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Connie Chung says booze and bawdy jokes helped her break into journalism's boys club

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Connie Chung says booze and bawdy jokes helped her break into journalism's boys club


TONYA MOSLEY, HOST:

This is FRESH AIR. I’m Tonya Mosley. We’re looking back at some of our favorite interviews of the year. Today, pioneering TV journalist Connie Chung. When Chung appeared on television back in the ’70s, it was the first time many Americans had seen an Asian woman reporting the news and setting the national conversation with her interviews with heads of state and controversial figures. For three decades, Chung was a key player in every major news cycle, covering Capitol Hill, the White House, the Pentagon and the State Department. In 1991, she was the first journalist to get a sit-down interview with Magic Johnson just a month after he announced his HIV status.

Connie Chung has worked for ABC, both NBC and MSNBC, CNN and CBS, where she got her start and later became the first woman to co-anchor the CBS Evening News with Dan Rather and the second woman in the history of television news to anchor an evening newscast. I spoke with Chung in September for her memoir, where she gives a behind-the-scenes look at what it took for her to climb to the top of the male-dominated field of TV news. Chung spills the tea on some well-known celebrities and politicians who hit on her and she doesn’t shy away from naming names of people who crossed her and sometimes made her job more difficult than it needed to be. We also talk about one of the more challenging interviews with Donald Trump in 1990.

(SOUNDBITE OF TV SHOW, “SATURDAY NIGHT WITH CONNIE CHUNG”)

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CONNIE CHUNG: What Donald Trump does, of course, is make a lot of money and make sure everybody knows it – a yacht, a mansion, a bigger mansion, an airline, two casinos, a bigger casino.

DONALD TRUMP: That is really incredible. There’s nothing like it. There’s nothing like this place.

CHUNG: By now, his possessions are more familiar to us than what we have hanging in our own closets. His buildings? Well, you know which one they are.

TRUMP: I sell very great condominiums in New York. I have the best casinos in the world.

CHUNG: They aren’t that great.

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TRUMP: They’re the best.

CHUNG: Come on. They’re not the best.

TRUMP: What, the Trump Tower?

CHUNG: Maybe if you can try and answer this question without giving me the normal spiel.

MOSLEY: That’s Connie Chung interviewing Donald Trump in 1990. I asked her what she remembered most about that interview.

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(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED NPR BROADCAST)

CHUNG: I’ll set the stage; otherwise, I’m going to get myself in such trouble, Tonya. I was doing this program called “Saturday Night With Connie Chung,” and I was the only correspondent because we had another format prior to that, and it really was excoriated, and it tanked. So I had to then go out on stories every week to fill an hour program. I was traveling all over the country in the world and everything. I was pretty darn exhausted. Then the executive producer comes to me and says, we have an interview with Donald Trump. At the time, he had not planned to run on – run for president by any means.

MOSLEY: Right, yeah.

CHUNG: He was a mogul. He was actually a very – he was a tabloid king because he was always on – in the New York tabloids. And that was his – that period of his claim to fame. So I went, I don’t want to. Why are we – whining. Oh, boy, did I whine. And he said…

MOSLEY: Well, you didn’t mince words. I mean, after your interview aired, Trump did what we’ve seen him do to many reporters over the years, and he dug into you ’cause you dug into him.

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CHUNG: Well, guilty as charged, I did. And he went on “The Joan Rivers Show,” and at the time, she had a talk show. And he said that I was – he used all those words that he is wont to use with some female journalists, you know? That was…

MOSLEY: He called you a lightweight.

CHUNG: Yeah. And I can’t remember the exact words, but that I was basically stupid and didn’t ask good questions and all of that. So I would see him – my husband is a crazy golfer. You know, my husband, Maury Povich, who’s been…

MOSLEY: Yes.

CHUNG: …Determining the paternity of every child in America.

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MOSLEY: Yes (laughter).

CHUNG: You are the father. You are not the father. Well, in addition to that, my husband is a very good golfer as well. I would see Donald Trump at celebrity golf tournaments in which my husband was playing. And he ghosted me, essentially. He – it was as if I were invisible. I wasn’t there. Maury would say, you know Connie. And I was just invisible.

MOSLEY: You started in the early ’70s, and in many instances, you were the only woman among these guys. In particular, you write about being on the road covering the 1972 presidential campaign. You were traveling, essentially with the press corps of all men. And you realized that being funny was a way to disarm or diffuse. But did it ever feel dangerous?

CHUNG: No. No, it wasn’t dangerous. It was just fraught with sexism. And, I mean, I think they all saw me as this unusual little toy. And I…

MOSLEY: They almost seemed you like a delight, like, almost a novelty…

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CHUNG: Yes.

MOSLEY: …Kind of tinged with fetish behavior. But that was until you started to scoop them.

CHUNG: (Laughter) Well, they did – they were surprised when I came up with a story that they didn’t have. It was a little competition, you know, and I loved the competition. So I just developed this sense of humor, and what I did was I tried to get them before they got me. And I had this propensity to be much too bawdy. And it was antithetical to what I looked like. You know, I looked like a lotus blossom, and they were appalled that I had the audacity to use a bad word. But at the same time, they found it very comical.

