Murrow Special: Our History Will Be What We Make It

Bob Edwards

Edward R. Murrow’s centenary is approaching, and it’s useful to reflect on him and wonder if today’s broadcasters would employ him.

Murrow was born on April 25, 1908, just a dozen years before the establishment of the broadcasting industry he would serve with the greatest distinction. In 1937, Murrow was denied membership in the American Foreign Correspondents Association in London because he worked in radio, not journalism. Seven years later, he was the association’s president, having established with his World War II reporting that radio was very much a source of quality journalism.

Murrow came home from the war as triumphant as any general. CBS chairman William Paley made him the vice president for news and gave him a seat on the board of directors. His prestige was such that his newsroom colleagues jokingly formed a Murrow Is Not God Club and offered membership to his wife, Janet. In the 1940s, the period of radio and “the good war,” Murrow could do no wrong.

Then came the 1950s period of television and the Cold War, and Murrow was suddenly trouble. Happily leaving management to return to on-air reporting, Murrow covered the Korean War. His reports critical of military tactics there were not broadcast by CBS for fear they would give comfort to the enemy. Good journalism, like the rest of network programming, fell victim to the anti-Communist hysteria gripping the country. All CBS employees were required to sign loyalty oaths and have their backgrounds investigated by CBS attorneys. It was the McCarthy Era, and Murrow went after its namesake, Sen. Joseph McCarthy (R-WI). Murrow’s 1954 “See It Now” program on CBS-TV helped bring down the demagogue while establishing television as a journalistic force.

Murrow continued to boldly tackle the most controversial issues of that time, but the broadcasts only got him into deeper trouble with his corporate bosses. He had a nasty public argument with CBS president Frank Stanton over network practices and standards. Murrow ultimately lost his sponsor and his programs.

By 1960, he was seldom on the air, and he ended his broadcast career in January 1961. On his way out the door, Murrow dropped a verbal bomb on the whole broadcasting industry, and his platform was RTNDA’s annual convention held in Chicago on October 15, 1958. Essentially, the speech was a plea that the networks devote one hour of primetime programming each week to a documentary or some other form of serious news. On the way to that point, however, Murrow skewered the industry for corporate greed, indifference to the public interest and being a toady of the Eisenhower Administration. He even took a shot at the networks’ treatment of American Indians in entertainment programs. Perhaps he didn’t intend it as a bridge-burning exit salvo, but Murrow had crossed a line. His bosses didn’t fire him—they marginalized him and made
it attractive for him to leave.

How would a guy like that fare in today’s world of broadcast journalism? Well, the networks wouldn’t have him; he’d know that from experience. “Frontline” on PBS would be a good match, but Congress would rant about “tax payer dollars” supporting radical journalism, some nervous station managers would want him to have rival spinners on his program in the name of “balance.” Murrow was not a balance guy—he was an investigate-and-report guy.

Talk radio is out because he’d never get the numbers. The audiences for those shows crave red meat. They want programs hosted by people who wake up angry and stay angry all day. Testosterone shots are administered each hour on the 8s.

He’d have to work in cable and reach a fraction of the audience he once had when TV offered just three choices. CNN might give him a slot, but it would be hours after Larry King and Anderson Cooper had done their star turns in primetime. Murrow would love all those interview opportunities on C-SPAN, but I don’t know how he’d feel about taking listener calls. “Go
ahead, Pittsburgh.”

And forget about a budget for a reporting and production staff. Personally, I’d love to see him on the History Channel, but I fear he might come off as a nostalgia act—the journalistic equivalent of another Led Zep tour. That leaves him sharing time with Dan Rather on HDNet. Are Dan’s relatives even watching?

Sorry, but I just don’t see a place in the modern world’s broadcast journalism for our founder. The biggest change from Murrow’s day is that TV and radio news programs today are required to make money. That requires high ratings and affects the choice of news content. Murrow would not want commercial interests to determine what stories or issues he’d have on his programs. Imagine his reaction when the suits drop by with the consultants they’ve hired to improve the numbers in the 18-35 demographic.

Murrow would have to be his own independent franchise. I see him churning out podcasts and a lively blog from his farm in Pawling, NY, and doing the occasional guest shot with Bill Maher. Edward R. Murrow died two days after his 57th birthday in 1965. Today his three grandchildren live in a completely transformed media world, but that would not surprise the man who gave journalist credibility to the once-new media of radio and television as outposts of journalism.

He would regard cell phones, iPods and computers as the newer generation’s “lights and wires in a box” unless they were used to “teach…illuminate… (and) even inspire.” And he would caution young people with the same words he applied to radio and television. Murrow said that just because your voice could now reach halfway around the world, it didn’t make you any smarter than you were when your voice could only reach the other end of the bar.

—Bob Edwards has hosted the Bob Edwards Show on XM Satellite Radio since 2004; before that he helped launch NPR’s Morning Edition, which he hosted for two dozen years. He is also the author of Edward R. Murrow and the Birth of Broadcast Journalism (John Wiley & Sons, 2004).


Originally published in the March 2008 issue of Communicator. All rights reserved.

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