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Silent boy summer: Three months, no talking. Here’s how one L.A. resident did it

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Silent boy summer: Three months, no talking. Here’s how one L.A. resident did it

On a recent Monday in August, Kevito Clark hosted a video conference call to discuss the next installment of a game night he runs at the LINE LA, a hotel in Koreatown. But over the course of the hour-long meeting, he never said a word.

Instead Clark, who has a shaved head and a full beard with a touch of gray in it, used other communication tools. When the hotel’s brand manager expressed hesitation around passing out rubber bracelets, he nodded. When a collaborator mentioned the name of a tentative performer, he used Google Meet’s settings to send heart and thumbs up emojis. In between these interactions, he typed his thoughts — “Branded cups are cute,” “Any last questions?” — into the chat. Not once did he make his voice heard.

It was an unusual way to run a meeting, but Clark’s collaborators have grown accustomed to it. As he reminded the group before the call began, he is currently living out a three month vow of silence.

Across religions, vows of silence are used to quiet the mind, develop self-knowledge and connect more deeply with the divine. They tend to conjure images of monks meditating in the mountains or ascetics living in desert caves. Clark, who is 41 and lives in Leimert Park, has added a modern-day twist to the practice. Throughout the duration of his vow, which began on June 1, he has continued to live his everyday life, throwing parties, volunteering, attending concerts and even going on the occasional date.

His is a vow of silence that applies only to speaking, which means he’s still texting, emailing and typing into the chat on video calls. In person, he communicates by typing messages into the iMessage app on his phone or writing in one of the pocket-sized notebooks he takes with him everywhere.

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“As the saying goes, ‘What you don’t change, you choose.’ This vow was for me to grow, not for views or likes.”

— Leimert Park resident and entrepreneur Kevito Clark on his three-month vow of silence

When he’s out in public he wears a red and blue button that reads: “Silent By Choice. Thanks for your understanding. I can talk via Text notes.” A similar message is written in marker on the front page of each of his notepads:

“Buenos Dias! Hi! Hello! My name is Kevito! Nice to meet you. I’m currently on a vow of silence. I can talk via text, chat, and this notepad. (Thanks for your understanding!)

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Clark wears a pin that states “silent by choice,” while practicing his vow of silence. (Carlin Stiehl / For the Times)

Kevito Clark holds a notepad he uses to communicate with people that has pre-written pages explaining why he's chosen not to speak for three months.

Kevito Clark holds a notepad he uses to communicate with people that has pre-written pages explaining why he’s chosen not to speak for three months.

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On the following pages he keeps pre-written answers to four questions he’s most frequently asked:

  1. You can talk!
  2. This was taken to address unchecked grief, redirect energy and center on my purpose and personal/professional goals.
  3. The vow ends Sept. 1, 2024.
  4. Environmentalist John Francis inspired this vow.

Clark, who arrived in L.A. in 2022 by way of New York and Ohio, has built his life on the power of intention. His decision to go quiet in an era where so many people spend their free time speaking to front-facing phone cameras, and in a city where the squeakiest wheels get the grease, is in service of his broader ambitions. Before his vow started, he was living out what he calls “444,” which is shorthand for his aim to consistently engage with “four acts of volunteering, four acts of self-care and four ways to show up and show out for others.” His recent vow has allowed him to commit more firmly to this goal.

“As the saying goes, ‘What you don’t change, you choose,’ ” he wrote. “This vow was for me to grow, not for views or likes.”

Still, it hasn’t always been easy to integrate silence into his day-to-day schedule. Clark often works in positions where the word “communication” is in his job title. He’s the founder and chief creative officer of Love, Peace & Spades which has a monthly residency at the LINE LA, and he currently does event services for a security company and serves as a community liaison for the non-profit Black Men Hike, all while refraining from speech.

There have been business owners and collaborators who said they wouldn’t work with him until his vow is finished. And while he had fun taking a date on a choose-your-own adventure experience through Mickalene Thomas’ All About Love exhibit at the Broad, she said she would only see him again when she could hear his voice.

Kevito Clark uses a notepad to communicate with Kimoni Oliver, a barista at ORA.

Kevito Clark uses a notepad to communicate with Kimoni Oliver, a barista at ORA.

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Kevito Clark walks through the streets of Leimert Park.