MOSLEY: There’s this story that you tell about being a Goody Two-shoes. Is it Timothy Crouse? He wrote in his book, “The Boys On The Bus,” which is about covering the ’72 presidential campaign, that – he says this about you, quote, “TV correspondents would join the wee-hour poker games or drinking. Connie Chung, the pretty Chinese CBS correspondent, occupied the room next to mine. And she always was back by midnight, reciting a final 60-second radio spot into her Sony or absorbing one last press release before getting a good night’s sleep.” And the next morning, he noted, you would be up and at them with the other reporters – all guys – and they were staving off a hangover. But the thing about it was, they would always scoop you, even still. You were in your room doing all of that hard work, and they were at the bar getting to know the sources.

CHUNG: You got it. And when I realized that, and I did because I would call the assignment editor in Washington, the overnight assignment editor, and I’d say, what broke overnight? Or what’s the – what’s on the front page of The New York Times, Washington Post, Boston Globe, LA Times, whatever? Whatever he had access to or whatever was released early enough. And I realized that they were getting stories. And it suddenly dawned on me they were saucing up the campaign manager and everyone who worked for the candidate and letting them spill the beans. So I said, end of staying in my room. I’m going down to the bar. And I did.

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MOSLEY: Yeah.

CHUNG: I could drink when I was in college. I learned how to, you know, take a few down and still stay sane. I wasn’t driving anywhere. I was just walking back to my room. And therein lies a great way to learn how to be a reporter.

MOSLEY: Right, right. You had to get in there. You had to do that – play that game.

CHUNG: Exactly. The only place I couldn’t enter where the men were, obviously, was the men’s room.

MOSLEY: Yeah.

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CHUNG: And they got stories there. You know, I couldn’t…

MOSLEY: That was – yeah.

CHUNG: …Infiltrate the men’s room.

MOSLEY: Your book, as well as this book I read a few months ago, it’s a biography about Barbara Walters. It just showcases how even at the height of your career – because you were very well known then – you were out there getting your own stories.

CHUNG: You know, Barbara Walters taught me that. I knew that she picked up the phone herself. She wrote a letter. She faxed. She called. She nudged. She would say, let’s have lunch. And I recall it being Barbered (ph). And she – Barbara Barbered me. When we were – when I was fired from the CBS Evening News, she called me and started trying to get the first interview with me when I emerged from my bunker. It was just remarkable.

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You know, Barbara and I had a lot in common. I – she was clearly the pioneer and paved our way. But she was the breadwinner in her family because her father’s nightclubs tanked, and she had to take care of her mother and her father, support her mother and her father and her disabled sister. I was the breadwinner in my family as well for my mother and father. I supported them for – till the day they died. From about 25 on, I was their parent. We both co-anchored with someone who despised us, a man. We were both fired after two years. We both adopted a child. We both married nice Jewish boys. Although, I think Barbara married maybe two or three (laughter).

MOSLEY: Yeah.

CHUNG: But, you know, I really did – I admired Barbara because she paved our way.

MOSLEY: Let’s take a short break. If you’re just joining us, my guest is Connie Chung. She’s written a new memoir that chronicles her life growing up with her four older sisters and parents who migrated from China and her career as the first woman and Asian American to anchor a national network news program in the U.S. We’ll continue our conversation after a short break. This is FRESH AIR. This is FRESH AIR. Today, I am talking with trailblazing television journalist Connie Chung. She’s written a new memoir about her life and career in television news, titled “Connie: A Memoir.” The book chronicles her parents’ harrowing migration from China to the U.S., her first job in television news, breaking major news stories, interviewing luminaries and how she made history as the first woman to co-anchor the “CBS Evening News” and the first Asian to anchor a news program in the United States.

Connie, you’ve mentioned your husband, Maury Povich. You all have been married for nearly 40 years. You got married late, 38 years old. No matter how much it seems to be common knowledge – ’cause even for a time you guys had a show together – there’s always somebody in the room that’s surprised you two are a couple. And it’s surprising, I think, because your personas are so different – your public personas. But as you write in this book, you all seem to be the perfect match. When did you realize that?

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CHUNG: I’m still wondering how come we are the perfect…

(LAUGHTER)

CHUNG: …Match, you know, because we are so different. But the public personas belie what is really behind our door. And the reason why I say that is because he, although he does this – has been determining the paternity of every child in America and utters these, you know, words, you are the father, and you are not the father. He is…

MOSLEY: Do you joke with him about that at home. I just get the feeling.

CHUNG: Yeah, I tease him. And – but also, he says, I’m just a trashy talk show host. So he he’s a very down-to-earth, realistic guy. He’s – what belies his public persona is that he is very much a voracious reader. He’s a political buff. He’s a history buff. He could run circles around these pseudo-intellectuals who do interviews with important people. And I always say that to him. Why don’t you do a serious talk show? And he says – and I said, you’re so smart. And people don’t know how smart you are. And he says, as long as you know that, I’m fine. And I thought, oh, my goodness. What a guy.

