A bright journalist with an interesting professional life - Galina Timchenko. She attracts attention with her harsh statements and bright projects. Her biography is full of mysteries and dark spots. How is the fate of this strong woman developing?

Childhood and youth

On May 8, 1962, a girl, Galina Timchenko, was born into an ordinary Moscow family. Her childhood was the most typical: a kindergarten, a school. Timchenko herself does not like to talk about her youth, she is characterized by closeness, so she does not spread information about herself. After school, Galina, at the insistence of her mother, enters the 3rd Medical Institute in Moscow and studies there for five years, but in the last year she leaves the university, greatly aggravating relations with her family, and also upsetting her scientific adviser. But Galina explains her act this way: “I didn’t want to spend more time on something that I had never intended to do in my life”. Maximalism and radicalism are the main character traits of Timchenko, which have become her signature style.

The beginning of the journalist's journey

Nothing is known about the first steps in the career of journalist Galina Timchenko. Obviously, she worked in some minor positions, but no one ever told about this. If there are people in journalism who compose their own life story, then this is Galina Timchenko. The biography of the woman, about whom she openly talks, began from a high start - she came to work in the newspaper "Kommersant" as an editor. This publication is known for making very high demands on personnel, so it is obvious that Timchenko has been able to achieve a lot in her new profession in 10 years after leaving medicine. She worked for Kommersant for 2 years and in 1999, during a severe crisis in the publishing industry, she decided to change the editorial office.

With "Lenta" in life

In difficult times, Timchenko, like many journalists, was looking for additional work. This led her to the editorial office of the news site Lenta.ru. At the same time, at first she did not know anything about the work of the online edition, but she was able to go from an employee of the monitoring department to the chief editor. She headed the publication for 10 years, and during this time the site entered the five most cited Russian-language media outlets and became the fifth most visited in 2013 among all news resources in Europe. Timchenko completely restructured the site, assembled a brilliant team of professional newsmakers and ensured that the publication met the news needs of people from all walks of life. She expanded the genre variety of the publication, including video clips, sharp reports and interviews. "Lenta" began to form the agenda, people are used to getting a complete picture of news on one site. At the same time, Timchenko sacredly observed the principle of objectivity of journalism, and it was impossible to accuse her of being engaged.

In March 2014, Roskomnadzor issued a warning to Lenta due to the fact that the journalist's material contained a reference to a statement by an opposition nationalist from Ukraine. The owner of the resource Lenta.ru quickly took action and fired Galina Timchenko. This event stirred up certain segments of the population, who started talking about the growing pressure on the press. Timchenko did not comment on her resignation and, as is typical for her, kept her worries to herself. The site's staff actively objected to Timchenko's dismissal, and almost all of her colleagues followed her into her new project.

Meduza

After leaving Lenta.ru Timchenko pauses for some time, she teaches, actively participates in various programs of television "Rain", radio "Echo of Moscow". But already in October 2014, she announces the launch of a new news project Meduza. The team was made up of former Lenta employees, and Galina Timchenko was at the head. Meduza is based in Riga and has a rather pronounced opposition to the Russian government. The media attributed participation in the project to the released, but Timchenko did not confirm these speculations. For three months of its existence, Meduza has collected about 1.3 million visitors. The goal of the project is to publish the most interesting news of the day in Russian, while the requirement of objectivity remains immutable for Timchenko.

Private life

A good journalist not only knows how to find information, but also masterfully hides it, and Galina Timchenko is no exception. The journalist's personal life is under the strictest prohibition, and no one can say anything about her hypothetical spouse, although it is known that once she was definitely married. Since no details of private life are leaked to the media, journalists conclude that it simply does not exist. Timchenko's ex-husband or children are never spoken about. She is obsessed with work and it takes all of her time. Journalists lead an active life, and Galina Timchenko also often appears at various events. Her photos, however, never capture satellites who look like a life partner. Thus, the idea that Timchenko lives exclusively on work seems most likely. Or she is a genius in disguise, and she succeeds in something that remains impossible for all celebrities in the world.

Do not look in this book for a story in the style of "I was born, grew up ...". Larry King would not be Larry King if he wrote so boringly. The autobiography of the interview genius is something like this: "I was a bully, I was a bad guy, but I was damn lucky all my life." Larry King was always in the right place at the right time. He crashed into the car of the future President Kennedy and got off with a promise to vote only for Kennedy. Working at a small radio station in Miami, I managed to interview the great Sinatra, who did not give interviews at all. He put his last money on a horse, which was accepted at 70: 1, and ... won $ 8,000. This is the whole Larry King, whose biography is more like an exciting adventure novel.

