Considering 30 Years of Radio Journalism

The voice--earthy, warm and New Yorkish--is unmistakable. As anyone familiar with National Public Radio over the last few decades would know, it belongs to Susan Stamberg, virtually synonymous with the broadcasting system that now reaches roughly 20 million listeners.

Stamberg is not falsely modest. On the phone from Washington, D.C., the special correspondent for NPR hastens to correct a biographical oversight: Yes, Stamberg is the first woman to anchor a national nightly news program--but not just in the U.S.

“Anywhere!” she exclaims, in full-throated protest, on this very day marking the 30th anniversary of her beginnings with NPR.

And that pretty much sums up the Stamberg manner. At 62, the radio journalist and author has won every major award in broadcasting and built a reputation on posing unabashedly direct questions to her interview subjects--in tones that are, by turns, intimate, grave, amused, buoyant and energetic. What’s more, she does so with a naturalness (even her “Anywhere!” comes across as friendly animation) that makes conversation flow.

But the enthusiasm in Stamberg’s voice was not always so evident.

“In the beginning,” she says, laughing, “I was earnest and formal, my speech was overly careful, and since there were no women doing this, I imitated men.” Finally, a program director told her to “be yourself,” and the mellowing began.

That mellowing has infected the full spectrum of NPR, which is also celebrating its 30th anniversary. Indeed, one could argue the various shows--”Morning Edition,” “All Things Considered” and “Weekend Edition,” carried locally by KCRW-FM (89.9) and KPCC-FM (89.3)--bear the Stamberg stamp.

Stamberg began at NPR in 1972, spending 14 years as host of the newsmagazine “All Things Considered,” followed by a stint at “Weekend Edition.” She currently serves as an occasional guest host for “Morning Edition” and reports on cultural issues for various programs.

“We’ve come a long way since those pre-Marconi days of string and tin cans,” she quipped. “But the huge transition for us came with Watergate--we were golden then. The applications for journalism went through the roof. Everyone wanted to be Woodward [and] Bernstein.”

Since then, says Stamberg, the corner has been turned. “And we’ve seen the worst side of media overzealousness with the Clinton administration. But that’s what’s great about NPR,” she says. “We’ve never been bunched into that category known as ‘gotcha journalism.’ ”

NPR producers do stand as a beacon of serious reporting--if not consistently at the level of Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite, then at least a planet away from today’s rampant sensationalism. Yet NPR has its own weaknesses, such as the tendency to run stories on arcane subjects, especially when there’s breaking news or some critical public storm whirling around.

Asked what she thought about a long segment on the usu worm and how it infects sheep on the northern island of New Zealand, Stamberg howls in recognition.

“Oh, God. Did we actually do that? I wouldn’t be surprised.” Then she recalls how, on her watch during the late ‘70s, someone was needed to cover the Three Mile Island disaster, the worst commercial nuclear accident within the U.S. “Cokie Roberts [then full-time at NPR] volunteered,” she says wryly, “because she had had all the children she wanted. We covered the subject thoroughly, but meanwhile I went to Boston to interview a chef on how to cook perfect rice, and when the segment aired, people were all over me for filling the news hole with this trivia.”

Still, as she explains, people must not forget the show’s title: “All Things Considered.” Some trivia, some arcana fit nicely between in-depth reporting on the latest Supreme Court ruling and new skirmishes in Macedonia.

Stamberg admits, though, that some of the best intentions go awry. Recently “All Things Considered” aired an excellent feature on colonoscopy, the message being its importance in the general health scheme. But in attempting to add a grainy detail of truth--taking a microphone into the procedure room and recording an anesthetized patient’s groans during his test--the report no doubt gave some listeners a disincentive to have a colonoscopy.

“Ah, well,” says Stamberg. “So much for the wonders of ambient sound.”

Ambient or otherwise, she’s now getting asked to sound off on highlights of her notable interviews, now numbering roughly 20,000.

“From my failing, post-menopausal memory you want an interview that stands out?” she muses. “Well since that takes me back three days ago, and since you’re only as good as your last piece, I’ll tell you about George Soros, the mega-millionaire.

“I asked him what money meant to him. And that made him think about growing up in Hungary during the Nazi occupation and how his father sent him out as a runner in the black market where he was a trader-seller changing currency, learning about commodities and fluctuating prices. No, money does not mean luxury cars and planes to George Soros. It means survival, escape.”

Stamberg recounts the interview with pride, but she takes greater pride--one could even say motherly pride--in assessing these three decades of NPR: “Where do we stand in the media spectrum? If you had a mountain I’d put it at the top. Our big disadvantage is that you can’t wrap fish in us,” she says, chuckling. “People say that if TV had been invented first, everyone would be talking about this new invention--radio. It’s walk-able, pocket-able and you don’t have to sit and look at it all day.”