John’s decision to cancel the Nixon cover and scrap his interview with Stone threw everyone into chaos. They scrambled to find a replacement. Michael suggested Robin Williams, but they could not find an obvious connection between the comedian and politics. At the last minute, someone proposed Robert De Niro, who was then starring in the Martin Scorsese epic Casino, which would allow them to make a connection between gambling and politics. “We had fallen from the possibility of a home-run cover to the reality of a ho-hum one,” Blow recalled.
Worse still, John’s Editor’s Letter lacked punch and had clearly been cobbled together at the last minute. He opened by quoting Bill McKay, the fictional California Senate candidate played by Robert Redford in the 1972 film The Candidate, who has just won the election in a surprising upset: “What do we do now?”
“My sentiments exactly,” John quipped. “After all the bells and whistles surrounding the launch of our first issue, the realization that we had to do all that heavy lifting again and publish yet another issue so soon came as something of a shock—at least to me.” The letter mentioned three new Hollywood movies that dealt with politics in some capacity: The American President, Casino, and Nixon. But the most embarrassing aspect of the letter was the accompanying picture showing John standing next to De Niro wearing his George Washington costume. The caption read: “Meeting with Robert De Niro at the cover shoot.” The only problem was that John did not attend the cover shoot. Matt Berman faked a photo by merging two separate images.
The original plan was for John to interview Anthony Hopkins, who played Nixon in the Stone movie, but they searched for an alternative and settled on Warren Beatty, who in addition to being an A-list actor was a partisan Democrat who had once campaigned for Robert Kennedy during his 1968 presidential campaign. The first exchange exposed some of the complexity of trying to publish a political magazine that was relevant to the current conversation while also trying to anticipate future trends. John asked what it was like for a “political partisan” to be interviewed “by a magazine that believes party affiliation alone no longer defines political identity.” Beatty responded that it was not difficult because “the Democratic Party and the Republican Party aren’t that far apart.” Neither of those statements has stood the test of time. John had convinced himself that the nation was entering a postpartisan age, and Beatty asserted there was no difference between the parties, when there was growing evidence of a massive partisan realignment where party affiliation, and the opposite directions the parties were moving in, mattered more than anything else.
This issue also hit the George sweet spot, highlighting its nonpartisan approach to politics. If anything, the issue leaned right and included articles about a conservative federal judge, former singer and now Republican congressman Sonny Bono, along with a look at Republican grassroots politics in Iowa and New Hampshire. A long profile of Jesse Jackson’s son stood as the sole representative of voices on the left. The choice of articles highlighted the challenge facing John’s vision of a postpartisan magazine. Featuring voices from across the political spectrum did not add up to a postpartisan point of view; it simply pulled together, under one cover, highly partisan figures.
Overall, John was happy with the final product but knew it could be better. Part of the issue was his continuing battle with Etheridge over the magazine’s substance and tone. In editorial meetings, John would listen to Eric pitch his ideas and say, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, good, good, good.” But once the meeting ended, he would pull aside another editor and complain, “Can you fucking believe this? This guy does not get what we are trying to do.”
Eric’s imperious style also grated on John. Etheridge rarely held full staff meetings where editors could pitch and debate ideas. John would suggest story ideas to him, but the executive editor would either drag his feet on seeing them through or dismiss them altogether. Shockingly, Etheridge even tried removing John’s cofounder title from the masthead of the first issue. John found out and had it restored. From that point, Eric’s days were numbered. Adding fuel to the fire, Etheridge, a few weeks later, sent a mailing to all 535 press secretaries on Capitol Hill announcing the magazine and affixing John’s name to the letter without getting permission. John did not like firing people, but he later told a colleague that he “enjoyed” dismissing Eric.
After firing Eric in February 1996, John promoted Biz Mitchell, but he did away with the title of editor in chief and made himself the magazine’s top editor. Promoting Biz was easy. John genuinely liked her enthusiasm and can-do attitude, and he respected her talent. He knew that she would be a good partner and had no agenda of her own. “My general position was that I wanted the magazine’s content to be truly fun when it was fun and important and serious when it was serious,” Mitchell reflected later. Making himself the top editor was more problematic, especially since he had only a few months of experience in the magazine business. It did, however, send a clear signal that he had no intention of being a figurehead. Hachette would have preferred it if John had simply handed over the reins to Biz so that he could spend more time making television appearances and meeting with advertisers, but he had no such plans.
Still, the publisher was thrilled with the success of the first two issues, and for good reason. Its first issue sold 97 percent of the 500,000 copies published. The December issue sold 78 percent of 600,000 copies. The average newsstand sale for Hachette’s twenty-six other magazines was 44 percent. Pecker assumed that the magazine would continue to sell at the same pace.
There were other hopeful signs. Because Hachette refused to conduct a subscription drive, which would have involved using its sales force to contact potential readers, George was forced to recruit subscribers by asking them to return a form inserted in the magazine. Berman and Kennedy had expected this old-school method would bring in maybe 7,500 subscriptions with the first two issues. Instead, they received 97,000. The first two issues also set an advertising record for a new magazine, with 175 total pages. Pecker was so thrilled that at the end of January 1996, he announced that George would begin publishing monthly in the spring.
