Mourning

"It's mourning in America."

The past week has been an unselfconscious and extravagant (by stiff-upper-lip American standards) period of mourning in America.

President Reagan is dead. The sports announcer, actor, and late-term politician who defined American-ness for the last 20 years of the 20th century. Whatever you think of him as a politician and policy-maker, he was someone whose name will be writ large in the history books.

During the course of the week, I met Martin and Annelise Anderson. An excerpt from Mr. Anderson's Hoover Institution biography - he's a fellow - reads thus:

Director of research, Nixon presidential campaign, 1968; senior policy adviser, Reagan presidential campaigns, 1976, 1980; policy adviser, Wilson presidential campaign, 1995, Dole presidential campaign, 1996, Bush presidential campaign, 2000; delegate, Republican National Conventions, 1992, 1996, 2000. ... Coauthor of Reagan, In His Own Hand: The Writings of Ronald Reagan That Reveal His Revolutionary Vision for America (Free Press, 2001); coauthor of Reagan, In His Own Voice: Ronald Reagan's Radio Addresses (Simon & Schuster Audio, 2001); coauthor of Stories In His Own Hand: The Everyday Wisdom of Ronald Reagan (Free Press, 2001).

During the week of mourning, Anderson made the rounds of the talk shows and cable news networks. He's not so much an apologist for Reagan as he is a still spirited cheerleader. He doesn't seem to think there's anything to apologize for; perhaps, on the contrary, he believes Reagan has been too lustily underestimated, and his contributions too undervalued. On a personal note, Anderson is a nice guy. Generous, affable, upbeat. His wife is nice, too. Very down-to-Earth.

I also met Michael Boskin, who was the chairman of the Council of Economic Advisors for President Bush (pere). He was genuinely overwhelmed by the period of mourning - eyes rimmed red, voice a little uncertain. Another nice guy. Another unabashed fan of Reagan. While we were making small talk, Boskin said he was personal friends with both Bush and Kerrey, so he was in an odd position these days. In any case, it was funny to hear him make small talk with the other guests on the talk show. During commercial breaks, they'd ask about each other's lives, familes, and golf games. The other folks were Democrats, but obviously they were all friendly with each other. The very picture of the Loyal Opposition.

I am baffled by the comparisons between Bush and Reagan. They seem so superficial. "They both owned ranches. They both wore cowboy hats. They both cut taxes." Our current George Bush is no Ronald Reagan.

Is that a good thing?

When Things Go Wrong

It was a horrible day at work. Something terrible happened - a terrible technical something - and suddenly we were sending program feed back to the network along with the microphone feed. We had Martin Anderson in the chair - nice man, former senior advisor to President Reagan among others - and suddenly CNBC says, "You're sending our signal back to us. We can't use what you're sending to us. Cut it out." Or words to that effect.

Both Gordon and Ryan are gone - the guys who know this technical stuff - Gordon out sick, Ryan gone home because he had come in at 4:30 that morning. (It was about 2:30 in the afternoon.) President Reagan died this past weekend, so Martin Anderson is a popular guy on all the talk and news shows. We have a feed to NBC Nightly News scheduled for 3:15. Meanwhile, this feed to CNBC is supposed to happen now. It isn't happening.

Me and Miguel are madly troubleshooting. Miguel, a reliable and knowledgeable freelancer, at the audio board, me unraveling microphone and IFB cords in the studio. Martin sitting placidly in the chair. Jack is there too - Jack our media guy - chatting with Martin while he (Jack) sweats bullets. This is the stuff you want to go right - an enormous media opportunity.

At one point, six people are talking to me. I have Ryan on a headset in my left ear, trying to talk me through a possible troubleshooting sequence. I have CNBC's producer on a headset in my right ear, trying to talk me through a possible troubleshooting sequence. I have Jack over my left shoulder, trying to suggest a possible workaround. I have Catherine over my right shoulder, trying to ascertain the status of this troubleshooting as well as wondering what else can be done. I have Miguel in front of me on my left, trying to talk through a possible troubleshooting sequence. I have Karen in front of me on my right, conferring with Miguel and trying to work through a possible troubleshooting sequence. All of these people are talking to me at once:

Ryan: "So you should switch out the director mic to the hits input and..."
CNBC: "Our technical guys say the problem is on your end so you need to check the main mix to the Gentner..."
Jack: "We can dial them. Why don't we hang up and dial them? That might solve..."
Catherine: "What else can we do...?
Miguel: "We can send the program feed to 1/2 and the mic to 3/4 then figure the main mix is..."
Karen: "What about the IFB we borrowed for UK, maybe it can..."

All at once. In my ears, in my head. ALL AT ONCE, IN MY HEARS, IN MY HEAD!

You just never appreciate how nice it is when things go right until things go wrong.

It's 7:10 pm. and my shoulders and back are still tense and painful from the stress and adrenalin.

Music

So I went to see Prince last night. My first arena show in years. (Years!)

My ears are still ringing. (Ringing!)

I had a good time, mostly because it was an event. (An event!) It wasn't good music, although the music wasn't bad. But it was hard to judge precisely how good or bad it was, because the mix was terribly loud and awfully muddy. (I'm talking from the perspective of a former musician and heavy metal fan, so when I say it was too loud and really muddy, really, I have the experience to say it was too loud and really muddy.)

There was a time when music was really important to me. Making it, listening to it. In fact, I can remember being mad at Prince because he was doing what I was doing - writing and producing his own songs, playing more than one instrument - but he was infinitely more successful. Sure, he was better than me. He had (has) a great voice. He writes great songs. He's a great showman. But he's not a great musician; rather, he's a jack-of-all-trades guy, a journeyman guitarist.

Anyway, music. For a lot of people, music really matters. They listen to it all the time on the radio, internet, CD, and portable hard drive, via old-fashioned analog, AIFF, MP3, etc. Just this multiplicity, this persistence, of music makes me shake my head in admiration. (Which has seen more recording formats - music or the printed word?) My Mom recently asked me to transfer her old 45s to CD so she could listen to them. (Tennessee Ernie Ford, anyone?) When I was up at Sierra Camp, we sang songs and (some of us) made music. Music is everywhere, it seems - live and recorded, vocal and instrumental. And people get passionate about it, perhaps more passionate than about other things that seem more important because they involve life and death. (Would you rather discuss the stolen election of 2000 or your favorite Beatles album?)

Still, despite my own musical past and my continuing aural tendencies, I find music taking a side seat to other things that matter more to me now. Political engagement. Writing. Figuring out what to do with my life. Health. All of these things seem more important than hearing a good tune on the radio, or staying current with the Billboard Top 100.

Except when music transports me to the past, as it often does. Songs I knew from youth. Tunes I associate with certain people. Then, suddenly, music really matters. It reminds me about who I am and where I've been, which I forget at my peril.