Home is where friends are

Paul Newman once told me that when he comes to a city on the other side of the world, the first thing he does is turn on the TV in his hotel room to see me. For him, according to him, I personify the connection with America, the connection with home.

Over the years, I've heard something like this from many people. The map that serves as the backdrop for my studio on CNN has become one of the most recognizable teleimages in the world. For almost a quarter of a century I have been on the air in the evenings against the background of this map. It is possible that Woody Allen was right when he said that 80% of success depends on how often you flash on the screen. But the feeling of home that people talk about is more than just my appearance in front of the microphone in the studio. And I think it originates in Brooklyn.

I can not imagine better place for growing up than 1940s Brooklyn. At that time, the area had all the advantages of a small town. The owners of both the butcher's and the pastry shop on your street were almost our own. In general, there was something patriarchal in the way of life. So many years have passed, and behind the glass in the Jewish community center Bensonhurst still has a picture of my buddy Sid with his stellar basketball team. However, the Brooklyn we grew up in was more than the whole of Philadelphia. To watch one of the three baseball teams play at their stadium, one had to take the subway. Brooklyn has become home to millions of immigrants. And we can say that constancy here closely coexisted with variability. They say that today one in six in America is somehow connected with Brooklyn.

I realized the great role of this place not only now, after leaving Brooklyn; I understood this in those years. Anyone who grew up in Bensonhurst will say these were the best years of his life. No one moved, no one got divorced, and friends remained friends forever. Even fifty years later, having met someone with whom you maintained a nodding acquaintance in high school, you become the most soulful buddies in five minutes. It is possible that the same can be said about other places. I have nothing to compare with because I didn't have to grow up anywhere else. But Mario Cuomo once told me: “Everyone has heard of Bensonhurst. I don't know what it is, I grew up in Queens. I had a bunch of friends and a wonderful childhood, but where I grew up you, there was something special. Even Queens heard about it. "

Just round the corner of Eighty-sixth and Bay Parkway, all your friends are instantly nicknamed.

We had Ink Kaplan, who told the teacher that he would rather drink the ink that is on his desk than confess to some kind of prank. He walked with blue teeth for six months ... and then became a dentist.

There was also A-Bae Horowitz. When they talked about something in front of him, he always asked again: "Huh?" - as if not heard. And they always answered him: "Be". So the nickname A-Bae was born.

Joe Bellen was nicknamed Joe Bush. For what reason - I don't know. As long as I remember him, he has always been Joe Bush.

My name was Mouthpiece because my mouth never closed.

And my best friend Herb Cohen is Delyaga Herbie. He constantly pulled everyone into trouble, and then pulled out of there. We were immediately drawn to each other with him. I loved all kinds of bad influences. And the coat of arms was just that.

We met in High School No. 128 when we were handed stop signs and were assigned to regulate road traffic before school. “Come on, you will allow passage from your side, and I from mine,” Herb suggested. We directed the cars exactly head-on to each other and created a traffic jam that stretched over several blocks.

We were summoned to the director ... along with our mothers. This was not the only time my mother was summoned to his office. But at least this time she was lucky: she made friends with Herb's mother.

There are a million stories about Herbie. But the coolest thing is undoubtedly the story with Shvabrik. We were in ninth grade then. In the New York education system, ninth grade was the final grade at this stage. The next year we transferred to Lafayette High School.

In the middle school year our friend nicknamed Shvabrik disappeared somewhere. In fact, his name was Jill Mermelstein. But we called him the Mop because he had a wild, curly head of hair, reminiscent of the mop heads used to clean the floor. Several days passed, but Shvabrik did not appear. And we went to his house to find out what happened to him. There were three of us: me, who dreamed of becoming a radio commentator, Delaga Herbie, who wanted to be a lawyer, and Brazzy Abbait, who was planning to become a doctor.

In Shvabrik's house, all the curtains were drawn. He sat on the steps at the entrance cousin, who lived in New Jersey, is the only relative of Swabrik in the Northeast.

He said that something terrible had happened: Shvabrik fell ill with tuberculosis and his parents took him to Tucson, Arizona, hoping that in that climate he would recover quickly.

