The Bosch Affair

For how many years did Helen Thomas harbor an antipathy—let’s give her the benefit of the doubt and not call it a prejudice—toward Jews? A dedicated UPI reporter for 57 years upholding the profession’s ideal of objectivity, Thomas at long last was free, more or less, to say what she really felt as a columnist for Hearst during the last 10 years. She weighed in against George Bush, Dick Cheney and Israel, among others. Controversial comments were no stranger to her dialogue.

The soon to be 90-year-old daughter of Lebanese Christian immigrants, Thomas’ anti-Israel and anti-Jewish remarks may be explained away, but not condoned, as an outgrowth of her background. She wouldn’t be the first person to expose long dormant and repressed true colors given the opportunity.

I’ve got my own narrow-minded prejudices that express themselves in unusual ways. Take, for instance, my patchwork prejudice against anything German. Like many post-World War II Jews, I avoided buying German products, especially German autos, even though Israel welcomed Mercedes Benz cars and many of my friends drive them. I opted for Japanese cars. My avoidance of anything overtly German was sketchy, at best: I wouldn’t buy a Krups coffee maker, but Braun made its way into our household. At least one of our china patterns came from Germany. Overall, my prejudice against anything German had no rational design.

My biased-based boycott extended beyond German automakers. Henry Ford’s well-known anti-semitism prompted me to studiously avoid Fords as well, that is, after two years behind the wheel of a 1965 fire-engine red Mustang during my college years.

Ten years ago when we were remodeling our kitchen, Gilda wanted Bosch dishwashers (we were getting two). They were highly rated, among the quietest units on the market because of their steel interiors. I vetoed the idea. No way was I going to put a German name so prominently in our kitchen. Gilda was caught off guard. I explained that during World War I a nickname for the German army was “the Bosch.” Of course, during WWI, Germany did not persecute Jews. Indeed, Jews fought proudly for "Der Fatherland." That didn’t matter to me—my bias was set. We “settled” on steel-lined KitchenAid dishwashers.

Time now to replace our washing machine and dryer. The salesman at the local appliance store touted Bosch as the best value. I wasn’t up for another argument. I steered Gilda toward the Bosch units. To the rescue rode that All-American company, Sears. Its Kenmore brand washer and dryer rated better than Bosch, according to Consumer Reports (let’s not dwell on the fact that LG, a Korean company, makes the Kenmore appliances. I already expressed my leanings toward Asian manufacturing).

I’ll never know if I could have gone through with it, seeing Bosch-next-to-Bosch every day in the mud room leading in from the garage. The new washer and dryer arrived Friday. Kenmore sure does make a good product. Gilda loves them. So do I, for reasons beyond their cleaning power.

Presidential Wave

Helen Thomas, the now retired-in-disgrace White House correspondent, spent 50 years in the White House press room. I spent half a day there, at the end of which I was rewarded with a presidential wave intended for me and me alone.

While in graduate school at Syracuse University’s Newhouse School of Public Communications, I did a paper on pack journalism. Prompted by coverage of the recent inmate uprising at Attica State Prison in upstate New York, the general thesis was that too often reporters pursued the same storyline en masse, usually at the expense of doing individual legwork on different angles of a story. A secondary aspect of the paper was research on whether the presence of a large press contingent altered events, inducing participants to play to the camera.

I chose to focus on presidential press coverage. This was pre-Watergate. February 1972. I secured visitor’s privileges from the White House press secretary’s office, traveled down to Washington through a snowstorm, stayed overnight with my brother and his wife in Silver Spring, Md., and arrived at the White House gate on Pennsylvania Avenue around noon. The West Wing of the White House contains the press room and the executive offices. When approached from Pennsylvania Avenue, the West Wing is on the right side of the White House.

Inside the press room, at the time a pretty dingy ground floor location with cramped desk space, I interviewed Peter Lisagor of the Chicago Daily News, Robert Pierpoint of CBS Radio and a few other names known to me then, but a distant memory now. Press Secretary Ron Ziegler pawned me off to one of his assistants, though he did stop by for a “nice-to-meet-you” chat (I reminded him of our casual first meeting some 20 years later when he was head of the chain drug store association and I was associate publisher and editor of a retail industry magazine).

My interviews complete, I left the White House the way I came in, walking along the circular driveway towards Pennsylvania Avenue. It was around 4 pm, I was the only one in the area when I heard running footsteps to my left, coming from the space between the White House and the Executive Office Building. There he was, Richard Nixon, wearing just a suit, no overcoat on this wintry day, walking back to the White House from the EOB, his Secret Service escort jogging alongside him.

Most people I knew back then, even before Watergate, loathed him. As did I. As our paths crossed some 30 yards apart, he waved to me.

I waved back, a full five-finger wave.