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MOSLEY: Is it also an indication of two different things that drive you, both?

CHUNG: Yes. The difference is, I am not serious. And you now know that, Tonya, because you’ve read my book. And I – he has to curb my enthusiasm because I’m liable to do something off-the-wall. It is not he who would do something off-the-wall. It is I. And he has to talk me out of it. Because I say, why? You would do it. And he’d say, no, you have a reputation to uphold.

MOSLEY: The thing about it is that publicly, what you do is that it seems like you’re always explaining to people who Maury Povich really is behind, I am not the father. And I did not realize that you actually have been doing this even before Maury had the Maury Povich show. Back when he was on “A Current Affair,” there’s this legendary skit that you and David Letterman did back in 1989. You were a regular guest on the show, and he decided to do a skit outside of the studio with you, ’cause you guys had really great chemistry when you were on the show. The jokes always really landed. And I want to play a clip from this skit that you all did. What we are going to hear is you and David going to a shoe store to buy shoe trees for Maury Povich, for your husband. And David is being really snarky about your relationship. Let’s listen.

(SOUNDBITE OF TV SHOW, “LATE NIGHT WITH DAVID LETTERMAN”)

DAVID LETTERMAN: Connie, let’s check in here. Hi. We need to pick up some special order shoe trees.

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UNIDENTIFIED SHOP ASSISTANT #1: Hello.

DAVID LETTERMAN: Hi. How are you?

UNIDENTIFIED SHOP ASSISTANT #1: Oh, my God.

DAVID LETTERMAN: Nice to see you. Special-order shoe trees for Connie’s husband, Murray (ph).

CHUNG: Maury.

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DAVID LETTERMAN: He has problem feet. We had to special order them.

CHUNG: He doesn’t have problem feet.

DAVID LETTERMAN: This is why. He has extra-wide feet.

CHUNG: No, no. I think they’re right over here.

UNIDENTIFIED SHOP ASSISTANT #1: Right over…

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DAVID LETTERMAN: Oh, those are beauties.

UNIDENTIFIED SHOP ASSISTANT #2: Yeah, they are.

DAVID LETTERMAN: Look at those, Connie.

CHUNG: That’s great.

DAVID LETTERMAN: What exactly do…

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UNIDENTIFIED SHOP ASSISTANT #2: Cedarwood.

DAVID LETTERMAN: What’s the purpose of shoe trees? What do they do?

UNIDENTIFIED SHOP ASSISTANT #2: Keeps the – keep the shape of the shoes, all right?

DAVID LETTERMAN: Well, don’t your feet do that?

Let me buy the shoe trees.

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CHUNG: No. Really? no.

DAVID LETTERMAN: All right. Turn off the cameras. Turn off the cameras. See, if you – on “60 Minutes,” if you can get a guy to do that on camera…

CHUNG: Yeah.

DAVID LETTERMAN: …Say, turn off the – then you’re set for life to…

CHUNG: Yes, you’re right.

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DAVID LETTERMAN: How much is it?

CHUNG: But, David, I can’t have you pay for this, really.

DAVID LETTERMAN: Stop the whining.

CHUNG: No.

DAVID LETTERMAN: Just don’t whine, please.

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CHUNG: No, I’m paying for it. Maury’s going to be very upset.

DAVID LETTERMAN: He won’t know. How will he know?

CHUNG: ‘Cause it’s going to be on the show.

DAVID LETTERMAN: No, he’s never – yeah, like he stays up to see this.

CHUNG: He does.

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(LAUGHTER)

DAVID LETTERMAN: Pretty much dozes off in his food, doesn’t he?

(LAUGHTER)

CHUNG: I can’t believe you found that clip and you used it (laughter).

MOSLEY: Well, that was you. That was our – my guest today, Connie Chung, with David Letterman on the show in 1989. Connie, he couldn’t even say Maury’s name right. I mean, that was part of the bit, right? You’re always taking up for your husband, huh?

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CHUNG: Yes. Oh, he refused to call him Maury. He would always call him Morty (ph), Murray, Marvey (ph), I mean, whatever. And it – I said – he said, do you want to go out for pizza sometime? And I said, sure. Can I bring Maury? And he’d say, no.

MOSLEY: But, you know, I wanted to play this clip because he’s making fun of Maury, and it’s funny. But I wondered if this kind of view of your relationship – you being this revered, highly-respected journalist, Maury being seen more as a tabloid journalist – did it ever have an impact on your relationship?

CHUNG: Oh, no. Maury is very secure in who he is. I mean, it’s the biggest thing I admire about my husband. He knows he is this very, very intelligent person. And he has – he’s had a storied career as a journalist for many, many years. Then he hit upon the current type of talk show. When he was doing a talk show in Washington, D.C., he was interviewing authors and politicians – I mean, every author from Gore Vidal to Tom Wolfe to Maya Angelou. And it was a classic old talk show. And he did cooking segments with (impersonating Julia Child) Julia Child.

And he did – during Watergate, he was in the thick of it. You know, he covered Kennedy’s funeral, JFK’s funeral – covered Martin Luther King’s assassination. So he’s an old-fashioned journalist.