A cousin had come over from New Jersey to tell the school that Shvabrik had moved and was now waiting for the telephone company staff to cut the line.

“You don't have to stay until tomorrow to report this to the school,” Herb told him. - Wait for the operators and return home. And we ourselves will tell the director everything. "

"Are you really going to tell the director about this?" The cousin asked.

"Well, of course".

And Shvabrik's cousin left. We walked down the street. I still remember well how it was, even goose bumps run through my body. Coat of arms said:

"I have an idea".

"What did you think of?"

“Let's say at school that Shvabrik is dead. And then how is it best friends, let's collect money for a wreath. Let's go to Nathan's and eat up hot dogs and sweets. I'm sure it will work out for us! The school will call them at home, but there is no one there. They don't know about their cousin from New Jersey at school.

"Yes, but what if Shvabrik comes back?"

“Well, by then we'll be in Lafayette,” Herbie said. "And it will all turn into a joke."

We decided to do so. The next day, putting on a proper look, we went to Mrs. Dewar.

"Swabrik is dead."

Crying arose. The girls cried, his friends cried.

Mrs. Dewar reported the incident to the director. He called home. The operator from the telephone exchange reported that the number was disconnected. The secretary wrote down "died" in Shvabrik's personal file. Herb and Brazzi and I gathered for flowers, and then went to Mr. Nathan's cafe and ate hot dogs and sweets there.

A couple of days later, upon arriving at the school, we found out that the director was calling us. As we walked down the corridor, I almost cried. My father died, and I once again got into trouble. Brazzi repeated feverishly, “I will never be a doctor. I will never become a doctor. " And the Emblem consoled us: “Everything is in order. Nothing happened. We'll just tell him that heardas if Shvabrik had died. And we will pretend that we are terribly glad that he was alive. Let's say that the money was donated to charity and we will try to return it back. "

We went to the director, and Mr. Cohen, seeing us, beamed.

“Sit down, my young friends,” he said.

And he began to tell that our school wants to arouse public interest and somehow show itself. Many schools do this by sponsoring sports teams, but we don't have that option. And at the school council, the question was raised what our school can do in order to show itself in the best light.

“Someone mentioned that the three of you raised money for the parents of your late friend Jill Mermelstein,” he said. - It's great. But we decided that it would be nice to hold a conference in memory of Jill Mermelstein. It will take place a couple of weeks before the release. We will award the best student of the school. And you three will act as guests of honor. There will also be a journalist from New York Times ".

This was the most opportune moment to confess. But we were either too scared, or did not have time to figure anything out, or maybe both at once.

We left the office, and Herb said:

“Well, after all, Shvabrik will die anyway. Then the reward will be make sense".

Time passed, and the day of the ceremony came. The three of us in ceremonial suits were sitting on the presidium. The hall was full. The Jill Mermelstein award winning student took the stage to receive it. The director introduced us to a journalist from New York Times.

And it had to happen that on that day, on that same damn day, Shvabrik returned to school. In the annals of the history of tuberculosis treatment, that day was to be preserved as the most outstanding. Swabrik has recovered!

When Shvabrik entered the school, the hallways were empty. Naturally, he was not aware of anything. He bumped into a janitor or something like that, asked what was going on and was told that the whole school was going to some special conference.

And Shvabrik went into the hall. He could enter the hall either from the side, from behind the screen, or straight through the large doors.

Swabrik opened the doors when we had already taken the Pledge of Allegiance. And the first thing he saw was a banner with the inscription: MEMORIAL OF JIL MERMELSTEIN.

Herbie immediately noticed him and thought: "Shvabrik is not very smart, but he also knows what Memorial is."

The mop froze in place. The guys sitting in the back rows saw him and immediately understood everything: Shvabrik was alive, and Herbie, Larry and Brazzi just gave them money. The kids from New York are quick to see things like this. Laughs spread throughout the hall. The director couldn't understand what was happening. He did not recognize Shvabrik. And the reporter sitting in front New York Times made him nervous. The coat of arms rose, and - he still cannot say why he did it - proclaimed: "Swabrik, roll home, you're dead!"

The mop jumped out of the door and ran away. The devil knows what reigned in the audience. And in the midst of all this chaos, the student who won the Jil Mermelstein Prize yelled: “But will I still have the reward? Will the reward remain? "

The director looked at us and barked: "Immediately to my office!"

We followed him in horror. I almost cried. Poor my mother! Can she pull me out this time? Brazzi wound up again: “I'll never be a doctor. I will never become a doctor. " But Herbie said, "I'll figure it out."

