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5 Things Donald Trump Learned From Howard Stern

5 Things Donald Trump Learned From Howard Stern

On August 5, 1994, Howard Stern ended his campaign to become governor of New York.

He had promised to resign anyway, if elected, “before I can really screw anything up.” His running mate would carry out his commitments: actively pursuing the death penalty and using the ashes of executed criminals to refill potholes.

Stern was dropping out rather than disclose his personal financial records. “I spend 25 hours a week telling you all the most intimate details of my life,” he said. “One fact I’ve never revealed is how much I make and how much money I have… it’s none of your business.”

That’s how most “serious analysts” thought Donald Trump’s 2016 campaign would end — just another in his endless transparent publicity stunts. Fred Trump’s fortunate son had mentioned himself as a candidate for president and released a book pretty much every four years since 1988 and always waffled, worried about exposing his various financial misdealings

Trump, of course, figured out how to bury the truth in an avalanche of disclosure. We still have no idea how much he’s really worth or if he pays any taxes at all — he’s the first candidate in recent memory to win a major party nomination without releasing anything resembling a tax return.

Trump has taken the campaign-as-PR thing much further than Stern ever did, but he’s done it by becoming a master of a genre that the “King of All Media” created: the reality show.

Stern in 2016 exists in a different universe than he did in 1994, when few in the mainstream press defended his racially and sexually-charged — and wildly successful — humor for the multi-layered “Archie Bunker”-type parody it often is. Today, he’s widely regarded as the greatest celebrity interviewer and most prolific American humorist alive, possibly ever. And he is the man who taught Donald Trump, a frequent guest of the Stern show for decades, how to win the Republican nomination.

Last week, liberal commentator Van Jones warned Democrats on CNN that Trump is likely to win the presidency, despite polling and punditry suggesting otherwise. Jones compared Trump’s mastery of reality television and social media to FDR’s gift for radio of JFK’s flare for television. Stern’s utter destruction of the “fourth wall” pioneered an approach to media that consciously attempted to present that “reality.” Without Stern, Trump is impossible.

A donor to Hillary Clinton, Stern says he’s torn in the general election, he says, because he’s a fierce defender of reproductive rights and one of the rare Americans who’d proudly call himself a pro-abortion advocate — he wants more of them. But he figures Trump will invite him to Camp David, and he wants the American public to see how our royalty really live.

Stern doesn’t believe that Trump is truly anti-abortion rights because better than anyone he gets the game the billionaire is playing, which is why he was one of the first people to predict Trump would be the GOP nominee. It’s a game he invented.

Here are five rules Donald Trump learned from Howard Stern that Democrats better understand if they don’t want to make the same mistakes Republicans did.

  1. Never be boring.
    This might be Stern’s One Commandment. You can be famous for curing cancer or over-tanning your daughter, but you’re never going to get air time on the Howard Stern Show unless Stern can find a way to make you fascinating. Trump got $2 billion in free air time because if you put a camera on him, he says something you can’t help but tweet about.
  2. Make your fans feel special.
    Stern invites his fans to be part of a world that’s almost the exact opposite of the shitty job they’re driving into. There, when your boss yells at you, you can yell back, as long as it’s funny. And in the GOP primary, Trump has proved mostly immune to political facts. His fans believe in him, not the details. Much of this appeal is built on his soft-white nationalism, but a lot more is built on personality and charm — tailored to older, whiter more male Republican voters. If the GOP primary is a bachelor party, then the general election is the wedding.
  3. Create your own reality — just take shit over.
    One of Howard Stern’s greatest assets is that his competition is generally terrible, but also that no one really pointed it out before he did. Stern’s honesty and unpredictability makes any appearance he makes an event. Trump has used Democratic talking points to attack all of his opponents and Republican voters loved it. Trump understood that by being the most anti-Mexican, anti-Muslim candidate on the stage, many conservatives — who have been fed a diet of dog-whistle politics for generations — would never question his conservative credentials. With decades of experience, total shamelessness, and no fear of having to find any job after this, Trump steamrolls over interviewers, presenting lie after lie that goes unchallenged, humiliating reporters who should know better. But he, like Stern, always gets invited back because he makes great TV.
  4. Your enemies define you.
    Stern’s early career was defined by his battles with management, other DJs, the FCC. It turned his show into a daily drama with a relatable hero to cheer for. Trump likewise has no fear of making enemies — in fact, he revels in it. Like Stern, he has feuded publicly Rosie O’Donnell, offering his opponents some of his most stinging gender-fixated insults for attack ads. Unlike Stern, he hasn’t made peace with O’Donnell, who the billionaire attacked again Saturday night in a rally in Washington. This suggests Trump’s biggest weakness and one Stern occasionally suffers from — thin-skin. But Trump’s skin is so thin that we have to assume his organs are orange.
  5. Be willing to change because that’s what real people do.
    This is the main reason why Trump is dangerous for Democrats. He has no loyalty to ideas and no fear of casting off the most unpopular ideas from the GOP platform, which happen be dearest to many hard-core conservatives’ hearts. After tens of thousands of hours of radio, while Stern’s show is still often puerile, it’s also one of the few places Americans can expect to hear adults speaking without posturing, over-production, or self-censorship. Stern treats his audience with respect; Trump, however, often lacks that grace. He lies and reverses himself casually, without acknowledging the twists — yet somehow still gets branded as the “tells-it-like-it-is” candidate. Outrageousness made Stern’s career but authenticity has sustained it. If Trump learns this lesson, Democrats beware.
Paley Center Looking To Reinvent Itself For Digital Age

