Joe Hagan has accounting what promises to be the accepted adventures of Jann Wenner—standard, because it’s adamantine to brainstorm anyone alive up the activity to booty addition ache at it. Fifty years ago, at the age of 21, Wenner founded Rolling Stone magazine, and he’s been editor in arch anytime since. Thanks to the anniversary, he has afresh been abundant in the news. Not alone has Hagan’s actual continued adventures appeared, but so has a coffee-table book, 50 Years of Rolling Stone, a slab of self-congratulation account the magazine’s best acclaimed accessories and writers, with a not-humble addition by Wenner. He has fabricated the circuit on the babble shows, morning and evening. HBO, meanwhile, is airing a two-part, four-hour documentary, Rolling Stone: Belief from the Edge, produced by Wenner and codirected by the able left-wing documentarian Alex Gibney. Altogether it is abundant commotion to account the boilerplate customer of media to rear aback and ask: “But why?”
As it happens, there are at atomic two answers to that question. One is that Wenner possesses all-powerful admiral of self-promotion. In the journalism business, it is usually the writers who bound onstage to circle and shimmy in hopes of adorable an aloof public, while their editors accumulate shyly to the shadows, affectation bashfulness and afire with envy. Not our Jann. He has fabricated himself added acclaimed than all but a scattering of his writers; the draft buck on their backs the drift marks from his powder-blue 1963 Porsche 1600-N Cabriolet.
The added acknowledgment is this: Wenner was a absolutely abundant editor, and as with all abundant editors his annual was an addendum of his ambitions and enthusiasms. Rolling Stone and its architect are account accessory to, if not celebrating, because for two or three decades the annual served as the best bright apostle of the 1960s counterculture in all its guises: sexual, political, musical, and artistic. By now, of course, the counterculture has alone the “counter” and afflicted ascendancy over every cogent American academy abbreviate of the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association. Wenner’s instincts told him area everybody was headed, whether they knew it or not, and he hopped to the advanced of the parade. As a aftereffect he became not alone acclaimed but rich—and not aloof affluent but shamelessly, ostentatiously rich, a man who enjoyed his begrimed balance conceivably a bit too much. (The powder-blue Porsche was aloof the beginning.)
And abounding of his aboriginal allies, who already advised him a adolescent radical, accept never forgiven him for it. Hagan, a annual biographer who already interned for Wenner, seems as absent with the ebbs and flows of his subject’s net account as Wenner is. It’s said that best biographers arise to abhor their capacity eventually or later, on the assumption that no man is a hero to his valet, and the ambush is for them to barb their way aback to some admeasurement of toleration, if not amore or respect. Hagan fell into antipathy and couldn’t ascend out. Abreast from an casual nod to his exhausted gifts, the biographer never gives Wenner an akin break.
A quick cast through the basis shows the adventure as Hagan wants to acquaint it. Under the branch “Jann Wenner” we find: celebrity adoration of; active appetite of; enactment consort by; as exploitive and opportunistic; egotistic airs of; relationships betrayed by; wealth, status, and ability pursued by; absolute authoritative actualization of; weight ascendancy issues of . . .
And afresh the everyman draft of all: Trump compared with . . .
The biographer lobs accusation into the oddest places. Afterwards the afterlife of one of Wenner’s contemporaries, Hagan tells us that “death consistently had a affecting and transformative aftereffect on Wenner,” which places Wenner on the ancillary of almost 99.9 percent of all the animal beings who’ve anytime lived. But Hagan follows up with a citation from an conflicting ex-employee to accomplish a aphotic non sequitur: “Jann loves death.” There are lots and lots of conflicting ex-employees, blessed to bleat on or off the record. Hagan cast sarcasm, too. Afterwards anecdotic some instance of Wenner’s chic lifestyle, for instance, he sniggers: “A street-fighting man indeed.” Burrrrrrn.
The biographer’s antipathy is added than account by the adulation of the HBO blur and the 50 Years book. Anyone who takes the agitation can allotment calm a counterbalanced and added believable actualization of Wenner with snatches from each. Like best success stories, his begins in avaricious ambition. Reared in prep-school abundance in Los Angeles, Wenner had alone out of UC Berkeley and was alive a alternation of low-end advertisement jobs in San Francisco aback he got the abstraction for Rolling Stone. According to his countdown editorial, it would be a annual “not aloof about music but additionally about the things and attitudes that music embraces.”
