Paul Sann Journalism, Letters , Writings

To Joseph Wershba, who had left The Post for CBS' "60 Minutes":

DEAR J. WERSHBA: Don't come sucking around you here you fourflushing huckstering mouthwashpeddling bastard. I don't need you to tell me what other mothers have pirated my masterworks and brushed me with a fast one-liner. I don't need you to tell me anything. I have put you down as, one of the classless, conscienceless mercenaries who walked away from the struggle for thirty, or maybe forty, pieces of silver from a network that's on its last legs. I have stayed with it. I have never turned my back on it. I have given this cause every last ounce and I shall continue to give this cause every last ounce, maybe even the last ounce and a half. I believe. I believe in this fight, what we're striving for, how we're breaking our balls so future generations won't have their balls broken by the forces of darkness. I believe in the light. You walked away from it, for forty, maybe fifty pieces of silver from a network that cares more about Dick Van Dyke than it cares about William Haddad. I'm sorry, I didn't want to tell you this, but your name has been stricken from the Honor Roll here, stripped from the archives, the gold leaf scratched from your office door, your key to the executive lavoratory melted in the penthouse samovar. You sold your ass for fifty, maybe sixty pieces of silver, or hi-ho silver, from a network which never put its vast resources behind this wheel of goodness. You don't care. I can't forgive you. I took you out of the gutter and you went and left the tattered banner there. You're the liberal in the Brooks Brothers shirt. You lost me.

Wershba's response:

Oom Paul,

I now am in receipt of all your missives to date, including the last, mean-spirited, ball-kicking, spit-fighting critique of our departed colleague who gave you a touch of civility and class whilst he labored in your mudhole. Thy servant Richard has gone to Glory and you will most assuredly go to Hell unless there is a mending of ways: You need at least one good person to say a word on your behalf and right now, I think Shirley [his wife] is the only one left, since The Baby hasn't learned to talk yet, neither in the vulgate nor in the language God always converses in, Hebrew to wit. In fact, the way you're going, I don't think even Hell will have you.

Abi geznut

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