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He has also been called more kinds of liar—usually from the sanctuary of Congress, a sounding board shielded from libel suits—than any man alive. Some printable samples:
¶ Cordell Hull (after Pearson reported, in midwar, that the Secretary of State wanted Russia "bled white"): "[a teller of] monstrous and diabolical falsehoods."
¶ F.D.R. (sympathizing with Hull): "A chronic liar."
¶ Senator Tydings: "In the last war the only powder . . . this scoundrel . . . ever smelled was in the presence of ladies who might have adorned the windward side of the parade ground ... A perpetual, chronic, revolving liar."
¶ President Truman (reported by Pearson to have made an anti-Semitic remark) : "I had thought I wouldn't have to add another liar's star to that fellow's crown, but I will have to do it . . ."
¶ Senator McKellar (attacked by Pearson for his reprehensible spoilsman's practices): "An ignorant liar, a pusillanimous liar, a peewee liar ... a paid liar ... a natural-born liar ... a liar by profession, a liar for a living ... a liar in the daytime and a liar in the nighttime . . . this 'revolving,' constitutional, unmitigated, infamous liar [and] scoundrel . . ." (And so on, for 30 minutes, while the Senator put off going to the bathroom. When he finally got there, fainting, he needed a doctor.)
Who, Me? The object of all this billingsgate is a devoutly religious—and highly litigious—Quaker who has never been known to fire a shot, lift his fist, or even raise his soft voice in anger. Andrew Russell Pearson is a tall, tweedy, disarmingly mild-mannered fellow, with thinning light brown hair, a sparse mustache and earnest mien; he looks like a shy, quizzical cow college professor—except for his wary blue eyes. The mild manner camouflages a tough, diamond-hard core. And his casual clothes, his innocuously small-town look serve him well in Washington's lower echelons, where many of his tipsters work.
Though more conservative newsmen. have tried to laugh him off as a superficial, snap-brimmed Fearless Fosdick of journalism, none can match his hard work or his arm-long record of newsbeats.
Follow That Nose. How does he get his news? Pearson's methods are essentially those of any crack reporter—with certain subtle refinements. "Good news," he says—using the term in its purely technical sense—"comes in two ways: 1) by accurate tips, diligently followed up; 2) by doping out a story for yourself, then confronting some knowing source with it to see if you're on the right track. Generally I just operate with a sense of smell: if something smells wrong, I go to work."