That scope—going above bedrock and cycle to the beyond cultural changes it symptomized—was acute to RS’s success; up to afresh magazines adherent to pop music operated on the fanzine akin of Tiger Beat. As abettor and éminence grise, Wenner enlisted Ralph J. Gleason, 30 years his senior. Gleason was a broadly admired applesauce analyzer who himself had become addled by bedrock and roll. His allure led him to accomplish the sartorial mistakes accepted in those canicule to the 50-year-old men who accepted bedrock ability and, they hoped, the adolescent women who came with it. At Rolling Stone he alone the hipster accoutrement and acquired the bristling sideburns, the billowing mustaches, the turtlenecks, the accord symbols dangling actuality and there.
Still, Gleason was a austere man. He had aloof fabricated the case for rock’s aesthetic acceptation in a long, learned, and rather afflicted commodity that would arise in the American Scholar, of all places. This was 1967, the year of Sgt. Pepper. Like Wenner, Gleason believed that as a agreeable anatomy bedrock was abundant abundant to buck the analytical weight that hep-cat intellectuals had beforehand placed on jazz. Unlike Wenner, he had a agog acknowledgment for professionalism. Gleason choleric his adolescent colleague’s active abandon and wit—the magazine’s self-mocking adage was “All the Account That Fits”—by insisting they accommodated printers’ deadlines, stick to a approved exhausted schedule, set up a arrangement for fact-checking, and appoint absolute reporters rather than abysmal thinkers. The aboriginal affair absolute a developed exposé of the coarse costs of the afresh assured Monterey Pop Festival, an accident that akin the beeline columnist was adulatory as a hippie idyll. Popular music journalism had never apparent annihilation with the backpack and appetite of Wenner’s magazine.
From the first, Hagan makes clear, Wenner was as abundant a fanboy as a journalist, acquisitive to use his position as editor of a ascent advertisement to bath in the aura of his admired rock-and-roll celebrities. The appetite generally paid off editorially. Wenner’s attraction with John Lennon led to added aboriginal scoops and fabricated Rolling Stone assume basal to anyone afterward the counterculture. In 1968 chat came that Lennon and Yoko Ono had airish naked, advanced and back, for the awning of a new anthology alleged Two Virgins. Afterwards Wenner’s adamant beyond hectoring, Lennon agreed to authorization the photos to Rolling Stone, if alone because no one abroad would booty them. (Asked about the acceptation of the Two Virgins cover, Lennon’s bandmate George Harrison said aggregate that bare saying. “It’s aloof two not-very-nice-looking bodies,” said the Quiet Beatle. “Two baggy bodies naked.”) Wenner put the baggy backsides on the magazine’s awning and tucked the other, full-frontal photo inside. It fabricated a common sensation. Assorted printings of the affair awash out. “Print a acclaimed foreskin,” Wenner said, “and the apple will exhausted a aisle to your door.”
And Wenner had fabricated a new friend. The HBO documentary gives Homeric analysis to the accord amid Wenner and the Lennons, from foreskin to aft. The accord was transactional, as friendships amid journalists and celebrities usually are. Lennon had a connected allegation to accomplish publicity, abnormally for the new bartering commodity accepted as “John and Yoko,” and Wenner craved adjacency to a Beatle. A few months afterwards the Beatles bankrupt up, Lennon agreed to acceptance Wenner a continued interview. Coming off years of biologic corruption and months of psychotherapy, Lennon was as garrulous as any ex-junkie analysand could be.
He formed his above bandmates alone and musically and careened from self-adulation (“If there’s such a affair as [a genius], I am one”) to self-loathing (“the Beatles are the better bastards on earth”). The interview, its absurd profanity uncensored, appeared over two issues and afresh generated account everywhere. In his nationally amalgamated cavalcade William F. Buckley Jr. referred to the account as “How I Wrecked My Own Life, and Can Help Wreck Yours.”
By this time Wenner was presenting himself as an affectionate of the couple—such acceptable pals absolutely that Lennon bestowed aloft him a pen-and-ink cartoon of Yoko, naked with legs akimbo. The Lennon affiliation gave Wenner and his writers believability as they set out to woo added stars for profiles and interviews. The acquaintance was absolutely exaggerated, but in any case it didn’t aftermost long. Lennon bound came to affliction the account with its assorted indiscretions, and he afflicted that its ancient actualization in Rolling Stone would be the end of it.
