I guess we have one more thing to worry about. Former Congressman J.D. Hayworth lost to Senator John McCain yesterday in Arizona’s Republican primary election. Early in the campaign, Hayworth expressed concerns that legalizing gay marriage would pave the way for marriages between men and horses. He did not offer an opinion on nuptials involving women and horses. Regardless, who among candidates will now protect horses from entering into bad marriages.

I don’t know McCain’s position is on this vital issue. But whatever it is this morning will change by nightfall. During the campaign, the former Presidential candidate and so-called man of principles shifted his positions more times than an actress in a porn movie. Indeed, McCain’s only enduring principle is that he will do anything to win an election. Even so, most voters don’t much care nowadays. Ballots are cast based on gut feeling rather than thoughtful consideration. And voters failed to give thought to the dangers of horse marriages.

Maybe the issue was buried beneath a blizzard of money invested by McCain to assure his re-election. He spent $20-million on the campaign—six times more than Hayworth. However, the champion of campaign finance reform had never before been challenged by a candidate he perceived to be a threat to Washington tenure.

Buying elective office is the latest hobby of the rich. McCain isn’t rich, but his wife is. And if this year is an indication, the only obstacle to buying primary elections is hosting orgies on a yacht. In Florida’s U.S. Senate  Democratic primary, millionaire Jeff Greene was unable to overcome allegations of drug and sexual high jinx by partying celebrity guests on the elegant Summerwind. Greene was beaten by Congressman Kendrick Meek, who is trying to become Florida’s first black U.S. Senator.

Still, all was not lost for Florida millionaires. The Republican gubernatorial primary was won by millionaire political neophyte Richard Scott. He defeated Attorney General Bill McCollum, a veteran politician who Scott accused of being a veteran politician. McCollum countered by accusing Scott of being behind a scheme in which HCA—the giant hospital conglomerate—paid $1.7 billion dollars to the federal government to settle charges of Medicare and Medicaid fraud. Scott defends himself by pointing out that he resigned—forced out is more accurate—five days before the first indictments were returned.

http://www.naplesnews.com/news/2010/aug/01/columbiahca-whistleblowers-stunned-rick-scott-atop/

Rick Scott joins other millionaire political hobbyists who bought their way onto the November ballots in California and Connecticut. If you are concerned about amateur politicians running the country, not to worry. Just look at the fine job Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger has done in California. Under his leadership, the state’s economy has only partially collapsed. Nor the state been declared a third world nation—yet.

Buying elective office is nothing new, although the worst is yet to come. The U.S. Supreme Court decision lifting limits on corporate contributions to candidates will undoubtedly influence the outcome of many future elections—putting candidates in office, who serve their campaign financiers instead of voters.

I’ve seen the impact of office buying up close, which gives me an opportunity to plug my book with an excerpt. 

I collected a fourth Peabody for an exposé titled, The Best Insurance Commissioner Money Can Buy. “Every once in awhile an example of investigative reporting in its purest, most absolute form comes to the fore,” the judges stated. “This is the type of reporting that uncovers damaging facts, makes them publicly available and leads to decisive action.”

The “decisive action” that followed my exposé was an investigation that sent Louisiana Insurance Commissioner Douglas Green to prison. Also convicted were the owners of the state’s third largest automobile insurer, Champion Insurance Company, which collapsed and left behind $100-million in unpaid claims.

My report revealed that Green concealed the company’s financial shenanigans. Why? Because ninety percent of his campaign finances, nearly $3-million, came from Champion.

Prior to the insolvency, I asked Green on-camera about Champion’s money being laundered into his campaign by surrogate contributors. “Don’t you think it’s strange that a third-year law student at LSU would loan $45,000 to the campaign and you don’t even know him?” Green’s answer exemplified why I considered the state a muckraking Mecca. 

“No. This is Louisiana.”

In the two decades since my Champion Insurance Company story, other states have surged ahead of Louisiana in the race to become the nation’s most corrupt. But in my adopted home state, money is still the name of the game in the politics. And much will be spent in the upcoming U.S. Senate race in which a duplicious incumbent Republican tries to defend misconduct that includes patronizing prostitutes. But his whore-mongering may be less of an issue that imagined. Jimmy Swaggart conditioned us to sin long ago.

What I want to know between now and November is how the candidates stand on horse-man marriages.

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. The book is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career.

My calendar is running backwards and I am somehow being transported back to the 1960’s. Or so it seems. I think New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd got it right when she wrote this week that the nation is suffering “a nervous breakdown.”

Even worse, is an outbreak of national paranoia—a condition that is being exploited by politicians, preachers, and talk show characters like Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Bill O’Reilly, Glenn Beck and the Republican Propaganda Network—also known as Fox “News.”

