On November 14, 2025, President Trump called a female Bloomberg White House correspondent "Piggy" in response to a question she'd asked him about the Epstein files during a press briefing onboard Air Force One.
I knew her decades ago when we both worked for the same news organization in Philadelphia, and she was a great source of bitterness for me until fairly recently, something I'm embarrassed to admit.
At the time, she was half my age and we both sought the same position, that of a full-time reporter. She got it, I didn't, and I quit in a fit of pride, unable to imagine myself taking phone messages for her while remaining in what was essentially a secretarial position.
I can't say which of us had more talent when it came to gathering news, interviewing, and writing. Most would say she did, but that was because she wrote so much more than I. When I was considering a career in journalism in the early nineties, I found a memorable quote from Ben Bradley, the editor of the Washington Post. He'd been asked how to succeed in journalism. "You want to be better than anyone else? Work harder than anyone else."
Simple advice that applies to most careers. (Exceptions might include many in the arts. Some have inborn gifts that no amount of labor could ever replicate.)
That's what Piggy did. After I completed my shift, I'd look forward to going home, making dinner, having a beer, watching a little TV, napping. After she completed hers, she'd go out and dig up stories to write.
Why didn't I work harder? I blame not just being over forty at the time, but a lack of confidence, which was mostly because the editor disliked me. Maybe disliked is the wrong word; we'd share a laugh now and then, and agreed on a lot. But he clearly thought little of my ability. My life—this is an aside that could be a lengthy post I won't write now—was determined by how easily I'd quit things when I hit a bump. Tell some people are told they're bad at something, and they'll work hard to prove you wrong. Tell me that, and I'll agree and look for something else to try.
She went on to much higher levels of journalism. Got married, had a child, travels the world doing important work she loves. I applied without success for jobs at daily newspapers in small cities while working in a museum store for half the pay I'd made previously. Eventually, I stopped applying, and such jobs dried up anyway. A part of finding a spouse is being happy with your calling. I never was, not really, and I have other character defects that repelled potential partners.
I'd spent years looking for reasons to hate Piggy, but she's a good person, a fine reporter, and probably a good mother and wife. It's just me.
