John Stossel
John Stossel was a journalist in Pittsburgh in the 1980s-1990s. He made a name for himself on one of the nation’s big TV stations, by revealing corruption and shedding light on issues that needed fresh air. He brought out hidden problems; he pointed out collusion and kickbacks. He focused a spotlight on the dark underbelly of big business and government. He told us how the sausage was made.
My husband liked John Stossel; he was proud that Mr. Stossel was a Pittsburgh man, a hometown guy who stood for no guff, took no prisoners, could not be bought or stuffed under the rug. They both valued telling truth to power.
I had never heard of John Stossel; the fact that he was a news commentator in big market Pittsburgh made no difference to me. My parents valued education, but to them that meant books. News broadcasts were not a thing my parents watched. They listened to the news on the radio, mostly when I was not paying attention; the closest they came to someone like Mr. Stossel was Paul Harvey: “And now you know, the rest of the story, Good day!”
We lived with my in-laws for six months and lived near them for another two or three years; I realized they were much more aware of the nation than I was. I had more book learning, but they had a finger on the pulse of current events. We didn’t have a lot of common ground, since my learning was of events in the past, and not the recent past, either. They sat in their living room every evening watching the TV news, voted Democratic, favored unions, and read the local county newspaper cover to cover every day. I had to have unions explained to me; I had only touched on them briefly in history class. My parents’ local newspaper was a mere wisp of a thing compared to the Beaver County Times.
John Stossel’s coverage of larger local and national issues opened my eyes. I really liked hearing him; his coverage changed what kinds of books I looked for. I still didn’t care for the nightly news, but 60 Minutes and Dateline, both documentaries of current issues, became interesting. It was like meeting Upton Sinclair; I had read The Jungle and been horrified, but that was a hundred years ago. I had no idea what life outside my little circle was really like.
