Remembering a vice president's misstatement

Reading over the agenda for this year's annual conference of the American Society of Newspaper Editors conference, which was held earlier this month in Philadelphia, brought back memories of the one and only time I attended the conference.

It was 25 years ago this year (1991) in Boston with then-Vice President Dan Quayle as one of the keynote speakers.

Quayle will best be remembered not for his statesmanship but for his misspeaks and the Murphy Brown flap when the character on the hit sitcom (played by Candice Bergen) decided to raise a child as a single mom. The episode brought a Quayle broadside that accused the TV industry of immorality.

I had never heard Quayle in person before the ASNE conference, so I was curious about how he would handle himself before a roomful of skeptical newspaper editors, who had done their share of Quayle-bashing since George H.W. Bush announced his vice presidential choice in 1988.

Being publisher of his family-owned newspaper in Indiana (The Indianapolis Star) before going into politics, Quayle warmed up the audience of about 500 with several newspaper jokes.

As he attempted to segue from extemporaneous remarks to his prepared text, Quayle characterized the then-recently ended first Gulf War as a "stirring victory by the forces of aggression over lawlessness."

Almost immediately, a buzz went through the room.

"Did he say what I thought he said?" I whispered, turning to my friend, Mike Hanke, editor of The Repository in Canton, Ohio.

"Yep," Hanke replied, shaking his head. "Incredible, just incredible."

It was another Quayle misspeak.

Quayle slowed, looked puzzled at the minor disruption but never figured out what had happened. After his address, Quayle agreed to take questions from the editors.

"Do you think I should call him on it?" I asked Hanke. My friend shrugged. "I wouldn't," he said.

I turned to look at the two microphones in the aisles for the question-and-answer session. Three editors lined up at each. "I'm sure one of them will bring it up," I predicted.

Editors questioned Quayle about the Kurdish situation in Iraq, the administration's education policy and other heavy-hitter issues.

When Quayle's gaffe had not been broached by the fifth question, I reasoned I had to attempt to get clarification of this glaring misstatement or spend the rest of my life second-guessing my gutless decision.

Here was the vice president of the United States who had a reputation for putting his foot in his mouth, for spelling "potato" as "potatoe" at an elementary school spelling bee and for committing other outrageous knee-slappers. And now he was at it again.

I moved to the back of the line of the microphone nearer me. Questions alternated between editors at the two mics. Finally, I arrived at the mic. I read and reread my notes. Now, some doubt was setting in. Suppose I'm wrong, and he really didn't say what I thought he said. Suppose I make a fool of myself in front of millions of people. (Not only my colleagues, many of whom were reporting on the session for their newspapers, but the session was being broadcast live by the C-Span network.)

All of these self-doubts coursed through me as the vice president pointed to me. No turning back now. "Mr. Vice President," I said. At the same time, the program chairman interrupted. "This will be the last question," he said.

"Mr. Vice President," I restarted and introduced myself as the editor of The Express (now The Express-Times) in Easton. "At the beginning of your talk, you characterized the Gulf War as a 'victory by the forces of aggression over lawlessness.' What did you mean by that?"

Quayle stared at me in momentary shocked silence. Pockets of laughter began to build in the audience.

"I misspoke," Quayle finally said after what seemed like an eternity. More laughter. "Let me, let me try to correct the record," Quayle stumbled.

"I know you find it hard to believe I misspoke," he joked, poking fun at his numerous unintended verbal indiscretions during his time as vice president. More laughter.

"As they always say on background, 'Well, here's what he really meant to say' - that it was a victory against aggression and against lawlessness. It was a significant victory, and we stood four-square against both principles."

Quayle seemed genuinely grateful that I had called the misstatement to his attention before it became grist for the media mill.

"And I appreciate you pointing that out to me, so I could clarify that before anybody had the audacity to say that Dan Quayle somehow misspoke, because the American people would not want to know of any misquote that Dan Quayle may or may not have made."

After Quayle's talk, he shook hands with several dozen reporters sitting in the front rows. I was one of them. As he reached me, he repeated his thanks.

"Again, I want to thank you for pointing that out to me," he said. "I'm glad I had a chance to clear that up now and didn't have to face it later," he told me.

I was impressed with how Quayle owned up to and handled his slip of the tongue.

My colleagues' reactions were mixed. Some thought I was courageous to seek the clarification, but one or two accused me of grandstanding.

The next day, both major Boston daily newspapers covered the Quayleism. The Herald, the city's feisty tabloid, broke out Quayle's quote and said he was taken to task for it by "the editor of a small-city newspaper in eastern Pennsylvania."

It was awkward being involved so intimately in such an incident, but I found it interesting to watch the dynamics between Quayle and the press.

Because of this involvement, I had a much deeper perspective through which to measure Quayle's "Murphy Brown" comment which occurred about a year later and the fallout it generated.

Bruce Frassinelli, a 1957 graduate of Summit Hill High School, is an adjunct instructor at Lehigh Carbon Community College and lives in Schnecksville.