Fox News Hosts Share Their Dads' Best Advice & Some Great Photos
Father knows best — especially the dads of these Fox News hosts and reporters.
We asked members of the Fox News family about the best advice that their fathers ever gave them.
Which Fox News host's father taught him not to be a whiner?
Can you guess the Fox News dad who taught his son how to look busy around the office?
Read on to see all the fatherly advice and some great photos!
Don't be a whiner.
Best two pieces of advice I got from my dad: to take the stories I cover seriously, but not to take myself too seriously... and to always walk around the office with my sleeves rolled up, so it looks like I am busy.
My dad's work ethic is, and always has been, incredible. He was born in a two-room shack; he pumped his drinking water from the well across the street and released it in the backyard outhouse. Denver in those days was still "The Wild West" in many ways, and some of the mountain towns where his itinerant father took the family were even more rugged.
I never met that grandfather; he died before I was born. Basically he drank himself to death. He hadn't been much of a provider or, for that matter, much of an example as a father.
My dad started at age 12 carrying hod for a bricklayer, and he's been at it ever since (working, not hauling mortar). He and my mom instilled in their six children the value of working for what we wanted, always urging us to do our best.
“If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well,” my dad used to say.
I’m not mowing lawns anymore, putting up fence or installing attic vents—jobs I had in high school and college. I’ve worked in TV news since a couple of days after I graduated and at Fox since we launched more than 18 years ago.
If I’m “doing it well," I know who gets the credit.
My father had a lot of great advice. On persistence, he would say in his Greek accent:
"Andrea, in life, you have to tell people what you want. People aren't mind readers. What's the worst they can say, 'no?' You're not going to die." He was right.
William R. Hemmer
(Or as he likes to say, The Original Bill Hemmer)
There is no relationship so unique as father and son.
Best advice? All of it. He’s never been wrong.
And I cherish the relationship he has with my Mom.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
I learned it all — eating cereal.
Before school every morning, Dad left my breakfast prepared on the counter. And, next to my cereal bowl were "words of wisdom" (scriptures, indelible quotes or some sort of valuable information). His advice was always encouraging and reminded me how much I was loved. One of his favorite quotes was from Walt Disney, "I hope I'll never be afraid to fail."
These sayings inspired me to follow my dreams, accept new challenges and never give up. My father's voice is still my guide today. Happy Father's Day, Dad! I love you more.
My dad was the greatest coach I ever had. In my book, "Making the Case," I talk about how — after the death of my mother when I was 11 — he made it his mission to teach me and my younger brother Anthony how to be our own best advocates.
He said, “Don’t ever be afraid of the no.” He taught us to ask for anything as long as we made the very best case for it we could. Because he never wanted us to live with the regret of not pursuing our interests, he encouraged us to do our best in everything, to put it all out there on the field, to admit if we made a mistake, and to try again to make things work out better. He’d tell us “You have blessings, you have gifts, you have passion and drive, so go after it — whatever it is — and make every day count.”
Once we became our own best spokespeople, he made it clear that we were to use those same skills to help advance the causes of those who had not yet found their own voices. He taught us to think of others — even strangers — with the same compassion we feel for our loved ones and ourselves.
It’s great advice to reflect on this Father’s Day... and every day.
My dad is many things: smart, silly, witty, fun, driven, loving, benevolent and courageous. He is simply the best! He is such a ham. He can always make me smile. This is a picture of us dancing at my brother's wedding last year.
Dad is a southern small business owner. He taught me that if you work hard, you get ahead, but none of it matters if you're not happy. I have a tendency to burn the candle at both ends and be too many things to too many people.
Dad always says, "Anna Baby, if you work hard, you can have anything you want in life, but you can't have everything you want in life. It's all about priorities." I still try to prove him wrong, but it's definitely helped me put my time, energy and effort into the things that matter most — and at the top of that list is him.
My dad gave me incredible career advice when I was very young. He said “Janice Anne, find something you most love to do when it comes to work. It will bring you great happiness in life.”
I know he was proud of all my accomplishments, but thankfully, he was also able to see that the most fulfilling part of my life is being a mother to his grandsons.
I miss you, Dad. Happy Father's Day.
- Janice Anne
After becoming Miss America, the scrutiny and snark happened right away! For some reason, some people wanted to bring me down and just automatically hated me — well — just because. It was almost as if my resume fell off the face of the earth and it was just easier to call me a dumb blonde.
