By MERVIN BLOCK
Jan. 15, 2008
Brian Williams is ahead of his time.
When Sir Edmund Hillary died in New Zealand about 9 a.m. on Jan. 11 there, the time in New York City was about 3 p.m., Jan. 10.
But Williams said in a tease that night, “When Nightly News continues here this Thursday night, the death this evening of one of the best-known explorers in the world.” This evening? 3 p.m. this evening?
Although NBC’s Nightly News originates live at 6:30 p.m., ET, Williams, the anchor and managing editor, opened his newscast on July 12 by saying, “Late tonight, the Associated Press reported the following item, and we’ll quote here….” After reading the AP’s 33-word sentence,” he said, “End of quote.” Late tonight? At 6:30 p.m.? In fact, the AP had moved the sentence he quoted at 4:46 p.m., ET—an hour and three-quarters before Williams said it had moved late tonight.
Even though Williams credited the AP, it’s rare for a newscaster, particularly a network newscaster, to deliver AP copy verbatim–copy written for the eye, not the ear.
On Nov. 30, Williams said, “The bulletin [source unidentified] we received in the newsroom tonight read like this, quote, “The granddaughter of motorcycle daredevil Evel Knievel says the 1970’s icon has died.”
Received tonight? An AP item with that very lead (word for word), which Williams said was received in his newsroom that night had been posted on a Knoxville, Tennessee, website (KNOX.com) at 4:13 p.m., ET. Which means the AP moved the story in the afternoon, not that night.
As for that script’s quote, use of that word in scipts has been criticized by experts for at least 60 years. In 1947, A Manual of Radio News Writing said: “Thoughtless use of such hackneyed terms as ‘quote’ and ‘end quote’ tend to interrupt the listener’s thought. They have a barking, staccato sound no matter how softly they are spoken.”
The first news director of CBS, Paul W. White, wrote in News on the Air in 1947, “Remember that since the word ‘quote’ is foreign to the ear as far as ordinary conversation is concerned, it probably always is disturbing to the listener….” And in 1948, News by Radio said, “Such phrases as ‘and I quote’ and ‘end quote’ are shunned by skillful writers.”
When the singer Robert Goulet died in Los Angeles on Oct. 30, his website said he had died at 10:17 a.m. Other sources also reported he died that morning. But the next day, Brian Williams reported the death occurred not yesterday but “last night.”
If a news event doesn’t meet his standards for timeliness, he’s apparently not reluctant to advance the hour hand and turn day into night. Williams’s biggest stretch in time that I heard last year occurred in March. A Garuda jetliner made a hard landing in Jakarta and burst into flames. Twenty-one people were killed. Time there in Indonesia: 7:14 a.m., March 7. We’re 12 hours behind, so the time here was 7:14 p.m., ET, March 6.
Yet, the next night, March 7 in this country, Williams said the accident happened today. Wrong. He was co-anchoring in Baghdad, which is eight hours ahead of Eastern Time. Thus, the time in Baghdad was 2:30 a.m., March 8. So his today in Baghdad was even wronger. (Two other articles at this website about Williams’s previous conflicts with the clock—and the calendar–are “Brian Williams: Nightly Problems” and “The Overnight Life of Brian.”)
Williams may not be obsessed with hours and days, but he is concerned about the passage of years. In 2006, he declared an end to four eras. He said the death of Ken Lay, the founder of Enron, ended an era. But Williams didn’t say which era that was. And when Dan Rather left CBS News, Williams described that, too, as the end of an era.
Last year, with the death of Brooke Astor, Williams said another era had come to an end. He said she had been a “living link to another time and to the vast family fortune of John Jacob Astor.” An era had come to an end? I’d say Brooke Astor, 105 years old, had come to an end.
When Evel Knievel died, Williams called him a “cultural icon who helped define the early 1970s.” (Were they that bad?) The Economist observed: “Statistically, most of his 300-odd jumps were successes. But he was famous for the number of times he miscalculated the distance, or his speed, or mistimed things….” The Economist went on to say his two most-watched jumps were both “disasters.”