Kevito Clark walks through the streets of Leimert Park.

“I experienced how people will come to their conclusions, make assumptions (e.g., believe I have a disability),” he wrote in an email. “It takes a lot of work, patience, understanding and agreement by all parties for it to happen.”

There is no single reason that Clark took his three-month vow of silence, instead, he says a series of events catalyzed the decision. His kidneys failed in 2012 and he waited six years for a new one before a friend stepped up with a donation in 2018. Earlier this year, he mourned the back-to-back losses of two longtime friends and mentors who were like second parents to him. In the wake of their passings and the ensuing anniversaries of the deaths of other people he loved, he realized that he hadn’t made time to honor life’s transitions.

He started to ask himself, “Who are you when no one is looking?” He wondered if taking a vow of silence might provide an answer.

“It appeared like a whisper,” he wrote. “And the whisper grew into a voice.”

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Online research led him to the story of John Francis, a Black environmentalist who stopped talking and riding in motorized vehicles for 17 years after witnessing two oil tankers collide and dump half a million gallons of oil into the San Francisco Bay in 1971. In a popular Ted Talk, Francis said when he decided to stop talking he found he was better able to hear others — rather than formulating a response while they were talking.

“It was a very moving experience,” Francis says in the talk. “For the first time in a long time, I began listening.”

Kevito Clark sits outside next to a memorial of Sika Dwimfo while practicing his vow of silence.
Kevito Clark sits next to a memorial of Sika Dwimfo, an artist, jeweler, community activist and business owner known as the “Godfather of Leimert Park.”

Clark was inspired by his story. “In him I saw someone who was not only curious about himself but about how to implement positive change through discipline and facing adversity,” Clark wrote.

At the end of April, Clark began to formulate a plan to take his own, much shorter vow of silence.

He chose the time period of June 1 to Sept. 1 for his vow after reading that it takes 21 days to break habits and 30 days to begin new habits. He crafted an email explaining his decision and sent it to friends, family and collaborators describing what he was about to embark on. He could still communicate, he wrote, but only through non-speaking platforms like Google Meet, mobile text and handwritten notes.

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Friends and collaborators were mostly supportive and intrigued.

“He’s a laid back, calm, cool collected dude,” said Courtney La Prince, a digital designer who met Clark while volunteering at Love, Peace & Spades. “He is really careful with his words, so when he said he was going to take a vow of silence it wasn’t hard for me to imagine.”

It has also been an adjustment for those he regularly interacts with. Conversations move at a different pace when one person is typing out their responses.

“I’ve found I need to be stationary when I talk to him,” said Kelli Boyt, who also goes by DJ Kaaos Jones. “I do a lot of my calls from the car, but I need to be in tune with whatever conversation we’re having on text messages, so I almost have to plan it out. So I’ll be in the office or sitting still in my car in the parking lot.”

Kevito Clark at ORA in Leimert Park.

Kevito Clark at ORA in Leimert Park.

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Jennie Wright, regional brand manager at the LINE LA where Clark hosts Love, Peace & Spades was initially worried about the logistical implications of his vow. She and Clark grew the event together and she didn’t know how he would run it if he couldn’t talk. At the same time, she wanted to respect his decision to focus on himself.

“He took this vow of silence to center himself and find some peace within himself, so I was like, ‘Let me take my selfishness back,’ ” she said.

Over the past three months she discovered that throwing events with a silent partner isn’t as difficult as she thought.

“We’ve continued to have Love, Peace & Spades from June and they have all run successfully,” she said. “And it pushed me to step up and become more of a leader.”

As Clark approaches the end of the vow on Sept. 1, he reflected on its impact in a written interview.

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“I learned to temper my thoughts, embrace gratefulness, give myself grace, pour into myself to be available for others and magnetize the positive into manifested results,” he wrote.

Still, he’s looking forward to it ending. Love, Peace & Spades is hosting its first culture and games fest on Sept. 21. He can’t wait to talk at the event. But looking back at the past three months, he said his silent vow felt more freeing than restrictive.

“I hugged deeply. I laughed heartily,” he wrote in a Zoom chat. “Those are sincere ways to communicate whether you’re speaking or not.”

