On his television show in 1966, William F. Buckley, employing his aristocrat-style condescension and theatrical drawl, introduced his guest with these words: “My guest this evening is Mr. David Susskind, who has probably appeared more hours on talk shows than anyone in the history of television, which may or may not have something to do with the unhappy state of our universe. Mr. Susskind is a man of many talents, none of them political.”
That was harsh. Buckley’s show was called Firing Line for a reason. This one featured two sharp, combative personalities who despised each other's worldviews, and probably each other. It was the kind of mid-20th-century television for politically-engaged Americans that's no longer available. Buckley’s one-on-one format allowed for a debate that could breathe.
One remarkable aspect of this 60-year-old debate was that, despite it being a verbal “knife fight” that often veered into the personal, there were no raised voices or emotive excesses. While there were insults aplenty, delivered with cool precision, it remained a civil political debate—the kind of discussion that provokes thought rather than confusing it.
Continuing with his lengthy introduction, the “king of leer” praised Susskind for his energy and his fine work in the theater business and as a TV show host, adding that he accomplishes more in a year than most do a lifetime. Then he stuck the shank in, calling Susskind a staunch liberal (it evoked an eyeroll from Susskind, even though he was one) and calling him the male version of Eleanor Roosevelt.
The David Susskind Show, which ran from 1958 to 1986, was known for pioneering a serious, long-form panel format that tackled taboo and controversial social topics long before modern daytime talk shows existed. As Buckley (who was a guest on the show numerous times) pointed out with sarcasm in his barbed intro, both prostitutes and thieves had appeared on his show.
Susskind called his host's opening remarks rude and insulting, adding that it was another example of Buckley’s penchant for “personal bitchiness.” But he added that, as Buckley’s behavior was “congenital and compulsive,” he forgave him. Buckley remarked about the “generosity of Susskind’s “broad spirit.” Then they looked at each other and smiled.
There's been much ado about media bias for years now, but this show, with its debate theme of “prevailing bias”—in media and academia—is a reminder that that was a relevant topic as far back as 1966. Buckley, the public face of staunch conservatism, took the position that the media and the academy was biased against conservatives. His adversary's initial position was to deny this. Susskind spoke in great detail about the hundreds of TV and radio outlets in the country, and the diversity in print publications, concluding that the sheer “plurality and volume” of news and political opinion outlets suggested a lack of prevailing bias.
Buckley told his guest that he hoped he wasn't on his show to deny that the news and television business, and academia, were “liberal dominated.” Susskind responded that if Buckley meant “dominated” in a “pejorative” sense, then he’d take issue with that characterization because “the entire thrust of our country in the last 40 years has been a liberal thrust. We call that progress.“
There's nothing “pejorative” in stating that certain institutions are dominated by liberals. Susskind, pushed off balance, was backing away from his “plurality and volume” claim and admitting that prevailing bias exists, but that it was positive. Buckley had scored an early point. He said he was only there to observe that the bias exists, and that those who dissent from the liberal orthodoxy have fewer opportunities to express it than those aligned with it, which Susskind countered by saying, without producing evidence, that there are more liberals than conservatives. Maybe he was talking about his own NYC neighborhood.
Buckley was known for his intimidating vocabulary, but Susskind also brandished some withering wordsmithery when he called Buckley an “antediluvian flibbertigibbet.” Susskind was calling his adversary a prehistoric chatterbox, a double insult implying Buckley’s politics were of the Stone Age and that his showy rhetorical style and baroque language signaled empty, flighty nonsense.
Now Buckley was stung. Steely-eyed determination replaced his easy smile. When Susskind went on to accuse Buckley of calling Vietnam dissenters “epicene slobs,” Buckley’s eyes flashed anger again. He clarified that he wasn’t referring to the dissenters themselves, but rather to their “resentment” as “epicene.” Susskind had handed his opponent an opportunity to lecture him with his clarification, thus scoring another point. Susskind had gone off topic—”prevailing bias”—to get a dig in, but it backfired.
The temperature jumped when Susskind quoted Buckley as saying, “The Jews felt a kind of toleration for communist excesses in this country.” Other than when, during a 1968 ABC News debate, Buckley called Gore Vidal a “queer” and threatened to sock him in his “goddamn face,” I've never seen him so angry. “Do you care to read the context,” he replied, “or shall I cram it down your throat.” It was surprising that Susskind didn't take that opportunity to remark on his adversary's implied violence.
Returning to prevailing bias, Buckley stated his belief that, because those in academia feel their ideas are enlightened, they attempt to indoctrinate students, thus hindering the precepts of academic freedom. Susskind replied that conservatism was “antediluvian,” and that it wouldn’t serve society’s needs. It sounded like an allegation that teaching conservative political philosophy would be morally wrong.
At the core of Susskind's argument regarding bias was the certainty that liberalism is the prevailing, superior mode of thought, so it's natural and positive to give conservatism short shrift in academia and the media. He said: “In America, the general consensus, intellectual and philosophical, is liberal. Young folks tend to be liberal because the community at large is liberal.” Susskind added that election results, both state and federal, backed up his assertion.
If only Buckley could’ve had his guest back on Firing Line 18 months later to discuss those results when Richard Nixon won the presidential election after running on a right-wing “law and order” platform. And in 1972, Nixon won again, taking 49 out of 50 states. The “community at large” had spoken twice, but not for liberalism.
Susskind's final falter came when Buckley mentioned some prominent conservative thinkers, telling him that he'd been deprived by not reading them. Susskind replied, “If I'd had access to the men you mentioned, and others, I might have emerged as the elegant misanthrope that you are.” Those men were Milton Friedman, Leo Strauss, and Eric Voegelin.
Not only was Susskind admitting he hadn't studied the conservative ideas he despised—or even had “access” to them—he was claiming that just via exposure to such wrong-headed thinking he might’ve become someone who hates his fellow humans. It's hard to sound less intellectual than that.
Susskind got his final shot in at the end when he called Buckley “the most eloquent anachronism in this country” but, like the rest of his points, it wasn't substantive. Buckley won this fight in a unanimous decision because Susskind relied on circular reasoning that wouldn't convince anyone who didn't already agree with him.