deep throat

I was excited yet oddly disappointed to learn the identity of Deep Throat this past week.

The enduring mystery of who provided Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein the information that established them and the Washington Post forever in the journalism hall of fame has been the best, most enduring part of the whole Watergate scandal for the past 30 years. The mystique of having a mysterious insider into an administration or a story adds spice to news coverage, and the power of the press, as demonstrated in Nixon's eventual resignation, is what inspired community journalists like me to look for signs of nefarious evil-doing in the choice of roads to pave and the allocation of money to buy laptop computers for the elementary school.

And now that we have a name to put on the mystery, Deep Throat is no longer as compelling and absorbing a figure as he used to be. Rather than a dark, shadowy figure in the parking garage, Deep Throat was nothing more than the second-in-command of the FBI. He has a name, a face, possibly inglorious motives, and the whole nine yards.

"Deep Throat" has diminished. Bob Woodward has diminished. Journalism itself has diminished.

It's possible -- just possible, mind you -- that the decision to pave Valley Road may have been legitimate after all.