CC9 - Invisible Stories





It all started in the corner of a smoky Beverly Hills bar, a legendary but fading singer stands, nursing a drink, a cigarette and – much to his distress – a cold.
My fellow journalists. Tonight I want to share with you just a little snippet of Talese’s masterpiece.sm colleagues, I’m sure you’ve all heard of the Esquire magazine writer Gay Talese who recounted that cold night in 1966 with his story “Sinatra has a cold”. Instead of writing another old and boring celebrity interview, Gay Talese started a revolution in journalism.
“FRANK SINATRA, holding a glass of bourbon in one hand and a cigarette in the other, stood in a dark corner of the bar between two attractive but fading blondes who sat waiting for him to say something. But he said nothing; he had been silent during much of the evening, except now in this private club in Beverly Hills he seemed even more distant.
Sinatra was ill. He was the victim of an ailment so common that most people would consider it trivial. But when it gets to Sinatra it can plunge him into a state of anguish, deep depression, panic, even rage. Frank Sinatra had a cold."
We all want to be part of the journalism revolution that Talese started but then why are our newspapers and magazines filled with the same-old-same-old stories.
Do you really want to write about another ATM bombing, rhino-poaching, Julius-Malema rally. I dare you to go out there and find – The Invisible stories. They are not so difficult to find, you just need to know where NOT TO GO. Editors are quick to say that News is where journalists are. But what if I told you tonight that maybe it is where journalists aren’t.
I was working as a foreign correspondent in America when their president JFK was assassinated. We were more than 3000 print journalists who rushed over to Capitol Rotunda to view the presidents’ body and to interview celebrities and politicians. Needless to say all 3000 of us got the same old same old story- the one about a dead body.
One journalist – Jimmy Breslin did not. Instead of following the heard of sheep to Capitol Rotunda, Jimmy went somewhere else because he believed that News is where journalists aren’t.
He was a lone reporter walking around Arlington National Cemetery where he interviewed a man of no real importance the Grave digger. This gravedigger only gets paid $3.01 an hour for digging graves whether it is the late president grave or John Does.
Published in the New York Herald Tribune in November 1963 I give you a little extract of “Digging JFK’s Grave was his honour" by Jimmy Breslin.
"Clifton Pollard was pretty sure he was going to be working on Sunday, so when he woke up at 9 a.m., in his three-room apartment on Corcoran Street, he put on khaki overalls before going into the kitchen for breakfast. His wife, Hettie, made bacon and eggs for him. Pollard was in the middle of eating them when he received the phone call he had been expecting.
It was from Mazo Kawalchik, who is the foreman of the gravediggers at Arlington National Cemetery, which is where Pollard works for a living. "Polly, could you please be here by eleven o'clock this morning?" Kawalchik asked. "I guess you know what it's for." Pollard did. He hung up the phone, finished breakfast, and left his apartment so he could spend Sunday digging a grave for John Fitzgerald Kennedy."
This account is still considered today the definitive piece of reporting on the assassination. It’s 48 years later, Breslin’s column has been reprinted many times, and even today this seemingly invisible story is able to move me to tears. I want to challenge you to do the same.
Labels: JFK, journalism, public speaking, Toastmasters, travel













