MOSLEY: Yeah.

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CHUNG: Then he hits upon the talk show circuit, and one of his producers comes up with the idea of the paternity of every child in America. Suddenly – so he has six and a half million Facebook followers and a million Instagram followers, and he’s become this – a walking meme. And it’s just a big kick for him. He’s – he can wax poetic about what his actually – what he actually accomplishes by determining the paternity of children, and fathers, you know, resume paying for their children instead of denying their existence. So it’s a funny – he doesn’t care what critics say, and I always care. So we have completely different views.

MOSLEY: His memoir is the one that I want to read next. But you actually say if it wasn’t for Maury, you really wouldn’t have the career that you have.

CHUNG: No. He talked me off the ledge many times when I came home, and I said to him, do you know what so-and-so said to me today? And he would say, don’t think about it. Don’t take him seriously. Take your work seriously. Don’t take yourself seriously. Don’t take the critics seriously. Let’s have dinner.

(LAUGHTER)

CHUNG: And I would seriously calm down.

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MOSLEY: Our guest today is Connie Chung. We’ll be right back after a short break. I’m Tonya Mosley, and this is FRESH AIR. This is FRESH AIR. I’m Tonya Mosley, and today my guest is award-winning journalist Connie Chung. She’s written a new memoir about her life and career in television news. She takes us, in the book, behind the scenes of her news career from the showdowns with powerful men to the stories behind some of her career-defining reporting. In 1993, Chung became the first woman to coanchor the “CBS Evening News.” And a few years ago, Chung learned about a phenomenon. From the late ’70s through the mid-’90s, Asian American parents, inspired by seeing Chung on TV, named their daughters Connie, forming the Connie generation.

You know, Connie, your career, it’s not a straight line in that you had to play offense and defense. And you had to be strategic to get the big stories and the interviews. And many times, you won. That’s why you’re so successful. You got what you wanted, but it was never a straight line to get there. And one of the things that you really struggled with is being put on the celebrity beat. Yet, your news bosses felt like you were the one to do those, especially in the ’90s. You were assigned to cover, like, the O.J. murder trial and the Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding skating fiasco.

These assignments were, like, an indication of something bigger happening in network television news. There was kind of this shift towards sensationalized journalism and this, like, information saturation at the same time, where the news is always on. And you were in the thick of that. That was really, like, your prime. How did you grapple with that at the time, with your news bosses basically pushing you in that direction?

CHUNG: Well, the problem was that the men could not be pushed into that direction. At CBS News, Dan Rather, who was my coanchor, wouldn’t touch it. At “60 Minutes,” it was all men at the time, and they wouldn’t touch it. They wanted nothing to do with O.J. Simpson. And, frankly, I didn’t either. But the management would come to me and say, Barbara Walters is getting X, Diane Sawyer is getting Y and Katie Couric is getting Z. You have to do this for the team, you know? I said, I don’t want to. I don’t see the value in it. It’s tabloid. I don’t know. You know, Tonya, I have a lot of regrets, but that was one of the biggest ones, of being the good girl.

MOSLEY: Allowing yourself to be put in that…

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CHUNG: Yeah. Absolutely.

MOSLEY: …That category of the entertainment?

CHUNG: Or being told what to do, resisting but never being able to put my foot down and say, I am not doing it. Go find somebody else.

MOSLEY: Well, in hindsight, was there a way to do that? What would’ve happened, do you think, if you had said that?

CHUNG: I don’t know. I really don’t know. I think they just knew I would acquiesce. I wish I had pushed them and put my foot down to take a stand.

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MOSLEY: Well, the thing about the interviews that you did, you really did bring yourself to them. You tried to make them a Connie Chung interview. One of the celebrity interviews that you went after yourself was NBA basketball star Magic Johnson…

CHUNG: Yes.

MOSLEY: …Shortly after he announced he was HIV positive. And I want to play a clip of your interview with him. It was for your show “Face To Face” in 1991. Let’s listen.

(SOUNDBITE OF TV SHOW, “FACE TO FACE WITH CONNIE CHUNG”)

CHUNG: You’ve known about a month now that you test positive for HIV. How are you handling it? I mean, I get the feeling, see, you put the game face on for me, (laughter) you know, and that you really have some feelings that are down deep in here that you don’t really want to share with me.

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MAGIC JOHNSON: Well, first of all, I share – you know, I’ve never shared my life with anybody publicly, you know, because that’s just me. You know, at home is at home. Now, what you want to give to the public, that’s what you give. Now, with this situation, I’ve given everything from my heart.

CHUNG: Really?

JOHNSON: Yeah. I mean, I came out to say I have it to help people.

MOSLEY: That was my guest, Connie Chung, interviewing Magic Johnson in 1991, just a month after he announced that he was HIV-positive. And, Connie, I know you just mentioned how you really didn’t want to do the celebrity interview because who cares if – you know, about someone’s personal life? But this was a story that had such cultural and social significance because of HIV at that time frame. How did you get that exclusive?

