Daniel Schorr’s death: Why a mystery? Wouldn’t he have wanted obituaries to report the exact cause?
Daniel Schorr’s acuity seemed to grow with age, perhaps because he had that much extra history stored in his brain to compare with the news of the day. Sympathy to his family and friends. The photo is of Mr. Schorr with Scott Simon, his colleague at National Public Radio.
Now a question for the media. Few reporters were more dedicated to the full story than Mr. Schorr was. Didn’t that trait help earn him the honor of a place on Nixon’s enemies list? Wouldn’t it serve the Schorr memory, then, for the press to report the cause of death at age 93 beyond the words “short illness”? I did not see the full facts in obits in the Washington Post and in the New York Times or on the Web site of National Public Radio. Is there a reason for the omission, beyond the family’s apparent preference not to provide the information?
In the past at least—I don’t know about now—Washington Post may not even have published a news obit if the subject was obscure and the obit writer did not know why the subject died. The Post even tried to print the cause of death of people with AIDS. An obituary of J.Y. Smith, head of the Post obit desk, said: “He suggested that those wishing to conceal information or have entire control over content could buy a paid death notice.” The “specific medical cause of death” is at least among the recommended items listed in 2007 for families to include in obituary submissions; also see a current form, partly reproduced here. Has Post policy changed since J.Y. Smith’s retirement from obits?
So what’s the importance of printing the cause? Well, beyond the probability that Mr. Schorr would have wanted the full story reported, suppose he died of a little-known disease that could benefit from more publicity for more money for more research. And if the cause happened to be something common like prostate cancer (probably not the cause of the Schorr death if we go by “short illness,” the Times’ phrase), then reporting it would also have served society. We’ve long gotten past the point where “prostate” is among the unmentionables.
Readers, what do you think? No, I won’t ask for a death certificate or disturb the family—worthy of compassion no matter how they feel about the reporting of the cause. I am just curious why we’re left without an almost certainly innocent fact that I suspect Mr. Schorr himself would have very much wanted revealed. He was a witness to and student of history, after all, not just a reporter. Did the Post gently try such an argument on the Schorr family?
It can be strange, what goes into an obituary and what doesn’t—an issue that arises in The Solomon Scandals—or even whether there is an obituary, period. My late father wanted one in the Post or at least didn’t object. My privacy-obsessed mother—in this respect the inspiration for the like-minded Margo character in Scandals—asked us not to submit an obit to the Post. She declined despite her community activities and her brief career with a business newsletter; so I remembered her on the Web instead, with the approval of my sister.
Pondering these matters, I also think of my friend the late Herman Holtz, a former newspaper reporter from Philadelphia who ended up in the D.C. area and wrote more than 70 books on business. I tipped off the Post, where the obit desk couldn’t have been nicer. Then, in a curious twist, I learned that Herm’s obit would not make the paper after all because his family didn’t want it in. Why? A newspaperman pens dozens of books, including at least one best-seller, and then just vanishes into the mist? I won’t even bother to speculate here; the ways of both families and newspapers can be mysterious.
That said, I’ll email the Post to see if it can enlighten us about its precise policies on “cause” (any factor in whether an obit makes it, at least in the case of nonVIPs?) and about the handling of its otherwise excellent Schorr obit. (Schorr photo credit.)
Update: Adam Bernstein, obituaries editor at the Post, sent a prompt and helpful reply, which I’ll reproduce ahead in its entirety. The gist is that the Post prefers to include the cause of death but does not require it, even in nonVIP obits. One reason appears to be time. The Post publishes 4,000 local obits each year, according to him—more than another other daily paper. That, as I see it, is a major positive, even outweighing the completeness factor. Still, I myself would have appreciated the full story in the case of someone as prominent as Daniel Schorr.
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Apple iPad: Another way to read ‘The Solomon Scandals’ and other books
The Solomon Scandals is mostly about yesterday, but e-books do show up briefly in the afterword. We learn about the Scandals as people looked back on them many decades later in the 21st century.
So what’s it like to read Scandals electronically on the just-released iPad—via the Kindle e-store or otherwise? As both a reader and writer, I’m an instant fan even though my loyalties to paper books remain (Scandals is available in either medium).
You might also enjoy:- Solomon Scandals readable on new global Kindle—or you can buy the paperback, even if you’re outside the U.S.
- How to preview The Solomon Scandals for free on your iPhone—or read the entire book electronically
- How to enjoy a preview of ‘Scandals’ in iPad-style splendor—and what this means for geeks, book publishers, authors and news people
- Buy
- ‘Page-turner’? Or ‘page-tapper’? Just what do you call an e-novel you like?
Why I feel like Billy Pilgrim: ‘The Solomon Scandals’ as a time-warpy book
Was it Jerry Ford or Jimmy Carter who sat in the Oval Office when I finished the original draft of The Solomon Scandals, my Washington newspaper novel?
I do remember what I was writing on—an old electric typewriter: first a veritable antique from the early 60s, then a somewhat newer model with a metal golf ball: a red Selectric that I later gave away to the cleaning lady.
After NPR ran a segment the other day about age, time and the brain, I inevitably wondered, “What does this mean for novelists?” I was in my late 20s or early 30s back when I was seeing, hearing, touching, smelling, tasting and otherwise undergoing the experiences that I fictionalized for Scandals. The world was fresher to me and my generation—D.C. scandals included, even with Watergate having already happened.
In that sense Scandals is a 30ish writer’s novel, and maybe this gets me off the hook when NPR tells how the young remember in more detail. At the same time, perhaps Scandals also reflects what I learned in the three decades that sped by. Talk about Billy Pilgrim–style time warps. You might say I didn’t just write my historical fiction—I lived it.
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