A Brief History of Ghostwriting

[The American Prospect]

In the May issue of The American Prospect, I’ve got an essay on the long, distinguished history of political ghostwriting. A few recent books have touched on this subject, including Robert Schlesinger’s White House Ghosts and Ben Yagoda’s Memoir: A History, but it’s a rich one. My essay, for example, mentions Doris Kearns Goodwin only in passing, but there’s a lot more story to tell.

In fact, Rick Perlstein told it wonderfully in a 2002 essay for the Village Voice. That publication’s notorious website swallowed the essay long ago, but you can still find it via the Wayback Machine. It’s worth reading in full—not only as the best thing written about Goodwin’s plagiarism fiasco, but also as a great meditation on the act of writing history. Here’s a sample:

Historians must write in the grip of an abiding fear. Composing a paragraph one imagines two audiences: the everyreaders, and the three or four people who know more about what you are writing in a particular paragraph than you do, who have read any book you’re inclined to plagiarize, who, for God’s sake, may have written the book you’re inclined to plagiarize. . . . My book is about the 1964 Barry Goldwater election. And the thought of a midnight knock on my door from this guy named John Kessel (who may or may not still be alive), who published a fine academic study in 1968 called The Goldwater Coalition: Republican Strategies in 1964, accusing me of doing him any dishonor, sends chills down my spine.

I’ll add here that, in an age when plagiarists blame their sins on computers and mixed up research files, it’s fun to read Goodwin preaching about reform through “modern technology.” “I now rely on a scanner, which reproduces the passages I want to cite,” Goodwin promises. “I keep my own comments on those books in a separate file so that I will never confuse the two again.” Maybe more relevant to my Prospect essay is the reliance of Goodwin (and plenty of other pop historians) on research assistants. As of 2002, Goodwin employed four—what’s the best term here? Ghostreaders?

“Alas poore Ghost”

I’m finishing up an essay on political ghostwriting (loosely pegged to Roman Polanski’s new film), and I wanted to share this snippet from the Times:

Perhaps the extreme of ghostliness in speechmaking occurred a few years ago in Congress. One of the large lobbies had sent to various members of the House ‘background material’ and a ‘suggested text’ concerning a bill under debate. At a morning session a Representative got up and read the ‘suggested text’ verbatim, as his own speech. During that afternoon’s session another Representative, who had been absent that morning, got up and delivered the same speech—also as his own—despite other members’ attempts to flag him down.

Of course, “a few years ago” dates from the article’s publication—in March 27, 1949. I’m trying to show in my essay that we’ve assimilated the idea of political ghostwriting. The only question, really, is when this assimilation occurred.

Obama’s Dijon Problem: Or, Thank God It’s Friday

[Salon]

Last month, Republicans latched on to Barack Obama’s request for some Dijon mustard. (Sean Hannity: “I hope you enjoyed that fancy burger, Mr. President.”)

Obama should have known better. In 1997—before he was a U. S. Senator, before he was even a father—Obama spent a week in southern Illinois, meeting rural voters. On the drive down, he and Dan Shomon, his former (and likely to stay that way) aide, stopped at a T. G. I. Friday’s for burgers. Obama describes what happened next in The Audacity of Hope:

When the waitress brought the food I asked her if she had any Dijon mustard. Dan shook his head.

“He doesn’t want Dijon,” he insisted, waiving the waitress off. “Here”–he shoved a yellow bottle of French’s mustard in my direction–“here’s some mustard right here.”

Then as now, Obama stuck by his Dijon. But if this story reveals something about the POTUS, it also reveals something about Friday’s. Where else could Obama eat in an Illinois countryside “replete with strip malls and Wal-Marts”? And yet, since 2000, Friday’s has been foundering. I try to get at some of the reasons why in my new entry in Salon’s “Brand Graveyard” series.

(NOTE: If you need a refresher on the chain’s maximalist aesthetic, check out Friday’s Web site, which, incidentally, should be looped in that special section of Hell reserved for Flash developers.)

N.B. (updated)

[Culture11]

I grew up in a tiny Indiana town, where, each political year, we bonded over a latent jealousy toward Ohio for its constant visits and stump speeches and attention; all we got were the commercials, since our TV channels came from Cincinnati.

Of course, this all made sense. Politicians and reporters ignored Indiana because, as a state, it had already cast its ballot. (This year may prove to be an exception, which is why we’re getting covered.) But this doesn’t mean that every county and town mirrored the state’s worldview—Bloomington, I’m looking at you—and I’ve long held the theory that there’s just as much to learn from a man-on-the-street piece on Indiana as from one on Ohio.

A few weeks ago, Culture11 gave me a chance to turn theory into praxis. I don’t live in Indiana now, but the same principles should apply to a true-blue state like Connecticut. Check out my dispatch from North Branford, one of that state’s independent small towns.

UPDATE: If my story inspires you to do some electoral digging of your own, check out this Google map, which includes the results from the last seven presidential elections. Unfortunately, it stops breaking down the results at the county level, so you’ll have to trust me on North Branford. (h/t Marc Ambinder)

Vermont, Ice Cream, and Empire

[Culture11]

Vermont’s top tourist attraction is the Ben & Jerry’s factory tour. Now, given the popularity of the tour and the product, why not expand the concept? That is, if each coast can support a Disney-themed park, why can’t we get a second (or third) Ben & Jerry’s factory? But this would miss the appeal of the Ben & Jerry’s factory, which is geographical as much as political. At least, that’s my impression after visiting both factory and state.

Vermont is weird, fascinating, and, most of all, independent. Its amazing alt-weekly, 7 Days, ran an op-ed urging middle-class people to use WIC; one of the main arguments was that it would support local farmers. Then, there’s The Vermont Commons, a “statewide news journal”:

As we have argued in these pages for three years, the United States is no longer a constitutional republic responsible to the will of its citizens, but an aggressive empire acting at the behest of the few at the expense of the many.

And let’s not forget Vermont’s alternative universities like Goddard College, famously the alma mater of Mumia Abu-Jabul. In August, Mumia actually returned to Vermont, via audio recording, to give one of Goddard’s commencement speeches.

If you want to see how this applies to Ben & Jerry’s—and I promise all of it does, even Mumia—check out my new essay at Culture11, “Rage Against the Ice Cream.”