John and Michael had plenty to celebrate as the year ended. They had devised an original idea for a business, developed it despite the naysayers, and launched it amid great fanfare. Along the way, John demonstrated tenacity and skill. He made strategic use of his celebrity status but kept the focus squarely on the concept and not himself. But John felt partially unsatisfied with what he and his team had produced. “The death of any magazine is that it doesn’t stimulate or provoke people,” John told the trade magazine Advertising Age in 1996. He remained unconvinced that the first issue rose to that standard. He expected the buzz but questioned its motivation: Was it because readers hoped to get a glimpse of him or because George contained a story that stimulated or provoked them?
The venture began as the product of a partnership between Kennedy and Berman, with each man contributing passionately to its early success. “I could not have asked for a better partner,” Michael recalled in 2018. That sentiment did not last long, however. Soon the two became entangled in open warfare, threatening the very survival of the magazine.
CHAPTER 9
“SHE’S ACTING CRAZY”
Mom and Dad are fighting again,” editors whispered when Michael and John erupted during one of their many spirited battles. Once the shouting began, editors quickly closed their doors and muffled their phones’ mouthpieces so that people on the other line could not hear the commotion. “Michael would quietly but intensely provoke,” recalled a senior editor. “John would resist. John would eventually not be able to take it any longer. He would then yell. Michael would gleefully engage in the fight then.” Those who witnessed the fights blame Michael for provoking John, pointing out that Kennedy was never a hothead with the staff. A senior editor also noted that John “never harassed an employee. But Michael did.” The fights were shocking even to the few veterans on the staff. “I heard and saw so
me behavior between the two of them that I had never seen in business before,” reflected Elinore Carmody.
Their fights only grew in frequency and intensity during the magazine’s first year, unnerving everyone at George, and for good reason: such behavior was highly unprofessional and inappropriate. One employee recalled that they “were both dilettantes on some level. They never had to have a real job. They did not know that you don’t go in and start screaming at the top of your lungs. Maybe that happens some places, but it never happened where I worked.”
John and Michael had spent two challenging years developing the idea for the magazine, pitching it to advertisers, getting a buyer, and building a staff. Now, after less than a year in business, they unleashed heated battle after battle on the office floor. What happened? It’s difficult to analyze the evolution of their falling-out, since of the two people who knew the details, only one is alive. But in-depth interviews with Berman, who spoke on the record for the first time, along with other George editors and staff, create a clearer picture of the major issues that came between them.
From the very first day, when Hachette provided John with a corner office offering views of the Hudson and assigned Michael to a small, windowless cubicle, Berman realized that he would never be an equal partner with a celebrity of John’s stature. His famous colleague simply sucked all the air out of the room. Numerous minor insults followed the first. For example, when The Washington Post requested a photo of John for a story about George, Kennedy insisted that Michael and David Pecker be included. The Post agreed but then blurred out the other two so that only John was visible. Berman had been handling John’s public image for a decade, so he understood that John F. Kennedy Jr. would be the face of the magazine, but it proved difficult to accept the feeling of being sidelined.
After the first two issues, Berman grew critical of the entire editorial staff and their choices about which stories to publish. Channeling feedback from advertisers and reader surveys, he charged that the magazine was “too formulaic.” Since it lacked quality control and clear editorial direction, George seemed to be reinventing itself with every issue. Berman did not believe that simply plunking a celebrity on the cover dressed as George Washington could adequately sustain the magazine. Rather, they needed to produce must-read stories that would attract people and ad dollars to the magazine. “Nonpartisan politics doesn’t mean politics light,” he insisted, and “the magazine was becoming very light.” Thinly disguising a model for the cover, whether it was Cindy Crawford, Robert De Niro, or basketball star Charles Barkley, was interesting at the outset but quickly became gimmicky. It is worth noting, however, that while Berman was always ready to criticize John and his editorial staff, no one at the magazine recalled him ever offering an alternative direction.
John nixed the few ideas that Berman did offer. In one case, Michael suggested that John interview First Daughter Chelsea Clinton, then sixteen, a move that he thought would represent the kind of unique perspective that George could bring by having one presidential child talking to another. John rejected the idea. He had not forgotten his mother’s counsel: when Hillary Clinton asked Mrs. Onassis for advice on how to raise a child in the White House, Jackie suggested never allowing Chelsea to talk to the press. At another point, Berman proposed that they create an advisory board composed of editors and writers who could make suggestions. “Absolutely not, absolutely not,” John responded. “I don’t need other people. I have enough people weighing in. I don’t need more.”
The early conflict highlighted one of the many questions facing the young magazine. Michael had come up with the original idea of a publication that blended politics and pop culture, John quickly grasped the possibilities, and together they had successfully sold the concept to Hachette. But they had still not solved the problem that plagued the magazine from the very beginning: a clear strategy to identify the intersection between culture and politics, and to strike the balance between hard-hitting, newsworthy stories and lighthearted, gossipy fare. They struggled, as any magazine would in the early stages of life, to populate George with stories and photos that drove home to readers the true purpose of the magazine. But Berman blamed John for failing to provide the staff with sufficient guidance to ensure that they stayed true to the original concept. He thought the first issue came close to fulfilling this innovative concept, but then George quickly lost its way. “Over time,” he complained, “it became very inconsistent. It became what others thought a political magazine would be.” It missed the types of stories that grabbed headlines. “The magazine lacked a clear vision,” he concluded. “And I blame him for that because that’s what he should have provided.”
