http://www.uniontrib.com/news/utarchives/cgi/idoc.cgi?286676+unix+alex6+ads.un iontrib.com..80+Union-Tribune+Union-Tribune+Library+Library++%28%28john -------------------- <BASE HREF="http://www.uniontrib.com/news/utarchives/cgi/idoc.cgi?286676+unix+alex6+ ads.uniontrib.com..80+Union-Tribune+Union- Tribune+Library+Library++%28%28john"> <HEAD> <TITLE>San Diego Union-Tribune Archive Document</TITLE> </HEAD> <BODY BGCOLOR="#ffffff" TEXT="#000000" LINK="#003af7" VLINK="#8f27cb"> <A HREF="/RealMedia/ads/click_nx.cgi/www.uniontrib.com/news/utarchives/search@Top Left,TopRight!TopLeft"> <IMG SRC="/RealMedia/ads/adstream_nx.cgi/www.uniontrib.com/news/utarchives/search@T opLeft,TopRight!TopLeft" WIDTH=234 HEIGHT=60 BORDER=0 ALIGN=LEFT></A> <A HREF="/RealMedia/ads/click_nx.cgi/www.uniontrib.com/news/utarchives/search@Top Left,TopRight!TopRight"> <IMG SRC="/RealMedia/ads/adstream_nx.cgi/www.uniontrib.com/news/utarchives/search@T opLeft,TopRight!TopRight" WIDTH=234 HEIGHT=60 BORDER=0></A> <BR CLEAR=ALL> <IMG SRC="/images/utsmallmast.gif"><BR> (Page E-1 )<P> <H2>Journalistic firebrand smokes out the truth for `60 Minutes' </H2><HR SIZE=3> <B><STRONG>John</STRONG> Freeman </B><BR> <FONT SIZE=-1>TELEVISION-RADIO WRITER </FONT><P> <B>26-May-1996 Sunday </B><P> <H3>Lowell Bergman </H3><P> A wry skepticism etched into his middle-aged face, Lowell Bergman has been<BR> an investigative journalist for nearly 30 years. He knows his way around a<BR> juicy story, one that requires digging until it seems there's nothing left<BR> to dig up. Then, wherever he is, often in a hostile setting, he digs a<BR> little deeper and suddenly unearths facts that make all the pieces fit<BR> together. <BR> <BR> An award-winning producer for "60 Minutes," a role he's had for 13 years,<BR> Bergman loves what he does for a living. He thrives on stirring up<BR> controversy, especially when he suspects wrongs have been committed and the<BR> truth needs to be brought to light. <BR> <BR> That's what he did in the late '60s and early '70s when he lived in San<BR> Diego and was the driving force behind a crusading "underground" newspaper,<BR> the Street Journal, that tried to expose big-money corruption and<BR> wrongdoing in those turbulent anti-war years. <BR> <BR> "Yeah, that was an interesting time," Bergman said, mildly amused that he's<BR> about to be profiled in The San Diego Union-Tribune. "That was when your<BR> newspaper (then The San Diego Union and The Evening Tribune) actually<BR> posted my photograph at the guard station -- when the paper was downtown --<BR> so I couldn't get into the building. They were afraid I was getting access<BR> to their (news) clips. <BR> <BR> And, you know, they were right." <BR> <BR> With "60 Minutes," Bergman, 50, has produced and conducted much of the<BR> investigative legwork on many of Mike Wallace's most notable stories,<BR> including 1986 revelations about the McMartin Preschool case in Huntington<BR> Beach and, a few years ago, coverage of the shadowy link between the CIA<BR> and cocaine trafficking, for which "60 Minutes" earned a Peabody Award. <BR> <BR> Prior to joining "60 Minutes" in 1983, he had investigative stints with<BR> ABC's "Nightline" and "20/20" and has long been recognized in TV news<BR> circles as one of the medium's top investigative producers. <BR> <BR> "He has more sources, contacts, and more of an understanding of the various<BR> government agencies than anyone I've yet come across," said Wallace. "He is<BR> thorough, careful and fearless. He can also be a pain in the a--." <BR> <BR> For his part, Bergman returns the backhanded compliment: "Here's this<BR> legendary voice with this legendary camera presence, who created all this<BR> legendary TV stuff, and who used to do tobacco ads! And as I often remind<BR> him, he's the one who made me start smoking again. He reads everything, he<BR> knows everything, he'll go anywhere for a story, he drives me crazy half<BR> the time ... And he's almost 78! He's been a survivor in what can be a<BR> very, very dangerous business -- especially if what you want to do is tell<BR> the truth." <BR> <BR> Don Hewitt, who created "60 Minutes" in 1968 and remains its outspoken<BR> executive producer, calls Bergman "as thorough an investigative reporter as<BR> I've ever known in my life. But he's also the first one to question<BR> anything I might want to latch on to as gospel. I appreciate that in a<BR> reporter." <BR> <BR> These days -- and long