CHUNG: You’re so right, Tonya. The reason why I wanted to get it was because HIV/AIDS was at the – it was a front burner story. And when Magic sacrificed himself and his reputation, his career, everything, and came out, he was such a gem. I used to kind of know Magic because I did the news in Los Angeles. And when he came on live with the sports reporter at the time, he would always say, with his big, beautiful smile, say hi to Connie. And I would (laughter) – you know, he’s just an – his smile is infectious. And he actually asked me to go have some soul food with him and his very tall friends. And we went to Maurice’s Snack ‘n’ Chat, and it was the most incredible gravy-covered fried chicken I had ever had in my life. And I wolfed it down. At that time, I was young. You know, I could eat anything I wanted, and it didn’t show up in bad places. Now there’s a festival going on below my waist.

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(LAUGHTER)

CHUNG: I said, where the heck did that come from? But it – I thought to myself, I can get that interview because I know him and I’m kind of his friend. And then when I called some other people in LA, they all said, oh, Magic’s my friend, I’ll be able to get that interview. But I thought, uh-oh. You know…

MOSLEY: But you actually did it.

CHUNG: I did.

MOSLEY: How did you do it?

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CHUNG: I flew to LA, went straight to his agent’s office and I squatted. I actually became a squatter. I sat outside his office. His assistant said, you know, he’s not going to do – the agent is not going to talk to you, and Magic is not going to do the interview with – and I said, but I’m his friend. And she said, yeah, everybody’s his friend. So I sat down and I said, I’m not leaving until he leaves to go home. So I squatted. And he had only one door to get out. Finally agreed to…

MOSLEY: And he had to pass you, yeah.

CHUNG: Yeah. And somehow, he talked to Magic, and Magic said OK. I was just so happy because it was a big interview, and Magic was too kind.

MOSLEY: Let’s take a short break. If you’re just joining us, my guest is Connie Chung. She’s written a new memoir that chronicles her life growing up with her four older sisters and parents, who migrated from China, and her career as the first woman and Asian American to anchor a national network news program in the U.S. We’ll continue our conversation after a short break. This is FRESH AIR. This is FRESH AIR. Today, I am talking with trailblazing television journalist Connie Chung. She’s written a new memoir about her life and career in television news titled “Connie: A Memoir.” The book chronicles her parents’ harrowing migration from China to the U.S., her first job in television news, breaking major news stories, interviewing luminaries and how she made history as the first woman to coanchor the “CBS Evening News” and the first Asian to anchor a news program in the United States.

You mentioned being fired from the “CBS Evening News.” But it was the day that you were named coanchor with Dan Rather. You call it the best day of your professional life. It was May 14, 1993. And it was a huge deal because Barbara was the only other woman to ever anchor an evening news program. But this relationship that you had with Dan Rather, how would you describe it?

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CHUNG: On the surface, it was very superficially normal-ish. I mean, we seemed as if we were both professional and doing our jobs, but it was pretty clear to me that he didn’t want me there. I don’t blame him totally because he had owned Walter Cronkite’s chair for many years and had to move over a few inches to make room for me. I became the first coanchor at CBS. And he really – I think they must have held a gun to his head because I can’t imagine that he would’ve done it voluntarily. So there I was. And I do believe that had I been another man, had I been an animal, had I been a plant, he would not have wanted me to share. He would not have wanted anyone to share that seat with him. It was not his cup of tea.

MOSLEY: Well, there were so many rules back then with male and female anchor pairings, one being that men had the upper hand on who even spoke first.

CHUNG: Yes. Jane Pauley had to endure that when she was coanchoring with men.

MOSLEY: And you found that out when you were filling in for her on the “Today” show.

CHUNG: Yeah, could not say good morning and could not say goodbye.

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MOSLEY: Bryant Gumbel had to say it first.

CHUNG: That’s right. And she fought it, and she acknowledged that she lost. And I didn’t know that at the time. I thought, how could she acquiesce to this kind of ridiculous rule? And so I tried, and I lost, too. So I was, you know, hoping that I could set a new term for my substitution period when I was substituting for her during her pregnancies.

MOSLEY: Do you still have that thing you referenced many times in the book, do you still have that male envy…

CHUNG: I do.

MOSLEY: …In spite of all of your accomplishments? Yeah. How does that show itself? Like, what is that envy, just the power that they have?

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CHUNG: Yes, it’s the automatic respect that men get just by virtue of the fact that they’re men. I think we are perpetually trying to prove ourselves. And I think we’ve made great progress. I think women and minorities have made great progress. But Asians suffer this incredible Asian hate these days, which has reverted back to a peculiar – I mean, not peculiar, but horrible results. Women have not reached the level of parity. I think we can’t sort of quietly sit and see if it’s going to happen. We just need to continue to move forward.

MOSLEY: I know that you talk with a lot of young folks who are television correspondents and reporters and anchors. And you watch the news now. Do you see a difference? Do you see a change in that dynamic? What do you notice when you watch TV news today?

