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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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time
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060589
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06058900.066
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1990-09-17
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BOOKS, Page 83Restless on His Laurels
By R.Z. Sheppard
THE GOOD TIMES
by Russell Baker
Morrow; 351 pages; $19.95
Russell Baker has worked for laughs at the solemn New York
Times ever since his "Observer" column was established in 1962. For
satire, parody and burlesque on short notice, he has few equals.
He has had what many journalists would consider a dream career, and
nobody tells him what to do. Or so it appears:
"My mother, dead now to this world but still roaming free in
my mind, wakes me some mornings before daybreak. `If there's one
thing I can't stand, it's a quitter.' I have heard her say that all
my life. Now, lying in bed, coming awake in the dark, I feel the
fury of her energy fighting the good-for-nothing idler within me
who wants to go back to sleep instead of tackling the brave new
day."
So begins The Good Times, the second installment of Baker's
memoirs. The first, Growing Up (1982), won a Pulitzer Prize, stayed
on best-seller lists for nearly a year, and remains a masterstroke
of unpretentious autobiography. It too got its direction from the
character of Lucy Elizabeth Baker, the needy young widow whose
platitudes about hard work and gumption herded Russell and his
sister through the Great Depression.
"It was impossible to succeed enough to satisfy this woman,"
writes Baker, who sounds as if he does not believe how far he has
come. To hear Baker tell of his rise from newspaper delivery boy
to the Baltimore Sun's man about London and Washington, one would
think he still regards himself as an ink-stained wretch.
Baker, of course, practices the art of deflation for a living,
and he repeatedly reminds us that Lucy Elizabeth must share the
credit and the blame. "I was happy to get your letter, especially
the news that someone else has noted your writing ability," she
remarks after learning of her son's job opportunity at the Times.
No matter that his abilities had already earned him big-league
distinction in Europe; Mother Baker thought the offer was just the
break he needed.
Baker, who believed he was doing just fine at the Sun, was less
sure. The paper nurtured and rewarded his talents; its editor was
like a father. James Reston, then the Times's Washington bureau
chief, would eventually assume a similar role as Baker's boss. But
before the relationship could be established, home-office politics
required that Baker pay dues in New York City. Underemployed in the
Times's vast, overstaffed city room, the "jumper," as he describes
himself, guiltily plowed through Dostoyevsky and corresponded with
his wife Mimi. "The Times felt like an insurance office," he
observes. "Writing a 600-word story seemed to be considered a whole
week's work." Meyer Berger, the paper's star feature writer and
house historian, put the situation in perspective: "Mister Ochs
(Adolph Ochs, publisher from 1896 to 1935) always liked to have
enough people around to cover the story when the Titanic sinks."
The author's nights to remember are less dramatic. Recalling
his marathon coverage of Queen Elizabeth II's coronation, Baker
downplays the pageantry in favor of offstage vignettes, like long
lines of colonial potentates in animal skins and gold braid forming
to use Westminster Abbey's toilets. The Eisenhower White House
produces little excitement, partly because there wasn't much, but
mainly because Press Secretary James Hagerty ran a "tight, tight
ship." Later there was the smothering style of Senate Majority
Leader Lyndon Johnson: "For you, Russ, I'd leak like a sieve."
Many of Baker's professional anecdotes are familiar, including
the still valuable cautionary tale about the late W.H. Lawrence,
the Times's White House correspondent whose friendship with John
F. Kennedy resulted in gushy coverage that embarrassed the paper
and eventually led to Lawrence's departure. It is impossible to
avoid dated material in a reminiscence. It is also difficult to
write an autobiography when one has been more an observer than a
participant.
The good times Baker refers to in his title are from 1947, the
year he joined the Baltimore Sun, until 1963, when Kennedy was
assassinated. Yet to come were full-scale war in Viet Nam, civil
unrest, Watergate, gas lines, stagflation, and the proliferation
of junk food and junk politics. Unsurprisingly these not-so-good
times provided Baker with his best material as a columnist. But as
a memoirist he seems to be finding that Russell Baker is a tough
act to follow, especially if you are Russell Baker.