Finding influences for ‘Time’s most influential’

Thursday, 4/17/97 Finding influences for ‘Time’s most
influential’ Criteria for list include everything from jobs to
political beliefs

By Martin F. Nolan The Boston Globe Big blindfolds and hoping
for blue chips, stockbrokers sometimes find success by hurling
darts at the Big Board. Picking the "25 most influential people" of
1997, Time magazine first peeks through its blindfold at obvious
targets. Any secretary of state and any secretary of the treasury
have clout. Madeleine Albright made Time’s list "with the diligent
door-to-door politicking of a small-town mayor." Robert Rubin is
"dispensing advice on topics ranging from trade to urban renewal."
A job title is no glass slipper in this search for influence: boss
of a year-old Silicon Valley firm, mid-ranking Justice Department
official, mogul of a minor movie studio, clothes buyer for The Gap,
and even, before that influential round in Augusta, Ga., a
21-year-old golfer. Scott Adams, who draws "Dilbert," is an
"irrationally optimistic" member of the squad, saying "Everything
in the world was changed by one person if you think about it." This
list is a Where-are-they-now? gift to future historians. Debate
about it evokes Time’s early days. Like another successful annual
feature, first called "Man of the Year," it is a major publicity
stunt, just like the Golden Globes, Emmys, Tonys, Oscars, Pulitzers
and Nobels. "Influence" is a politically loaded word. Some in
Washington could go to jail for peddling it, so membership
standards may shift. "They are people whose styles are imitated,
whose ideas are adopted and whose examples are followed. Powerful
people twist your arm," Time says. "Influentials just sway your
thinking." Of its first list, in 1966, Time said: "Being
influential is the reward of successful salesmanship, the
validation of personal passion, the visible sign of individual
merit. It is power without coercion, celebrity with substance." But
the first two nominees are strangers to substance: Martha Stewart
and Jerry Seinfeld. The story is written in Timese, a brassy,
sassy, anti-heroic style. Harvard’s Henry Louis Gates Jr. blends
"the braininess of the legendary black scholar W.E.B. DuBois and
the chutzpah of P.T. Barnum." Robert Thurman is "the Ziegfeld of
the U.S. branch of Tibetan Buddhism." A.J. Liebling said that
American newspapers regarded their editorial endorsement as a
carefully sheathed weapon of awesome power. Time is careful, but
stumbles over its Manhattan parochialism. Is Rosie O’Donnell really
more influential in trans-Hudson talk-show America than Kathie Lee
Gifford? Like all media magnificos, Time editors approach Don Imus
cautiously, apologizing that "the grizzled, cello-voiced host of
‘Imus in the Morning’" has fewer listeners than "Howard Stern, his
rival for morning radio dominance." Time apparently regards Imus as
a guilty pleasure. It may also feel guilty about a cover story
pairing Stern as the liberal alternative to Rush Limbaugh. If
"people whose styles are imitated, whose ideas are adopted" are
influential, where are Rush and Howard? Time has apparently decided
that influencing the influential is a tradition. If Al Gore, with a
target audience of one Arkansas politician, made it last year, Imus
was an easy choice. Time is returning to its roots of supercilious
sauciness. Founded in 1923 by Yale graduates Briton Hadden and
Henry Luce, the magazine satirized its subjects while enriching the
American language with new words. It coined, then mocked, tycoons
and socialites, moppets and pundits. It’s doubtful that the noun
"influential" will survive. But misusing words is as important a
legacy as coining them. For decades, Time’s headline over
honorary-degree citations was a cheeky Whiffenpoof drollery,
"kudos," the singular Greek noun for glory. Ever since, imitators
of Timese have mistakenly made it plural, tossing about a
pretentious but barbaric kudo or two. Somewhere, Hadden and Luce
are smilingly toasting their spoof, saying "That’s influence!" Like
another … feature, first called "Man of the Year," it is a major
publicity stunt, just like the Golden Globes, Emmys, Tonys, Oscars,
Pulitzers and Nobels. Time is returning to its roots of
supercilious sauciness.