I was surprised by how disappointed I was by the whole thing. I thought there would be a grand announcement, outpourings of appreciation from public figures and my moment of pause upon realizing one of the lasting mysteries of my lifetime had been solved.

My response to the Deep Throat reveal was written to a friend through a series of emailed dispatches. But the crux of it?

"Hmm."

There are two schools among those who do what I do: those who were around for Watergate and those who weren't. For the former, yesterday prompted anecdotes of where they were, what they were doing as the whole thing broke. They recalled who they thought Deep Throat was (because we're not the type to just say, "I don't know.")

For the latter, my school, we weren't around for it. We were born into a world touched by the scandal and we grew up watching archived reels of Nixon saying "I'm not a crook" and waving those arms on the steps to Air Force One. We were brought into the mystery of Deep Throat, with references to him that could never be followed up with a proper explanation of who Deep Throat really was. Even reading The Washington Post brought a bit of a thrill.

When I traveled to Washington for my theater festivals, I walked by the Watergate several times a day. When I wasn't busy flashing bits of shoulder to the Saudi Arabian embassay across the street, I would look up at the (decidedly ugly) building and wonder what people thought of it before it became a part of history. I thought about how it looked while it was being broken into. I wondered how Deep Throat saw it. And that led back to wondering who Deep Throat was.

When I lived in Washington, I imagined waking up for late-night meetings. I walked about the city, wondering what stories lay hidden within. And I imagined having the task of sharing those stories with the world.

Everyone at least half-dreams of breaking the story of Deep Throat. But I half-hoped that it would remain a secret forever. I knew the news could be followed like the day-after-Christmas feeling built up my whole life.

And now I'm at the day after. Having read the news in a preview article from Vanity Fair. I didn't even have to buy the magazine. I took in the news in a PDF document, staring at a computer screen.

It did lose a bit of the glamour. OK, here's the news. Return to your business day.

Hank Steuver wrote quite the insightful piece for today's Post, which was forwarded to me this morning. And he raises one really dead-on point:

It turns out being in the dark about Deep Throat was more enthralling
than holding it out to the light. Had he lived in this era, Deep Throat
might not have lasted long. He'd be blogged to bits. He'd be Drudged,
smudged, Romenesko'd. People would disprove him with their own Deep
Throats. His identity would be discovered within a news cycle or two, spun
around, and he'd be left holding a book contract.

It's good to know that Deep Throat was, for the most part, one incredibly brave person willing to bypass his ethical code to reveal the truth. It's good to know that we who grew up in the shadow of his mystery weren't taught about something that turned out to be a wild goose chase.

But I feel badly for those who will now grow up without that mystery. Or, worse, hearing about what a mystery it was. History books are now going to have to be revised to include references to Deep Throat, the code name for former FBI official W. Mark Felt.

And it just kind of came out on a random Tuesday, without the expected Christmas feel.

It's rather sad, actually.
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In other news. I've had one question (in response to yesterday's post) emailed to me, another called across the living room (bet she didn't expect me to actually consider answering it!). I'll post responses to those later in the day. But the offer's still open - still taking anything anyone wants to ask.

Hint, hint.