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By Jeremy Adragna
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Photo by Brian J. Morowczynski
Jeremy Adragna (left) corners Chicago journalist and activist Studs Terkel and gets his take on John Ashcroft and the "Video War" — and a sneak preview of the evening’s address. |
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Studs Terkel is a hard man to pin down. Everyone seems to
want a piece of this legendary Chicago journalist and activist.
So when Hank De Zutter, vice president of the Community Media
Workshop, offered to introduce me to Studs, I started jotting
down the questions I had always wanted to ask him.
De Zutter invited me to meet Studs at the 14th Anniversary
Media Awards Benefit, where working journalists and Columbia
College students were to be honored and Studs was scheduled
to give the keynote speech.
When De Zutter introduced me to Studs in the lobby of The
Arts Club of Chicago, Studs shook my hand, politely said he
was glad to meet me and led me to the elevator, which we rode
to the main floor instead of climbing the legendary Mies van
der Rohe staircase. When the elevator door opened, a swarm
of fogies with nametags on their jackets and hors d’oeuvres
in their hands settled around Studs. Before I knew it, I had
lost him, and I hadn’t even asked one question.
De Zutter, who was also surrounded by guests, noticed and
came to my aid. “Hang in there. Keep at ’em,”
he whispered in my ear.
I did. I followed Studs through several groups of guests,
but it seemed he had forgotten me. Then a polite woman who
noticed my frustration brought me to Studs’ attention.
Studs pulled me away from the party and into the still-empty
auditorium, deftly grabbing one mini-egg roll for the road.
Settling down on the steps to the stage, he asked, “What
do you want to know, kid?”
I asked him something about the untold stories he had yet
to tell. He looked at me with an expression that seemed to
say that if he had the opportunity to meet himself, that would
not be the question he would ask.
“I’ll let you know about my reveries,” he
said.
I recalled hearing people say that when you talk to Studs,
you don’t really talk to Studs. He talks. You listen.
So I listened.
“Let me tell you about the Official Word. Capital O,
Capital W. Journalists should always question the O.W.,”
Studs said. “The O.W. are the ideas that are passed
down from the government and others with authority for the
public to digest and accept.”
His wisdom spouted from that brain of his like it had been
passed down from great Chicago journalists long dead and buried.
“Watch me when I tell you this because I might have
to cock my neck in the process. John Ashcroft might be listening,”
Studs went on. (He and Ashcroft are both alumni of the University
of Chicago Law School.)
“People don’t realize that with all the new devices
for killing that we see on the Video War [unlike Vietnam,
the Television War] there are also many new devices for listening,”
he continued. “And unless you’re paranoid, you’re
crazy.”
Studs paused mid-sentence more than once to ask if I was following
what he was saying and whether it made sense.
“Ashcroft was good and I was bad,” Studs said.
“If I had been good I could have been like Ashcroft.
I could have been the O.W.”
As I listened, I felt a crowd forming around us. I was sweating;
I couldn’t write fast enough. Studs was about to sing
a song that Carl Sandburg recorded, but he abruptly ended
the interview because the evening’s program was about
to begin. So I thanked him for his time and he walked into
the mob of people, leaving me to hastily fill my notebook
with the nuggets.
The ceremony began. Awards were announced. A few eloquent
and not-so-eloquent speeches were given. At last, Studs took
the podium.
“Let me tell you about the Official Word,” Studs
said to the crowd.
I was stunned. Studs was about to give the exact speech he
had just given to me. I was the guinea pig for his annual
Media Awards spiel.
I didn’t mind. When Studs spoke, I listened. If I could
help Studs, I would. He had helped me more then he would ever
know. Studs gave me his time. It wasn’t easy, but I
stuck to it and got the story.
At the end of his speech, Studs sang the Sandburg song he
had almost sung for me:
I have led a good life, full of peace and quiet.
I shall have an old age, full of rum and riot.
I have been a good boy, wed to work and study.
I shall be an old man, ribald, coarse and bloody.
I have never slit throats, even when I yearned to.
Never sang dirty songs that my fancy turned to.
I have been a nice boy, and done what was
expected.
I shall die an old bum, loved but unrespected.
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