In Ring 3 of the Circus, the Walrus Takes a Bow : TV news: To the soundman, silent and anonymous, it’s a treat to be the ears of the world.

I am part of the media circus. I get paid to cover the most exciting, most banal events imaginable. If I lived in Los Angeles, I would be at the Simpson trial. I almost covered the Bobbitt case. At night, I dream of picking out Michael Jackson’s soft voice in a crowd.

As with all circuses, there are humans and animals. In the media circus, public figures play the humans--the high-wire act, the ones who fly through the air with the greatest of ease. The rest of us are the animals. We do little tricks. The reporter is the monkey; the cameraman the elephant. I am a little-known sideshow. I am the walrus. I am a soundman.

While many in our ring get paid to talk, I get paid to listen: not only to what people say, but also for those noises that envelope them. Airplanes are my worst enemy; sirens a close second; birds, my beasts of burden. The reporter asks the questions, the cameraman takes the pictures, I capture the sound. At the end of the day we give our tapes to the ringmaster.

While most of the media circus animals rarely speak, we do think. We grumble, too, especially when we hear academics blame sound bites for civilization’s decline. They are wrong. People should be thankful for these digestible morsels of image and word delivered up each day. Most of what people say is bunk. Most of their words, though full of sound, have little fury, signifying nothing. But you remember sound bites. “ Ich bin ein Berliner ,” goes one. “I am not a crook,” goes another. “I have a dream,” goes a third.

I used to have a corporate job, but it wasn’t much fun. I gave it up for the circus. Recently, I ran into some of my friends from the herd. They were off to a movie. I was on a shoot. I had my field mixer balanced on my belly, clunky headphones on my head and a shotgun mike on my boom. A cameraman and I were outside the Uptown Theater in Washington, waiting for Meryl Streep. Meryl was late. My corporate friends were early. But I didn’t get much time to chat. Meryl arrived. The circus began.

I like sound. I like the sound of my audio cables snapping into my mixer. I like to watch the levels gyrate with each utterance. I love to say lavaliere, the name for microphones that clip onto ties. But mostly, I like to listen. Rarely in this hectic world do people get to do that. After hours spent listening to people yammer, I’ve noticed that humans generally say what they mean when the camera is off and the mike is dead.

Most of the other media animals like the circus life, too. Only there’s nothing that annoys us more than when we see the humans distancing themselves from our little act. To us, they seem to like it. But to you, they pretend to find the staccato lights of the still photographers tiresome, the constant beam from the camera’s light bewildering, the mike on my boom intrusive. Don’t let them mislead you. They are with the troupe. In fact, they’re as much a part of this show as the monkeys and elephants and spectators. Indeed, if the truth be told, they are the circus. They attract the crowds. I am just a walrus.