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How having zero points in tennis — or ‘love’ — came to sound so sweet

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How having zero points in tennis — or ‘love’ — came to sound so sweet

The scoreboard shows the results of the women’s singles final match between Iga Swiatek of Poland and Amanda Anisimova of the U.S. at the Wimbledon Tennis Championships in London, Saturday, July 12, 2025.

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Fifteen points in tennis? Nice. Thirty, 40 — even better. Advantage — that sounds good. “Love” — that also must be great, right? Well, not quite.

As the French Open rolls on and Serena Williams has announced her return to the sport, maybe you’ve been paying a little more attention to tennis. The sport’s scoring system is notably distinct, and can sometimes be hard to grasp for newcomers. But even tennis aficionados might not know why, or how, “love” became the unmistakable callout for zero points. For this installment of NPR’s Word of the Week, we’re exploring how a word that signifies trailing behind got such a sweet name.

“Love” comes from the heart — or an egg?

It’s hard to pinpoint when the first tennis ball went over the net. Tennis is a derivative of lots of other sports, such as “jeu de paume,” a handball game played in France, said JT Buzanga, the collections manager at the International Tennis Hall of Fame museum.

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But tennis became a patented, official sport in 1874, said Steve Flink, a journalist whose tennis coverage got him inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. It has retained its unique, mysterious scoring system ever since.

“By and large, the original system has held up almost entirely,” Flink said.

The use of “love” goes back to the late 18th century, said Jesse Sheidlower, a lexicographer. But it was used earlier than that in card games such as whist and bridge. Before the term made its way to tennis, the sport favored plain old “nothing,” or “nil,” he said.

Why love in the first place, though? Historians don’t really know for sure, but there are a few theories.

The French could have something to do with it. Some historians believe “love” derives from “l’oeuf,” which means “the egg” in French. Because eggs are shaped like zeros, terms such as “goose egg” and “duck’s egg” have been used in other contexts to mean zero, Sheidlower said.

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It’s also possible English speakers mispronounced l’oeuf as “love.” But Sheidlower isn’t convinced that’s the answer.

“It’s the French equivalent of an English expression. But since that expression doesn’t appear in French, the French word wouldn’t have been used,” he said.

To be sure, France has had a lot of influence on tennis culture, Buzanga said. For example, “deuce” or a game tied at 40 points, comes from the French word for “two”: “deux.” But he prefers another prominent theory: that “love” comes from the idiom “for the love of the game.” Even if a player hasn’t scored, it doesn’t matter, because their heart is in it. It’s the theory Sheidlower said is the most plausible, because the idiom was used by the English before tennis was popularized.

Another variation of the “love of the game” theory is that the word could have come from the Dutch “lof,” or “honor” — or the Latin “amare,” meaning “to love,” Flink said.

But if tennis’ “love” doesn’t come from a French word, the theory at least has a French sensibility.

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“I think the ‘for the love of the game’ is kind of romantic,” Buzanga said.

“Love” probably isn’t going anywhere

Tennis used to be a sport of leisure. The style of play has changed a lot over the years; players are more athletic and competitive, for instance, Flink said. But the rules of the sport are more steadfast, he said.

“There’s this incredible, enduring respect for tradition in tennis,” he said. “Changes are not made easily.”

There has been one major change in modern history: the tie-break. Matches can go on and on because players have to score two consecutive points to break a deuce, or by two games to break a tied set. But the onset of television meant matches would have to get shorter if the sport wanted to capture a larger audience, Flink said.

Change even came for “love.” An alternative sprouted up in the 1970s, and is still used today: “bagel,” named for its zero shape, Sheidlower said. Novices may say “zero,” and insiders will understand what they mean, but they “will needle them about it,” Flink said.

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But “love” still prevails.

“People kind of like it,” Flink said. “It’s different. Why say zero when you can say love?”

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With Highway 1 open, Big Sur braces for its busiest summer in years

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With Highway 1 open, Big Sur braces for its busiest summer in years

On a 75-mile cliff-hugging stretch of highway in California, traffic is way up, despite soaring gas prices. And locals expect the busiest summer in years.

The road is Highway 1 in Big Sur, which reopened in January after three years of repair and reconstruction following a pair of landslides. Drivers can once again embark on the state’s most famous road trip, covering the 100 miles between Cambria to the south and Carmel to the north without leaving the two-lane coastal highway. And they’re heading out in big numbers.

