There’s always been some degree of mystery surrounding the media’s embarrassing, almost sycophantic, love for John McCain. For a group of people who are supposed to be secret liberals and agents of the Democratic Party, seeking in desperation to insert a left-leaning bias in every news story, reporters often seem unsure if they want to ask this conservative Republican a question or for an autograph.
Of course, the explanation is clear enough. McCain gives reporters exactly what they want: access. He holds press conferences constantly; he’ll chat with reporters for hours on the campaign bus; he’ll even ask them for their opinions on various aspects of his campaign. Reporters, who expect to be kept at arm’s length, can’t help but swoon.
So it’s hard not marvel when McCain, just yesterday, all of a sudden, decides he’s feeling shy around his “base.”
…Thursday was a different matter. In the wake of a scandalous New York Times story suggesting a romantic fling with a lobbyist, McCain arrived at a Ford Focus car assembly plant with a decidedly tense grin plastered across his face. His campaign staff promptly separated anyone with a pen or a tape recorder from the candidate. “The McCain campaign decided who they wanted on the tour, and it’s only photographers,” a nice lady from Ford announced after a reporter spotted the candidate behind a car chassis and tried to approach him. […]
At the end of the day, McCain boarded the plane with his wife, his staff and his daughter, Meghan, who trailed an entourage of friends, bound for Indianapolis. On another night, he would have sauntered to the back to chew the fat with reporters. But on this night, he only came halfway down the aisle, keeping a safe distance. “Everybody happy?” he called out. “Fun day. Fun day.” McCain’s eyebrows bounced up and down to signal his sarcasm.
His question, of course, was rhetorical. He didn’t want to hear anything more. Before anyone could answer he had wheeled around and gone back to his seat, beyond the reach of reporters and their notebooks for just a while longer.
I actually expected the opposite. The surest way to signal to everyone that everything’s fine, that the NYT is wrong, and that the campaign isn’t the slightest bit rattled is act like nothing has changed. To do otherwise, is to signal to reporters that the campaign is worried, so much so that it needs to create a buffer between the candidate and beat reporters for the first time in nine years.
McCain might as well have used a bullhorn to shout, “I think I’m in a jam on this one.”
As Kevin put it:
Look, there’s no two ways about it: this is very weird behavior. If there were really no story here, McCain wouldn’t be avoiding reporters. He’d be yukking it up and insisting to a sympathetic press corps that he was the subject of a comically thin hit job from the Times. Instead he’s acting almost like a caricature of a guilty man.
Quite right.
Here’s a little more color from Newsweek:
John McCain’s campaign plane is usually a pretty jovial place to be. The senator, his family and aides sit in the first few rows, while the press is stationed in the back of the plane. On most days, the two sides openly mingle, with reporters sometimes able to sit close so close to the front that they can hear McCain and his aides talking strategy.
But in the aftermath of today’s New York Times story looking at McCain’s dealings with a Washington lobbyist, the mood is decidedly different. Before McCain boarded his plane, reporters were asked to sit farther back than usual on the plane. And when McCain finally boarded the plane, he failed to offer his usual wave at reporters and opted to quickly take his seat.
This seems like the opposite of the smart p.r. strategy. I couldn’t be more pleased.