From a Peacock to a Chipper

A pioneer in the land of nonfiction television, Barbara Walters seems always to be reminding people to remind people that she is the first to break the network news glass ceiling. “And here’s the thing:” We’ve continued watching her, not because she is necessarily the most insightful or the most compelling journalist, but because she is the one asking the questions. She has amplified her television presence by showcasing some of the world’s most fascinating personalities – the ones we want to see. We watch her...to watch them.

Yes…Barbara Walters is a master at managing the limelight, as her memories attest.

In Walters’ earliest recollections, we are struck by a rather remarkable pattern and theme in regards to the way she sees her world. In all three recollections, the narrative pattern is the same. She initially has us going in one direction, and then, boom... we are turned right around toward an unforeseen, yet positive outcome…for Barbara Walters.

For example, in the first memory, we find seven-year-old Barbara convalescing alone and friendless in her hospital room, even closing her eyes to the company of perhaps a dutiful nurse entering the room to check on her. Only later does she discover the intruder was her own mother, unexpectedly (or maybe not) bringing Barbara’s favorite doll to the hospital to keep her company. Alas, even with eyes closed, Barbara still gets rewarded.

In the second memory, we see Barbara wanting to please her mother with a gift – a feat heretofore never accomplished by her father. In the beginning, Barbara’s gift-giving experience seems headed toward a similarly disappointing outcome, when, incredibly, an unexpected (or maybe not) finale has her being appreciated in spades! Her mother not only applauds Barbara’s gift, but she also dumps her entire collection of perfume bottles to make the point. Alas, even when she chooses wrong, Barbara still gets rewarded.

In the third and final memory, Barbara is unexpectedly (or maybe not) dreading the idea of performing as the lead robin in a school event, most probably after trying on the homemade costume with the “big red belly” where a lovely red-breast was supposed to be. With support from her mother (the "costume" maker!), Barbara renounces the lead role and becomes “a chipper in the chorus like everyone else.” Apparently blind to the idea (or maybe not) that someone else might benefit from her mother’s handiwork, Barbara and her mother dispose of the costume by tearing it up! Alas, even with a broken commitment and no appeasement, Barbara still gets rewarded.

Thus, no matter how things look at the onset, Barbara Walters holds in her mind’s eye the expectation of a good outcome. These are the memories she consciously and unconsciously rehearses over her lifetime….memories that remind her she knows how to work it, how to get rewarded, and how to manage authority to her advantage.

Note also that in Barbara’s worldview, there is no end game, as “I get my way” would suggest. Getting one’s way implies a contest with a finish line and obligatory winners and losers. She simply “wins” by being and by showing up first.

Now, if we were to wonder how she manages (both now and as a child) to work it so well, we might refer back to her memories for clues. For example, might Barbara have mentioned to her mother how much she missed and wanted her favorite doll? Most likely, yes. The expression “It makes me so sad for her” suggests Barbara knew exactly how tirelessly her mother would work to deliver the doll to her bedside once Barbara let her mother know she wanted it.

And in the second memory, might Barbara have signaled to her mother (with an uncharacteristically sad and forlorn expression and maybe a tear puddling in the eye) that surprising her mother with the appropriate Christmas gift meant the world to her? Again, the answer is yes. In fact, to diminish her own guilt for nearly crushing Barbara’s feelings, her mother denounces every other perfume bottle she owns!

And finally, might Walters have remained the lead robin in the performance if the costume her mother made had sported a more appealing red-breast, as opposed to a big red belly, as she describes it? Again, probably yes.

Quoting from http://www.thinkwriting.com/ … “Memories are windows we look through to see where we are and where we are going.” It is interesting to observe that Barbara Walters, now nearly 79 years old (9/25/29), has been portrayed as a straight-up, no-nonsense reporter for almost fifty years. Or put another way: She has been playing the “lead robin” in a litany of news performances for most of her professional life. As a “red-breasted” and energetic newswoman, she has made her mark (and her money, though maybe not enough until now), year after year after year.