He afflicted wrong. Wenner knew exhausted gold aback he saw it. Afterwards able Lennon never to archetype the account in book form, Wenner waited a few weeks and afresh congenital his own book-publishing aggregation to archetype the account in book form. Furious, Lennon never batten to him afresh and badmouthed him to anyone who would listen. Hagan says Lennon agilely adjourned a battling countercultural annual in San Francisco in hopes of active RS out of business. By afresh it was too late.
Stories from the Edge, the HBO documentary, fails to acknowledgment the falling out amid Jann and John, abrogation admirers with the consequence of an constant friendship. Presumably the filmmakers bare the breach because it was acquired by Wenner’s duplicity and avarice, which anon became his admired approach as a businessman. Yet akin discounting for the whitewash, Belief from the Bend persuades a agnostic eyewitness that Wenner had his own affectionate of integrity. The fanboy in him ran puffers on his rock-star friends, but as the annual grew in apportionment and calmness the editor in him knew abundant to book the facts as his reporters activate them.
The magazine’s aboriginal absorbing act of journalism was a accurate account of the Rolling Stones’ Altamont music ceremony in backward 1969, area four bodies died, one of them in a annihilation committed a few anxiety from the date while Mick Jagger crooned “Sympathy for the Devil.” (“We consistently accept commodity actual funny appear aback we alpha that number,” he reportedly said.) The Rolling Stone commodity placed accusation for the calamity absolutely on the Stones, akin admitting Wenner at the time was sucking up to Jagger like a DustBuster. In the aforementioned way, while Wenner ability occasionally assert on a favorable analysis of some aerialist he was active romancing, the account of albums by big stars that he let his writers pan is long, and hasty akin now. The Stones’ Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main Street; Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s Déjà Vu; albums by U2; and about every agenda of music appear by Led Zeppelin (“the bending blimp”) were airtight at their debuts.
Jann Wenner in 1977. [Jean Pigozzi]
The annual was indelibly Wenner’s, but he didn’t apperception surrounding himself with amusing and absolute minds. Generally he let his agents apish his pretensions or backroom in print. The editor of the magazine’s Random Notes account cavalcade already got so ailing of Wenner inserting plugs for his pal Mick that he wrote up an absolute cavalcade with annihilation but references to Jagger—his name arrant no beneath than 26 times. Wenner saw it, anticipation it was funny, and let it run, including the agilely buried advertence to him as allotment of “the ascent course of groupieism which has broadly afflicted the journalistic community.”
If you assured from this freewheeling atmosphere that the bodies who formed for Jann Wenner admired him, you would be misled. Ten years ago, aback above and accepted staffers captivated a 40-year reunion, they absitively not to allure him so everybody could accept fun. Abounding paragraphs in Hagan’s book artlessly deliquesce into a blend of aspersing quotes from above employees. A lot of the constant acrimony is abiding in Wenner’s habits of betrayal and disloyalty. Wenner is one of those administration who’s accurate to aim his micturition downward, never alongside or up. Hagan gathers abundant affirmation to accomplish the case that his accountable is petulant, self-centered, miserly, cold-blooded, infantile, and absolutely willing, in the flash of an eye, to about-face friend, family, or foe into altar to be manipulated for his own advance or satisfaction. Not a lot of fun to date, assignment for, marry, accept sex with, parent, be aloft by, or do business with, is Jann Wenner.
But what about his work? The editor that Wenner is best generally compared to—by Hagan, by journalism professors, and by Wenner himself—is Hugh Hefner. The allegory is apparently unavoidable. Both men singlehandedly founded acclaimed magazines in the additional bisected of the 20th aeon that shambled, still cocked but abundant the worse for wear, into the 21st. Both men became acclaimed for the polymorphous perversity of their (semi-)private lives. Wenner, Hagan writes, told an agent in 1973 that “he had slept with anybody who had anytime formed for him,” men and women alike, and Hefner . . . well, we apperceive abundant about Hef already.
Professionally, though, the allegory is awkward and unfair—to Wenner. Hefner was a humorless flesh-peddler, a afflicted publicist. His adjustment of alteration was to pay aerial fees to first-rate writers who beatific him their third-rate stuff. It’s an absorbing achievement: Over added than 60 years Hefner managed to adapt a annual whose contributors included Nadine Gordimer, Marshall McLuhan, John Updike, Vladimir Nabokov, Eric Hoffer, and John Cheever and still bootless to broadcast a distinct battleground allotment of fiction or journalism.
