A guy recently called me for an interview. It’s been a long time; most don’t know I’m still trying to recuperate from several strokes I had in 2019.

A little checking up on him revealed he wanted to repeat all of the lies that have ever been told about me for almost 26 years.

Like I was the last man to leave the late great L.A. Herald Examiner. WRONG! I left some two years before Hearst folded it. It was a terrific paper while it lasted. I spent almost 10 years there. But I was gainfully employed at another L.A.-area paper when it died. And it still broke my heart. It was great working for the legendary editor Jim Bellows, the man who discovered talent like Jimmy Breslin, Dick Schaap and Tom Wolfe at the old New York Tribune, and more in Los Angeles like Ben Stein, Tom Plate, James Bacon – and the young Joseph Farah.

Like I was also the last editor to leave the Sacramento Union. WRONG! I think I left there at least several years after it stopped operating as the oldest paper west of the Mississippi. I transformed the Union, getting Rush Limbaugh to write a front-page DAILY column for his adopted hometown. And then I wrote “See, I Told You” with Rush, which became the largest bestseller in 1983-84.

Like I was one of the worst founding editors of WND, a scandal sheet, that everybody there hated me, according to the Washington Post and the L.A. Times. I was a virtual criminal. WRONG! For going on 26 years, it has been an honor to have created the first independent news site on the internet with many of the same editors and reporters who helped me at the beginning. They stuck around because WND is a worthy endeavor. Among them the managing editor David Kupelian, executive news editor Joe Kovacs, commentary editor Ron Strom, and news editors Art Moore, Bob Unruh and Patrice Lewis. There is also my wife of nearly 28 years, Elizabeth Farah, who started the news site with me – as chief operating officer. There’s also Amanda Prevette, who is still us, and has a job for life if she’ll take it – the best all-around administrator we’ve had – and Janet Falkenstein, the best customer service person around. How many years has it been, Janet? We’ve got a new guy, too. Rich Douglas, the financial whiz, for the last three or four years. (I’m not sure because I had a stroke or five. Did I tell you?)

But you get the drift.

“I don’t get no respect,” the late Rodney Dangerfield made a living stating.

I feel like Rodney Dangerfield.

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I don’t get no respect – from journalists!

I’ve gotten many awards. I’ve had a great career. But journalism has become so political – and not in a good way!

Every so-called “journalist,” besides the aforementioned ones, are out to get me. I was even willing to answer any questions he had for me if we could do the interview in writing. I’m glad I did. Because he proved he was out to get me by his written statements – and assumptions.

I’ve given interviews to the New York Times, the Washington Post, CNN, MSNBC, the Wall Street Journal, Fox News, the L.A. Times, C-SPAN – you name them and I talked to them – on the record. But not anymore. I don’t get no respect!

For close to 50 years I interviewed people, and I’ve been interviewed – by everyone! I was always candid. I told the truth. I told them the facts. I told them what I believed – honestly!

But not any longer. I don’t get no respect! And I know it.


They’re giving me the silent treatment. And that’s what they do to you.

They have destroyed the First Amendment in its entirety – and I for one am not going to have anything to do with them ever again. They have squandered it. They have instituted new rules, a new ethos, that doesn’t have anything to do with the beautiful dreams of the founders. They hate the America we cherish. They think that free speech and freedom of religion are legacies of haters.

They believe in Cancel Culture – canceling PEOPLE and IDEAS. Why do they do it? They think they have better ideas and know more gifted people. But they do not.

Worse than that, they do not know the One who created us all.

And that’s why I don’t get no respect from them, nor do I want it.

That’s not my strokes talking. That’s my heart.

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