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Truth in Broadcasting
By Debbie Gilbert
NOVEMBER 9, 1998:
Scott
Simon is a little harried right now. Hes on deadline to finish his new book Home and
Away, a memoir about being a sports fan and in particular, being a fan of the
long-suffering Chicago Cubs. The book is strictly from a spectators perspective;
Simon has never worked as a sports announcer. But hes held just about every other
job in broadcasting.
If you get your news primarily from television, you may have seen Simon co-anchoring
NBCs weekend Today show, or hosting a variety of PBS shows such as the State of Mind
series and last years Affluenza, a special about the dangers of materialism. But
hes best known for his 20-year career at National Public Radio. As a correspondent,
hes reported from some of the globes most troublesome hot spots, including the
Persian Gulf, Bosnia, El Salvador, and the Middle East, and hes covered stories in
just about every state in the Union.
While acknowledging that its a
cliché, Simon says that he is indeed trying to change the world, and he
enumerates all the events that have to concern us: the Holocaust, Albania,
Bosnia, violence against gays, and the whole history of racism in the United States.
Growing up as the son of comedian Ernie
Simon and actress Patricia Lyons, Simon spent time in several of Americas largest
cities, including New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles. While he never personally felt
persecuted or discriminated against, he lived in neighborhoods where some of the residents
were Holocaust survivors. Recalling the mother of one of his childhood friends, he says,
I remember being startled when she put down a Coca-Cola and I could see the serial
number on her arm.
The memory continues to haunt him, and as a
journalist hes returned to the issue repeatedly. The longest piece weve
ever done on the show, he says, was on the death of Anne Frank.
Anti-Semitism also figured in one of the
earliest stories Simon did after joining NPRs Chicago bureau in 1978. The
American Nazi Party wanted to parade in Skokie, Illinois, and the ACLU supported them.
They got permission and then decided to march instead in Marquette Park. Robert Siegel was
my editor then [on All Things Considered] and he permitted me to do a story on it, after
the fact. Other news organizations would have said, The march was two days ago
move on, but NPR allows us the time to do important stories in-depth.
The piece won an award, one of dozens that
Simon has amassed over the years; others include a Peabody, an Emmy, and the Alfred I.
duPont-Columbia University Award, among journalisms most prestigious honors. But to
Simon, one of the most rewarding aspects of his job is being able to investigate and
expose injustice in the world. For example, hes reported on racism in South
Philadelphia, famine in Ethiopia, and deplorable conditions at an Immigration and
Naturalization Service detention center in Texas. Hes also done a number of stories
about prejudice against homosexuals.
I think weve been outspoken
against gay-bashing, says Simon. A couple of weeks ago, I would have told you
we were making progress on this issue.
Hes alluding to the shocking murder
in Laramie, Wyoming, of gay college student Matthew Shepard, which provoked a national
outpouring of sympathy but which also drew outrage when anti-gay protesters showed up at
the funeral proclaiming God Hates Fags. Their appearance was orchestrated by a
Topeka, Kansas, minister who has made a career out of promoting hate, and Simon finds it
difficult to contain his revulsion.
I suppose its one thing to have
your own personally repellent beliefs, he says, but to travel thousands of
miles to make those views known
His voice trails off in disgust.
Simon knows such people are out there
he hears from them regularly. The vituperative crank mail I get and
its a small percentage of our audience is mostly anti-Semitic and
anti-gay, he says.
That tells him theres still work to
be done. As long as such evil exists, organizations like Facing History and Ourselves will
have to continue pushing back the tide of ignorance and hate.

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