Paley Center Looking To Reinvent Itself For Digital Age

By Meg James, Los Angeles Times (TNS)

LOS ANGELES — The Paley Center for Media sits in the axis of the media universe in New York.

The museum is within walking distance of the headquarters of CBS, NBCUniversal, 21st Century Fox, and Time Warner. There, television leaders hobnob during industry breakfasts and historians sift through the archives of 160,000 radio and television segments. Jimmy Fallon was a regular there watching old footage when he was preparing to take over NBC’s “The Tonight Show.”

But on a typical day, Paley Center’s gleaming branch in Beverly Hills is nearly empty.

Fewer visitors have stopped in since last summer when Warner Bros. packed up its popular exhibit that showcased props from shows, such as fictional mobster Tony Soprano’s bathrobe. The building these days features photographs from CBS’ hit reality show “Survivor” and L.A. real estate investor Steve Soboroff’s collection of 28 typewriters used by artists including John Lennon and Ernest Hemingway.

Paley’s shrinking profile in Los Angeles, staff cutbacks, and uncertainty surrounding its peculiar land lease has prompted concerns that it might shut down West Coast operations. But the center is scrambling to broaden its scope and reinvigorate its Beverly Hills outpost amid massive shifts in the media landscape.

“This is an industry that is changing so quickly,” said Maureen Reidy, who became chief executive of the Paley Center last spring.

The rise of the Internet and the financial crisis forced the nonprofit museum to re-examine its mission. The proliferation of DVDs and online video sites like Hulu and YouTube have enabled people to watch old TV clips whenever they pleased and diminished the uniqueness of the center’s vast archives.

“People weren’t coming in and putting on headphones to watch old episodes of ‘I Love Lucy,'” Reidy said. “People are looking for a multimedia, interactive experience.”

When Reidy became chief executive, she was tasked with re-imagining the nonprofit museum and bolstering revenue to erase its annual operating deficit.

The organization takes in nearly $20 million a year in revenue, largely from donations and special events. According to its 2012 tax filing, the nonprofit posted a $7.5 million operating deficit. In 2013, the most recent year in which tax forms are available, Paley boosted its fundraising efforts but still reported a four million dollar operating deficit. Paley said Monday that when including the increased value of its investments, the organization “generated a surplus” in those years.

Paley’s assets, including its building in New York, were valued at $126 million in 2013, according to its IRS form.

CBS’ legendary founder, William S. Paley, created the organization in 1976 as the Museum of Broadcasting to preserve the history of radio and television. It built the New York center into a cultural destination and decided to push west in 1996.

Today, the Paley Center boasts a well-heeled board of governors that includes Walt Disney Co. Chief Executive Bob Iger, CBS Chief Executive Leslie Moonves, Warner Bros. Chairman Kevin Tsujihara, 21st Century Fox Co-Chief Operating Officer James Murdoch and former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger.

But unlike in New York, television executives here are scattered throughout a sprawling region: Hollywood, West Los Angeles, Culver City, Studio City, and Burbank. Driving to Beverly Hills can be an hour-plus trip. Evening cocktail parties were nixed; people didn’t want to encourage drinking and driving.

And within a few years, the Paley Center’s decision to build an expensive building on land that it did not own turned into a colossal headache.

The Paley Center commissioned Richard Meier, the Getty Center architect, to design a sleek $16 million structure on Beverly Drive in Beverly Hills. The museum had a long-term lease on the property owned by a family trust and managed by Bank of America.

In an odd quirk, lease payments were tied to the price of gold until the land was sold to a development group for $47.25 million late last year. The Paley Center has a nine-year lease.

“We are not going anywhere,” Reidy said. “We simply have a new landlord.”

Television executives praise Paley’s programs in Los Angeles as top-notch. For example, this month more than 20,000 television fans flocked to PaleyFest, the annual television festival sponsored by the center. The profitable event featured sneak peaks of upcoming TV show episodes and discussions with actors and writers behind such hits as CBS’ “The Good Wife” and ABC’s “Scandal.”

Tickets for the festival at the Dolby Theatre in Hollywood went for $30 to more than $100 a pop.

“The PaleyFest has been very successful, and in Los Angeles events that connect with the public have done well and made money,” said Gordon Crawford, a former board member. “They need to populate the whole year with public-facing events and that will work well for them going forward.”

