Last Respects
Thirty-five years ago, the morning George Crile – a producer at 60 Minutes who later wrote the book Charlie Wilson’s War – called I thought, An interview with 60 Minutes – what’s the difference between that and sticking your head in a lion’s mouth? I said:
‘I reckon you know the chances of Tom Ellis interviewing Mike Wallace are slim and none, and you don’t have a much better chance with me.’
George had read a book (about the Cold War) that was dedicated to Winston Churchill and Bob Harris; he’d asked the author, ‘Okay. Who’s Bob Harris?’
Mike Wallace’ story – Who is Bob Harris? – led off 60 Minutes’ 1985 season.
When Bob came to work in Jesse Helms 1978 campaign he couldn’t walk or stand up; to sit in a wheelchair he needed a body brace. He did research for two years then ran Jesse’s national direct mail operation, then his disease came out of remission. He survived, returned home from the hospital; no longer able to sit in a wheelchair, confined to his bed, he returned to doing research.
In our first poll in the next election Jesse Helms was 25 points behind Jim Hunt; for a year nothing we tried put a dent in Hunt’s armor then Bob wrote three scripts that Arthur Finkelstein and Earl Ashe turned into eight ten-second TV ads each with the same theme: I’m Jesse Helms. I opposed the Panama Canal Giveaway. Where do you stand, Jim?
Those ads changed Jesse’s campaign.
Bob had to use a voice box to speak but his words were electronic garbles so – not after he spoke but as he spoke – his mother translated; she also spent hours writing down – in shorthand – and transcribing his research reports, memorandums, and drafts of scripts. That was how he continued to work for twenty years until his mother – who was a saint – had cancer.
After Elena Harris died Bob’s father found a much better electronic speaking device and I read a book by Stephen Hawking who, in the Afterword, said thank you to the people who’d made a special computer for him. I called Hawking’s office, they gave me the telephone number of a company in Silicon Valley, a man came to Raleigh, sat down beside Bob’s bed, set up a computer, laid the mouse beside Bob’s finger, asked, ‘Can you push that button?’
Bob couldn’t.
‘That’s alright,’ the man said. ‘You can run this computer by breathing in and out through a straw as you inhale and exhale.’ He lifted a long wiry tube with a metal straw on the end out of a case – glancing towards me, raising his eyebrows, Bob rolled his eyes – the man stopped.
‘You can control your eyebrows? I can put a sensor above your eyebrow so you can run this computer.’
Living between four walls in a small bedroom, waking up every morning facing a struggle, Bob Harris never complained. And never stopped fighting. As he slept early Saturday morning the Lord called him home.
Last Respects
Thirty-five years ago, the morning George Crile – a producer at 60 Minutes who later wrote the book Charlie Wilson’s War – called I thought, An interview with 60 Minutes – what’s the difference between that and sticking your head in a lion’s mouth? I said:
‘I reckon you know the chances of Tom Ellis interviewing Mike Wallace are slim and none, and you don’t have a much better chance with me.’
George had read a book (about the Cold War) that was dedicated to Winston Churchill and Bob Harris; he’d asked the author, ‘Okay. Who’s Bob Harris?’
Mike Wallace’ story – Who is Bob Harris? – led off 60 Minutes’ 1985 season.
When Bob came to work in Jesse Helms 1978 campaign he couldn’t walk or stand up; to sit in a wheelchair he needed a body brace. He did research for two years then ran Jesse’s national direct mail operation, then his disease came out of remission. He survived, returned home from the hospital; no longer able to sit in a wheelchair, confined to his bed, he returned to doing research.
In our first poll in the next election Jesse Helms was 25 points behind Jim Hunt; for a year nothing we tried put a dent in Hunt’s armor then Bob wrote three scripts that Arthur Finkelstein and Earl Ashe turned into eight ten-second TV ads each with the same theme: I’m Jesse Helms. I opposed the Panama Canal Giveaway. Where do you stand, Jim?
Those ads changed Jesse’s campaign.
Bob had to use a voice box to speak but his words were electronic garbles so – not after he spoke but as he spoke – his mother translated; she also spent hours writing down – in shorthand – and transcribing his research reports, memorandums, and drafts of scripts. That was how he continued to work for twenty years until his mother – who was a saint – had cancer.
After Elena Harris died Bob’s father found a much better electronic speaking device and I read a book by Stephen Hawking who, in the Afterword, said thank you to the people who’d made a special computer for him. I called Hawking’s office, they gave me the telephone number of a company in Silicon Valley, a man came to Raleigh, sat down beside Bob’s bed, set up a computer, laid the mouse beside Bob’s finger, asked, ‘Can you push that button?’
Bob couldn’t.
‘That’s alright,’ the man said. ‘You can run this computer by breathing in and out through a straw as you inhale and exhale.’ He lifted a long wiry tube with a metal straw on the end out of a case – glancing towards me, raising his eyebrows, Bob rolled his eyes – the man stopped.
‘You can control your eyebrows? I can put a sensor above your eyebrow so you can run this computer.’
Living between four walls in a small bedroom, waking up every morning facing a struggle, Bob Harris never complained. And never stopped fighting. As he slept early Saturday morning the Lord called him home.