Ubiquitous
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A panelist remembers the political priest turned talk-show host who
brought strong opinions to Sunday mornings.
If there were a Mount Olympus for talk-show hosts, John McLaughlin
would be on it. He was the first to recognize the value of combative
political talk on television when he launched the McLaughlin Group
in the early ’80s. After 34 years of never missing a show, his
moderator’s chair was empty last Sunday, and long-serving panelist
Pat Buchanan opened the show.
An opening statement said John was “under the weather,” but we all
knew it was more than that. He passed away peacefully early Tuesday
morning at home with hospice care, and under the watchful care of
Maritza, his partner, who helped him carry on until almost the end.
In an email today, she said he went to join his beloved Oliver in
heaven. Oliver was the basset hound by his side back in the Nixon
years, who his production company is named after.
McLaughlin was 89 years old, and the cause of death was prostate
cancer that was diagnosed some time ago and that had spread. The
last show he presided over was taped the Friday after the Republican
Convention, and it was clear to viewers that his health was
declining.
We panelists could see he wasn’t well, but I attributed it to “just”
age. Not that aging is insignificant, but John did not disclose that
he was ill, and we didn’t dwell on it.
I went to see him at home and I told him, “John, you made me who I
am before I knew who I was.” That made him smile. The Friday before
he died, with the help of Maritza, he painstakingly narrated the
show’s final issue on what Pope Francis had said recently about
elevating women in the Roman Catholic Church.
John was hard to understand and there were captions added so viewers
could follow his words, but the will to go on with the show he had
created never wavered.
Not everyone realized it, but John was a former Jesuit priest.
During the Vietnam years, he ran for the U.S. Senate from his native
Rhode Island as an anti-war priest on the Republican ticket. He
didn’t win; he got 36 percent of the vote against the Democrat, John
Pastore for trivia buffs.
He went on to work for the Nixon campaign and then the Nixon White
House, which is where he met Pat Buchanan. They were comrades in
arms, spouting Latin and church dogma and trading political stories
that a neophyte like me found fascinating both on the set and off.
They referred to President Nixon as “the old man.”
John was one of the old man’s last defenders, along with Rabbi
Korff, and when I came to Washington in December of 1976, having
covered Jimmy Carter’s presidential campaign, I knew John as “that
crazy right-wing priest” who hosted a radio show where he and his
guests really let loose.
Turns out he was on to something, and the McLaughlin Group followed
soon after. I wasn’t part of the original cast, but in 1983, as a
reporter in Washington for Newsweek, he summoned me to his then
office on K Street and peppered me with a series of questions. I
remember two of them: What did I think about Barney Clark’s heart
transplant? He was the first recipient of an artificial heart, and
he died after 112 days. There was a debate over the ethics of how
much it cost and whether it was worth it.
The second question was about arms to Taiwan. What was my position
on that? I looked at John, dumbfounded, and said, I’m a reporter, I
don’t have strong opinions.
“You want to be on my show, you better get some strong opinions,” he
said. That turned out to be really easy. I was seated across from
Buchanan, the original culture warrior, and next to Bob Novak, the
conservative columnist with a permanent scowl known as the “Prince
of Darkness.”
You couldn’t find better character actors, and I would be remiss if
I didn’t mention Jack Germond, one of the original panelists who for
years was every viewer’s favorite for his grumpy insights and his
defiantly liberal positions.
John, with his imposing stature and his booming voice of God, was of
course the larger-than-life figure that dominated the show. He
created such a high-octane atmosphere that there was no time for
hemming and hawing, or for pretending to be fairer than you felt.
You had to blurt out what you actually thought before you got cut
off.
As one of the few women in the early years to appear regularly as a
panelist, I got cut off more than the men. But I held my own, which
is what other women would often tell me, and that will be the title
of the memoir I plan to write some day.
I told John when I saw him the week before he died that he made me
seem a lot fiercer than I am. My late husband, Tom Brazaitis, who
was also a journalist, used to joke that he helped me prep for the
show by shouting “Wrong!” over and over. Tom said the show was like
a men’s locker room with the guys towel-snapping while they one-
upped each other.
It was a game, but it was also serious. Every issue was deeply
researched, and John relished weightier issues like NATO
enlargement, making us eat our vegetables before we would get to the
easy headlines. The show was memorialized on Saturday Night Live
back in the day with Dana Carvey playing John, and John later
playing himself.
We will miss his signature phrases, beginning with Issue One, and
ending with Bye-Bye. And we will miss the man, who was always a
blast to be around. John was an original, and while there are many
imitators, he will never be overtaken. He got there first, and he
created something that in its own way is as iconic as The
Honeymooners with Jackie Gleason, a comparison I know John would
love.
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