Fortunately, Chen is every bit the early riser that the president is. (The lithe correspondent has actually been going running before the sun rises in Waco, Texas-the only way to run outside and not die of heat stroke.) When I tapped into my computer that morning, his report was already waiting for me, and the entire press corps-as well as the White House staff, which has no editing rights (though they do occasionally complain when they feel Bush has been misuninterpreted). “The 15-vehicle motorcade, headlights ablaze, roared away from Prairie Chapel Ranch at 6:36 a.m., just as the first hints of pastel-tinted dawn broke over the eastern sky, en route to the Ridgewood Country Club in Waco,” Chen started his pool report.
Just how much creative license-and attitude-belongs in a pool report? It’s a question that has sparked some controversy within the press corps lately. There are no written rules, though the order of the pool rotation is written down. The report has no specific length or format. Some reporters write straight, some inject their personality. The most famous pool report since Bush took office is one by The New York Times’ Frank Bruni, who stitched in movie and music recommendations throughout. Other reporters compete to surpass the Bruni standard for witty, if wacky, reports. “Who can ever say where a pool reporter’s duties begin and where they end?” he mused in his pool report cum review.
The only thing that’s certain is that every tidbit you pick up while you are on pool duty has to go in the report. You can’t use your unique perch to get an exclusive. One veteran passed along some of his wisdom to a fresh-faced colleague on his first tour as “pooler” last week: just make sure to take copious notes on colorful details. You never know when one of your colleagues might want to use a fun little detail in their story-like the elephant-shaped butter pats that one keen-eyed pooler, The Washington Post’s Dana Milbank, noted at a recent GOP fund-raiser dinner in Denver. Or the 1998 Duckhorn Sauvignon “Blank” that accompanied the dinner for the added price of $45. Milbank was no doubt writing on the fly, rushing to get his copy to the awaiting horde. He not only knows how to spell Sauvignon Blanc but he can tell you if the 1998 is pleasantly grassy with a slight metallic aftertaste. (Though no one beats CBS’s Bill Plante as press-corps sommelier.)
But it isn’t Milbank’s creative spelling that has raised a few eyebrows lately but the tenor of his reports. Before Bush’s vacation, he filed one report that read more like a comic book than a ponderous pool report. It called the president “our protagonist” and “our hero” and described Bush bounding to the Capitol in “a determined effort to find Gary Condit. Actually, he was to meet with the House Republican caucus.” Upon entering, the president said he was off “to get a lot of things done for America.” After the meeting, Milbank wrote, “The president and the caucus got so many things done for America so quickly that the hour-long meeting lasted only 45 minutes: a 25 minute speech by the president and 20 minutes of schmoozing.” Fans of Milbank’s sarcasm thought it was all in good fun, detractors thought it too flip.
Those detractors included a few White House staffers and the National Review Online, the conservative magazine’s Web site. They put a copy of Milbank’s pool report online for anyone to peer into this peculiar subculture. There was a minor flap. Some called Milbank disrespectful, contemptuous. But in order to understand the context of his report, you have to know the deepest, darkest secret of the White House beat: it can be awfully boring sometimes. There is a lot of waiting around in “holding rooms,” which are usually just as lovely as they sound. “You have to amuse yourselves somehow,” says one White House staffer who admits to laughing out loud at some of the pool reports. Desk-chair pundits who do not travel with the president don’t get the joke.
If they had been on pool duty in Genoa, Italy, for example, they might better understand Pool Report 7-20-01 #2. The author, The Chicago Tribune’s Bob Kemper-easily the funniest man in the White House press corps-was stuck for about six hours in the Doge Bar. Because of intense security at the G8 meeting, he could not meander. “Your pooler braved homemade pasta with pesto, ice cream, 23 espressos and a piece of cake,” Kemper reported.
The only thing to observe, besides the buffet, were the activities of the Italian police. The president was behind closed doors in a private meeting nearby the whole time, but the pool had to stay on call. The police, too. They did a lot of “mingling” interspersed with bouts of action then more “mingling.” “Their attention was temporarily diverted by scenes of rioting on CNN,” Kemper wrote. “They watched quietly, pensively even, sipping espressos and occasionally commenting on the action. And though your pooler speaks absolutely no Italian, he determined that they must be saying something like, ‘Oh, look, is that Fernando? Ohhh, good baton hit!’”
Kemper is on track to replace Bruni, who is sadly leaving our little tribe, as the best read in the pool. But Milbank is not out of the running. His last two reports showed tenacity. “To fellow White House correspondents and to readers of National Review Online …” Milbank started one of his recent reports. In his last one, he referred to Bush as “our quarry.” When a “chorus of boos drowned out the applause” for the president at a Rockies vs. Braves game, Milbank wrote, “This display of disrespect disheartened your pooler…. An undeterred Potus [president of the United States], in the owner’s sky box and wearing a Rockies windbreaker over his shirt and tie, stood and waved to the crowd. This produced far more applause than boos, demonstrating once again our protagonist’s ability to change the tone.” Milbank’s tone remains a source of debate-and amusement-within the press corps.
