PSU Magazine Winter 2003

regular column for the paper. He sold an article to Sports Illustratccl. And The Oregonian began publishing his articles in its Sunday periodical, the now– defunct orthwest Magazine, including one that in hindsight might have been a good assignment to pass up. In the 1980s, thousands of followers of the Bagwan Shree Rajneesh set up an ashram on a ranch in eastern Oregon. At The Oregonian's request, Colton set out to investigate. During his three days at the ranch, Colton was amazed at how happy everyone seemed and struck by the astonishing agricultural accomplishments of the ashram. Even an encounter on his way back to Portland with a disgruntled farmer who scoffed, "You give me 500 idiots who'll work from dawn to dusk every day for nothing, and I'll have carrots growing out of the hood of your car," wasn't enough to dissuade him. Colton wrote a piece that, while bal– anced, ended up being possibly the most 11attering profile w1itten on the group. A few years later, the Bagwan and his followers fell into disgrace amid accusaLions of arson, attempted murder, drug smuggling, and vote fraud. But before the ashram went bust, Colton would return. Colton began writing a movie script based on his Willamette Week column, "Pillars of Portland," which featured fictionalized characters like Wes Hills and Grant Parks who participated in actual Portland events. The movie plot followed the fictional Wes, who had snorted his dad's money away and was trying to se ll fencing to the Rajneeshees. local television station agreed to air the movie during primetime, and a local production crew was lined up to film the script. But "script" is a bit formal for what actually was in place. For the most part, the movie was improvised. If a local business gave them money, they'd figure out a way to write in a scene at that location. They went to the ashram and improvised entire scenes. Editing on the movie was finished two nights before it aired. Colton watched the film at the house of one of the actors. "Halfway through," says ColLOn, "the actor's neighbor came out and stood in his driveway and shouted, 'Bor-ringl ' lt wasn't boring, it was unwatchable. That was a low point in my career." About this time, his two daughters from a previous marriage came to live with him. Colton realized he needed to find a regular paycheck the day he had to drive one daughter to school-seven miles through morning traffic-in reverse. "It was a beat-to-crap '70 Chevy Nova," he recalls, "its transmis– sion shot, its only gear reverse." He went to work at Nike for a year as a "designated writer," but found that after a long day of writing at work he had nothing left to say when he got home. "I was not a happy camper," says Colton. "Although, l did have the best shoes of any writer in town." A nd certainly working at Nike wasn't all bad. He liked the people-he met his wife there-and he wrote a 25- page proposal for a book based on his college experiences that was accepted by Doubleday. When Goat Brothers was published, some reviewers found the depictions of crude fraternity life a "celebration of raw male behavior," but Colton says he intended it as a repudi– ation of that mindset. The book was a success. lt was optioned (although the movie was never made), excerpted in Esquire mag– azine, and chosen as a main Book of the Month Club selection. Colton was– n't rich, but, "l could get off the happy-hour trail," and he says, "l bought a car." Things seemed to be looking up. He got a six-figure advance for his next book, Counting Coup: A True Story WINTER 2003 PSU MAGAZI E 11