When we were in the director's office, he said: “I have never experienced such humiliation in my life. I am kicking you out of school. Pack your things and get out of here. So that my eyes don't see you anymore! "

And then Herbie suddenly announced: "You are making a big mistake."

"What does it mean?"

“Yes, we really came up with the idea that Shvabrik died. And you are doing exactly the right thing to kick us out of school. But think about the consequences. You will have to submit the memorandum to the Office. And someone there will definitely say, “Director Cohen, explain to us how it happened. Three suckers come to school and claim that your student is dead. You just called his home once, found out that the line was disconnected, and on the basis of this recorded that the student was dead, and then also instituted an award in his honor? ”

Oh yes, - Herbie was on fire - they'll kick us out. But I don’t think that after that you will be able to become the principal of any of the New York schools. “However, he did not stop there. “Until rumors spread,” he continued, “maybe it’s better to just… forget about it?”

Dr. Cohen looked like a battered dog. Then he sighed and went out to speak with a reporter. New York Times, who himself already understood that this case is more suitable for Daily News, so I agreed not to publish anything.

The coat of arms subsequently began to give advice to the presidents and took part in negotiations on the reduction of strategic offensive arms with the Soviet Union. Brazzi is a neurosurgeon in Buffalo. Shvabrik is still alive and has moved to Florida. And we all received our certificates together.

Looking back, I can call our childhood in Brooklyn an improvisation theater. But then, of course, it never occurred to us. We were just having fun as best we could. Herbie and I composed a wonderful vaudeville called The Spark and the Plug, which one day put our entire school on the ears. Still, the best stage for our performances was Sam Maltz's candy store on the corner of Eighty-fifth and Twenty-first Avenues.

Maltz, an eternally disgruntled peasant, looked like a snowman in some way. He always had a cigarette sticking out of his mouth, although I do not remember that he ever smoked. At the door of his shop there was an automatic machine that poured a handful of sunflower seeds for a penny. There were tables fenced off from the hall along one wall, there was also a jukebox, a tray with newspapers and sweets. And also a counter where one could get the most wonderful drink in the world - a chocolate eggnog.

I have no idea why it was called that. No eggs were included in its composition. It was made from milk, chocolate syrup and mineral water... To prepare it correctly, it was necessary to do this: first, milk was poured into a glass, then syrup. All this was slightly mixed. And then it was necessary to add mineral water, so that foam appeared, and shake it up to get a cap, like on a beer mug.

Sometimes, when I didn't have seven cents or I just wanted to make fun of Maltz, I ordered a simple mineral water for two cents. He took a glass, took a sip, leaned over the counter and asked: "Maltz, maybe you can splash a little syrup?"

Maltz, grumbling, was dripping syrup into the glass. I took another sip and continued to whine: "Maltz, maybe there is a little milk?"

The pleasure was not so much in the drink as in waiting for Maltz to explode.

Once we noticed that the seed machine works without a coin. It was enough to turn the handle, and the seeds poured. We sat in front of the store all day, gnawing sunflower seeds. And more than that. If someone walked by, we would whisper in his ear: "There are free seeds here ..." Maltz watched the machine with pleasure all day. When we left there in the evening, there were no seeds left in it.

The next day Maltz fell into a rage, and all his thunders and lightning fell upon us.

“You robbed me! I saw you snapping seeds all day! I thought I would have at least five hundred coins in the machine! And there they weren't at all! My dreams have gone to waste! You robbed me! "

“Well, well, be quiet! - Herb stopped him. - Can you prove it in court, Maltz? Do you have any witnesses? "

Soon after this incident, Maltz sold his shop, and everyone began to say that we drove him out of Brooklyn.

The guy who bought his shop was very hot-tempered and we liked to piss him off. His name was Mo. One day we played Frankie Lane's song "Cry of the Wild Goose" on the jukebox.

My heart knows what the wild geese know,

I must go where the wild geese fly.

Brother goose, free goose, you tell me

Should I stay at home or wander in a foreign land?

Songs like this stick for a long time. It spins in your head, even if you hear it once, but we played it, probably, almost forty times in a row. It was probably too much for Mo, and he tried to get us to stop torturing us. However, the Coat of arms objected to him:

“We are respectable paying customers. And we have the right to listen to whatever we want! "

Then Mo finally lost his temper. Moving his fist up the counter, he almost jumped over it, ripped the fork out of the net and kicked the machine out the door with a shout:

“Do you want to know where the wild geese fly away? This is where your geese fly away! And now try to listen to what you want, little scholarly rascals! Go away!"

