old American competition, which is pretty
foreign in a communist country. I remember being in Moscow when we needed setups for the four networks. The Russians had a
controlled press corps and it was difficult for them to grasp the concept of a free press. Why did we need setups for four
cameras instead of one? Couldn’t we all share? We had to educate them about how we did things in America, and they had to
educate us about what they could provide and what they couldn’t.
But the considerable discomfort, confusion, and pressure of these events on so many levels was always offset by the fact that
those of us who were there saw history being made right in front our eyes. What an opportunity for a group of youngsters (only
someone young could keep up with such insane scheduling and loss of sleep!) who knew we were changing the way the world communicated.
So much of producing summit coverage, wherever they were, was getting accustomed to the local timing and logistics. For example,
at a 1988 summit in Moscow, I met with the CNN Moscow bureau chief as soon as we arrived there. It was early in the morning,
I was ready to hit the ground running, when he said, “First things first. We need to make reservations for lunch. When would
you like to eat?”
Exasperated, I said, “There’s so much to do, I really don’t care about lunch right now. Don’t bother with reservations. When
we get hungry, we can go pick something up.”
“You don’t get it, Wendy,” he said. “You’re in Moscow. Food runs out here. We have to make reservations so you and your people
have something to eat. Unless you want to work on empty stomachs all day.”
I was shocked but I acquiesced. We made it to our lunch reservation and I have to say that the food was horrible, fatty brown
meat and wilted lettuce, but at least we got to eat.
I recall being in Beijing, China, when one of my close friends and colleagues, CNN reporter Charles Bierbauer, and I butted
heads. I had the occasional disagreement with my colleagues because we worked too closely under strained circumstances for
us to always see eye to eye. The flare-ups were petty and they amounted to nothing in the end, but I have to say, this disagreement
with Charles taught me a good lesson.
We were walking down the street in Beijing, short on sleep, when we got into a heated (and ridiculous) argument about who
needed to be more focused, a reporter or a producer, a topic that would be compelling only when you’re exhausted, running
on empty, and you need to do something to let off steam.
Charles was busy telling me that his job was to observe, ask, synthesize, and then give his report. He described my job as
“simple logistics,” which angered me.
“Well, whatever you call it,” I argued, “you owe me a lot. I do all this work on the setup and production so you’ll look good.”
“No, you don’t,” he replied. “You do your work because it’s your job. We both do this because it’s our job. I don’t do it
for you and you don’t do it for me. Nobody gets any personal praise or recognition. I just happen
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