The number one album today in 1960, “The Sound of Music” Broadway soundtrack, spent 16 weeks at number one:
The number one album today in 1960, “The Sound of Music” Broadway soundtrack, spent 16 weeks at number one:
The number one British single today in 1958 was the first in British chart history to start at the top:
Today in 1969, New Jersey authorities told record stores they would be charged with pornography if they sold the John Lennon and Yoko Ono album “Two Virgins,” whose cover showed all you could possibly see of John and Yoko.
The number one album today in 1976 was Bob Dylan’s “Desire”:
The number one single today in 1976:
Today’s first item comes from the Stupid Laws File: Today in 1956, Ohio youths younger than 18 were banned from dancing in public unless accompanied by an adult, the result of enforcing a law that dated back to 1931.
The number one single today in 1965:
The number one British single today in 1971 was the first number one by a singer from his previous group:
Today in 1977, Patti Smith broke a vertebra after falling off the stage at her concert in Tampa, Fla.
Today in 1968, Jimi Hendrix recorded “All Along the Watchtower,” musically assisted by Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones and Dave Mason of Traffic:
The number one album today in 1978 was the best selling movie soundtrack of all time:
First, a word on the Green Bay Packers. As you know, I am an unabashed fan due, in part, to working, living and raising my sons (who are still diehard fans) there. We attended the unexpected rout of the Dallas Cowboys on Sunday—safe to say it was a good day for us. But I do believe I would still admire the Packers even without my association there. I not only have experience as part of it, but I also truly applaud “The Packer Way.”
What is “The Packer Way”? It’s very simple. Slow and steady. Draft and develop. No quick fixes. Trust the scouting and the draft board. Trust coaches won’t be afraid (as many coaches are) to play young and unproven players. Draft a quarterback that could be “the guy” long before you need to draft one. Re-sign core players before they approach their leverage point of free agency. It is not fancy; it is not sexy; there are few if any marquee free-agent signings. That being said, I get it. Most fans and media like the sexy free-agent signings and big trades, and patience doesn’t sell well. But it works.
Of course, the Packers’ story of this season may end Saturday against the San Francisco 49ers, but what a ride it has been. So many prognosticators had them as a bottom-feeding team, with Jordan Love a bust, the defensive coordinator fired and the post–Aaron Rodgers era starting out bleak. But here they are, rebuilding while winning, with the youngest team in the league and a Rodgers-sized cap hole of $40 million. And Green Bay has as bright a future as any team in the NFL.
Yes, I am biased. But I admire franchises with principled formulas for sustained success. Whether I was part of it or not, the Packers are a model franchise.
Brandt wrote in 2020:
It’s déjà vu all over again. As I watched the draft Thursday night, vivid memories from 2005 flooded my mind: I sat in the middle of the Packers’ war room when we made the most controversial (and impactful) decision of the 2005 draft by taking a first-round quarterback while we had one of the best players in the NFL quarterbacking our team and still playing at an elite level at age 35.
Fifteen years later, to the day, the Packers did it again.
2005
Two things happened that night. First, all the players (except one) that we rated as first-round players were falling off our board before our pick came up at No. 24. We wanted DeMarcus Ware; gone (Cowboys). We wanted Marcus Spears; gone (also Cowboys). We wanted Derrick Johnson; gone (Chiefs). There were no surprises, at least according to our board.
Second, no one was taking Aaron Rodgers, presumed to be one of the top picks—if not the toppick—in the draft. He sat looking forlorn in the green room with his agent, with a camera in his face, waiting for the phone to ring. As our pick approached, our choice was clear: to take Aaron or to dip into our second-round grades for a player at a position of need.
Although there were persistent rumors of Brett Favre’s retirement, I always thought he would play for us until we decided he wouldn’t, not the other way around (and that turned out to be mostly true). And there was no thought to draft a quarterback in the first round; it was not a scenario we had even discussed.
Our coaches, seated to my right, were now begging me to use whatever influence I had with general manager Ted Thompson to not pick a quarterback and instead pick a player who would help us immediately. However, Thompson, seated to my left, simply said: “What do we always say: Trust the board.” And, after an excruciating 12 minutes while we waited for the phone to ring to see if we got an offer to trade the pick (we didn’t, it was crickets), we handed in the card and selected Aaron.