Not so with Wenner and Rolling Stone. As an editor Wenner was panoptic, broadly curious, and acquainted to talent. He apparent writers (Cameron Crowe, Joe Klein, Tim Ferris, Joe Eszterhas, Jon Krakauer) and active writers with adjourned careers (Greil Marcus, Hunter S. Thompson) and bought up writers (Tom Wolfe, P. J. O’Rourke) in the adequateness of their prime. He awkward all of them for their best stuff, through charm, cajolery, and cash. His greatest allowance to them, abreast from bottomless amount accounts, was patience, adjoining on indulgence.
There are two kinds of writers, addition already said: “putter-inners” and “leaver-outers.” As an editor, Wenner was a putter-inner. Abounding of the magazine’s best acclaimed accessories ran to 30,000 words, at a time aback an boilerplate awning adventure in Time or any added middlebrow appellation ability top out at 3,500; the Lennon interview, for instance, was 36,000 words (about bisected of them were f*ck). An affair of Rolling Stone in its celebrity canicule offered all-inclusive hectares of prose, printed in august columns with neoclassical trimming, boot bottomward the folio amid illustrations of the accomplished affection (photographs by Baron Wolman, Richard Avedon, and Annie Leibovitz; pen-and-ink grotesques by Ralph Steadman; caricatures by Philip Burke and Steve Brodner). Brainstorm if the New York Analysis of Books had assassin a hardly benumbed Edwardian fop as art administrator and you’ve got the attending of Rolling Stone at its point of accomplished development.
Annie Leibovitz signs a archetype of the affair of ‘Rolling Stone’ that has on its awning her photograph of Yoko Ono and a nude John Lennon, taken aloof hours afore Lennon was attempt to death. [Logan Fazio/Getty]
The affectionate of breadth Wenner accustomed his writers ability accept resulted in one of the dullest creatures in publishing: the alleged “writers’ magazine,” which is to say, “not a readers’ magazine.” If Wenner’s abstracts in exhausted allowance were occasionally failures, at atomic they were blue-blooded ones. And they reflected a aerial assessment of his audience, maybe undeserved. In the HBO documentary, Tom Wolfe says, “In an era in which adolescent bodies were declared to accept [the] beeline absorption spans,” Rolling Stone “started active accessories that were endless.” Elsewhere Wolfe has alleged Wenner the best editor he anytime had, and it’s true: In a continued and admirable and circuitous career he produced his best assignment for Wenner’s magazine.
It was Wenner who beatific Wolfe to Cape Canaveral in 1972 to address about a moon launch. Aback Wolfe came aback with a altered story—a continued attending at what fabricated the aboriginal bearing of astronauts extraordinary, blue-blooded “The Brotherhood of the Right Stuff”—Wenner accepted what he had, and the book that grew from the allotment and its sequels, The Right Stuff, is an basal assignment of Americana and of anecdotal journalism. A decade later, Wolfe got ashore aggravating to address a atypical about New York City. Wenner offered to broadcast the book in installments, Dickens-style, on the anticipation that the greatest annual biographer of his time ability force himself to address adjoin an adamant deadline. “I activate the alone astonishing bedlamite in all of journalism accommodating to let me do such a thing,” Wolfe says in 50 Years. The money helped, too—nearly $500,000 in today’s dollars, for a year’s account of annual installments. The Bonfire of the Vanities, revised and placed amid adamantine covers, angled American activity added absolutely and hilariously than any added atypical of the time—or of our time, for that matter.
The biographer best associated with Rolling Stone, and Wenner’s greatest exhausted conquest, was Thompson, who went to assignment for him, afterwards a fashion, in 1970, in what looked like addition detour in a middling, afoot career in newspapers and magazines. His aboriginal piece, about his own advance for sheriff in his hometown of Aspen, Colorado, was acutely funny, but the next, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” was a rocket launched into the alien blast of annual writing. We apprehend in 50 Years that the article, and afterwards book, became “a defining arcane acquaintance for several ancestors of readers,” and while “several generations” ability be an overstatement, it’s no acclaim to our 1970s educational arrangement that book-minded kids who couldn’t acquaint you area “Call me Ishmael” came from could recite the aboriginal band of “Fear and Loathing” in their sleep: “We were about about Barstow on the bend of the arid aback the drugs began to booty hold.”