into the night, because Bergman constantly works the<BR> phones with shadowy sources and tipsters in many of the world's hot spots<BR> -- he's been enmeshed in a blockbuster story of lies and deception within<BR> the $50-billion tobacco industry. <BR> <BR> In February, "60 Minutes" aired an interview with a former tobacco<BR> executive named Jeffrey Wigand. Wigand charged that Brown & Williamson, the<BR> nation's third-largest tobacco firm and his former employer, had knowingly<BR> ignored -- and then covered up -- the addictive dangers of smoking, despite<BR> facts obtained from years of secret research. <BR> <BR> The claim contrasted sharply with testimony given to Congress in 1994 by<BR> top tobacco leaders, who swore under oath their belief that nicotine is not<BR> addictive. Their response forms the basis of a current congressional probe<BR> into possible perjury by those executives. <BR> <BR> That the Wigand interview aired at all was newsworthy because CBS had<BR> pulled it last November. The move was based on then-CBS owner Laurence<BR> Tisch's belief that Wigand's remarks would damage an industry in which his<BR> financial empire held considerable stock and which his son, Andrew, was a<BR> top executive (with Lorillard). <BR> <BR> Also, based on Wigand's signed agreement with B&W, Tisch feared a costly<BR> lawsuit that might unravel his pending sale of CBS to Westinghouse. <BR> <BR> Incendiary story <BR> <BR> The tobacco story became the most incendiary in the 28-year history of "60<BR> Minutes," not only to the highly rated show's millions of loyal weekly<BR> viewers but also inside CBS' New York headquarters. <BR> <BR> Matters have since smoothed over inside "60 Minutes," where the atmosphere,<BR> says Bergman, grew "poisonous" with producers and correspondents ready to<BR> mutiny against Tisch -- even Hewitt, who was forced to carry out his boss'<BR> demands. Wallace, feeling no support from his employer, threatened to quit<BR> over the issue, citing the show's loss of journalistic freedom. <BR> <BR> Hewitt now believes that because "60 Minutes" finally did air the tobacco<BR> story with Wigand's charges, "I think (media) corporations are gonna think<BR> twice before they cave in to perceived threats. Lowell Bergman provided a<BR> milestone in journalism by helping us shed light on the fact that the<BR> threats to the First Amendment now come not so much by what you say as how<BR> you got the information." <BR> <BR> Bergman declines to talk on the record about Tisch's heavy-handed<BR> influence, but he told a recent "Frontline" PBS documentary that "we were<BR> deceived and lied to (by Tisch)." He adds now: "I've taken a number of<BR> risks here and I'm now trying not to be totally out of control. I've gone<BR> to the edge. But what I've said in the past, I still believe now." <BR> <BR> Says Wallace, the show's ever-feisty elder statesman: "Since that tobacco<BR> story went on the air, the morale here -- which was very low -- has<BR> rocketed back. Pride, which was ebbing, has come back. There's a new<BR> energy, stimulated partially, no doubt, by `Dateline' on Sunday. I haven't<BR> seen this kind of energy around the shop in a few years." <BR> <BR> Asked if Tisch's departure, too, improved morale, Wallace paused before<BR> saying, with a slight laugh: "Yes, we finally, finally succeeded in<BR> dislodging him." Then Wallace used an unflattering phrase to describe Tisch<BR> -- which he insisted not be reprinted -- and then laughed uproariously. <BR> <BR> <BR> `Silkwood for '90s' <BR> <BR> A movie on "the tobacco thing," as Bergman calls it, is in the works at<BR> Disney with producer Michael Mann ("Heat"). The studio, it's been written,<BR> views the story (detailed by author Marie Brenner in the May issue of<BR> Vanity Fair) as "a `Silkwood' for the '90s." That 1983 film starred Cher<BR> and Meryl Streep as Oklahoma factory workers exposed to plutonium. <BR> <BR> Titled "The Man Who Knew Too Much," the article recounts how Bergman<BR> convinced Wigand to come forward with his story on "60 Minutes." <BR> <BR> It was late 1993 when Bergman came across a bundle of papers on the<BR> doorstep of his home in Berkeley, where he lives with his wife, Sharon<BR> Tiller, who's a "Frontline" producer. The bundle contained confidential<BR> documents from within Philip Morris, one of the world's largest tobacco<BR> companies. They seemed to refer to a failed study that tried a develop