Caltrans estimates that as of May, Big Sur restaurant and retailer guest counts are up 40% from last year, and that northbound traffic at Ragged Point, the southern gateway to Big Sur, has risen 900% year-over-year.

People pose for photos near Bixby Bridge. Monterey County’s Board of Supervisors voted to explore a 12-month ban on parking around the bridge.

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Safety cones prevent parking along Coast Road near the Bixby Bridge.

Safety cones prevent parking along Coast Road near the Bixby Bridge.

“Take your time,” said Kirk Gafill, co-owner of the popular Nepenthe restaurant and president of the Big Sur Chamber of Commerce, offering advice to travelers. “You’re going to be sharing the road with a number of people.”

As travelers rediscover the road, the cost of driving has been shooting skyward. California’s average gas price ($6.11 per gallon as of May 26) is up 26% from the year before. In early April, rates hit $9.99 at the isolated gas station in the Big Sur community of Gorda.

For spring and summer travelers, these numbers would seem to pose a stark question: Stay home and save money, or head for the coast because the road is finally open and it’s still cheaper than flying?

So far, the latter answer is winning big.

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Fog lingers off the coast of Highway 1.

Fog lingers off the coast of Highway 1.

“We are definitely seeing a huge uptick in our reservations,” said Megan Handy, assistant general manager at the upscale Treebones resort. She estimated that bookings are 30% or more ahead of last year, and rates are unchanged since then. But “it’s still not feeling super crowded, which is nice. Everything still feels kind of calm.”

But added traffic has raised some anxiety. On May 19, Monterey County’s Board of Supervisors voted to explore a 12-month ban on parking at Bixby Bridge, one of the region’s top photo spots.

Over the years, the number of cars parking near the bridge — often illegally, sometimes impeding emergency vehicles — has risen. The proposed parking moratorium won’t take effect until the supervisors discuss it further.

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Busy as things are, several business owners pointed out that many international travelers have not yet returned — perhaps because most make their plans more than six months ahead, perhaps because of global politics, perhaps a little of each.

The biggest challenge for businesses during this resurgence? “Restaffing and retaining,” said Handy at Treetops.

At Nepenthe, Gafill said his business has seen a 45% boost in guest volume since the road’s reopening. Gafill said he would have expected a 35% pickup, “simply by virtue of reopening the highway.” The additional 10%, he said, might be “all that pent-up demand,” aided by “a very beautiful and very dry winter,” followed by a mild spring.

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A lunch crowd dines at popular restaurant Nepenthe.

A lunch crowd dines at popular restaurant Nepenthe.

Another possible factor: Nobody can be sure how long the road will remain open.

To cope with the influx of people, Gafill said, “everybody is trying to recruit and retain their existing staff.”

At the Ragged Point Inn, where rates dropped as low as $149 nightly last fall, rates are back over $200 and staffers are suggesting that customers book at least six months ahead. The inn has reopened its snack bar for the first time since early 2023, and management is investing in capital upgrades and staging live music on weekends throughout the summer.

Business “is up over 100%,” said Diane Ramey, whose family owns the inn. “I know not all of our neighbors are having the same lift, but everybody is doing better.”

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Traffic approaching Bixby Bridge.

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A visitor poses in an oversized chair at Big Sur River Inn.

A visitor poses in an oversized chair at Big Sur River Inn.

Even at the New Camaldoli Hermitage, a Benedictine monastery above Lucia, the road’s reopening and coming summer season have made a difference. Bookings are up an estimated 30% at the hermitage, which rent rooms and cottages (for two nights or more) to visitors who agree to its requirement of silence.

Big Sur business owners advise visitors to travel on weekdays for less traffic and the best hotel rates, and to get on the road as early as possible.

Since its opening in 1937, the highway has been vulnerable to landslides and shifting ground, operating on a longstanding cycle of landslide, closure, repair, reopening and then another landslide, or sometimes a fire. The U.S. Geological Survey has identified the Big Sur coastline as one of the most landslide-prone areas in the western United States. The 2023-2026 closure was the longest in the highway’s history.

