Pall of Fame

It was a call that journalism school did not prepare me for. "This is Spencer," I said, picking up the phone at the New York Daily News. It was October 2003, and I was working as a reporter for the paper's main gossip column, "Rush & Molloy." Earlier that year, after finishing the graduate program at the University of Southern California's Annenberg School for Communication, I had taken an internship at the paper's business desk. Six months later, I had found my way to what seemed like a more exciting part of the paper. "Yeah, this is Chris Noth," said the actor best known as Mr. Big, Sarah Jessica Parker's love interest on "Sex and the City." "So, what is this bullshit you're writing? ... This is what you do with your life? You are fucking pathetic."Noth's ire stemmed from the fact that we were reporting an item about his alleged behavior the night before at Conde Nast Traveler's Reader's Choice awards gala. Upon departing from the event--where he had been a presenter--on his way to a waiting limousine, Noth had apparently patted an unsuspecting blonde on the derriere and invited her to go "for a ride." Covering the event that night, I had been standing among a clutch of attractive women in the hopes of leaving with, er, a story, when The Blonde came storming up to us to complain of the indecent proposal. The next day, I called Noth's publicist for comment, as was the practice. But, when his flack failed to get the item killed, Noth decided to take matters into his own hands. New to the world of gossip reporting, I had no snappy response to hurl back at him. "Just doing my job," I stammered. Over the last two and a half years, having worked for a number of other gossip columns and glossy magazines, I've come to know firsthand that Noth's sentiments about my "pathetic" line of work are not uncommon. And, if anyone had forgotten how "pathetic," "despicable," "immoral," and "unethical" the whole gossip trade is, his memory has surely been refreshed by the recent scandal involving Jared Paul Stern, a part-time writer for the New York Post's "Page Six" column who allegedly tried to squeeze at least $200,000 out of California supermarket billionaire Ron Burkle in exchange for "protection." Stern's attempted blackmail of Burkle, if true, is indefensible and, in my experience, an aberration. But, unlike the scandals involving unethical nongossip news reporters--Jayson Blair, anyone?--Stern's imbroglio was met with a collective, "Aha! We always knew it was that way!" The Stern scandal gave civilians and celebrities alike a delicious opportunity to vent at the entire gossip trade. Just the other day, my friend's beautiful older sister, whom I'd much prefer did not think my work was pathetic, said about gossip writers, "It's kind of like if a tree falls in the forest, did it make a noise, you know?" I'm still not exactly clear on what she meant, but it doesn't sound good. And, even though celebs, more than ordinary people, understand the value of gossip for promoting their movies, perfume brands, et cetera, they still treat you like a bottom-feeder. I remember Philip Seymour Hoffman's body language, which suggested, "Slime, distance thyself from me," as I struggled to get him to sound off at a 2004 fashion week event. Chloe Sevigny, at the premiere of Shattered Glass, sneered, "Look at you, in your seersucker jacket asking me all these questions." At the T.J. Martell Foundation's awards gala, honoring great humanitarian deeds, the elder Barbara Bush looked me in the eye and bluntly told me to "get away" from her. And workplace hazards aren't limited to being manhandled by the Bushes' security detail. Stevie Wonder was also there that night. Interviewing him was a dangerous thing, because he bobs his head aggressively and unpredictably as he talks. But, in between dodging Wonder's head and maneuvering through ego minefields, the job gives you a chance to cut celebs down to size through their own words and actions. This is the populist crusader side of it. Noth got his comeuppance when I printed some choice quotes from our conversation: "There were like 30 of the most beautiful girls there who were totally flirting with me," we quoted him as saying. "Why would I choose [that blonde]?" There is also, well, this: Two weeks ago, I was at the Beverly Hills Hotel's Polo Lounge with Harlequin heartthrob Fabio. Over lunch, he told me his surprisingly fascinating life story. It occurred to me then that there are worse jobs. He even gave me his secret to success: "I don't take myself too seriously." That's a good way to avoid hypocrisy. After all, people may call gossip columns pathetic, but do they really want to know about a celebrity's uncouth pick-up tactics? The answer is a resounding yes. Celebrity news is a booming business. It is one of the only facets of print news media that is healthy and growing, which is why young journalists, whose ambitions often range beyond Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton, end up getting their feet wet in gossip. Sure, gossip is not straight journalism. Stories are written up with the necessary dose of cutesy alliteration, splashy innuendo, and, yes, an editorial spin. But, as with any other news, getting the story right and getting it first are the primary principles. In fact, what's really pathetic is the way gossip writers are looked down upon by the same people for whom they serve a need--be it the public (with its voyeuristic curiosity) or celebrities (with their need to be in the public eye). It's kind of like Ron Burkle saying he values his privacy, then luring an ethically challenged "Page Six" writer into his elaborately bugged living room for three hours of conversation about purchasing tabloid immunity and handing the footage over to the Post's tabloid rival, the Daily News. Incidentally, just a few days after the so-called "Payola Six" scandal broke, I happened to be dining at Dan Tana's, a Hollywood restaurant long favored by celebrities and industry types. At a nearby table sat the 53-year-old business maven Burkle, wearing a black hooded sweater, jeans, and sneakers. He was at a table of hip, young people, wedged between the actress Kate Hudson and the model Sara Foster. To my eyes, he looked pretty pathetic.

By Spencer Morgan; Spencer Morgan is a freelance writer living in New York City.