There is one more story that I must tell, although it happened a little later. I really like this story about Carvel. So I better tell her now.

It was November 1951. I have already turned eighteen. Herb and Howie Weiss and I had an argument about ice cream. It was about taste and price. We argued, argued and couldn't stop.

The coat of arms stated:

"Ice cream is best at Breyers and the price is good."

I argued that the ice cream is better at Borden.

To which Howie remarked:

"Yes, but what about Carvel?"

Carvel is a chain of ice cream parlors that were everywhere in those days. They served milkshakes and ice cream cones. The founder of the company was Tom Carvel. Later I met him. After many years in my show, we remembered this story.

Howie said three horns can be bought for fifteen cents at Carvel in New Haven, Connecticut. The coat of arms did not believe it. It just couldn't be. And Howie and I made a wager that you couldn't buy three horns for fifteen cents at Carvel in New Haven.

There was only one way to resolve our dispute: to go there and check everything for ourselves. So we told our parents that we were going to New Haven. But of course we couldn't go there without A-Bae. It was necessary to take it without fail. He was irreplaceable in any business that we started.

Our friend was not funny. Or rather, he was funny but didn't know about it - just like Yohji Berra. After all, Yohji Berra never deliberately makes people laugh. When someone asks him: "Do you know what time it is?" - then he simply clarifies: "Do you want to say now?" - but not joking at all. The back of the Jankees stadium was in shadow. So when Yohji said, "It's getting dark early in the Jankees Stadium," it was just a statement of fact. Everything he said was absolutely accurate: "Nobody goes to this restaurant anymore, because there are always a lot of people there."

A-Bae's voice alone made his words many times better. His hilariously low and, so to speak, honest voice is difficult to describe, but easy enough to imitate. If you've heard it at least once, you would never have forgotten. Somehow I'll try to reproduce the sound of his voice in an audiobook. The coat of arms has always parodied it for children. And his children grew up convinced that Herb himself invented A-Bae. And when one fine day A-Bae looked into their house, the children were shocked, as it turned out that A-Bae was real!

End of introductory snippet.

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Quote

What am I doing here?
These words describe my whole life. Honestly, at times I feel like I'm in a fairy tale. I want to pinch myself to make me believe that baby Larry Seiger from Brooklyn is being transferred 22,300 miles into space, where it is reflected from a satellite, so that then some resident of Taiwan or any of the 200 countries and territories of the world can watch me pester people with questions.
Larry King

What is the book "Journalist's Way" about?

Do not look in this book for a story in the style of "I was born, grew up ...". Larry King would not be Larry King if he wrote so boringly. The autobiography of the interview genius is something like this: "I was a bully, I was a bad guy, but I was damn lucky all my life." Larry King was always in the right place at the right time. He crashed into the car of the future President Kennedy and got off with a promise to vote only for Kennedy. Working at a small radio station in Miami, I managed to interview the great Sinatra, who did not give interviews at all. He put his last money on a horse, which was accepted at 70: 1, and ... won $ 8,000. This is the whole Larry King, whose biography is more like an exciting adventure novel.

Why The Journey of the Journalist is worth reading

• This is an honest and unadorned story about the life of a simple guy from Brooklyn who is well acquainted with all US presidents, starting with Richard Nixon.
• This is the story of a man who was friends with Frank Sinatra, Marlon Brando and Nancy Reagan.
• This is the biography of Larry King, whose show changed television and made it the way we see it now.

Who is the author

Larry King - talk show host on CNN, took more than 40,000 interviews in his life. The guests of his show were the most famous people planets: presidents and congressmen, diplomats and the military, athletes, actors and religious leaders. And for the first time, he talks in detail about his amazing life: how Larry Seiger from Brooklyn, the son of Jewish immigrants, became Larry King, the "king of reporting"; about the people he met on the air; about events that changed the world.

Larry King, like Oprah Winfrey, is one of the symbols of American television, well known all over the world. A Jew from Brooklyn with a sonorous pseudonym and an African American, both grew up in poverty and became America's most powerful people, both embody the dream of American television as a triumph of democracy. And in a democracy, television is ahead of politics by a couple of decades: Eddie Murphy has become ...