Berman’s criticism angered John, who found the comments biting and the tone harsh. Those who observed their exchanges described Michael as “taunting” and “disrespectful.” For multiple reasons, the two men found it impossible to sit down and have a measured, professional discussion of their differences. Many of their arguments spilled outside their offices. Even if a quarrel began in Berman’s office, it would intensify as Michael furiously pursued John down the hallway. One editor recalled Michael walking a few feet behind Kennedy, belittling him in a voice loud enough for bystanders to hear, “Who’s going to save you now that your mother’s not here?” John would try to ignore him, but Michael persisted: “You’re nothing. You’re a loser.” Eventually John would lose control, leading to shouting, angry recriminations, and shoving.
Michael’s tone was regrettable, and most of those who worked at the magazine blamed him for instigating many of the arguments. But there was some truth to his criticism. The sales and ad buys for the first two issues were unique, driven by the media buzz surrounding John’s entry into the business and propped up by Carmody’s decision to require advertisers to buy the same number of ads at the same price for both the first and second issues. Michael knew that beginning with the third issue, they would have to renegotiate ad prices, and he was hearing grumbling from advertisers about the future direction of the magazine.
There was another problem plaguing their relationship that likely prevented them from engaging in meaningful conversations. Those who observed John daily noticed an evolution as he finally became more confident about his own instincts. He no longer needed Michael to manage his public image, nor did he feel it necessary to consult Berman about whom he planned to interview or whether he intended to do a radio interview or talk-show appearance. He also found other people to assume some of the responsibilities that Michael had adopted in the past. Berman, who for a decade had played the “bad cop,” now found his role usurped by the tough-talking and fiercely loyal RoseMarie. She had become the person who said no to requests and who took the blame for John’s mistakes. John knew that Rosie, as he called her, had no agenda other than to protect him.
While John appreciated Michael’s advice and trusted his intuition, he came to resent his partner’s efforts to micromanage him. He felt that Berman was no longer just offering advice; he was issuing demands. That aggressiveness did not sit well with John. “There was nothing John disliked more than being managed and being put into a box,” recalled RoseMarie.
Berman had reasonable concerns about the magazine’s direction, and as a cofounder, he had every right to share his ideas with John. But the more Michael complained, the more John retreated. After the fourth issue, John told Berman to stop attending editorial meetings because he felt Michael was undermining staff morale and challenging his authority as the editor in chief. “If you want to talk to me about it, we can have a meeting,” John said to him. Berman agreed, and they decided to touch base twice a month, usually every other Tuesday at twelve thirty. One meeting would be to discuss editorial, the other to review reader surveys. At their first meeting, John became defensive when Berman criticized editorial, and they ended with no progress made. For the next scheduled meeting, Berman invited John to lunch in a more informal atmosphere. “Oh, I can’t have the meeting today,�
� John said about ten minutes beforehand. “I have a doctor’s appointment.” Berman went to a restaurant across the street from the office only to find John having lunch with a staff member. “Basically, he totally shut me out of the editorial,” Michael recalled.
The tension between the two became so intense that John moved his editorial meetings to a nearby hotel, seeking refuge from the office drama and making sure that Michael did not pop in unannounced. “Matt and Biz, come over,” John would say, calling from the hotel, “so we can go over pages.”
On occasion, the two men, who had been friends for more than a decade, could find some humor in their situation. One day, after listening to them argue, an employee asked jokingly, “How did you guys ever wind up going into business together in the first place?” Berman responded drily, “Because I didn’t know Amy Carter”—the daughter of former president Jimmy Carter. John laughed hysterically, and the next morning, he pasted a mimeographed photo of Amy on the back of Berman’s office chair.
Berman found himself increasingly isolated, convinced that the starstruck staff had been blinded by John’s celebrity. “No one ever said to me, ‘You’re right,’” Michael reflected. Berman understood John’s magnetism, but he assumed mistakenly that behind the closed doors of a magazine he cofounded, the staff would treat them as equals. In his mind, he never received that treatment, even when it was unequivocally deserved. “I could have looked out the window on a sunny day and said, ‘Oh, it’s beautiful out.’ And John would have said, ‘It’s starting to rain,’ and the staff would always side with John. ‘You are right, John. It’s raining. It’s not beautiful. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’”
Berman believed that the staff was not only ignoring his advice but also undercutting his authority by trying to force a wedge between him and John. “I have never been in a work environment where employees thought it was okay to insinuate themselves between two partners. There were only two partners. There were a lot of employees—wonderful, talented people—but there were only two partners.” Berman would occasionally pull aside editors and lecture them about their responsibilities. “You have the right to object to both of us,” he would say, “but you can’t come between me and John.” But his grievances again went unaddressed.
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