Not quite what you think, friend.
Here's salon's explanation of the story:
Why we ran the Henry Hyde story
Two weeks ago, Salon editor David Talbot received a
phone call from a 72-year-old retiree in Aventura, Fla.,
named Norm Sommer. Sommer asserted that Henry Hyde,
the chairman of the House Judiciary Committee, had
between 1965 and 1969 carried on an extramarital affair
with a married woman named Cherie Snodgrass. At the
time of the affair Hyde was an Illinois state representative,
married and the father of four sons. Sommer was told of the
affair seven years ago by Cherie Snodgrass' ex-husband,
Fred Snodgrass. During a tennis game, Snodgrass, a friend
and tennis partner, had blurted out the story of the affair and
how it had ruined his family. Sommer said the story came
to his mind again in January when the Monica Lewinsky
scandal erupted and it was speculated that the affair might
eventually end up before Hyde's committee.
We checked out Sommer's allegations. We contacted three
other sources -- one of Snodgrass' grown daughters, an old
family friend and Fred Snodgrass himself. They all
confirmed the story, as did Snodgrass' ex-wife, through her
daughter. Snodgrass also provided us with photographs of
his ex-wife and Hyde, including the one on Salon's front
page. (On Wednesday, Hyde confirmed to Salon that he
had been involved with Cherie Snodgrass and that the
relationship ended after Hyde's wife found out about it.)
At this point, we were faced with the most difficult editorial
decision we have confronted in our three-year history.
Should we run the story or not? After hours of often-heated
discussion, we decided to publish it. We feel that we owe
you, our readers, an explanation of why we took this
extraordinary step.
First, however, some facts. Salon is an independent
publication. We have no relationship of any kind with any
political party, and no editorial party line. Although we
have been an outspoken critic of Kenneth Starr's
investigation, we are not a "pro-Clinton" publication. We
have attacked Clinton from the left, right and center. Indeed,
one of our editors has called in these pages for his
resignation.
Experience, however, has taught us that the favorite ploy of
those who want to discredit our reporting is to accuse us of
being a "pawn of the White House." Recent stories in
which our Washington correspondent, Jonathan Broder,
quoted White House sources threatening to employ a
so-called sexual "scorched earth" policy have only
increased the misconception that there is some sinister, or,
to use the term of art, "inappropriate" relationship between
the White House and Salon. Therefore, it is important for us
to state: The White House had nothing whatsoever to do
with any aspect of this story. We did not receive it from
anyone in the White House or in Clinton's political or legal
camps, nor did we communicate with them about it.
Norm Sommer, the man who did lead us to the story,
categorically denied to us that he had any connection to the
Clinton administration. "Not only am I not connected to
them, I couldn't get anyone there interested," he said,
adding that he also called the Democratic National
Committee but that he "never heard back from anyone."
Sommer said he called the White House and the DNC to
get advice on how to get his story out: "I tried to get the
story out for seven and a half months. I've spent hundreds
of hours and called dozens of people in the media, without
success." Among the various publications he contacted in a
futile effort to air the story were the Los Angeles Times,
Boston Globe and Miami Herald. He finally turned to
Salon, he said, when he heard the Web magazine
mentioned on a TV talk show.
Sommer's motivation, he readily admits, was political. A
retired sales manager for Gillette and Jergens, he is a
lifelong Democrat who served as a Henry Wallace delegate
at the 1948 presidential convention. Sommer says he was
outraged by what he called the "bloodless coup" carried
out by the Republicans over Whitewater and the Lewinsky
scandal.
That was Sommer's motivation. What was ours?
In a different and better world, we would not have released
this story. Throughout the tragic farce of the
Clinton-Lewinsky scandal, we have strongly argued that
the private lives of all Americans, whether they are public
figures or not, should remain sacrosanct. We have not
defended President Clinton's infidelities, but we have
argued that they are of no relevance to the public -- and
should certainly never have been seized upon by a zealous
independent counsel unable to find any misdeeds beyond
sexual indiscretions to justify his four-year, $40
million-plus effort.
But Clinton's enemies have changed the rules. In the brave
new world that has been created by the Clinton-Lewinsky
scandal, the private lives of public figures are no longer
off-limits. The president is now to be judged not by how he
does his job, but by his private sexual behavior. As Rep.
Tom DeLay, one of Capitol Hill's more vigilant moral
centurions, said, "I'm scared to death of such notions that it
doesn't matter what a person does in his private life. The
character is the person ... I'm very concerned we have some
[people] in the United States that really believe that
character doesn't matter."
But in that case, what holds true for President Clinton must
hold equally true of the august figure who leads the
committee sitting in judgment upon him -- Rep. Henry
Hyde. If the public has a right to know, in excruciating
detail, about Clinton's sexual life, then surely it has an equal
right to know about the private life of the man who called
the family "the surest basis of civil order, the strongest
foundation for free enterprise, the safest home of freedom"
-- and who on Monday indicated that he believes
impeachment hearings are warranted.
Hailed as fair-minded and statesmanlike by the media and
his political supporters, Hyde has nonetheless pursued an
aggressively partisan strategy this week, pushing to
broadcast the videotape of Clinton's grand jury testimony
over strenuous Democratic objections and arguing for
expanded investigative powers for his committee.
It will be argued that Hyde's 30-year-old affair cannot be
compared to Clinton's, because Hyde's sexual intrigue was
not carried out in Washington and because he did not lie
under oath. Clinton is not being investigated because he
had an affair, those who argue this insist, but because he
lied about it. This is, we submit, either absurdly naive or
disingenuous: Lying and having an affair can't be
separated. To have an affair is by definition to lie about it --
an affair is a lie. Consequently, the notion that Clinton's
lies about the nature of his relationship with Lewinsky
could constitute an impeachable offense is blatant politics,
hiding under a legal fig leaf.
Aren't we fighting fire with fire, descending to the gutter
tactics of those we deplore? Frankly, yes. But ugly times
call for ugly tactics. When a pack of sanctimonious thugs
beats you and your country upside the head with a tire-iron,
you can withdraw to the sideline and meditate, or you can
grab it out of their hands and fight back.
Ken Starr opened up his Republican supporters to sexual
scrutiny the moment he delivered a 445-page report to
Congress that was nothing more than a sensationalistic
accounting of the president's affair designed to drive him
from the White House. Starr's investigation is the true
scandal, a political lynching party that, finding nothing of
legal import in Whitewater, quick-changed into the most
expensive and tawdry sex probe in American history,
sullying the presidency and the nation's world standing in
the process.
We hope by publishing today's article to bring this entire
sordid conflict to a head and expose its utter absurdity.
Does the fact that Henry Hyde engaged in an adulterous
affair, and tried to keep it hidden from his family and
constituents, mean he is not fit to hold public office?
Absolutely not. And the same is true of President Clinton.
It's time to put an end to the confusion of the personal and
the political, this moralistic furor that has wreaked utter
havoc with our system of governance.
SALON | Sept. 16, 1998 |