CHUNG: Well, I really appreciate the investigative reporting in television news, in all print everywhere. Any time I see an investigative report, I’m impressed. What I don’t like, of course, is if I see opinion. And there’s a lot of that. I would really like the news to swing back to objective, honest, credible straight news. And I know a lot of people – you know, people I just run into – want facts. That’s all they want.

MOSLEY: Do you miss it?

CHUNG: Only when I see – when I’m watching an interview on television, I want to throw my shoe at it if somebody isn’t asking the question, the next question that I would ask, you know, doesn’t do a follow-up. It’s very strange. I miss that, the interviews and being able to dig deeper, but I also miss the joy of going after a story that’s worthy. And I know it sounds really old-fashioned, but it’s the – if I can change a government wrong or change an attitude regarding social ills or whatever, something like that, I think it’s so gratifying. And I know a lot of my friends still feel that way as well. And they get to do it sometimes. But sometimes the ball is rolling over them, and they’re just lucky to be still in the business. And I’m happy for them because I’m looking in from the outside.

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MOSLEY: Connie Chung, thank you so much for this conversation.

CHUNG: Tonya, I think you did the best interview that I’ve done on this – that I’ve ever done, seriously. You’re a hottie not only as you – I’ve seen in pictures…

(LAUGHTER)

CHUNG: But you’re a really, really good interviewer, too.

MOSLEY: Well, this was such a pleasure, Connie.

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CHUNG: Thank you, Tonya. You were great. I mean, seriously.

MOSLEY: Connie Chung. I spoke with her in September when her memoir, “Connie,” was released. Coming up, jazz historian Kevin Whitehead looks back at the musicians we lost this year. This is FRESH AIR.

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It Started with a Midnight Swim and a Kiss Under the Stars

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It Started with a Midnight Swim and a Kiss Under the Stars

When Marian Sherry Lurio and Jonathan Buffington Nguyen met at a mutual friend’s wedding at Higgins Lake, Mich., in July 2022, both felt an immediate chemistry. As the evening progressed, they sat on the shore of the lake in Adirondack chairs under the stars, where they had their first kiss before joining others for a midnight plunge.

The two learned that the following weekend Ms. Lurio planned to attend a wedding in Philadelphia, where Mr. Nguyen lives, and before they had even exchanged numbers, they already had a first date on the books.

“I have a vivid memory of after we first met,” Mr. Nguyen said, “just feeling like I really better not screw this up.”

Before long, they were commuting between Philadelphia and New York City, where Ms. Lurio lives, spending weekends and the odd remote work days in one another’s apartments in Philadelphia and Manhattan. Within the first six months of dating, Mr. Nguyen joined Ms. Lurio’s family for Thanksgiving in Villanova, Pa., and, the following month, she met his family in Beavercreek, Ohio, at a surprise birthday party for Mr. Nguyen’s mother.

Ms. Lurio, 32, who grew up in Merion Station outside Philadelphia, works in investor relations administration at Flexpoint Ford, a private equity firm. She graduated from Dartmouth College with a bachelor’s degree in history and psychology.

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Mr. Nguyen, also 32, was born in Knoxville, Tenn., and raised in Beavercreek, Ohio, from the age of 7. He graduated from Haverford College with a bachelor’s degree in political science and is now a director at Doyle Real Estate Advisors in Philadelphia.

Their long-distance relationship continued for the next few years. There were dates in Manhattan, vacations and beach trips to the Jersey Shore. They attended sporting events and discovered their shared appreciation of the 2003 film, “Love Actually.”

One evening, Mr. Nguyen recalled looking around Ms. Lurio’s small New York studio — strewed with clothes and the takeout meal they had ordered — and feeling “so comfortable and safe.” “I knew that this was something different than just sort of a fling,” he said.

It was an open question when they would move in together. In 2024, Ms. Lurio began the process of moving into Mr. Nguyen’s home in Philadelphia — even bringing her cat, Scott — but her plans changed midway when an opportunity arose to expand her role with her current employer.

Mr. Nguyen was on board with her decision. “It almost feels like stolen valor to call it ‘long distance,’ because it’s so easy from Philadelphia to New York,” Mr. Nguyen said. “The joke is, it’s easier to get to Philly from New York than to get to some parts of Brooklyn from Manhattan, right?”

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In January 2025, Mr. Nguyen visited Ms. Lurio in New York with more up his sleeve than spending the weekend. Together they had discussed marriage and bespoke rings, but when Mr. Nguyen left Ms. Lurio and an unfinished cheese plate at the bar of the Chelsea Hotel that Friday evening, she had no idea what was coming next.

“I remember texting Jonathan,” Ms. Lurio said, bewildered: “‘You didn’t go toward the bathroom!’” When a Lobby Bar server came and asked her to come outside, Ms. Lurio still didn’t realize what was happening until she was standing in the hallway, where Mr. Nguyen stood recreating a key moment from the film “Love Actually,” in which one character silently professes his love for another in writing by flashing a series of cue cards. There, in the storied Chelsea Hotel hallway still festooned with Christmas decorations, Mr. Nguyen shared his last card that said, “Will you marry me?”