Brett was livid. Brett’s agent was livid. Coaches stormed out of the room (the staff was fired after that season). The draft party at Lambeau Field going on below us booed thunderously; we could hear it well. Aaron said the right things, but he, like all players, wanted to play. And for the next three years, I spent time managing Brett’s camp (not happy coming to work every day to sit next to his replacement) and Aaron’s camp (wondering when, if ever, he was going to play).
History now tells us that the “when” turned out to be after three seasons, following Brett’s retirement and messy divorce upon his change of mind. Of course, Aaron turned out to be a truly special player and, although it took some time, the wounds with Brett eventually healed.
That was then, this is now.
2020
There are some differences. In 2005, we reluctantly took a quarterback when Aaron fell in our lap. In 2020, the Packers took an affirmative step to move up in the draft to select a quarterback. In 2005, our coach, Mike Sherman, was not happy to be taking a quarterback, a player who would not help us that year, maybe not the next year, maybe never. In 2020, Packers coach Matt Lafleur was all smiles. In 2005, the coach and general manager were not in agreement on the pick. In 2020, the coach and general manager are arm-in-arm in this selection. Pardon the pun, but they loved Love, using the precious resource of a first-round pick (and a fourth-rounder) on a quarterback while a future Hall of Famer is playing at a superior level at age 35.
There is one parallel that is important here. In the later years of Brett’s tenure, I sensed a feeling around our personnel department that there was, well, too much emphasis on Brett and not enough on our team. I just noticed that when fans and media constantly marveled about Brett, they felt it was ignoring all the work put in by our team as a whole. Current Packers general manager Brian Gutekunst was part of that scouting department then and my sense, from afar, is the same feeling exists in that building now. It is a dynamic in team sports that happens far more than people know, currently on display in the The Last Dance documentary about Michael Jordan’s last season with the Bulls. Scouts, while marveling at the talent of their superstars, get much more excited about seeing their “hidden gems” succeed than they do about stars doing what they are expected to do.
The Packers have the most fortunate (and spoiled) front office and fan base in the NFL when it comes to the quarterback position. They have had a franchise quarterback leading their team for almost thirty years! And they now believe they have secured the future to hopefully continue that streak another 10-15 years with Jordan Love.
I get it, but this cannot end well.
2022
The reality is this: A first-round quarterback will play, period. And the trend in recent years has been to push them onto field sooner rather than later. The only rookie in recent years to have even one “redshirt year” was Patrick Mahomes, as Aaron’s three-year apprenticeship appears more abnormal with each passing year.
The question the Packers will now be asked incessantly by fans and media—as well as from Aaron and Love—is the one we faced 15 (and 14, and 13) years ago: When?
I have staked this claim many times after experiencing the Aaron-Brett situation: No first-round quarterback will ever sit for three years again.So, you ask, does that mean I think Jordan Love will be the starting quarterback of the Packers before 2023? As surprised I am to be writing this: Yes.
While I believe three years is too long an apprenticeship, it is also inconceivable that the Packers move on from Aaron next year, no matter how uneven Aaron’s play this upcoming season. Thus, by deduction, I believe the date of transfer of the Packers quarterback position will be after two seasons, in 2022. And that presents an uncomfortable circle of life scenario for Aaron.
There is no reason to believe Aaron wants to leave football anytime before the expiration of his contract in four years, and he has talked of signing a contract after that. As for the contract, readers of this space know that NFL contracts, even for elite players, are one-way deals for the teams after the low-risk early years. Again, I can’t believe I’m writing this, but yes: The Packers can exit Aaron’s contract any time after this season with no financial cash liability remaining, albeit heavy cap ramifications. And Love will now sign a fixed and reasonable four-year contract with a fifth-year team option, binding him to the Packers through at least 2024.
As I say often about the business of the NFL: Even for the best of the best, it rarely, if ever, ends well. Again and again, we see teams severing relationships with people who were their signature players for over a decade, including names such as Favre, Joe Montana, Peyton Manning, Donovan McNabb, Tony Romo and, just this offseason, Philip Rivers and Tom Brady.
Unlike most positions, only one quarterback can play. And the Packers just signaled to the world that, at some point, their quarterback will not be Aaron Rodgers, but rather Jordan Love. And, probably in 2022, Aaron will hear those same three words from Matt Lafleur that Mike McCarthy said to Brett in 2008: “We’ve moved on.”
The Packers believe they have secured the future, but it comes at the expense of one of the best things going in the sport at the present.