As for disasters. Williams broadcast this script on Aug. 13:
“In plain English, the wings fell off Wall Street earlier today, and as the Dow Jones plunged downward 340 points, there were fears about where it was all headed. That was right before it swooped up before ending the day down just a little bit….” Plunged downward? That’s an aggravated redundancy. Swooped up? An editor should have swooped down on that up. Before…before? What kind of English is that?
Ironically, in plain English is one of William’s favorite expressions. After using it in that script, he used it again that month—twice.
Earlier today? Skip earlier. Every today story we report happened earlier today, or else we wouldn’t know about it.
I’ve heard of wings falling off an Aeroflot plane, but falling off Wall Street? In plane English, the wings fell off that script.
Wiliams also used today twice in one sentence—and with tonight, a jarring combination and a grammatical no-no: “In Iraq tonight, we’ve learned today three U-S soldiers were killed by a roadside bomb south of the city of Baghdad today. And there are two very different versions of an incident today in Ramadi, a center of Sunni violence west of the city of Baghdad….” (Feb. 28, 2007.) Thank you, Mr. Williams, for telling us in your first sentence that Baghdad is a city—and, in your second sentence, reminding us that it’s a city.
Forever and a day is a long time, but Brian Williams has accomplished what seems impossible: he compressed “forever” into a day. On Dec. 13, he told his audience:
“Some of the biggest names in baseball, the best players of what will now be known forever as the steroids era, tonight stand accused of cheating by taking drugs.”
But the next night, the steroids era that Williams said would last forever ended: “Now to our other big story tonight,” he said, “the fallout from what’s already being called the steroid era in major league baseball.” So overnight, the steroids era dissolved into the steroid era and lost its foreverness.
To dredge up a weatherbeaten cliché from Nightly News (Dec. 11, 2007), those faulty scripts are only the tip of the iceberg. And they need more than a timekeeper.
By MERVIN BLOCK
Jan. 15, 2008
Brian Williams is ahead of his time.
When Sir Edmund Hillary died in New Zealand about 9 a.m. on Jan. 11 there, the time in New York City was about 3 p.m., Jan. 10.
But Williams said in a tease that night, “When Nightly News continues here this Thursday night, the death this evening of one of the best-known explorers in the world.” This evening? 3 p.m. this evening?
Although NBC’s Nightly News originates live at 6:30 p.m., ET, Williams, the anchor and managing editor, opened his newscast on July 12 by saying, “Late tonight, the Associated Press reported the following item, and we’ll quote here….” After reading the AP’s 33-word sentence,” he said, “End of quote.” Late tonight? At 6:30 p.m.? In fact, the AP had moved the sentence he quoted at 4:46 p.m., ET—an hour and three-quarters before Williams said it had moved late tonight.
Even though Williams credited the AP, it’s rare for a newscaster, particularly a network newscaster, to deliver AP copy verbatim–copy written for the eye, not the ear.
On Nov. 30, Williams said, “The bulletin [source unidentified] we received in the newsroom tonight read like this, quote, “The granddaughter of motorcycle daredevil Evel Knievel says the 1970’s icon has died.”
Received tonight? An AP item with that very lead (word for word), which Williams said was received in his newsroom that night had been posted on a Knoxville, Tennessee, website (KNOX.com) at 4:13 p.m., ET. Which means the AP moved the story in the afternoon, not that night.
As for that script’s quote, use of that word in scipts has been criticized by experts for at least 60 years. In 1947, A Manual of Radio News Writing said: “Thoughtless use of such hackneyed terms as ‘quote’ and ‘end quote’ tend to interrupt the listener’s thought. They have a barking, staccato sound no matter how softly they are spoken.”
The first news director of CBS, Paul W. White, wrote in News on the Air in 1947, “Remember that since the word ‘quote’ is foreign to the ear as far as ordinary conversation is concerned, it probably always is disturbing to the listener….” And in 1948, News by Radio said, “Such phrases as ‘and I quote’ and ‘end quote’ are shunned by skillful writers.”
