RHAPS I was naive. As- a journalist, I came of age during the Watergate era and soon developed a taste for investigative reporting. I liked putting together puzzles of facts, prying open closed doors, revealing crime, corruption, negligence, and stupidity. There's always enough around to keep busy. My tenets were simple enough: report the facts and don't let the bastards scare you. I wrote articles on crime, politics, and business. I interviewed President Carter, as well as doing my share of the obligatory lost dog stories. So it was with some experience that in 1978 I undertook a journalistic investigation of a Northwest business organization that was allegedly defrauding consumers to the tune · of some $200,000. It was during this investigation that I learned, under fire, certain disturbing vulnerabilities that freelance writers face. True, the resulting articles did offer professional rewards. But in the end, I was simply glad to be alive and unencumbered by thousands of dollars in legal fees. • • • The Mysterious Dating Club At the beginning of the investigation, the story looked simple enough. A Portland-based "dating club" was allegedly selling membership contracts to people for nearly $500 each. For this fee, customers were guaranteed "dates" and certain "matching services." However, irate sources charged that the dating club officials were pocketing the money and not delivering promised services. As I investigated, the story grew bigger. Additional information implicated several dating clubs in other West Coast cities. "You can investigate this operation for the rest of your life, and you'll never get to the bottom of it," confided one crime investigator. "There are definite connections into organized crime.'' The investigation was complicated and exhausting. I interviewed over a hundred sources and spent two weeks assembling information. A tangle of details had to be verified, checked and re-checked. In addition, several key sources demanded anonymity. Because I had worked previously for the Oregon Journal as a staff re·porter, I took my story to that newspaper. The city editor was definitely interested and suggested that I work out of the newsroom. I did. Midway through the investigation, police detectives warned me that my life might be in danger. There were those, they said, who would go to extremes to see that my story didn't get out. "If you think we're kidding, we'll be glad to show you what the bullet holes look like," they offered. They made their point. In response to this rather provocative information, I made copies of my notes and entrusted them to the Journal's city editor. I worked faster and . harder. I also acquired a nervous 16 tendency to watch the bushes for any sudden movement. Several days later, after the articles had been cleared by the Journal's atCLINTON ST. QUARTERLY My Brief Career asan In vestigative Journalis· t By Steve Cahill I acquired a nervous tendency to watch the bushes for any sudden movement. torney, the story hit the front pages. The articles captured the keen attention of many, including various law enforcement officials who would later prosecute the dating club business for unlawful trade practices. • • • The Scoop The Journal scored an important news break and the editors expressed satisfaction. More, certainly, than was expressed by their meager payment of $200 for work that took me over two weeks to complete. Still, I knew I had done a good job under difficult circumstances. I was proud. The news was out, the public alerted, an<l the wheels of justice were slowly beginning to turn. I felt I had made a civic contribution. Hours after the Journal story broke, local television and radio reporters began covering the story. A "You can investigate this operation for the rest of your life and you'll never get to the bottom of it,'' confided one • crime investigator. few days later the Oregonian published a similar article about the dating club. Soon I was invited to appear on AMNorthwest, a television progran:i, to talk about my "scoop." ac- cepted. At the television studio, Jim Basely droned on about the weather while Sen. Bob Packwood and I drank coffee and waited to be interviewed. Following a laxative commercial, I appeared on camera to reveal the "story behind the headlines" to sleepy housewives yawning over their cornflakes. I was famous. • • • In the Eye of the Storm Then the legal maneuvering began. Months after the first articles appeared, the Attorney General finally began to prosecute officials of the dating club. The FBI reportedly became involved. I learned that dating club officials were planning to fight prosecution with charges of "collusion" between myself and the Attorney General's office. That struck me as particularly ludicrous since tight-lipped AG officials gave me scarcely any information during my investigation. Yet, because the charges implicated my investigation, I knew I would be dragged into the legal fray. Still, as the possessor of the proverbial clean nose, I thought such events might prove interesting. The novelty of the situation, however, promptly wore thin. As it became increasingly certain that I would be called to testify in the case, I perceived some difficult complications. I was eager to substantiate my articles and to deny any charges'of "collusion." On the other hand, as a reporter, I was committed to shielding significant information about anonymous key sources. This I intended to do. With no real experience in such matters, it became clear that I could benefit from legal guidance. I readily voiced these concerns to the Journal's city editor, who had worked closely with me on the expose. He was sympathetic, but noncommittal. He "saw no reason" the newspaper should hire a consulting 'attorney for me "at that time." In- · stead, he suggested that I simply invoke my reporter's right to shield sources and "see what happens." Shortly thereafter I was subpoenaed by an attorney for the dating club and called to give a deposition. Lacking the advantage of legal counsel and somewhat unsure of my rights, I refused to answer any questions I thought touched upon necessarily confidential areas. The dating club's attorney was prodding and antagonistic. I repeated my right to shield privileged information many times. • • • The State of Oregon eventually prevailed in the case. The court ruled that restitution be paid to "wronged consumers" by the prosecuted dating club officials. But attorneys for the dating club injected another legal strategy-a libel/slander suit against the Oregonian, the Oregon Journal and me for nearly two million dollars. Havirtg but a few hundred dollars to my name, I knew that I might have trouble coming up with my share of the money. Aware, however, that my articles were precise and that the libel/slander complaints against me were bullshit, I wasn't too worried. What did worry me, profoundly, was the realization that I was suddenly in legal jeopardy and obliged to de- /had completed a difficult and dangerous investigation. Now, when things were getting rough, everyone was scrambling to defend their self interests. fend myself against the charges. And I knew that could mean heavy legal fees. Directly, I contacted the editor of the Oregon Journal. He offered little help. Business was business, and his was to protect the interests of the newspaper. In short, I was told it would be wise for me to seek "an attorney to represent my specific exposure." The newspaper's lawyers were not obligated to represent me, he said, and any legal fees I might incur would not be re-imbursed. "Welcome to the adult world," said the editor. I was appalled. I had completed a difficult and dangerous investigation, that scored an important story for the newspaper. Now, when things were getting rough, everyone involved was scrambling to defend their self-interests. And I was left in the lurch. A conspicuous irony emerged. The Illustration by Steve Winkenwerder
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