a<BR> "safe" cigarette. <BR> <BR> Through his contacts, Bergman got in touch with Wigand, who until 1993 had<BR> been earning $300,000-a-year as research director of Brown & Williamson, a<BR> rival of Philip Morris. He was fired when a secret in-house study he<BR> headed, an effort to develop and market a "safer cigarette," was suddenly<BR> dropped by B&W -- a project that seemed eerily similar to the Philip Morris<BR> experiments. <BR> <BR> Bergman then paid Wigand a reported $12,000 consulting fee to analyze the<BR> Philip Morris documents for "60 Minutes." But it took Bergman nearly two<BR> years to finally persuade Wigand to go public with his story. Wigand was<BR> extremely wary because he had signed a severance agreement with B&W in<BR> which he promised not to divulge any industry secrets to anyone -- or else<BR> risk legal action. <BR> <BR> Ultimately, however, his desire to disclose the truth won out. <BR> <BR> "He's always been a very reluctant hero," Bergman says of Wigand, who's now<BR> a $30,000-a-year chemistry teacher in Louisville, Ky., and recently<BR> divorced from his wife as a direct result of his whistle-blowing. <BR> <BR> "But he's also a man who from the first day I met him, always felt that he<BR> needed to say something. As it says in Vanity Fair, he's the man who knew<BR> too much. He's not a product of the tobacco industry, so he sees himself<BR> ethically as a scientist. That's where he gets his sense of self-worth. And<BR> he felt they violated that ethic." <BR> <BR> UCSD master's <BR> <BR> Raised in Brooklyn, Bergman studied philosophy at the University of<BR> Wisconsin and later came to UCSD to earn a master's degree under<BR> controversial leftist figure Dr. Herbert Marcuse. <BR> <BR> "I was always interested in the idea of philosophy that what appears to be<BR> true isn't necessarily true," he said. "There's always a difference between<BR> appearance and essence -- which is an ancient parable for in-depth<BR> reporting." <BR> <BR> Bergman says that when he occasionally teaches journalism seminars at UC<BR> Berkeley, "The first thing I have students read is `Plato's Myth of the<BR> Cave' in `The Republic.' It's very simple: First, that what appears to be<BR> true, isn't. And when you tell people what the truth is, you have to watch<BR> out because sometimes they kill the messenger." <BR> <BR> In 1968, the year "60 Minutes" premiered, Bergman was living in a Hillcrest<BR> commune. He was incensed that Professor Marcuse was under siege -- his home<BR> was shot at, his phone line was cut, death threats were made -- by a group<BR> he now describes as "ultra right-wing extremists." So he and his fellow<BR> commune members decided to start publishing a newspaper. <BR> <BR> "What we were trying to do was break the monopoly on information," said<BR> Bergman. "We tried to approach it from an academic point of view; some of<BR> us had experience in what was called `power-structure research.' What we<BR> were looking for was: Who ran San Diego? <BR> <BR> "What we discovered was that the richest guy in town, (financier) C.<BR> Arnholt Smith, was in reality in partnership with (financier/racetrack<BR> owner) <STRONG>John</STRONG> Alessio. The second-largest landowner, next to the Navy, at<BR> that time, was the Teamsters' Central States Pension Fund, which had been<BR> called by Robert Kennedy, the attorney general at the time, the<BR> `piggy-bank' for the Mob. <BR> <BR> "It was a very tumultuous time, a time that didn't seem to have a First<BR> Amendment. In order to print our newspaper, we had to go to Los Angeles<BR> because no one would print us in San Diego County. Our offices got<BR> firebombed, shot at, our people got arrested all the time. And we couldn't<BR> sell our papers because the cops would just arrest our street sellers. <BR> Hell, I used to get arrested for blocking the sidewalk in front of my own<BR> house. I once got arrested for wearing a military stripe -- on my surplus<BR> army jacket." <BR> <BR> `Terrorist attacks' <BR> <BR> A San Diego Union story from Jan. 9, 1970, tells of Bergman holding a news<BR> conference to decry "terrorist attacks against the paper and its staff." <BR> The story continued: "No arrests have been made in the attacks which<BR> included the theft of 2,500 newspapers, the firebombing of a staff member's<BR> car and the destruction of printing equipment." <BR> <BR> Bergman, then 24, is quoted as saying: "We don't know who is out to get