Over time, road crews have used increasingly sophisticated strategies. In the most recent efforts, Caltrans said, it used drones to help survey the slopes and remotely operated bulldozers and excavators to reduce risks to workers.

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During the closure, no traffic was allowed on 6.8-mile span from just north of Lucia until about a mile south of the Esalen Institute. Drivers detoured inland by way of U.S. 101.

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Firings at CBS’ ’60 Minutes’ reflect the fight for media control in the age of Trump

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Firings at CBS’ ’60 Minutes’ reflect the fight for media control in the age of Trump

Correspondents of CBS’ 60 Minutes pose for a portrait in 2023. From left to right, they are Sharyn Alfonsi, L. Jon Wertheim, Bill Whitaker, Lesley Stahl, Scott Pelley, Cecilia Vega, and Anderson Cooper. Former Executive Producer Bill Owens sits on the far right. Only Wertheim, Whitaker and Stahl remain at the program.

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When CBS fired Scott Pelley on Tuesday night, the new 60 Minutes executive producer, Nick Bilton, told Pelley it was for insubordination at a staff meeting the day before.

The veteran correspondent argues he was defending the DNA of 60 Minutes and the integrity of its journalism.

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The battle royale over the network’s most prestigious and profitable news program is part of a broader fight over the direction of CBS News.

And given CBS’s acquisition by a billionaire family whose business interests have become intertwined with the political interests of President Trump, it reflects a larger war over control of the media in the current moment.

That father and son, Larry and David Ellison, bought CBS’ parent company, Paramount, last summer. In January, they became co-owners of TikTok’s U.S. operations. Now they’re seeking approval from Trump’s regulators to buy Warner Bros. Discovery, the parent company of CNN.

A glamorous show shorn, for now, of most its stars

CBS fired Cecilia Vega, a correspondent, and Tanya Simon, the executive producer, from 60 Minutes last week. They are shown in this photo at the 2026 White House Correspondents' Association Dinner on April 25, 2026 in Washington, D.C.

CBS fired Cecilia Vega, a correspondent, and Tanya Simon, the executive producer, from 60 Minutes last week. They are shown in this photo at the 2026 White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner on April 25, 2026 in Washington, D.C.

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But the specifics of this individual episode matter — for 60 Minutes, CBS, its audience of millions, and even the news business itself.

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The program has been the most glamorous post in broadcast news. The correspondents are the stars of the show. And now, there are just three of them.

Anderson Cooper left last month, concerned over the direction of the network’s coverage. Last week was a virtual bloodbath: correspondents Cecilia Vega and Sharyn Alfonsi were fired. So were a producer and two show executives — including Tanya Simon, a longtime staffer who had stepped up as executive producer when her predecessor resigned in protest before the Ellisons’ takeover.

With Pelley’s ouster, only correspondents Lesley Stahl, Bill Whitaker, and Jon Wertheim remain. Now they are considering whether to resign, according to two associates with knowledge.

Their brand-new boss, Bilton, was previously a tech reporter for The New York Times and an investigative reporter for Vanity Fair. He executive-produced a documentary for Netflix about a couple accused of laundering Bitcoin and has been a producer on several other films.

Notably, he has no experience in television news.

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Neither does Bari Weiss, whom David Ellison installed as the network’s editor in chief last October. The Ellisons also bought her center-right views-and-news site, The Free Press.

She has maintained that the network of Walter Cronkite needs a makeover for the digital moment. She has also contended for years that CBS, along with the rest of mainstream media, is too reflexively anti-Trump, anti-Israel, and too woke.

A rejection of CBS News executives’ overtures

The new executive producer of 60 Minutes, Nick Bilton, has been a tech journalist and documentary filmmaker, but lacks experience in broadcast news.

The new executive producer of 60 Minutes, Nick Bilton, has been a tech journalist and documentary filmmaker, but lacks experience in broadcast news.

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Bilton attempted to set a conciliatory tone at Monday’s meeting — his first with the show. Pelley, a formidable veteran correspondent and former CBS Evening News anchor, wasn’t having it.

Pelley called Bilton unwelcome and unqualified. And Pelley said that Weiss was attempting to “murder” the program.

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In firing Pelley on Tuesday, Bilton said the journalist had hijacked the meeting and rejected overtures to work constructively through their differences. (NPR obtained a copy of the firing notice.) Bilton wrote that Pelley’s “antipathy to the future of the show came through loud and clear.”

