Rodney Pinder

David Fox

In the discussion in your illustrious pages of the David Fox affair, it was stated [ John Atkinson] that a bureau chief in Asia was fired in 1996-7 for a screentop exchange with the desk in Hong Kong. I can assure readers that no one was fired over a screentop exchange with the desk or anyone else during my time as News Editor Asia from 1994 through 1998.

Rodney Pinder
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Michael Posner

Mike Posner aka Poz played a key role in our efforts to establish Reuters as a major American domestic news organisation. When I arrived in DC in 1984 people often confused “Rooters” with the drain-clearing company with the Rota on the top. When I left a few years later, everybody – even airport immigration officials – knew all about Reuters, and we were firmly established in Congress, at State Department and the White House, thanks to the drive, the talent, the contacts, the writing and the news-breaking abilities of Poz and many other American staff in the bureau. Poz was not just a supreme professional, he was a good friend, highly supportive to a foreigner, last based in Africa, who had stumbled into the Washington bear pit. And he was FUN. He enlivened not only the bureau with his irrepressible and irreverent sense of humour but also many a long day and night covering marathon Republican and Democratic conventions. I can still hear his roaring laugh as we searched Bourbon Street of an evening for spiritual renewal after a stifling day at the Republican convention in New Orleans. A great pro, a huge talent, a loyal friend. As we often said then, whoever made Mike threw away the mould.

Rodney Pinder
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Lunch at Reuters

How the hungry hacks of old would squirm at the poncified eateries now inhabiting 85FS and environs. When I was a lad at The AP in Farringdon Road, home of the Frostie God of Tea or Bread, there was a cordon bleu chef for the Bureau Chief's dining room and a butler to escort visitors to the building. Unfortunately that was sacrificed during a spasm of rationalisation (when a carpenter was called in to saw the British desk in half in mid-shift) and some drunken riff-raff moved in one night to finish off the booze from the cocktail cabinet. But that didn't worry us lowly deskers. We could dine handsomely in the Punch on a huge plate of eggs, bacon and sausages, specially prepared by Joan or even the landlady herself, for an astonishing 2/6d. Or, even better, sup on the steaming Shepherd's Pie, providing, of course, the aforesaid God of Tea or Bread didn't have his face or false teeth in it. Timing was all. Then there was the best breakfast bargain in London, to be had in the top floor Reuters canteen after a night spent in one of the comfy, cosy bedrooms reserved for late-night shifters, next to the lift. Panoramic views to rival those of the Savoy, with grub to match – ah, the crisp white toast in neat triangles and well larded fried eggs – for pennies. But above all, for those with the serious munchies, there was Mick's caff, where debonair M hisself would carefully brush the ash coughed from his fag off the ham before slapping on the top slice of Mother's Pride. Considerably less than 2/6d. Those really were the days, old chums. Terence Conran? – F that! as Gordon would say.

Rodney Pinder


Accuracy and speed

I don't know if Reuters has quite sacrificed accuracy for speed, but Sean Maguire's blog is unsettling. Methinks he protests too much.

Of course there was no golden age when all copy was accurate and no corners were cut for speed. We all wanted to be first. But it had been drummed into our heads that we had to be right. Editors insisted we had to check and double-check before running with the story, and we had to ensure our words meant what they said. Accuracy was Number One – that's what made Reuters different, better than the rest. That's why broadcasters would run with Reuters alone and would await a second agency for confirmation before going with Brand B.

There was undoubtedly a subtle (or maybe not so subtle) change of emphasis some years back when it was decided we had to carry market-moving news whether we could confirm it or not. Remember the debate about starting a rumour wire? We took a hard-nosed decision that once it was "out there" we too had to be "in there" and as long as we attributed it to someone else we were fine. We could always fix it later. The pick-up rules were loosened.

Sean now says: "To provide a complete service ... our policy is to pick up stories of significance that are being carried by normally reliable (?) media that are in a position to know what they are reporting. We protect our reputation by carefully acknowledging the source of the information and speedily checking its veracity."

So – get it out fast and check later. Does that really "protect our reputation"? First with the second-hand, unverified news?

So dangerous in the Internet age when many readers question the worth of "old-fashioned", slow, fact-checked journalism.

Sean may be absolutely right when he says that amid the Internet babble and argument readers look to Reuters to tell them "what is known and how it is known, with clarity and speed, regardless of whether we originated the story or not."

But amid the racket of rumour and conjecture they surely also look to Reuters for the verified facts. The only thing that will ensure the survival of Reuters news in the Internet age is that it remains the source that is trusted to be right. And trust is an awfully easy thing to lose. 

Rodney Pinder


Reuters rocks

Hate to (not really!) disabuse the blogger who thinks "Reuters rocks" with free access to its news and that The Associated Press has put a nail in it's (sic) coffin by seeking to restrict access: as reported by The Baron, Thomson Reuters is a founder-member, alongside The AP, of the online copyright protection group Fair Syndication Consortium.

It's high time the "free news" surfers realised news-gathering costs money and has to be paid for somehow, which is what the industry is struggling with. Some people don't know their its from their it's, or their reporting from their leeching.

Rodney Pinder


David Nicholson

Dave Nicholson was the gentle giant of the World Desk. He was a delight to work with and a great source of knowledge about so many things – all invaluable attributes of the ideal Chief Sub.

I was scanning the Baronial website the other day and came across an old article about Mrs Moon's and
George Short (or maybe that's in reverse order). Dave immediately came to mind.

Came 8pm on the World Desk night shift and the desk "heavies" took their "meal" break in Mrs Moon's (which was hardly known for its food).

There, ranged down from the top end of the bar next to the stairs – steps many outsiders failed to complete on receipt of Mrs Moon's traditional cry of "You're barred!" – regularly stood
Jack Hartzman, Ron Thomson, Cy Fox, Dave Betts, Ron Sly, "Big Dave" Mathew and other kings of the night including, of course, Dave Nicholson.
 
Where Jack always had his Scotch, Dave had his pints – quite often two at a time. His imposing frame had an imposing capacity for the ale. The pints flowed smoothly down, with nary a swallow, to no apparent effect other than to add fuel to the warmth of Dave's signature laugh. So much enjoyment was obtained, and so much knowledge and experiences shared, on those night desk breaks that – just occasionally – they may have extended beyond their allotted hour...

Cheers, Dave!

Rodney Pinder


Arthur Spiegelman

Art was unique. A great journalist, terrific writer and above all a lovely guy, who knew that one of the best things about our business was that it was fun. He was always the sparkling center of any news team we got together, whether the conventions or the Gulf War. Amid all the pressure and hassle, Art saw the funny side, which made him such a great guy to be with. And his writing inspired all of us. He will be sorely missed. They just don’t make them like that any more. Go well, Art.

Rodney Pinder
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