Barbara
Walters’ new book spills the tea and threatens the legacy of this storied
legendary journalist. Once a talent like Walters begins telling tales out of
school about her sexual indiscretions, she crosses the line between credible
media maven and gossip girl of the week.
Insofar as journalists lead fascinating lives that give us
access behind the scenes to hobnob
with fascinating figures and newsmakers, I can see why a “tell-all” like Audition would be relevant. But when
your memoir includes details of your tawdry liaison and Star Jones’ labored
breathing, you’ve crossed a line. Jones was right to put her former
homegirl on blast. So was Rosie O’Donnell. Walters talks smack in her book, and
turnabout is fair play. Walters should feel lucky her former boyfriend has too
much class to come forward, now that she has put the once private affair she
had with Sen. Edward Brooke into the public domain. I wonder, in order to tell her own personal
story, if she really had to go there.
I probably like sordid tales of sex and catfights as much as
the average guy. More in fact. But I admit to being surprised that Walters
would broker in this kind of low-brow stuff. I thought she came off as unlady-like.
Are sexcapades and office chit-chat fair game for “tell all” books? Shouldn’t a
woman maintain some kind of dignity? In
the context of a memoir, do titillating “tell all” revelations give us any real
insight into the subject?
