There’s a blue canvas bag that’s been sitting in a closet in my house for many years. It’s filled to the brim with press credentials and other memorabilia I’ve kept from the political events I started covering when I came to Atlanta to work at Channel 2 News more than 40 years ago.
And because I’ve never been one of those people who’s had the discipline to keep a daily journal of my activities, I dumped the contents of that bag out on our dining room table to help me reflect on a long career covering national and state politics.
The earliest badge I found was a laminated floor pass to the 1984 Democratic National Convention at the Moscone Center in San Francisco, where Walter Mondale became the party’s official nominee and went on to lose 49 states, in part, because of an infamous line in his acceptance speech: “Let’s tell the truth. Mr. Reagan will raise taxes and so will I. He won’t tell you. I just did!”
Standing on the floor watching that speech with the Georgia delegation, I saw Gov. Joe Frank Harris looking like his favorite dog had just died. Mondale would get no help trying to win Georgia from Joe Frank!
Credit: AJC
Credit: AJC
The most recent addition to the bag was my floor passes for the 2024 Republican convention in Milwaukee, which set Donald Trump back on the path to a second term in the White House.
I covered many conventions in the years between those two events. But while I was in Milwaukee, something shifted in me. Walking through the hall awash in red, white and blue bunting, past delegates in colorful hats, hearing speakers promise a better tomorrow, I realized that for the first time, the hypercharged energy of a national convention that once sent adrenaline and a sense of purpose rushing through me was just tiring me out.
It was time for me to move on.
Credit: Bill Nigut
Credit: Bill Nigut
In the weeks that followed, it became clear to me it wasn’t just conventions I was ready to put behind me.
I’ve had a rich and fulfilling career as a political journalist. I’ve traveled the country covering dozens of presidential campaigns.
I’ve gone on the road with presidents and vice presidents. I’ve jumped on planes to get to the White House and Capitol Hill when important national stories were unfolding.
I’ve crisscrossed Georgia following candidates for governor, senator and other statewide offices, walked the marble floors of the state Capitol reporting on 19 legislative sessions and had the great good fortune to be present to witness a number of historic moments in Georgia and national politics.
Now, in just a few days, I’ll take my final turn hosting the Politically Georgia podcast and radio show.
As I wrote this farewell column, I was watching President Trump’s inauguration. My first thought was about the people in the audience whom I covered over the years and who, like me, are showing signs of aging. Bill and Hillary Clinton, George W. and Laura Bush, Newt Gingrich, Dan Quayle and his wife, Marilyn. And so many others.
And I was thinking about those I covered who are no longer with us. Paul Coverdell, Max Cleland, John Lewis, Zell Miller, George H.W. Bush, John McCain, Mondale, and, of course, Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter.
As a reporter, I knew that keeping a certain distance from those you cover is crucial. But I admit I grew to truly like and admire some of those I reported on, and my feelings had little to do with their party affiliation or their position on issues.
Zell Miller had a cranky streak that belied a soft heart. He cried easily. The week my father died, Miller tracked me down somehow at my brother’s house in Chicago. He called my brother’s home phone and shared with me his condolences. As he got off the call, he said, “Bill, I love you.” I was startled but deeply moved by the tenderness he showed me in that moment.
Paul Coverdell always conducted himself like a gentleman. Max Cleland achieved political heights but was invariably down to earth with people he encountered. John Lewis had a modesty that stood in contrast with his proper place as an American hero. Johnny Isakson never failed to ask me about my children – by name. During his time in the senate, Sam Nunn was the very image of a stateman. Roy Barnes is as funny as he is smart. Shirley Franklin has great political wisdom and has shared it with me often. Andy Young is a civil rights hero who amazingly became my friend. And Brian Kemp has impressed me greatly with his political savvy.
Early in his career as a backbencher in the U.S. House, Newt Gingrich handled tough questions with a spirit of goodwill. But when he climbed the mountaintop to become Speaker of the House, he became brittle and combative when asked tough questions.
Jesse Jackson is struggling with Parkinson’s disease, which makes me sad. He was a larger-than-life force and much more caring than many people realize.
One of the greatest campaign events I every covered was a rally in a Black church in Cleveland, Ohio. To cite the cliche, Jackson blew the roof off the sanctuary, preaching a stem-winding sermon on behalf of the disenfranchised.
And there were memories about the presidents:
George H.W. Bush treated everyone with kindness and respect, and, for whatever reason, he was especially kind to me.
On the night before the 1992 election, which polls showed he was almost certain to lose, his campaign reached out to me to say that he was hoping he could do one last interview with me before Election Day. The request came while he was on Air Force One headed for a final rally in Houston.
Scrambling at the last minute, we were able to arrange for me to do that interview with President Bush. He closed our conversation by saying this was his final interview as a candidate for office and “I’m so glad it was with you.”
To this day, I don’t know what led him to do that interview, but it’s one of my fondest memories.
Walking through snowy neighborhoods in Iowa and New Hampshire with Bill Clinton as he knocked on doors asking for votes, like many others, I saw the great charm and charisma that would help propel him to the White House.
I’ll never forget the evening he came to WSB-TV after I arranged with the campaign for me to host a live town meeting with Clinton in front of an audience of undecided voters. For more than an hour after our live show was over, Bill and Hillary Clinton sat in a green room with me and several station executives just chatting as if they were glad for the momentary reprieve from the rigors of the campaign trail.
I got to know George W. Bush during flights on his father’s 1988 campaign plane, so by the time he became a candidate for president, we already had an easy rapport. He had nicknames for the reporters who covered him, and mine was “ugly,” which I took as an insult — until he told me he used it because I always asked him “ugly” questions.
I carried that as a badge of honor.
For me, those were heady years. But as I approach 78 years old, I’m looking hard at a question that’s haunted me for some time: “Why do I have this compulsion that I always have to do more?” But I think I finally have the answer.
At long last, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ve done some work I can be proud of. Where I’ve failed, it’s too late to change that now.
As I prepared for my final edition of “Politically Georgia” this coming Friday, my fondest memories are certainly of the people who have watched and listened to me over the years.
It’s an extraordinary honor to hear many of you say you believe I’ve been a voice of reason and civility. That is how I’ve tried to conduct myself: treating even those with whom I disagree with respect and hoping that I’ve been able to bring clarity to the often tumultuous world of politics.
If I’ve succeeded in doing that I’ll leave with no regrets.
Bill Nigut is a host of the AJC’s Politically Georgia podcast and radio show.
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