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In public life for half a century, my image and reputation have had more ups and downs than the Cyclone roller coaster at Coney Island. I have been called savior and sinner, fool and wise man, crusader and exploiter, hot head and dope. I am routinely scorned, admired, beloved, and belittled. The opinions are usually based on when they tuned in. Were you around for my early days as a crusading local newsman? Did you waste an evening inside Al Capone's empty vault? Were you watching when the bombs dropped in Afghanistan or Iraq, or did you tune into the raucous talk show when my nose got broken in the best television studio brawl ever caught on tape? Since the attacks of September 11, 2001, and my employment by the conservative rabble-rousers of Fox News, and, more recently, with the coming of the Age of Trump, my professional life has been even more difficult to define.



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