In his own statement late Tuesday evening, shared with NPR, Pelley accused CBS’s new news leadership of killing 60 Minutes‘ DNA and pushing him “to inject falsehoods and bias into a politically sensitive story” and “to include assertions that are unverified.”

The accusations, to which CBS has not yet responded, echo those made by Alfonsi and Vega, the two correspondents fired last week.

Earlier this year, Alfonsi publicly complained after Weiss held one of her stories at the last minute, and kept it frozen for weeks, demanding an on-camera interview with a Trump White House official that never played out. It ran, unchanged from the intended version, with additional statements from the administration tacked on to the end.

After being fired, Vega said in a statement obtained by NPR that her team had “experienced efforts to insert political bias into our stories.”

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“Let’s call this what it is: censorship, both censorship and self-driven” Vega continued. “It is dangerous for the show and dangerous for democracy.”

Weiss previously rejected Alfonsi’s and Vega’s allegations. (CBS said Vega’s claims, for example, were “not based in reality” while expressing appreciation for her work.)

Weiss and Bilton say digital threat requires a 60 Minutes overhaul now

In a meeting this morning, Weiss said that Pelley chose his own path — that is, to be fired rather than to find a way to work through his concerns, according to attendees. The network and Weiss have not yet publicly addressed Pelley’s accusations of interference. 

Bilton and Weiss say they respect the show’s traditions, its accomplishments and its legacy of enterprise reporting, extended interviews and visual storytelling. It rose in the ratings 9% over the past season under Simon.

The two news leaders say, however, 60 Minutes needs to be overhauled before it becomes increasingly irrelevant in the era of streamers and other sources of news, information and entertainment in the digital age.

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Interviews with 12 current and former CBS News staffers, from producers to executives, suggest great reservations and suspicions remain about Weiss’ judgment and her ability to handle the prominent and even famous journalists on whom her division relies.

Weiss had initially sought to reinvent the CBS Evening News, dropping a two-anchor format that had sagged in the ratings. Cooper turned down Weiss’ overtures to anchor it and left the network altogether, concerned about her approach, according to associates. (They spoke on condition of anonymity because Cooper has not chosen to speak publicly on the matter.)

David Ellison became chairman and CEO of CBS' parent company, Paramount, after buying it last year.

David Ellison became chairman and CEO of CBS’ parent company, Paramount, after buying it last year.

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The ratings have continued to sag under new anchor Tony Dokoupil. And some CBS journalists, including producers who have left the Evening News, have publicly accused Weiss of making editorial decisions driven by politics. She has rejected those claims.

The decision to take on overhauling two key shows — one listing, one highly profitable, both high profile — carries significant risks for Weiss and the network, even apart from other considerations.

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But the Ellisons’ presence cannot be ignored.

When Shari Redstone was negotiating the sale of CBS’s parent company, Paramount, to the Ellisons’ Skydance Media last year, the network announced the end of Stephen Colbert’s late night show. He had been one of the president’s most biting and acerbic critics.

David Ellison also made a series of concessions directly to Trump’s chief broadcast regulator, Federal Communications Commission Chair Brendan Carr, gutting CBS’s diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives and appointing a conservative ombudsman to field complaints of bias against its news reporting.

Carr and other regulators approved the Paramount deal last summer.

The accommodations echo those made by other media titans.

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Amazon and Blue Origin founder Jeff Bezos remade the editorial pages of the Washington Post, which he owns, into a far more hospitable zone for Trump at the outset of his second term. So did Los Angeles Times owner Dr. Patrick Soon-Shiong, a noted medical device inventor. Amazon and Blue Origin have multi-billion dollar contracts with the federal government. Soon-Shiong’s medical research firm routinely has patent applications up for review with federal regulators. One was approved Tuesday.

The Ellisons are hoping to win approval from federal regulators next month for their purchase of Warner Bros. Discovery in a deal valued at more than $110 billion. It would include Warner Bros. Studio, HBO and CNN, among other properties.

As Weiss routs CBS News’ old guard, the question of what role she might play at CNN — and what changes that portends at CBS — hangs over journalists at the two networks. The fate of 60 Minutes serves as a high-stakes case study for both.

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