to be in front of the camera
and you’re behind it. If I fail or stumble or if you do, that affects us both. We owe everything to our jobs and the people
who pay us. Beyond that, we don’t owe each other anything.”
He was right, I knew that, but I was too annoyed to admit it right then. I rolled my eyes, a habit I had that drove him crazy.
He wagged his finger at me (a habit
he
had that drove
me
crazy), and he said, “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.”
“Don’t you wag your finger at me, then,” I responded curtly.
And so I rolled, he wagged, and eventually we got to our location and stopped arguing. I guess we were so attuned to each
other, we were like an old married couple. We knew each other well enough to have a good fight, but when the chips were down,
we were there for each other 100 percent, and we never decided who owed what to whom.
Charles was also with me in 1992, when we landed in Tokyo where President George H. W. Bush was scheduled to attend a state
dinner for 135 diplomats. Right after we landed in Japan, a reporter from each network was given a short interview, a five-minute
sit-down, with the president, and when it was Charles’s turn, he informally asked the president how he was doing.
“It was a long trip,” Bush said. “I feel a little tired and achy, to tell you the truth.”
“We’re all worn out,” Charles told him reassuringly.
About two hours later, President and Barbara Bush arrived atthe home of Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa where they were greeted warmly. The dinner was covered by a pool camera, and CNN
was pool that night so I had to monitor the dinner. As the president and the prime minister sat down to eat, the producers
and reporters sat in our work space where we could see the action inside the banquet room on a monitor from that one small
camera feed. We all relaxed a little bit as we chatted, had a bite to eat, and got ready to shut down for the night.
Not so fast! I was chatting with Charles about something insignificant, thinking about going to bed soon, when someone said,
“Hey, did you see that? Where’s the president?”
We all stared at the monitor. There was the table, there were the prime minister and his guests, but the president was nowhere
to be seen. It seemed that he had vomited on the prime minister and then fainted, slumping to the floor beneath the table.
Barbara, his wife, had rushed over and gotten on the floor beside him, trying to revive him. We had no idea what had just
happened and we all picked up our phones to find out. That was when a call came in from Atlanta. One of the network’s health
correspondents said, “We just heard that the president died. And that they’re flying his body back home. Is it true?”
“No. I don’t think so,” I said. “I haven’t heard anything. But I’ll find out.” I called around to anyone who might have the
information. If it was a rumor, we needed to nip it in the bud before it got reported. If it was true—well, I didn’t even
want to think about that.
I got in touch with a reporter standing outside the prime minister’s home. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Is the motorcade moving?”
“Yes. But we’re not sure where they’re going or who’s in the car.”
As we continued to make calls and tried to verify what was happening, we all received a computer file saying, READ ME ! I froze for a second. This was our message alert system, letting us all know that there was an important message that we
needed to read right away. When we opened it, it said something to the effect that although we had no confirmation as yet,
there were rumors circulating that the president had died.
At CNN Atlanta, anchor Don Miller, who has since passed away, had been on the air. The network was on a commercial break when
he got the READ ME ! message. Looking troubled, he asked his producer, “Are you sure you want me to report this?”
“Yes,” his producer
and you’re behind it. If I fail or stumble or if you do, that affects us both. We owe everything to our jobs and the people
who pay us. Beyond that, we don’t owe each other anything.”
He was right, I knew that, but I was too annoyed to admit it right then. I rolled my eyes, a habit I had that drove him crazy.
He wagged his finger at me (a habit
he
had that drove
me
crazy), and he said, “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.”
“Don’t you wag your finger at me, then,” I responded curtly.
And so I rolled, he wagged, and eventually we got to our location and stopped arguing. I guess we were so attuned to each
other, we were like an old married couple. We knew each other well enough to have a good fight, but when the chips were down,
we were there for each other 100 percent, and we never decided who owed what to whom.
Charles was also with me in 1992, when we landed in Tokyo where President George H. W. Bush was scheduled to attend a state
dinner for 135 diplomats. Right after we landed in Japan, a reporter from each network was given a short interview, a five-minute
sit-down, with the president, and when it was Charles’s turn, he informally asked the president how he was doing.
“It was a long trip,” Bush said. “I feel a little tired and achy, to tell you the truth.”
“We’re all worn out,” Charles told him reassuringly.
About two hours later, President and Barbara Bush arrived atthe home of Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa where they were greeted warmly. The dinner was covered by a pool camera, and CNN
was pool that night so I had to monitor the dinner. As the president and the prime minister sat down to eat, the producers
and reporters sat in our work space where we could see the action inside the banquet room on a monitor from that one small
camera feed. We all relaxed a little bit as we chatted, had a bite to eat, and got ready to shut down for the night.
Not so fast! I was chatting with Charles about something insignificant, thinking about going to bed soon, when someone said,
“Hey, did you see that? Where’s the president?”
We all stared at the monitor. There was the table, there were the prime minister and his guests, but the president was nowhere
to be seen. It seemed that he had vomited on the prime minister and then fainted, slumping to the floor beneath the table.
Barbara, his wife, had rushed over and gotten on the floor beside him, trying to revive him. We had no idea what had just
happened and we all picked up our phones to find out. That was when a call came in from Atlanta. One of the network’s health
correspondents said, “We just heard that the president died. And that they’re flying his body back home. Is it true?”
“No. I don’t think so,” I said. “I haven’t heard anything. But I’ll find out.” I called around to anyone who might have the
information. If it was a rumor, we needed to nip it in the bud before it got reported. If it was true—well, I didn’t even
want to think about that.
I got in touch with a reporter standing outside the prime minister’s home. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Is the motorcade moving?”
“Yes. But we’re not sure where they’re going or who’s in the car.”
As we continued to make calls and tried to verify what was happening, we all received a computer file saying, READ ME ! I froze for a second. This was our message alert system, letting us all know that there was an important message that we
needed to read right away. When we opened it, it said something to the effect that although we had no confirmation as yet,
there were rumors circulating that the president had died.
At CNN Atlanta, anchor Don Miller, who has since passed away, had been on the air. The network was on a commercial break when
he got the READ ME ! message. Looking troubled, he asked his producer, “Are you sure you want me to report this?”
“Yes,” his producer
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