When the singer Robert Goulet died in Los Angeles on Oct. 30, his website said he had died at 10:17 a.m. Other sources also reported he died that morning. But the next day, Brian Williams reported the death occurred not yesterday but “last night.”
If a news event doesn’t meet his standards for timeliness, he’s apparently not reluctant to advance the hour hand and turn day into night. Williams’s biggest stretch in time that I heard last year occurred in March. A Garuda jetliner made a hard landing in Jakarta and burst into flames. Twenty-one people were killed. Time there in Indonesia: 7:14 a.m., March 7. We’re 12 hours behind, so the time here was 7:14 p.m., ET, March 6.
Yet, the next night, March 7 in this country, Williams said the accident happened today. Wrong. He was co-anchoring in Baghdad, which is eight hours ahead of Eastern Time. Thus, the time in Baghdad was 2:30 a.m., March 8. So his today in Baghdad was even wronger. (Two other articles at this website about Williams’s previous conflicts with the clock—and the calendar–are “Brian Williams: Nightly Problems” and “The Overnight Life of Brian.”)
Williams may not be obsessed with hours and days, but he is concerned about the passage of years. In 2006, he declared an end to four eras. He said the death of Ken Lay, the founder of Enron, ended an era. But Williams didn’t say which era that was. And when Dan Rather left CBS News, Williams described that, too, as the end of an era.
Last year, with the death of Brooke Astor, Williams said another era had come to an end. He said she had been a “living link to another time and to the vast family fortune of John Jacob Astor.” An era had come to an end? I’d say Brooke Astor, 105 years old, had come to an end.
When Evel Knievel died, Williams called him a “cultural icon who helped define the early 1970s.” (Were they that bad?) The Economist observed: “Statistically, most of his 300-odd jumps were successes. But he was famous for the number of times he miscalculated the distance, or his speed, or mistimed things….” The Economist went on to say his two most-watched jumps were both “disasters.”
As for disasters. Williams broadcast this script on Aug. 13:
“In plain English, the wings fell off Wall Street earlier today, and as the Dow Jones plunged downward 340 points, there were fears about where it was all headed. That was right before it swooped up before ending the day down just a little bit….” Plunged downward? That’s an aggravated redundancy. Swooped up? An editor should have swooped down on that up. Before…before? What kind of English is that?
Ironically, in plain English is one of William’s favorite expressions. After using it in that script, he used it again that month—twice.
Earlier today? Skip earlier. Every today story we report happened earlier today, or else we wouldn’t know about it.
I’ve heard of wings falling off an Aeroflot plane, but falling off Wall Street? In plane English, the wings fell off that script.
Wiliams also used today twice in one sentence—and with tonight, a jarring combination and a grammatical no-no: “In Iraq tonight, we’ve learned today three U-S soldiers were killed by a roadside bomb south of the city of Baghdad today. And there are two very different versions of an incident today in Ramadi, a center of Sunni violence west of the city of Baghdad….” (Feb. 28, 2007.) Thank you, Mr. Williams, for telling us in your first sentence that Baghdad is a city—and, in your second sentence, reminding us that it’s a city.
Forever and a day is a long time, but Brian Williams has accomplished what seems impossible: he compressed “forever” into a day. On Dec. 13, he told his audience:
“Some of the biggest names in baseball, the best players of what will now be known forever as the steroids era, tonight stand accused of cheating by taking drugs.”
But the next night, the steroids era that Williams said would last forever ended: “Now to our other big story tonight,” he said, “the fallout from what’s already being called the steroid era in major league baseball.” So overnight, the steroids era dissolved into the steroid era and lost its foreverness.
To dredge up a weatherbeaten cliché from Nightly News (Dec. 11, 2007), those faulty scripts are only the tip of the iceberg. And they need more than a timekeeper.