Sally Quinn wedding feud: Don’t fire Ms. Quinn — turn her ‘at large’
My “Don’t fire” headline is for the benefit of out-of-towners.
As a close friend of the Grahams, the owning family of the Washington Post, she in fact comes wrapped in asbestos.
So why am I writing this generally pro-Quinn post (amid the “dueling weddings” controversy—over the common date of April 10, shared by her son’s wedding and the previously planned one for Ben Bradlee’s granddaughter)?
No, I don’t know Sally Quinn. And I’m baffled how the author of The Party could commit such a gaffe and spread the bad feelings in print. Even if her explanation might hold up—wedding planners are hardly beyond the reach of Murphy’s Law—I winced when I read there wasn’t a danger of an overlap in hoped-for attendees. Grandfathers don’t count when the bride-to-be is the firstborn of ten grandchildren? And when she clearly and dearly wants Ben Bradlee to come? Should the National Cathedral’s availability on X Day count more than a granddaughter? What a fine example of respectability as the enemy of decency.
But, and this is a big one, let’s remember the famous quote attributed to the late Phil Graham: journalism is “the first draft of history.” Furthermore, it can also be in a sense the first draft of literature. When F. Scott Fitzgerald created Jay Gatsby, he may have relied in part on newspaper clippings or at least a clip. As both a journalist and a novelist, I myself would be grumpy if the Post nudged Ms. Quinn into retirement before she absolutely had to go. Talk about institutional memories and promising “first drafts”!
Even her critics tend to concede that Ms. Quinn is the doyenne of the Georgetown party circuit. How often do you get the word—in your morning paper—directly from an authentic doyenne? If anything, the Post should give her an “at large” column, with a special mandate to do what she did at the start of her career. A little less etiquette advice, please, and more of the old Sally’s anthropological candor.
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Three ways to save the Washington Post: A few ‘Post Apocalypse’ musings from Alexandria
My old friend used to handle some PR matters for a union in Northern Virginia, and people still pick his brains. Here’s a rule near the top of his list. Don’t waste too much time trying to get into the Washington Post, even on the most newsworthy stories. L Street probably will just ignore you.
Similarly when an obituary dissed local history and I complained, the Post ombudsman would not even acknowledge receipt of my e-mail. The obit writer had at least given me the courtesy of a short explanation. But no more details came. Hmm. Wasn’t ombudsman Andy Alexander himself worried about the Post’s aloofness? Yes, I gave him Web links—from this site—which hundreds and perhaps thousands of surfers had clicked on. Is Mr. Alexander really Net-blind enough not to e-mail me even a few words?
The above two examples came to mind as I read a New Republic piece with the cheery headline of Post Apocalypse: Inside the messy collapse of a great newspaper. Actually the Post’s continued decline is not inevitable, and as a decades-long reader of the paper, I’d like L Street to thrive. Here are three partial remedies, overlapping somewhat with Gabriel Sherman’s TNR piece, but far from entirely. The first idea would help deal with the Post’s snobbery problem as well as with the sheer arrogance that the retired union man and I have been up against.
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