Younger, cheaper, future-focused over present. The business of football always wins.
One season is not always a career prediction, as Packer fans know from Don Majkowski’s 1989 season and thereafter. Brandt was one year off in predicting Rodgers’ departure from Green Bay. But the baseball axiom that it’s better to get rid of a player one year too early than one year too late applies to football and every other pro sport, regardless of the popularity of the departing player.
As poorly as this season started, it now counts as a roaring success regardless of how tonight’s game in San Francisco turns out. Whether this continues past this season remains to be seen. That is always the case.
The number one British single today in 1966:
The number one single today in 1968:
The number one single today in 1975:
The number one single today in 1959:
The number one British single today in 1967:
Today in 1971, selections from the Beatles’ White Album were played in the courtroom at the Sharon Tate murder trial to answer the question of whether any songs could have inspired Charles Manson and his “family” to commit murder.
Manson was sentenced to death, but his sentence was commuted to life imprisonment when the U.S. Supreme Court outlawed the death penalty.
The number one single today in 1960 was written by a one-hit wonder and sung by a different one-hit wonder:
The number 45 45 today in 1964 was this group’s first charting single, but not last:
Today in 1974, members of Free, Mott the Hoople and King Crimson formed Bad Company:
By the summer of 2016, Donald Trump had secured the Republican nomination for president. In the eyes of the elite media, a Trump presidency no longer seemed an outlandish fantasy but rather a menacing if unlikely outcome. Angry and anxious, prominent journalists asked in earnest whether the old norms – report the facts, get the story right, separate news gathering from opining – were still adequate.
The obvious answer should have been yes. One could accurately report Trump’s loopy and alarming statements, his many character flaws, and his dubious policy pronouncements – along with his preternatural ability to give voice to many people’s discontent with elites of both parties – without embellishing the facts, inventing misdeeds, and adopting an oppositional stance.
Instead, having convinced themselves that Trump posed a fatal threat to democracy in America and apparently doubting that citizens could be trusted to evaluate the facts about his candidacy on their own, some of our most prestigious journalistic outlets decided to scrap the old norms. They downplayed or obscured Hillary Clinton’s unlawful use of a private email server to conduct State Department business (including the transmission of highly classified information) while sugarcoating the extraordinary indulgences Clinton and her team received from investigators in the Obama administration FBI and Department of Justice. At the same time, elite journalists took the lead in convicting Trump in the court of public opinion of Russia collusion based on a dossier of tall tales marketed to the public and the FBI by the Clinton campaign.
As part of The 1735 Project – a special RealClearPolitics series that explores the precipitous decline in public trust in the media, the consequences for freedom and democracy, and remedies to the deepening crisis – RCP Washington Bureau Chief Carl Cannon recently revisited questions that journalists raised in 2016 concerning the norms that should guide their coverage of Trump. In “The Art of Covering Politicians Who Lie,” Cannon observed that elite journalists largely concur with the elastic new legal theory advanced by the Biden administration Justice Department’s criminal indictment of Trump for his conduct in relation to the Jan. 6 Capitol Hill riots: A president breaks the law by lying to the public to hold onto power.
Cannon identifies three problems with the theory shared by Special Counsel Jack Smith and prominent journalists. First, it flies in the face of the First Amendment, which above all protects political speech, including political speech that is hateful and untrue.
Second, the theory presupposes knowledge of Trump’s state of mind on Jan. 6. The Oxford English Dictionary defines a lie as “a false statement made with intent to deceive,” notes Cannon. But there is reason to suppose that Trump’s singular personality led him to ignore the chorus of voices on his own staff and instead embrace the far-fetched theories of informal advisers Rudy Giuliani and then-Chapman University Law School Professor John Eastman that the election had been stolen and that on Jan. 6 he was within his rights under the Constitution to challenge the results in the House of Representatives.
Third, as Cannon reminds with several colorful examples – FDR, Nixon, Carter, and Clinton, for starters – U.S. presidents and their loyal minions have routinely uttered falsehoods to the public for political gain. Acknowledging that “Donald Trump presented problems of a whole new order of magnitude,” Cannon also recognized that many Trump supporters take his boasts, embroideries, and outright fabrications – his grandiosity and narcissism – with a grain of salt.
