But as far as I could tell, no one had ever officially written down the Byzantine rules of pool coverage. Instead, new members of the pool are forced to learn the ropes the hard way-by making mistakes.
Here are the seven rules I’ve divined so far:
Wear sturdy shoes: The press does a lot of running. When it’s time for the president to leave an event, you had better be in the motorcade or you’ll get left behind. There are stories of overly tired reporters who put their heads down for only a moment to wake up hours later in a lonely filing center. They never even heard the booming call: “Pool! Pool! This way!” That’s “Mush!” to reporters. Often you have to push your way to the awaiting vans through crowds of well-wishers, dragging your computer and whatever else you’ve toted (the overcoat you needed in Washington, for instance, but not in Miami).
Choose your van wisely: You can’t just load into any old car in the motorcade. It’s pretty clear you don’t get in the limo with the little flags on the front. And the vans that follow the presidential limo that say “Staff 1” and “Staff 2” are self-explanatory. But “Control” and “WHMO” (affectionately pronounced “whamo”) are intentionally mysterious. They have something to do with the military and those guys in buzz cuts won’t let you near their vans let alone in them. Then there are other choices: “Support 1” and “Support 2,” for example. Well, you might feel you need some support, but those are also for staff. The press vans are labeled: “Camera 1,” “Wire 1” and “Press 1.” Simple? No. The cameras in question are TV cameras only. No still photographers allowed. Wire service writers and photographers go to “Wire 1,” but that doesn’t include the wire service Bloomberg, which didn’t exist when they came up with this crackerjack system. Nobody bothered to tell that to one of the new Bloomberg reporters, who got into Wire 1 and promptly got yelled at by a wire-service photographer. People like me go to the end of the motorcade to Press 1.
Select your seat carefully: Once you find the right van, you have to get the seat protocol down. The rule of the pool is that the guy with the most stuff gets to sit in front. Newspaper photographers, for example, sit in the front of Press 1 because they have to lug around long, heavy lenses. Photographers get preferential views at events, too. When a local reporter in Beaver, Penn., recently tried to hold her spot at the front of the roped-off press area, she was quickly muscled out of the way by the national press corps photographers. “He’s a wire boy. Let him in. There’s no debate about it,” one veteran shooter said to her, making room for his colleague. Despite the squabbling over seats and positions, there is still a lot of camaraderie in the pool. “Don’t you wish you were as important as the photographers?” Richard Benedetto of USA Today quipped to me recently.
Know the pecking order: Even photographers get out of the way of TV cameras. If print and radio reporters ever need a reminder of their place in the pecking order, they need only watch how a pool caters to TV. At that same event in Beaver, George W. Bush even agreed to repeat his answer to a question in order to make better TV. “Can you do that again for TV without the goggles?” CBS’s John Roberts asked him. Bush obliged, this time taking the same question with his safety goggles in his hand. At press conferences, there is also an order to who asks questions. There, wire service reporters go first. They also sit in the front row in the briefing room.
Learn the lingo: RON is not the name of your pool roommate. It stands for “remain over night.” That’s key to deciphering the schedule, which is printed up pocket size at the start of each trip. When the press team tells you that they are putting a “lid” on that means Bush won’t be doing anything else for the night. Usually that means you’re safe to go to dinner. Of course, since they feed us all day long (a fed press corps is a happy press corps, I guess they figure), dinner may sound like the last thing you want when you get to the RON.
Food is fuel: The seats (assigned with place cards so no fistfights break out) and service on Air Force One are lovely. But even though the food is served on gold-rimmed china with the “Seal of the President of the United States” on it, the fare is strictly Air Force mess. It costs NEWSWEEK more than the price of a first-class ticket for me to fly on Bush’s plane. But just in case my editors think I’m eating Beef Wellington and drinking Chateau Neuf de Pape on the road, here is what I ate for lunch the other day: tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwich and lemonade. Bush, of course, is famous for eating PB&J sandwiches. He doesn’t drink alcohol, but it seems the Bush camp thinks the press corps is full of lushes. (Where did they get that idea?) Alcohol always seems to flow a little too freely where we RON. (A drunk press corps is a dumb press corps, I guess they figure.)
Remember the tricks: Veterans of this travel-intensive beat sometimes pass on their secrets after a few of those drinks. The best have to do with getting an extra half hour of sleep. Now, when there is an early morning “baggage call” an hour before the pool actually has to be ready to go, I put my bag in the storage room the night before-giving me a full hour of extra sleep. Of course, there’s a trick to that, too: make sure you take out a change of clothes for the next day first. There are stories-or maybe legends the veterans tell to scare us-about forgetful, but well-rested correspondents showing up for pool duty in their pajamas.