us<BR> and it seems that no one cares. We have gone to the San Diego Police<BR> Department for help and they have responded with harassment. We want<BR> adequate and equal police protection and a prompt investigation of those<BR> responsible for the acts of terrorism. The time has come to make San Diego<BR> a human place where all ideas can be expressed without fear." <BR> <BR> Looking back now, Bergman says his experiences in San Diego "ultimately<BR> inspired me and proved to me that the First Amendment is a very powerful<BR> weapon for seeking the truth. Because in fact, the city did change quite a<BR> lot." <BR> <BR> Back in the '60s and early '70s, when he was a protester, Bergman smoked<BR> several packs of cigarettes a day. He quit briefly in 1975, but resumed the<BR> habit later that year after he and Penthouse magazine were sued for $522<BR> million by the owners of La Costa Resort. <BR> <BR> In an article in Penthouse titled "La Costa: The Hundred-Million-Dollar<BR> Resort with Criminal Clientele," Bergman and a co-author charged that La<BR> Costa was a hangout for organized crime figures. <BR> <BR> There was another related suit: "A mobster named Jimmy `The Weasel'<BR> Fratianno was still a killer then and he sued me for $15 million. So with<BR> the combination of the two suing me at the same time, I went back to<BR> smoking. Couldn't help it," Bergman said with one of his frequent hearty<BR> chuckles. <BR> <BR> A 10-year legal battle ensued, which wasn't settled until December 1985.<BR> Penthouse later claimed that no money was paid to La Costa or Fratianno,<BR> but part of the agreement included a joint statement that said the magazine<BR> did not believe La Costa's then-owners were organized crime figures. <BR> <BR> As for Bergman, he quit smoking again in 1985 "because I wasn't feeling<BR> good; I knew it was bad for me," he said. "I do understand its attraction<BR> and, believe me, I don't have any doubt that tobacco's addictive. I don't<BR> know anyone who smokes who doubts that it's addictive." <BR> <BR> Legal industry <BR> <BR> >From a journalistic view, the tobacco issue is no longer whether it's<BR> addictive or whether it's a health problem, says Bergman. Those questions<BR> have been decided. (Despite the obvious health risks, an estimated 46<BR> million American adults regularly smoke; an estimated 500,000 deaths<BR> related to smoking annually occur in the United States). <BR> <BR> "The fact is that tobacco is a legal industry that, actually, despite all<BR> of their statements, has less government regulation here than in any other<BR> country," he said. "And they don't want to be regulated. It's that simple. <BR> And no one in the upper reaches of this industry -- for decades -- has ever<BR> spoken forthrightly or truthfully about what everybody knows is true. <BR> That's what makes it a great story." <BR> <BR> Bergman, who has been threatened many times in his career -- by drug lords,<BR> terrorist gun-runners and religious fanatics alike -- says he doesn't feel<BR> overly threatened by the tobacco industry. At least not physically. By<BR> contrast, Wigand has been the target of death threats as well as a smear<BR> campaign of his personal life, one financed by tobacco interests. <BR> <BR> "This is not an industry known for its civility. They have extremely deep<BR> pockets, and they're into suing people like me," Bergman said. "My<BR> experience -- and this includes alleged members of organized crime -- is if<BR> you don't double-cross people, they'll leave you alone. Unless they're<BR> nuts, that is. By choice, I don't do (`60 Minutes') stories about cult<BR> groups, right-wing or left-wing crazies. I leave those stories to others<BR> because cult groups don't make decisions rationally. <BR> <BR> "Generally speaking, corporations, whether they're legal or illegal, make<BR> rational decisions based only on profit and loss. So it's usually a bit<BR> easier to figure out what they might or might not do to people like me. Of<BR> course, it depends on what the level of jeopardy is, as well. <BR> <BR> "Ultimately, what we're talkin' about here -- and this affects you and me<BR> and everybody who's in this business of journalism -- is the power to do<BR> stories about people who have power. We do have that power. It's the First<BR> Amendment." <BR> <BR> <BR> <HR SIZE=3> <FONT SIZE=1>Copyright <A HREF="http://www.uniontrib.com">Union-Tribune Publishing Co.</A></FONT> </BODY>
