Helen Thomas has died. It had to happen, of course, but sometimes you had to wonder. She was outspoken and gutsy, the first female reporter to break through the glass ceiling on many topics, and I often thought this woman would live on forever.
And maybe she will for being a person who would not – could not – stand by and let the question – the elephant in the room – that begged to be asked not be asked. While the authority of Presidents in pressroom briefings intimidated others, Helen Thomas fired dagger-like questions until she got the answer everybody not only wanted, but also deserved to get.
There is a pack mentality among journalists. I have witnessed it first hand through my coverage for the Bremerton Sun of the Washington Husky football and basketball programs, and the Seattle Mariners. That was so especially for the Seattle Mariners. It takes courage to step away from that pack and take on the elephant that looms over the room.
There was one night that stands out for me during the time that Del Crandall was the manager of the Seattle Mariners (1983-84). Dell played in the Major Leagues for 16 years as a catcher with the Boston Braves, San Francisco Giants, Pittsburgh Pirates and Cleveland Indians and by the time he got to Seattle was known as a tough guy who was expected to turn things around.
And he could be very intimidating.
That intimidation showed itself in a weird and stunning way. Del would sometimes field post-game questions in his office while he sat naked in his chair, his legs spread wide.
Think about that for a while.
One night, and my fading memory doesn’t allow for me to remember why this happened, but as the pack of reporters surrounded Del as he got dressed in a corner of his office, this big ol’ elephant demanded to be heard. But none of my fellow scribes dared to ask the question that hung in mid-air.
I was clearly frustrated, and a little angry that nobody would step forward and say it. I dropped back from the pack and sat down on the couch in Del’s office. As I sat there I tried to fortify myself. I know I wished I had a beer.
Finally, I could not take it anymore. I blurted out the question and the room suddenly went silent. The elephant crashed to the floor and Del went ballistic. Not at me, although he turned to face me, his face turning a bright red, and finished his loud answer with a flourish “It’s my way or the highway.”
Wow. The pack rat media members were as stunned as I was. And J. Michael Kenyon, that irascible rascal who flipped things upside down and backwards and forwards on his sports radio show on KVI, was there with his tape record and for weeks afterwards he played “It’s my way or the highway” on his show over and over again, pouring salt into open wounds and having the fun of a life that was full of fun and drinks (that started out full).
It’s my one shining Helen Thomas moment in my nearly half-of-a-century sports writing career (although to be honest I had another bright Helen Thomas moment with George Argyros, who owned the Mariners at the time).
The funny thing about this is that Del gained a lot of respect for me from just that one question. Years later when Crandall passed through the Kingdome on a visit, he sought me out and asked how I was doing. I came to believe he was a good man, one who was in a tough situation with a franchise that didn’t know how to win, and at times tried hard not to win.
But it’s terrible to know we have now lost the one person who would not take the standard puff cream responses from the top leaders of the world without a fight. Helen Thomas was good for us, for the world. She forced our leaders to answer with some honestly, and for that we all should be eternally grateful.
If only we had more transparency, not less, our world would be safer.
Rest in peace Helen Thomas, you did good.
Be well pal.
Be careful out there.
Have a great day.
You are loved.