Showing more than telling, Cannon indicates that the old norms were adequate to covering Trump and still furnish the best approach to keeping citizens informed. Select journalists could (and did) accurately report his wild exaggerations, boorish behavior, and ignorance of policy and governance without boasting of their fidelity to a new and higher ethic. The new standards, however, gave many in the elite media leave to embroider Trump’s questionable conduct and participate in the fabrication of treasonous deeds. Adhering to the old norms would have required trust in the public and understanding of the journalist’s vital but limited role in a liberal democracy.
To recover an appreciation of the journalist’s calling, one could hardly do better than read “The Noise of Typewriters: Remembering Journalism,” in which Lance Morrow offers elegiac observations on what journalism once was and restrained ruminations on what it has become.
An award-winning essayist of uncommon perceptiveness and elegance, Morrow provides in “The Noise of Typewriters” a loose and flowing meditation on the mechanics of publishing newspapers and magazines; the peculiarities and indispensable contributions of publishers, editors, and reporters; and the frustrations and joys, the tedium and rush, the private vanity and public spiritedness of writing and disseminating the first draft of history. Bringing a light touch to profound issues and eminent individuals and eliciting striking insights from seemingly casual occurrences and ordinary people, Morrow’s explorations of ideas, events, and people revolve around a simple proposition: The purpose of journalism is to search for and communicate the truth.
A senior fellow at Washington’s Ethics and Public Policy Center whose occasional writings now appear in the Wall Street Journal and City Journal, Morrow joined Time magazine in 1965. Over the course of more than three decades, he covered culture and politics in America and diplomacy and war abroad. The search for and communication of the truth, the veteran journalist well knows, are no simple matters, particularly on a looming deadline.
Nevertheless, “Journalism in the twentieth century proceeded on the assumption that there was such a thing as objective reality,” Morrow writes. “But in the writing and editing, objective reality tended to become subjective reality; facts were well enough, but important facts needed to be evaluated, judged – characterized.”
Accordingly, journalism required both the intelligence to distinguish between the way the world really is and how we would like it to be and the moral character to respect the distinction: “A journalist needs a disciplined reverence for the facts, because the temptations of storytelling are strong and seductive.”
Those temptations, amplified by the reach and convenience of the Internet and social media, have proven difficult to resist. “In the twenty-first century, on the other hand, journalism would find itself plunged into the metaverse,” according to Morrow. “Politics and culture would migrate into the country of myth, with its hallucinations and hysterias – the floating world of a trillion screens. There might come to be no agreed reality at all.”
Morrow is living proof that the temptation to replace the facts with storytelling can be resisted, and his thoughtfully meandering recollections and reflections illustrate why the temptation should be resisted. He returns again and again to the remarkable career of Henry Luce who founded Time along with Life, Fortune, and Sports Illustrated. Through consideration of the publishing mogul’s long tenure at the apex of American journalism, Morrow brings into focus “essential questions – about the nature of journalism, about the politics of storytelling, about the morals of power.”
He admiringly quotes his old friend, Carl Bernstein – half of the Washington Post’s famed Watergate reporting team of Woodward and Bernstein – who said that journalism’s task “was to obtain ‘the best available version of the truth.’” The best available version, Morrow advises, will combine respect for “hard, quotidian, worldly facts” and “the essential truth of things, the inner truth, the poetic truth.” Responsible journalism puts storytelling in the service of the truth.
Morrow illustrates the point in a recollection of the 1964 Georgetown murder of the socialite Mary Pinchot Meyer, which he covered as a young reporter for the old Washington Star. The story was Morrow’s “initiation into certain mysteries of storytelling, and into the follies of conspiracy theories and the truth that sometimes you can never know the truth.”
If he had served on the jury, Morrow states, he would have voted to acquit the defendant: “They never found the gun. There was no evident motive. Two eyewitnesses were on the other side of the canal, a little too far away to be absolutely certain about the man they saw on the towpath.”
Yet the “reasonable doubt” that governs trials is not the last word on the truth. Morrow thinks the acquitted defendant killed Mary Pinchot Meyer.
While the hard, factual truth about Pinchot Meyer’s murderer has proven elusive, Morrow’s graceful storytelling illuminates the larger truth about the truth’s frequent murkiness and refines appreciation of the difference in the kind of judgments that confront jurors and journalists.
With election 2024 approaching, nerves fraying across the political spectrum, and the self-indulgent passions of scorn and resentment all the rage, we could use a thousand more journalists like Morrow – and Cannon – in the national media.