The Press: Horselaughs in the Times

"On the Times, overt display of a sense of humor provokes the sort of suspicion a sex deviate can expect at a policemen's ball." Thus New York Timesman Russell Baker, 36, once explained why he covered Washington with appropriate solemnity. In time, the solemn rounds began to pall; Baker was about to join another paper when the Times suddenly gave him a chance to stray. By last week, calling himself "Observer," Baker was solidly ensconced as the Times's editorial-page satirist.

As a reporter, Baker had been solemn and respect f til about the New Frontier; as a columnist, he gives it the horselaugh. He is at his best finding new ways to riddle old targets. Scores of other satirists before him have had a go at the presidential press conference, but Baker's very first column topped them all. Sample:

Q.: Sir, there has been speculation lately whether in event of an imminent attack on this country you would be willing to press the button. In that connection, sir, could you tell us where you keep the button?

A.: These Republican suggestions that Caroline has been playing with the button are not in the national interest ... I am hopeful that we can soon make a determination about a convenient place to keep the button, because it is not a simple matter for Mr. Salinger to have to carry it over here from the White House every time we have a press conference.

He sighted in on polltakers and poll-taker-type columnists with similar resourcefulness and effect:

VINCENNES, IND.—Dr. Crcswell Bates, celebrated American pulsetaker with headquarters at the National Press Club Bar in Washington, turned up here after a pulsetaking tour along the Ohio Valley. A conversation ensued.

Traveler: It's marvelous how you do it, Doctor. I've been traveling the same territory myself, but nobody ever really opens up except filling station attendants and waitresses. I tried to talk to a truck driver at a lunch counter in Salt Lick, Ky., about the Common Market. He looked as if he was about to punch me in the nose, so I dropped the subject. In Palmyra, Ind., I asked a farmer how he felt about Kennedy. "My politics is my business," he said. In Paoli, Ind., I asked a housewife if she was alarmed about Berlin: "If you're another one of those encyclopedia salesmen, you're just wasting your time," she said.

Bates: Very good, very good indeed. It checks perfectly with my own findings in the heartland. The region is tense and therefore in an explosive mood. It would probably support strong measures in Berlin, but would also probably welcome a chance to strike at Kennedy.

Traveler: Isn't that a rather sweeping generalization? After all, the temperature has been nearly 100° for a week . . .

Bates: You'll never make a pulsetaker with that attitude . . .

Traveler: I say to the man, "Fill it up," and while he is cleaning the windshield, very casually: "What's the talk out here about how Kennedy's doing in Washington?" He says, "Oh, you don't hear people talk much about it around here. What's the talk about Jack in Washington?" You wind up giving him a ten-minute analysis of the Washington scene. Bates: That is the classic example of how not to take a pulse. Has it ever occurred to you that you just may not be cut out to be a pulsetaker?