Hunter S. Thompson in 1970. [David Hiser]
Wenner angry Thompson into a brand, continued afore it occurred to anyone abroad that a appreciative biographer would put up with such an indignity. They alleged it “gonzo” journalism, and the chat is still overused. His editor anticipation Thompson’s ambit as a biographer was limitless. And Wenner ability accept been right—we’ll never know. Because Thompson admired politics, Wenner beatific him out in 1972 to axis the hapless assemblage of Democrats who were aggressive for the party’s presidential choice and the adventitious to get buttery by Richard Nixon in the fall. (Wenner already had one writer, Timothy Crouse, accoutrement the campaign. Why not two? Crouse’s advantage became addition archetypal of American political writing, The Boys on the Bus.) Thompson filed 14 dispatches in all. For anyone who swallowed them accomplished as they appeared, and who never absolutely recovered from the experience, the adventure of their advertisement seems heroic, akin abnormally moving.
After a few canicule reporting, Thompson about would aperture himself up in a auberge and adjourn autograph for as continued as possible—he already compared his adjustment to a jackrabbit on a highway, cat-and-mouse till the aftermost additional to jump out of the way of the car. At last, adherent with bourbon and methedrine (often supplied by Wenner), he ability activate his adventure in the average or at the end. He beatific the sections as they formed from his typewriter, out of arrangement and at all hours, beyond a Teletype-like accessory to the RS offices in San Francisco. With the borderline acute in, Wenner and a agent would man the apparatus annular the clock, and as the pages confused out they approved to align them into a articular whole. “This looks like an catastrophe here,” an editor would say, while Wenner fished about for transitions and a beginning.
“Fear and Loathing on the Advance Aisle in ’72,” like its antecedent from Las Vegas, is a masterpiece of a kind. But what kind? The book moves at lightning speed, casting off agrarian images and absurd observations as it contest bottomward the page. Whatever it is, it’s not journalism. Continued stretches of the book are artlessly fabricated up, a actuality that Thompson and Wenner afflicted readers would tumble to. The draft comprises agilely accounting $.25 of mediocre, and ultimately mistaken, punditry, with intimations of an advancing apocalypse as a accomplishments to the fireworks. Indeed, it’s fair to say that the afterpiece Thompson got to accepted journalism, the beneath absorbing he was. In the end it didn’t amount that he invented so abundant of his material. Grand claims are still fabricated for Thompson’s genius, but at basal he was a clown, a antic of the accomplished order, in the anchor of mania. His constant allowance to his readers was to accomplish them laugh. Which should be enough.
Thompson was already asked whether any added editor would broadcast autograph like his. “Probably,” he said, “but they wouldn’t pay for it.” Thompson was able-bodied paid, abnormally afterwards Rolling Stone fabricated him acclaimed and he could accord academy speeches at $20,000 a toss. Money was consistently a point of altercation amid Wenner and Thompson. (You could bung the names of any biographer and editor into that sentence.) The disputes got claimed as Thompson’s long, abiding abatement began, anon afterwards his advance book was appear in 1973. Until his suicide 32 years later, his being appeared alone sporadically in Rolling Stone—or anywhere else. The booze abject him bottomward and down. For all his trademarked allocution about his biggy assimilation of alien drugs—his packing account for Las Vegas: “two accoutrements of grass, 75 pellets of mescaline, bristles bedding of activating blotter acid, a alkali shaker bisected abounding of cocaine, and a accomplished galaxy of checkered uppers, downers, screamers, laughers . . .”—the affirmation suggests Thompson’s absolute botheration was not abundant added than a roaring case of boilerplate alcoholism; the drugs were a way of befitting him alive so he could alcohol more. But such an acceptance would attenuate the franchise. How could the man who invented abashed ache from commodity so . . . ordinary?
In retrospect, admitting his celebrations of anarchy and chaos, Thompson’s backroom were appealing accepted too. His ideal presidential applicant was Jimmy Carter. The aforementioned can be said about Wenner, who is best declared as a anxiously advanced Democrat, with a few larboard feints—he wants to abate all biologic laws, for example. Politically, he doesn’t accept a advocate cartilage in his body. This is why so abounding of his critics, including above allies of a abolitionist bent, accept abhorred him. No one can abhorrence a advanced like a leftist. It’s additionally why, paradoxically, he and his annual were able to escort the sixties anarchy into its final, decadent, boastful phase.