However, what once had great appeal is now more of a big red belly situation. “But here’s the thing: I didn’t want to be the star,” Walters says (or maybe it's…"I didn’t want to be the star anymore" ...i.e., under the condition that I would have to wear a goofy costume my mother made, or under the condition I would have to leave real money on the table in a book contract negotiation when telling a special secret would garner me a much bigger signing bonus.).

So, to take herself off the pedestal (off the “respected/respectable” pedestal, as it were), Walters discloses a once taboo liaison with a married-at-the-time United States senator, in effect, tearing up her image as the straight-laced, venerable professional, in exchange for becoming “a chipper in the chorus …just like all the other kids” …or at least like all the other wealthy kids.

And in case she has a moment’s hesitation about giving up the senator, Walters will reflect on her earliest memories as a reminder that she never fails to work things to her advantage.

So, if you’re worried about her wanton disclosure, fret not. Even when she makes a wrong decision (like tearing up her own reputation), Barbara Walters has not done so unrewarded. As evidenced by her worldview, she knows how to work it.
(To read the early memories referenced in this post, see Mommy dearest: Barbara's Earliest Memories, dated Friday, June 6, 2008.)

Mommy...dearest: Barbara's Early Memories

We think we recognize someone when she has come into our living room for so many years, but you guessed it....there's always more than meets the eye. To see Barbara Walters through a Thinkwriter's lens, start by perusing her earliest memories* and then select the worldview you think fits her best. Four possibilities are listed at the end of this post and a poll is in the right hand column. Please cast your vote and thank you for participating!

(#1) When I was in the hospital [age 7 or 8] recovering from the operation [appendectomy], which in those days kept you in the hospital for almost a week, my mother would take the streetcar back and forth from Brookline to Boston every day to see me. She had to then walk a good ten blocks to the hospital. One night I heard someone entering my room and, thinking it was the nurse, whom I didn’t want to see, I kept my eyes closed. When the person left the room, I finally opened my eyes and saw at the foot of my bed my favorite doll. My mother, worried that I would feel alone, had taken the streetcar at night to visit me one more time. The memory has stayed with me all these years. I can barely write about it even today. It makes me so sad for her.

(#2) One Christmas I remember saving money to buy my mother a cut-glass perfume bottle, which many women kept on their dressing tables. My mother had a considerable collection, and I was sure she would want to keep adding to it. I carefully chose what I thought was the perfect one, chiseled in the shape of a half-moon. I wanted my mother to love it and not want to return it, as she did so many of my father’s gifts. She returned his presents so often that he stopped buying anything for her. I have kept this lesson in mind all my life. No matter what anybody gives me as a gift, I say, “Terrific,” and wear it at least twice (before trying to return it).
The day before Christmas, unable to keep my secret totally to myself, I asked my mother if she would like another bottle for her collection. “Not really,” she said. “I have too many already.” I could barely keep back the tears, but it was too late. The next morning I gave her my shiny wrapped present. She opened it, took me in her arms, and exclaimed, “Of all my perfume bottles, this is the most beautiful. It makes all the others look dreadful. I am going to give them all away and only keep this one.” And she did.

(#3) When I was about seven years old, the school put on a little performance for adoring parents. It featured a robin red-breast as the lead and a chorus of little brown-costumed chippers. I was assigned the leading role of the robin. But here’s the thing: I didn’t want to be the star. I wanted to be in the chorus, to be like all the other kids. So to this day I recall going home and watching my mother, who sewed very well, cheerfully making my robin costume. I tried it on, with its big gorgeous red belly, spread my wings, and burst into tears. When I told my mother why, she came to school with me the next day and explained the situation to the bewildered teacher. My mother and I went home, tore up the costume, and I became a chipper in the chorus like everyone else.

Cast your vote for Barbara Walters’ worldview in the poll to the right. (Note: This poll is now closed; voters' selections are listed in percentages. The correct answer is #2.)
1. Mothers rule. (15%)
2. I work it. (61%)
3. I deserve presents. (0)
4. I get my way. (23%)

*All three memories are from Barbara Walters' memoir, entitled Audition (2008).