Wednesday, June 01, 2005

The Myth of "Deep Throat"

The criminally underappreciated Washington Post writer Hank Steuver has a great piece in today's Post about the myth of "Deep Throat."

Just a taste:

"What could be more of a letdown than finding out who Deep Throat is? Finding it out in Vanity Fair? And not really finding it out in Vanity Fair so much as feeling it crash-land across the Internet and the cable news networks, days before the magazine even hits the stands? Finding out that you don't care anymore? Watching it not resonate among people younger than 30?

"It turns out being in the dark about Deep Throat was more enthralling than holding it out to the light. Had he lived in this era, Deep Throat might not have lasted long. He'd be blogged to bits. He'd be Drudged, smudged, Romenesko'd. People would disprove him with their own Deep Throats. His identity would be discovered within a news cycle or two, spun around, and he'd be left holding a book contract."

It's worth reading in full. The Post, incidentally, is in full-court self-aggrandizement mode in the wake of the Mark Felt revelation. How many days until Bob Woodward cranks out his own tome on "The Deep Throat I Knew"?

1 Comments:

At 3:02 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Both Woodward and Bernstein deserve every clap of applause they receive. No matter their missteps--and there were quite a few--as young reporters they took on a topic that the old bastards wouldn't touch.

In my own mind, I justify Felt's decision to come out to an attorney in Vanity Fair to his post-stroke feeble mind (and to his greedy family who said they hoped this would generate money for his grandchildren's schooling). To think otherwise would be devastating. Felt could justify betraying a corrupt president, but The Post deserved better.

As an aside, I'm am sad the mystery is stripped away. Sometimes I still catch myself staring out the car window (when someone else is driving) at the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of Big Foot. I know Big Foot isn't there... but I don't want to stop looking. What mysteries are left?

 

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