CorpComms Magazine

As every journalist knows, a good PR contact is to be cherished - and that even includes that breed of PR whose job is essentially to tell you nothing. I still have fond memories of the late Peter Rosenthal; his stonewalling technique usually involved a good lunch, during which he would tell great stories about his previous clients. His tales were usually too out of date or tangential ever to be worth printing, but were fun to repeat to other hacks over a drink.

When I was reporting on the meltdown of the Long-Term Capital Management hedge fund, Peter entertained me with tales of working for Robert Maxwell. These stories reduced the pain of his inevitable polite rejection of my request to interview one of the fund's founders, John Meriwether. A few months later - when the issue had ceased to be newsworthy, alas - he organized dinner with Meriwether, which was great fun, especially as the legendary Wall Streeter spent much of the meal lamenting that things would not have turned out so badly for Long-Term had he been more available to the press. Go figure.

Cold calling

The most irritating PR people are those who, through no fault of their own, have been told to update their firm's contact list. At least twice a day I pick up the phone to hear: 'Are you Matthew Bishop?' - followed by a recitation of the phone number they have just dialled, and the question: 'Is this your number?' These PRs are scarcely less informed, however, than those callers who have clearly never read the Economist and who might as well be pitching to the Communist for all they understand about the sort of stories we write.

But to be fair, these are mostly junior people who are just obeying orders. Less forgivable are those senior PRs who display a complete lack of understanding of how journalists work, or of the sensitive human beings we are. My most bizarre experience, when I was editing the Economist's business section, involved the head of PR at one of the world's top media companies. She objected when a member of my team contacted her for help with a story about the firm.

In an early e-mail to the Economist reporter, she began relatively gently, saying that she was 'taken aback to see your list of questions, as their tone suggests a perceptible bias towards this company' and that, in the case of two or three of said questions, 'the tone is along the lines of when did you stop beating your wife?' Never mind that we were doing her a favour by submitting some questions in advance.

Soon after, I received an e-mail informing me that the company had 'grave concerns' about the reporter, whose questions had apparently so alarmed her independent sources that they were 'contacting us to express their shock and disbelief at her apparent ignorance of [the company] and its workings'. The reporter's 'techniques' had 'crossed the lines of ethics', screamed the e-mail.

As soon as the story appeared - and subsequent events have shown it to be correct in every way - the company's head of PR sent me an agitated missive that began: 'This piece is filled with FACTUAL ERRORS - SOMETHING I KNOW YOU CARE NOTHING ABOUT.' It continued: 'Your defence of her lying is stunning - anyone who reads this will know that you have a 'Jayson Blair' problem,' before concluding, 'Have you no shame in this cover up?' Clearly, any editor has to take such accusations very seriously - but in this case, the head of PR appears to have concluded that intimidation was the best strategy. It never is, at least when dealing with a reputable publication. On the contrary, when journalists' questions provoke such a hysterical overreaction, they know they are onto something, as we were in that case.

A knight's tale

As the reporter prepared her story, the Economist's editor-in-chief was contacted by a former Fleet Street editor, a knight of the realm, on behalf of the media company. He wanted a 'quiet word' about the reporter. Needless to say, our editor stood by his journalists. This was my first encounter with that unusually refined breed of PRs consisting of the hitherto great and good who eke out a living by having quiet words in editors' ears. My favourite example is Lord Prior, once Mrs Thatcher's industry secretary, who did this for Hank Greenberg when he was the (notoriously intimidating) boss of insurance giant AIG. The Economist ran a prescient story questioning aspects of AIG's business, prompting Mr Greenberg to send a team of executives to London, chaperoned by Lord Prior, to complain about the story and demand the reporter's head. By way of breaking the ice, Lord Prior described, in an embarrassed, 'you know- Hank' sort of way, how he had been on safari in Africa when his holiday was interrupted by a phone call from a furious Greenberg, ordering him back to London at once to sort things out. Clearly, being called a wet by Mrs T had been far less of an ordeal for his Lordship. It is a memory that, whenever a PR person is annoying, never fails to cheer me up.

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