Wednesday, Jul 9, 2008
For most of the 1970s and 1980s, Weiner focused on curing people's illnesses, not society's ills. "For 10 or 15 years, I was the revered herbal doctor," he recollected at the Radio & Records convention. "I was Mr. Nice Guy Nutritionist. Nobody knew my politics. I was talking about healing and I'd go to health food conventions and I'd give speeches about vitamins and herbs. Nobody ever saw this as controversial ... They liked me!"
But beneath the surface, Weiner was becoming more and more conservative. Stephen Schwartz, who went from being a self-described Trotskyite to neoconservative and is now senior policy analyst at the Foundation for the Defense of Democracies, says that Weiner was a "typical left liberal" in the 1970s. Neeli Cherkovski, who is gay, notes that Weiner was not homophobic when they first met. However, he says Weiner's shift rightward coincided with his increasing aversion to gay activism. Robert Cathcart, who's been close to Weiner since the mid-1980s, says he's always known his friend as an outspoken conservative, at least in private.
Since Weiner's conservative leanings took a hard right turn, he's complained that he was held back because of his race, gender and political beliefs. He currently gripes that no institute of higher education would hire him, despite his qualifications. "I discovered I could not gain a professorship even after applying many times," he writes in "The Savage Nation." "My crime? I was a white male." The résumé he has presented over the years tells another story. On air, he's mentioned that he was once affiliated with Harvard. On the back of his books, he has boasted of being a faculty member at U.C. Santa Cruz, a visiting scholar at the Hebrew University School of Pharmacy and a senior research fellow at the University of Heath Sciences at Chicago Medical School. He's also claimed to have done "important research" for the National Cancer Institute at the National Institutes of Health. Not bad for someone who's been blacklisted from the ivory tower.
The last straw apparently came in 1994, when publishers rejected Weiner's latest manuscript, "Immigrants and Epidemics," which contended that infectious diseases such as T.B. were being brought into the U.S. by Southeast Asian immigrants. Fed up, Weiner rented a recording studio in Sausalito and produced a mock talk show with his wife and a couple of buddies playing callers. Michael Savage was born.
In his new job, Savage employed all the self-promotional tricks he had picked up while going from Charles Darwin wannabe to world-famous herbal expert. In early 1996, he applied to become dean of the U.C. Berkeley Graduate School of Journalism. Unable to appreciate the journalistic qualities of Savage's radio program or his 18 books, his alma mater denied him an interview, instead hiring China scholar and journalist Orville Schell. Savage sued Berkeley with the help of a conservative legal fund started by David Horowitz (who wrote approvingly of the case in Salon), accusing it of discriminating against a conservative in favor of a man he has called a "front for the communist Chinese mafia." The case never went to trial. During the run-up to the 2000 election, Savage laid claim to the phrase "compassionate conservative," and said he planned to sue George W. Bush for intellectual property theft. Like many of Savage's threats of imminent litigation, this one soon faded away. But sure enough, he had self-published a book called "The Compassionate Conservative Speaks" in 1995 and, ever the savvy businessman, had trademarked the term in 1998.
Even Savage's two kids were swept up in his relentless drive for publicity. His Web site advertised Rockstar, a liver-cleansing beverage marketed by his son that enables its drinkers to "party like a rock star." Last spring, Savage told his listeners about a third-grade teacher in San Diego, Calif., who had saved a child from choking, and demanded that the state school superintendent give her an official commendation. "If she was a minority teacher and picked up a paper clip on the floor, then a commendation would be in order," he sniped. He neglected to mention that the "hero teacher," Rebecca Lin Yops, was in fact his daughter, who had changed her last name after her recent marriage.
Armed with his natural loquaciousness and a kill button, Savage's love affair with the sound of his own voice deepened. Obsequious fans obliged him by calling him "Doctor Savage," prompting him to expound his theories on how gays and immigrants spread disease and were corrupting the nation. "It's the greatest revenge there is, having a talk show," he crowed in "The Compassionate Conservative Speaks." And as his rhetoric became ever more grandiose and outrageous, his ratings -- and political clout -- grew. "The Savage Nation" became the Bay Area's No. 1 drive-time radio program. Savage lunched with Democratic San Francisco Mayor Willie Brown and started landing big-name conservative guests such as Benjamin Netanyahu and Vice President Dick Cheney, who, apparently unaware of the show's usual host-centered format, commended Savage for "providing a forum where we can have a good discussion."
Looking for a way to leverage his newfound influence, Savage founded the Paul Revere Society, a political club whose goals have included the imprisonment of antiwar activists for sedition, loyalty oaths for immigrants and the eventual establishment of "a haven for compassionate conservatives" called "Revere-Town." A fee of $40 gets new members a Savage Nation baseball cap and an anti-affirmative action pamphlet called "The Death of the White Male." There's also the promise that one day they might get to meet the founder and executive director in person. But given Savage's reclusiveness, they may have to wait a while. The group's last major event took place in November 2000, when it held its fifth annual "Compassionate Conservative Convention" in San Rafael, not far from Savage's home. Since then, Savage made himself available to fans only at dinner parties, and only after they forked over more than a hundred bucks. Meanwhile, according to papers filed with the IRS, this nonprofit "educational organization" took in over $150,000 in donations in 2001 and expects to take in $250,000 this year.
The success of "The Savage Nation" and its spinoffs is the culmination of a lifelong quest for attention, fame and money. And that raises the question of whether Michael Savage is just a persona created to milk conservatives and taunt liberals. Robert Cathcart thinks his old friend intentionally exaggerates his politics and personality to get a rise out of his audience. "It's showmanship," he says. "He makes enemies of everybody. He doesn't believe half the stuff he says. On air, he's the ultimate type-A personality, but he quiets down at home." Former "Savage Nation" producer James Hilliard concurs. "I think Michael does have an excellent sense of putting on a show," he says. "I think he learned or was told at an early point that this is an entertainment medium, and he thought of himself as an entertainer."
However, as Savage rips into another hapless caller or gets exercised about the latest liberal atrocity, it often feels like he's crossed the line between public shtick and personal catharsis. On the air, he lets everything hang out, truly living up to the warning of "psychological nudity" advertised at the beginning of every show. This is what makes "The Savage Nation" so simultaneously maddening and fascinating -- as Savage heads over the brink one more time, you have to wonder whether someday he'll go over for good. Cathcart and Hilliard are right when they say the show is not just about politics. But it's not just about entertainment, either. It is about one man grappling with his ambitions and fears while America listens. For Michael Weiner, talk radio is the ultimate talking cure.
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