Washington ? The names of Joseph Short, Larry Speakes, Joe Lockhart, James Hagerty, George Christian and Marvin McIntyre may not resonate much these days. But they counted for something in their time. All were presidential press secretaries (for Truman, Reagan, Clinton, Eisenhower, Johnson, Roosevelt) and the focus of attention in the nation’s capital. How soon we forget.

I thought of these distinguished public servants when I heard that Ari Fleischer, who has been the public face of the Bush administration for the last two years, plans to leave in July. Washington being Washington, there was instant speculation that he had been pushed, or was parachuting out on a wave of frustration. But Fleischer, 42 and recently married, says that he is weary and wants to “unwind, do something more relaxing” than engage in a daily battle of wits (?) with the Washington press corps.

“I never meant to be a government-for-life type,” he explained. Translation: After a year or two on the umpteen-thousand-per-lecture circuit, he will settle into a comfortable job at one of the larger public-relations firms or, perhaps, a trade association. (One suggestion might be the presidency of the National Association of Truck Stop Operators, a sinecure once occupied by the late Ron Ziegler — Nixon’s press secretary.)

Some ex-press secretaries achieve a certain celebrity — Pierre Salinger (Kennedy), Bill Moyers (Johnson), Dee Dee Myers (Clinton) — but most descend into genteel obscurity. In any event, weep not for Ari Fleischer: His fatigue will soon lift, and the cash will be falling like snowflakes on his famously bald head.

The word on Ari Fleischer is that he was good at his job but will not be missed by reporters. Fleischer’s obfuscations, meaningless verbiage and deadpan evasions were, at once, wondrous to behold and immensely frustrating.

When asked if there was any connection between the sudden resignations of Treasury Secretary Paul O’Neill and economic-policy adviser Lawrence Lindsey on the same day, Fleischer replied: “I think that each resigned for their own reasons.”

When pressed on the subject, he embarked on a mildly incoherent discourse about the way “people in government service do not stay in government service for their entire portion of presidential terms.” Finally, when asked for a second time if there was any connection between the two departures, he declared: “I’ve simply indicated to you that the president is, as I said, very grateful for their service.”

I could fill the rest of this column with other examples — when asked if the substitution of “Freedom Fries” for French Fries on the Air Force One menu was a White House gesture or a military witticism, he responded that “we’re always proud of the men and women of our Air Force” — but you get the idea. Ever since the halcyon days of Sam Donaldson bellowing questions at a hard-of-hearing Ronald Reagan on the White House lawn, and Reagan pretending not to hear what Donaldson said, the public has delighted in the spectacle of the White House stiffing obnoxious reporters.

Still, I cannot help but think there’s a better way. One problem, as always, is saturation coverage. The Clinton administration began the practice of televising the daily White House press briefings, and the consequences have been twofold: preening correspondents and argumentative columnists (Helen Thomas) engaging in verbal swordplay with the spokesman, hoping he’ll say something indiscreet; and the assumption that such briefings are not routine but News Events of particular importance.

Turning off the cameras after five minutes might frustrate the television divas and Helen Thomas but would be a huge relief to nearly everyone on either side of the lectern. Alarm bells should always ring in editors’ suites when the acquisition of stories is a bigger deal than the stories themselves.

One other problem is the definition of news. Of course, in a free society, journalists are hardly content to rewrite press releases or faithfully record what they are told. But the post-Watergate ethos is such that reporters tend to regard official explanations invariably as lies, and consider their mission as investigative, even prosecutorial, in nature. This wins awards and earns reputations, but it does not necessarily serve the interests of readers; and, in due course, it has led to the kind of surreal defensiveness of which Ari Fleischer is a master.

How much easier it would have been last December to acknowledge, in diplomatic language, that President Bush thought the time was ripe for change, or that differences over policy had arisen, and that Paul O’Neill and Lawrence Lindsey were leaving the government with his best wishes and thanks for their service. Instead, Ari Fleischer found it necessary to conceal the process, and deny the obvious, thereby needlessly irritating his inquisitors and embarrassing Lindsey, O’Neill and President Bush.

Philip Terzian is the associate editor of the Providence Journal.