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<UID>
9501200184
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
950528
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, May 28, 1995
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
COM
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1F
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<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1995, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
IT'S A LITTLE LATE FOR CHUNG TO COMPLAIN
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</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

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<BODY>
When Connie Chung was given one of the most powerful jobs in America, she
didn't ask questions. She took it. She didn't care that she was made coanchor
of the CBS Evening News mostly because CBS  wanted to beat NBC to the punch of
hiring a woman. She never said, "That's the wrong reason to hire me."

  Ratings were at stake. She took advantage.

  When Chung chased a sleazy skater named Tonya  Harding halfway around the
world, desperate to be first to interview her, she made no apologies. She
didn't say: "This isn't news. It's beneath someone of my position." She was
right there, sucking up.
  Ratings were at stake. She took advantage.
  When Chung did specials such as "Life in the Fat Lane," when she went on
her husband Maury Povich's tabloid TV show  to promote herself,  when she
jackhammered  her last shred of integrity by promising "just between you and
me" to Newt Gingrich's mother, then airing her comments anyhow -- she showed
no hesitation. She thought it was hot stuff.
  Ratings were  at stake.
  She took advantage.
  So why on Earth should anyone feel sorry for Chung, after CBS last week
booted her off its news and left Dan Rather to go solo? Chung cried foul. She
said it was  sexist.
  But it was all about ratings. 
  Which got her the job in the first place.
Executive journalists
  
  What a joke this network news business has become. As Andy Rooney said,
"It's four-and-a-half minutes' worth of reading." I listen to Chung and Rather
debate journalism and I have the same reaction as most lesser-paid,
harder-working members of this business: When was the last  time those two got
their hands dirty? 
  When was the last time Rather or Chung had to scrounge with the pack for
an  interview, or pore through phone books for sources, or badger police to
get a  quote?
  The handful of times Rather and Chung leave the CBS building, it's with an
armada of producers, previously arranged interviews, and luxury hotels.
  So the whole notion that any of this  is hard work is ridiculous.
  Still, within the framework of that, Chung takes the cake. Dan Rather --
who reportedly is as egotistical as the best of them -- at least once upon a
time did some serious correspondent work. Chung, outside of a brief stint
covering Washington in the '70s, made her ascent through anchoring local TV
news -- in LA and New York -- and local TV news is the most cosmetic of
media, always more concerned with the right blend of sex, race and age in its
announcers. Chung was a jackpot. She moved up fast.
  Sure, once she got to the top, she could have made an impact. But  Chung
seemed more interested in becoming one of the celebrities she profiled. She
made People magazine's cover with her desire to have a baby, yet it's hard to
think of a single important story she helped  unearth at CBS, or a single
probing interview -- unless you count the time Marlon Brando jerked her
around.
  Sure, much of the fluff she chased was what her bosses wanted at CBS. Fluff
is ratings.  It's ironic that the weekly "Eye to Eye" -- her attempt at
substance -- failed miserably against "Seinfeld," a show that will do a half
hour on chicken soup.
  But such is American TV. Last week, Liz  Smith, the gossip columnist,
penned a heartfelt "open letter" to Chung. In it, she suggested, "Go back to
being Connie Charm. Do your jokes, do your interviews  . . .  leave the
serious stuff to Dan  and the news division. . . .  There is so much bad news
these days. . . .  You, Connie, could be the antidote."
  Liz Smith advising Connie Chung. Perfect. 
Ratings rule television
  
  Now, this  whole little drama is hardly new. Remember Deborah Norville? NBC
rushed her sexy looks into the "Today" show in place of Jane Pauley --
Norville didn't object, by the way -- then later dumped her.
  Norville, who maintained that she was hired for her intelligence and
reporting skills, soon tumbled into oblivion. She now hosts "Inside Edition."
  Which she insists "is not a tabloid show."
  Geez. You want them all to put a sock in it. In Britain, the people who read
you the news each night are called "news readers."  They are not famous. They
are not celebrities. They read off a TelePrompTer  and that is all they're
given credit for. No more, no less.
  We lack that sensibility. And so Chung's story is some big deal. It
shouldn't be. She didn't get where she was by being an expert in foreign
affairs, nor by writing books, nor by grilling false icons the way Edward R.
Murrow once did to Joseph McCarthy.
  Chung got there because her ratings were good. And she is out because the
ratings  were bad. 
  The only mystery is why that is hard for her -- of all people -- to
understand.
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