Reidy acknowledged that the museum still is trying to figure out how best to involve Hollywood.

To some, Reidy did not seem a natural choice to lead the nonprofit because she lacked a television or corporate fundraising background. She began her career as a certified public accountant for PriceWaterhouse, then ran the Miss Universe Organization for Donald Trump and spent five years in former New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s administration in marketing and tourism.

But her energy has impressed board members.

“She has not only designed a new model for Paley but initiated actions that target new sources of revenue and a revitalization and greater involvement of the Los Angeles entertainment and media community,” said board member and public relations guru Dick Lippin, whose firm includes Paley as one of its clients.

Almost immediately after she took the top job at Paley, Reidy spearheaded a move to develop a multiyear business plan, and last year the group achieved a milestone by bringing in more money than it spent.

Reidy and the Paley staff stepped up fundraising efforts and introduced new programs and initiatives to broaden its scope. Now, Spanish-language media, technology, advertising, and sports programming will get prominent billing. The group recruited new board members, including Major League Baseball Commissioner Rob Manfred.

Paley tried to reconnect in Los Angeles by sponsoring a huge gala last fall that celebrated television’s role advancing diversity, including gay rights. And this year, Reidy hopes to make family programming a bigger focus, with exhibits to make the museum a destination for parents and children.

“Our foundation is solid, but we want to take the Paley Center to the next level,” she said.

Photo: Francine Orr via Los Angeles Times/TNS

Casey Kasem, Hip To Be Square

Casey Kasem, Hip To Be Square

He remembered everything about that night.

He remembered the song they slow danced to — “You Are My Lady.” He remembered the play of the lights in her hair as he held her. He remembered her eyes as she looked up at him. He remembered wanting to spend the rest of his life with her.

But it wasn’t to be. Before they made it to forever, she died of cancer. So would Casey please play “You Are My Lady” in memory of that angel who was lost too soon?

I may have rolled my eyes as I edited that listener’s letter to be read on the air by Casey Kasem, who died on Father’s Day at age 82 after suffering from dementia. We rolled our eyes a lot in the offices of Casey’s Top 40, the radio show he hosted after leaving American Top 40 — in a contract dispute.

We rolled our eyes at the schmaltz of R&Ds — Requests and Dedications — like the one recalled above. We rolled our eyes at the arcana and minutiae of pop-chart trivia we were required to master. We rolled our eyes as we leafed through rock magazines, searching for anecdotes on the lives of debauched young stars that we could spin into the tales of pluck and success Casey loved. (“Coming up, a rocker from Cleveland who slept on bus benches while chasing his musical dreams …”)

We rolled our eyes. Then we did it his way.

Invariably, when people find out I once worked for Casey, they ask about the infamous outtake — you can find it online — where he’s cursing and ranting about a script that requires an impossible transition from an up-tempo record to a letter from a guy whose dog has died. They want to know if that’s the way he really was.

In a word, no. I saw him every Thursday (production day) for over two years — late ’80s, early ’90s. The worst thing he ever gave me was a reproachful look — Casey was a hardcore vegan — when he saw me scarfing barbecue chicken pizza.

Otherwise, the Casey I knew was remarkably at one with the Casey we mourn this week. That Casey is probably best summed up in the words of the philosopher Huey Lewis who said, “It’s hip to be square.”

And human beings did not come at sharper right angles than Kemal Amin Kasem, a grocer’s son from Detroit turned DJ who, in 1970, launched American Top 40, a radio show counting down the top singles of the week. It was precisely the wrong time for that show. Radio was abandoning singles in favor of album-oriented playlists. And it was silly to think a nation still bloody from the 1960s would want to hear Horatio Alger tales and a corny signoff: “Keep your feet on the ground, and keep reaching for the stars,” indeed.

People who knew about such things rolled their eyes.

But Casey had the last laugh. By the time he signed off for the last time in 2009, he was a radio icon — and also a television icon, the voice of Shaggy from the Scooby-Doo cartoons.

Like Dick Clark and Fred Rogers, Casey understood something we often forget about our national character. For all the cynicism of our people, all the Balkanization of our politics, all the studied disaffection of our celebrities, all our pose and pretense of being over it, Americans bend toward optimism. Toward hope and pluck. And toward a moving story, well told.

I sat in the studio the next day as Casey read the listener’s letter in that husky, avuncular, instantly familiar voice. He killed it, of course. To this day, in fact, I think of that poor guy slow dancing with his doomed girl whenever “You Are My Lady” is played. That song was recorded by Freddie Jackson — a former gospel singer from Harlem who used to sing backup for Melba Moore — and it peaked at No. 12 on the pop charts.

But the story was told by Casey Kasem, a grocer’s son from Detroit who was square enough to be hip while other people rolled their eyes. He went all the way to No. 1.

(Leonard Pitts is a columnist for The Miami Herald, 1 Herald Plaza, Miami, Fla., 33132. Readers may contact him via email at lpitts@miamiherald.com.)

Photo: Alan Light via Flickr