They wed on April 11 in front of 200 guests at the Pump House, a covered space on the banks of Philadelphia’s Schuylkill River. Mr. Nguyen’s sister, the Rev. Elizabeth Nguyen, who is ordained through the Unitarian Universalist Association, officiated.

Although formal attire was suggested, Ms. Lurio said that the ceremony was “pretty casual.” She and Jonathan got ready together, and their families served as their wedding parties.

“I said I wanted a five-minute wedding,” Ms. Lurio recalled, though the ceremony ended up lasting a little longer than that. During the ceremony, Ms. Nguyen read a homily and jokingly added that guests should not ask the bride and groom about their living arrangements, which will remain separate for the foreseeable future.

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While watching Ms. Lurio walk down the aisle, flanked by her parents, Mr. Nguyen said he remembered feeling at once grounded in the moment and also a sense of dazed joy: “Like, is this real? I felt very lucky in that moment — and also just excited for the party to start!”

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L.A. Affairs: I loved someone who felt he couldn’t be fully seen with me

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L.A. Affairs: I loved someone who felt he couldn’t be fully seen with me

He always texted when he was outside. No call, no knock. It was just a message and then the soft sound of my door opening. He moved like someone practiced in disappearing.

His name meant “complete” in Arabic, which is what I felt when we were together.

I met him the way you meet most things that matter in Los Angeles — without intending to. In our senior year at a college in eastern L.A. County, we were introduced through mutual friends, then thrown together by the particular gravity of people who recognized something in each other. He was a Muslim medical student, conservative and careful and funny in the dry, precise way of someone who has always had to choose his words. I was loud where he was quiet, messy where he was disciplined. I was out. He was not.

I understood, or thought I did. I thought that I couldn’t get hurt if I was completely conscious throughout the endeavor. Los Angeles has a way of making you feel like the whole world shares your freedoms — until you realize the city is enormous, and not all of it belongs to you in the same way.

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For months, our world was confined to my apartment. He would slip in after dark, and we’d stay up late talking about his family in Iran, classical music and the particular pressure of being the son someone sacrificed everything to bring here. He told me things he said he’d never told anyone, and I believed him.

The orange glow from my Nesso lamp lit his face while the indigo sky pressed against the window behind him. In our small little world, we were safe. Outside was another matter.

On our first real date, I took him to the L.A. Phil’s “An Evening of Film & Music: From Mexico to Hollywood” program. I told him they were cheap seats even though they were the first row on the terrace. He was thrilled in the way only someone who doesn’t expect to be delighted actually gets delighted — fully, without guarding it. I put my arm around his shoulders. At some point, I shifted and moved it, and he nudged it back. He was OK with PDA here.

I remember thinking that wealth is a great barrier to harm and then feeling silly for extrapolating my own experience once again. Inside Walt Disney Concert Hall, we were just two people in love with the same music.

Outside was still another matter.

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In February, on Valentine’s Day, he took me to a Yemeni restaurant in Anaheim. We hovered over saffron tea surrounded by other young Southern Californians, and we looked like friends. Before we went in, we sat in the parking lot of the strip mall — signs in Arabic advertising bread, coffee, halal meats, the Little Arabia District — hand in hand. I leaned over to kiss him.

“Not here,” he said. His eyes shifted furtively. “Someone might see.”

I understood, or told myself I did, but I was saddened. Later, after the kind of reflection that only arrives in the wreckage, I would understand something harder: I had been unconsciously asking him to choose, over and over, between the people he loved and the person he loved. I had a long pattern of choosing unavailable men, telling myself it was because I could handle the complexity. The truth was more embarrassing. I thought that if someone like him chose me anyway — chose me over the weight of societal expectations — it would mean I was worth choosing. It took me a long time to see how unfair that was to him and to me.

We went to the Norton Simon Museum together in November, on the kind of gray Pasadena day when the 210 Freeway roars in the background like white noise. He studied for the MCAT while I wrote a paper on Persian rugs. In between practice problems, he translated ancient Arabic scripts for me. I thought, “We make a good team.” Afterward, we walked through the galleries and he didn’t let go of my arm.

That was the version of us I kept returning to — when the ending came during Ramadan. It arrived as a spiritual reflection of my own. I texted: “Does this end at graduation — whatever we are doing?”

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He thought I meant Ramadan. I did not mean Ramadan.

“I care about you,” he wrote, “but I don’t want you to think this could work out to anything more than just dating. I mean, of course, I’ve fantasized about marrying you. If I could live my life the way I wanted, of course I would continue. I’m just sad it’s not in this lifetime.”

I was in Mexico City when these texts were exchanged. That night I flew to Oaxaca to clear my head and then, after less than 24 hours, flew back to L.A. No amount of vacation would allow me to process what had just happened, so I threw myself back into work.

My therapist told me to use the conjunction “and” instead of “but.” It happened, and I am changed. The harm I caused and the love I felt. The beauty of what we made and the impossibility of where it could go. She gave me a knowing smile when I asked if it would stay with me forever. She didn’t answer, which was the answer.

I think about the freeways now, the way Joan Didion called them our only secular communion. When you’re on the ground in Los Angeles, the world narrows to the few blocks around you. Get on the freeway and you understand the whole body of the city at once: the arteries, the pulse, the scale of the thing.