I came from Minnesota where the "Minnesota Nice" thing is real. So I remember lamenting to my dad how hurt I was that people were so critical for no reason — and he offered some of life's greatest advice. He said, "Gretchen, no matter how hard you try, you will never get everyone to like you." And that meant a lot coming from a man who everybody loved! I still think about that advice every day. It comes in handy working at Fox, where I say I reached the "Bimbo Trifecta" when I came here (blonde, former Miss America, Fox host).
Dad, thanks for giving me the guts to stand up for what I believe in and stand tall against those who continue to hate. (Read more in Gretchen's new book "Getting Real" now available everywhere and at www.GretchenCarlson.com)
My father’s best advice to me was to always challenge myself and others in our way of thinking. To this day, I love having a good healthy debate with him.
As a kid, I read a lot. My parents couldn't keep me in books and they were frustrated with the "seven book checkout limit" at the local library— I would finish them in a day. I'd read anything and everything — I especially liked to sit on my dad's lap and read the papers (the Sunday Funnies was my favorite section).
Then, when I was in third grade, my dad started a tradition with me — I had to read the Rocky Mountain News and The Denver Post and choose two articles to discuss with him before dinner. I remember looking forward to that. I’d ask questions about the news and give my opinion, and then my dad would draw me out, making me think through my arguments, challenging me to look at issues from another point of view. He’d gently play the Devil's Advocate. That started a lifetime love of the news, and throughout my teens, we would get all the news magazines at the house and we'd dog ear the pages of articles that interested us so that we could discuss them.
Years later I remember being on Marine One and President Bush asked my opinion about a controversial issue. My position wasn't a popular one amongst the senior staff, and as the president thought over what I'd said, I had a flashback to the dining room table — sitting there with my dad, the papers spread before us, my mom cooking dinner and my dad asking my opinion, listening to me, telling me that my thoughts mattered. He helped me think more critically, and that’s when I gained enough confidence to eventually be sitting in front of the commander-in-chief and telling him exactly what I thought. I could argue with facts and be persuasive, but I wasn't just born with the skills to advise a president — I learned them over time, and it started when I got that first assignment from my dad.
Read more about how Dana's father helped set her up for success.
Yesterday at my Aunt Ana’s East Bronx apartment on Eastchester Bay opposite City Island, my father Cruz’s four surviving siblings gathered for a rare reunion. Joining Ana and me were her sisters Ofelia, Elie and May, all in their late 80s or 90s, and all still living in Puerto Rico. My wife Erica and Ana’s loving daughter, my cousin Lily, arranged the get-together occasioned by the aunties’ rare visit to New York from their island home in the town of Bayamón, a suburb of San Juan, the capital.
The trip was motivated by Aunt Ana’s failing health and the collective desire to spend time with this wonderful, gentle Puerto Rican soul who became my Jewish mother’s best friend. Cousin Lily, a Bronx-based Evangelical minister is named for my mom, Lily Friedman Rivera, now 95. My daughter Sol’s middle name is Liliana, homage to my mom and favorite aunt.
What struck me at the impromptu gathering was how long ago that was and how much we all had changed since that summer of 1959 when I turned 16, living with them and my grandparents in their crowded, but happy home. The three aunties up from Puerto Rico still live in the same home and we reminisced about how much their brother, my dad meant to them and me.
He was the first of his family to graduate high school and the first to take the banana boat up from Puerto Rico to New York. He sent me to live with his island family so that I was forced to learn Spanish, which I couldn’t speak a word of when I got there. Sending me there was a wise move because no one in his ancestral home spoke English and I was speaking and dreaming in Spanish when it was time to go home to New York for school that September, 56 years ago.
My dad’s dad, my abuelo Juan, and I went fishing and swimming in the Rio Bayamón, raised rabbits and chickens in the backyard and ate lots of rice and beans.
I worshipped my grandparents, who had 17 children in those long ago days when each kid grew up still working part-time in the sugar cane plantations that have long since given way to suburban sprawl, shopping malls and highways.
One of Puerto Rico’s main highways, Route 52, cuts through the center of the island from San Juan to Ponce on the south coast. As the highway approaches the Caribbean Sea, there is a statue dedicated to the proud Jíbaro, the Puerto Rican everyman from the old days when the island was still basically agrarian. The statue depicts the Jíbaro, who’s a sugar cane worker or farmer with his ever-present machete, standing alongside his wife holding their small child, and embodying everything noble and valued in island lore, a hard worker, guide and teacher, protective, genuine and loving, just like my dad.
Erica and I have a home in Playa Salinas on that south coast and I think of my father and grandfather every time we drive past the statue of the Jíbaro. In island culture, there is no higher compliment than to be called a Jíbaro. I am honored whenever I am referred to as a Jíbaro. And remembering my father and grandfather, I wish every Jíbaro reading this a Happy Father’s Day.