The taxidermists of the Fourth Estate

At times a scent of decomposition hangs about our news media. Our journalists enjoy describing dead people in dead ways.

The great art of the West came in three strains relevant to my analysis. One (typified by the Dutch masters) shows man rough and ragged, with gnarled fingers and worn leather aprons and nagging mothers-in-law. The second (typified by the Baroque apotheosizers) shows man as drapeless demigods, with weapons of war and nymphs attendant and swirling clouds. The third (typified by the early American classicists) shows man as a modest and sober version of the second, with books and scales and enlightened wives and promising children.

Of these three, the last is the most boring but also the most intelligent. The second is the most spectacular and yet the least effective. The first is by far the most interesting, the most spiritual, and the most human.

Yet even in its pursuit of the "human interest," contemporary journalism rarely emulates this sort of expression. Instead of showing us the weathered faces of our fellow men, using ink and film to draw portraits of real humanity, our newsmen either smother our neighbors in oil and glitter or tie them to straight-backed chairs before snapping a photograph.

I chanced to watch nearly an hour of Fox News coverage this morning as I sat in the student center. During that hour a picture of Pat Tillman was shown about a dozen times. Each time, one of the anchors would provide this subtle introduction: "We bring you the story of an NFL star KILLED in the line of duty!" Sometimes it was the clench-jawed brunette, doing her best imitation of Edward R. Murrow. Sometimes it was the Rod Serling impersonator, with his dry lack of wit. Sometimes it was the doe-eyed blonde, putting on her best Concerned Face. Sometimes it was the expert analyst of someone else's affairs, with his impeccably furrowed brow. Each read the AP feed as if it had been written by Churchill instead of an advertising major.

I became quite familiar with the 3.8 GPA of this football player who joined the Army and was killed in Afghanistan. Between commercial breaks, which assured me that GEICO can save me fifteen percent or more on car insurance, I heard all about this hero who gave his life so that Fox could have something to talk about besides Michael Jackson.

Every few minutes, someone behind the camera would manage to slip in some brief coverage of something else. After perhaps half an hour, Fox finally aired a segment on another military story -- the photographs from Dover Air Force Base that the military reluctantly released last week. The release of these pictures, which depict the repatriation of the remains of service members, occurred contrary to a longstanding Pentagon policy. Ostensibly, this policy protects the dignity of America's fallen and the privacy of their families.

In Iraq alone, 700 Americans have died in the name of their country. More have died in Afghanistan and other nations. Thousands have been wounded.

Many of them did not have GPAs of 3.8. Few had ever been on television. Few had given up $3.6 million football contracts.

Most of them had mothers and fathers. Most of them had sisters and brothers. Most of them knew someone very special who desperately wanted them to get home safely.

All of them pledged their lives to their country. All of them fulfilled their contract.