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You understand that you are a single cell in something enormous and moving. It is all out of your control. I am in a lane. The lane shaped how I drive. He was simply in a different lane, and his lane shaped him, and those two facts can coexist without either of us being the villain of the sad story.

He came like a secret in the night, and he left the same way. What we made in between was real and complicated and mine to hold forever, hoping we find each other in the next life.

The author lives in Los Angeles.

L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.

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The Nerve Center of This Art Fair Isn’t Painting. It’s Couture.

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The Nerve Center of This Art Fair Isn’t Painting. It’s Couture.

The art industry is increasingly shaped by artists’ and art businesses’ shared realization that they are locked in a fierce struggle for sustained attention — against each other, and against the rest of the overstimulated, always-online world. A major New York art fair aims to win this competition next month by knocking down the increasingly shaky walls between contemporary art and fashion.

When visitors enter the Independent art fair on May 14, they will almost immediately encounter its open-plan centerpiece: an installation of recent couture looks from Comme des Garçons. It will be the first New York solo presentation of works by Rei Kawakubo, the brand’s founder and mastermind, since a lauded 2017 survey exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute.

Art fairs have often been front and center in the industry’s 21st-century quest to capture mindshare. But too many displays have pierced the zeitgeist with six-figure spectacles, like Maurizio Cattelan’s duct-taped banana and Beeple’s robot dogs. Curating Independent around Comme des Garçons comes from the conviction that a different kind of iconoclasm can rise to the top of New York’s spring art scrum.

Elizabeth Dee, the founder and creative director of Independent, said that making Kawakubo’s work the “nerve center” of this year’s edition was a “statement of purpose” for the fair’s evolution. After several years at the compact Spring Studios in TriBeCa, Independent will more than double its square footage by moving to Pier 36 at South Street, on the East River. Dee has narrowed the fair’s exhibitor list, to 76, from 83 dealers in 2025, and reduced booth fees to encourage a focus on single artists making bold propositions.

“Rei’s work has been pivotal to thinking about how my work as a curator, gallerist and art fair can push boundaries, especially during this extraordinary move toward corporatization and monoculture in the art world in the last 20 years,” Dee said.

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Kawakubo’s designs have been challenging norms since her brand’s first Paris runway show in 1981, but her work over the last 13 years on what she calls “objects for the body” has blurred borders between high fashion and wearable sculpture.

The Comme des Garçons presentation at Independent will feature 20 looks from autumn-winter 2020 to spring-summer 2025. Forgoing the runway, Kawakubo is installing her non-clothing inside structures made from rebar and colored plastic joinery.

Adrian Joffe, the president of both Comme des Garçons International and the curated retailer Dover Street Market International (and who is also Kawakubo’s husband), said in an interview that Kawakubo’s intention was to create a sculptural installation divorced from chronology and fashion — “a thing made new again.”

Every look at Independent was made in an edition of three or fewer, but only one of each will be for sale on-site. Prices will be about $9,000 to $30,000. Comme des Garçons will retain 100 percent of the sales.

Asked why she was interested in exhibiting at Independent, the famously elusive Kawakubo said via email, “The body of work has never been shown together, and this is the first presentation in New York in almost 10 years.” Joffe added a broader philosophical motivation. “We’ve never done it before; it was new,” he said. Also essential was the fair’s willingness to embrace Kawakubo’s vision for the installation rather than a standard fair booth.

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Kawakubo began consistently engaging with fine art decades before such crossovers became commonplace. Since 1989, she has invited a steady stream of contemporary artists to create installations in Comme des Garçons’s Tokyo flagship store. The ’90s brought collaborations with the artist Cindy Sherman and performance pioneer Merce Cunningham, among others.

More cross-disciplinary projects followed, including limited-release direct mailers for Comme des Garçons. Kawakubo designs each from documentation of works provided by an artist or art collective.

The display at Independent reopens the debate about Kawakubo’s proper place on the continuum between artist and designer. But the issue is already settled for celebrated artists who have collaborated with her.

“I totally think of Rei as an artist in the truest sense,” Sherman said by email. “Her work questions what everyone else takes for granted as being flattering to a body, questions what female bodies are expected to look like and who they’re catering to.”

Ai Weiwei, the subject of a 2010 Comme des Garçons direct mailer, agreed that Kawakubo “is, in essence, an artist.” Unlike designers who “pursue a sense of form,” he added, “her design and creation are oriented toward attitude” — specifically, an attitude of “rebellion.”

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Also taking this position is “Costume Art,” the spring exhibition at the Costume Institute. Opening May 10, the show pairs individual works from multiple designers — including Comme des Garçons — with artworks from the Met’s holdings to advance the argument made by the dress code for this year’s Met gala: “Fashion is art.”

True to form, Kawakubo sometimes opts for a third way.

“Rei has often said she’s not a designer, she’s not an artist,” Joffe said. “She is a storyteller.”

Now to find out whether an art fair sparks the drama, dialogue and attention its authors want.

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