The HBO documentary shows a blow of the biographer Robert Sam Anson in the 1970s, black the ashen opportunity. “Rolling Stone should be by its actuality somehow aggressive to the establishment,” he said. Instead, “it’s become the establishment.” Wenner appropriately agreed. That was the accomplished point! “Now we are the mainstream,” he appear at the magazine’s 10th anniversary. He confused the annual from its old address in San Francisco’s barn commune to custom-designed offices on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan overlooking Central Park. He had hoped to become the establishment, he said, because he basic to “change things.” But it was alone now that he had accomplished the top that it became bright which “things” were declared to change and which things were aloof accomplished as they were.
Just allotment of the enactment now: Jann Wenner (left) blind out with Arianna Huffington and then-New York City ambassador Michael Bloomberg in 2010. [Patrick McMullan / Getty]
True-blue leftists like Anson—like the aboriginal staffers at Rolling Stone—thought the sixties anarchy was a amalgamation deal: Along with the sex, drugs, and bedrock and roll, we were declared to get a leveling of the chic arrangement and a absorption of the economy, acute annihilation beneath than a aboveboard advance on the elites. Wenner was able to abstracted the elements, booty what he liked—the sex and the drugs—and leave the rest, mostly the politics, as talking points. If he challenged the old elites, it’s not because he basic a classless society. It’s because he basic to booty their place. And he did, and afresh watched as the draft of the ranks, in media, university departments, the boardrooms of clandestine foundations, were abounding with babyish boomers like him.
The key to the boomer aristocratic has been articulate capitalism and anatomic elitism. Wenner wore his advanced opinions like a abuse jacket, and the annual addled all the able poses. From the aboriginal ’80s to the backward ’90s, his national-affairs contributor was a adept announcer called William “Good Writer” Greider, an affected stylist who apprenticed the virtues of statism into the active of the few bodies who apprehend any of the 200 columns he wrote. The present national-affairs columnist, a man called Matt Taibbi, lacks Greider’s breeding but is aloof as economically illiterate. (In the HBO documentary Taibbi compares himself agreeably to Hunter Thompson. He is mistaken.)
Meanwhile, you could acquisition Jann lounging at one of his Manhattan townhouses, aerial in his Gulfstream to accept banquet in Paris, or partying in the Hamptons with the bounded white trash—Michael Douglas, David Geffen, Ahmet Ertegun, Diane von Furstenberg, Barry Diller, assorted combinations of Kennedys and Clintons. He accurately gave money to Democratic candidates, as a affectionate of awning charge. The boomer cardinal chic accepted that capitalism-for-me, socialism-for-thee was in actuality a applicable amusing strategy. You could abuse adjoin assets asperity akin as you were affairs a barn for your accumulating of aged roadsters.
It’s an old adventure by now, the affectation of boomer liberalism, and I’m abiding millennials can’t delay to see the aftermost of it—the bearing of feminists who forgave goatish politicians so continued as they dedicated aborticide on demand; or the environmentalists who austere a year’s account of deposit ammunition aerial their Gulfstreams to all-around abating conferences; or the scourges of the asperous administration of the nation’s abundance who took their assets as basic assets so it would be burdened at a lower rate. Wenner showed them how to cull it off with a bright conscience; he congenital his annual as a affectionate of roadmap. In Rolling Stone you could become affronted over the acquisitiveness of added people—RS’s massive analytic accessories consistently had the aforementioned villains (businessmen) and the aforementioned victims (noble alive folk)—and still amble over the ads for a customized Rolex or that absorbing new resort in Aruba. You could accept your block and eat it too. Expressing the able opinions fabricated it possible, so continued as they didn’t get out of hand.
Of all the belief told about Wenner and his annual in this year of celebration, I flavor one best of all, because it captures so able-bodied the actualization of backroom that has accustomed him and his aeon to thrive. In 2004, Wenner’s old acquaintance John Kerry won the Democratic choice for president. He was arduous the abominable George W. Bush. The country’s approaching was at stake. With his new acquaintance Larry David, the TV star, Wenner bound to leave the comforts of home, put himself on the line, and hit the aisle to advance for Kerry—on Martha’s Vineyard.
The Wenner-David mobilization was a amazing success. Kerry won the Vineyard in a landslide.
Andrew Ferguson is a chief editor at THE WEEKLY STANDARD.
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