The Man in the Gray Flannel Jammies
September 23, 2004
I’ve been around for hundreds of years. Throughout that time, I have been called as many names as I have been known by. Sometimes I seem brave, others times I look afraid...mostly I appear foolish. I am usually more impressed by myself than you will ever be, but I really never think of that.
You have seen me wherever history is being made, although I rarely ever make it myself. Mostly, I am a human Dictaphone--with ears for microphones and an imperfect human brain for a mixer. You only hear the product of my dubbing. What’s recorded as an opera may be broadcast as a musical.
In my early years I was often associated with the color yellow. Then, I progressed through AM, FM, Black & White and then on to Living Color. Although that yellow stain is always fighting to re-surface through the many layers of time under which it is buried.
My baby pictures depict me as a rather owlish caricature in an ill-fitting Sears & Roebuck suit and twitish derby hat. As the country grew, so did I...at least outwardly. I have evolved into an oft-illusory image of perfection. I never sweat and my head is a coiffed monolith. Today, I not only look like a million bucks, but I’m worth a million bucks...many times over. Caveat emptor.
I’d like to think of myself as the source of your enlightenment. Actually, I want you intellectually dependent on me. You know that you can’t be. It’s mutually exclusive. If you could be intellectually dependent on me...then you wouldn’t have an intellect. That is what I am hoping for...although I will never admit it. I am incapable of understanding why you don’t see me through the same rarefied lens with which I view myself.
I’m more of a politician than a businessman. But, I’m more of an entertainer than a politician...if that’s not fungible. I have no long-term strategy, only day-to-day tactics. I deal only in human capital and each of you is a dollar sign. My product is not designed for the market...rather; I try to shape the market for my product. I want you to understand me, but I never listen to you...until it’s too late. And even then, it’s your fault.
You’ve seen me many times. Ducking behind a wall while the brave die in my midst. Standing outside without enough sense to come in out of the rain while I tell you to stay inside. Bitching about the elite while I get free front row seats to anything and everything. I always look out-of-place...so studio costumed and so wrong for the part. But always, I am whispering your misfortune to my benefit. When it’s good, I hope it gets bad and when it’s bad, I pray that it gets worse. I pose as your lifejacket while I’m actually your undertow.
I’ve played many roles. You might remember my more memorable ones. I’ve starred in The Los Angeles Times at the Staples Center scandal; the Washington Post production of Janet Cooke's fabricated Pulitzer Prize-winner; the New York Times première of Jayson Blair; and Jack Kelley’s interpretation of USA Today. There is nothing else I would rather be doing.
My stage is much grander than a living room and my wardrobe more extensive than mere pajamas. I’m not some guy sitting around in a backwards bed and dreaming the fancies of life like Mark Twain. I won’t be remembered a century later for creating laughter from the foibles of human existence...even though I am one of those foibles.
Nothing beats excess like excess itself...and the same holds true for pomposity. I have the mind of a producer, the face of a makeup artist, the veneer of a fashion designer and the mouth of a writer. I’m in the cockpit, but I’m not flying the plane...I just get to dress the part and talk to the passengers. But you should think of me as Charles Lindbergh...I demand it. I’m really good at being demanding (except from myself). How do you spell accountability?
I’d like to think of myself as Gregory Peck in his gray flannel suit...always fighting the vigilant battle to be successful without losing my ideals or honesty -- in a business that values neither. Having failed that, you might be tempted to think of me as the man in the gray flannel jammies. But, at least I’m not some “guy sitting in his living room”. From the commandingly posh towers of Black Rock (and elite media bordellos around the world) I wish you “courage”. You’re going to need it!
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