Indeed, the country is being exposed to a sick joke this week by the planned Glenn Beck rally at the Lincoln Memorial on the anniversary of Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech. Beck personifies all that the Reverend King opposed. Instead of unifying people as civil rights leader dreamed, Beck’s rhetoric is designed to divide the country.

He claims that the selection of August 28th for his rally is a benevolent accident—a date orchestrated by God. If this is truly God’s plan, I have hunch that a lightning storm will hit Washington on Saturday. If that comes to pass, Glenn should avoid standing beneath trees. And that probably goes for many other people attending the rally.

If some of the past Tea Party demonstrations are an indication, Glenn’s soiree will be exploited by far-right fringe groups. And although the Ku Klux Klan has been reduced to double digit numbers in most parts of the country, there are still enough racists around to fill a lot of sheets. They will show up, invited or not, to spread their brand of hatred—often in the name God.

The “God told me so” syndrome is nothing new. My old pal, Jimmy Swaggart, has regularly used quotation marks in relating instructions given him by the Lord. Unfortunately, Brother Jimmy’s hearing must have been failing when he heard God say, ”Go forth and save prostitutes.” Jimmy thought he heard, “Go forth and pay prostitutes.”

As someone who has worn a hearing aid for years, I know the problems of  misunderstanding words. And I’m guessing this is what happened to the Pastor of the Dove World Church in Gainesville, Florida. He believes God wants him to promote ”Burn the Koran Day” on the 9/11 anniversary.

But who am I to judge the hearing of other folks—Pat Robertson being the exception. The TV mogul and religious broadcaster has been wrong so many times in relaying God’s word that he must be deaf. Undeterred by his hearing loss, Robertson continues to interject himself in ongoing controversies. Most recently, he weighed-in on construction of the proposed Islamic mosque and cultural center in lower Manhattan. Earlier his month, an organization he heads filed a lawsuit to block the project. For me, the very fact that Robertson opposes the mosque suggests that it is worthwhile.

Although I am sympathetic to the protests of families of World Trade Center victims, they represent only a small percentage of the people opposing the project. In fact, there are families of victims who support the center, which is being constructed as a symbol of Islamic moderation. 

But sadly, Muslims are the victims of a wave of the mass hysteria sweeping the nation because of an economic downturn and fear of the future. In bad times, the population can easily be manipulated by morally corrupt politicians and others with selfish motives. Watching the confrontations between groups of demonstrators at the mosque site this past weekend was reminiscent of covering civil rights more than forty years ago.

The sheets and hoods of the sixties were missing. Still, I fear they may return if the characters exploiting the hysteria don’t butt out.

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. The book is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career.

Hot enough for you? Probably. But I’ll get to that later. First, the hot news. Oregon authorities will not pursue sexual assault allegations against Al Gore. If readers blinked while perusing the newspaper or answered the phone while watching television, there is a good chance they missed last week’s report that the District Attorney in Portland has closed the investigation.

There were a few problems with the tale by masseuse Molly Hagerty accusing the former Vice President and U.S. Senator of inappropriate conduct when she came to his hotel room in October, 2004 to administer a back rub. Haggerty told the National Enquirer that Gore wanted a frontal rub—lower and faster—and even attempted to kiss her.

The initial complaint was not filed with police until two years later. And by her lawyer. Bet you can’t guess what the attorney had in mind? Whatever the intention, the lawyer must have been sorely disappointed. Hagerty refused to cooperate with police and the case was dropped.

Four years passes before the Enquirer publishes the masseuse exposé. Relying on the supermarket tabloid’s reputation as a bastion of journalistic responsibility, the mainstream media picked up the story. Why not? The Enquirer was accurate—perhaps for the only time in its history—with the revelation that former U.S. Senator John Edwards was the daddy of a baby produced by his liaison with a woman he hired to massage his ego during the 2008 Presidential campaign.

The Enquirer denies paying Hagerty to revive the Gore allegation. If true, she was cheated. Years ago, the tabloid sent me a check, unsolicited, for answering a couple of simple questions about Jimmy Swaggart. I don’t recall cashing the check, but my memory is probably faulty. Anyway, Hagerty reportedly refused to answer the D.A.’s questions about receiving compensation in the course of the most recent Portland investigation. There are also reports that she failed a lie detector test relating to her allegation. Nor was she able to provide the D.A. with forensic evidence as promised in her earlier claims. One might conclude she was a liar trying to cash in on Gore’s celebrity.

Not surprisingly, two more masseuses have recently had “recovered memory” experiences and accused Mr. Goody Two Shoes of similar assaults. The outcome of the Hagerty investigations is a setback for them since the  mainstream media failed to pick-up their belated claims. Regardless, the bogus scandals involving Gore expose a major shortcoming of contemporary journalism.

A Google search of “Al Gore+masseuse” reveals 264,000 references. Obviously, I did not take time to look at each one. But a quick view of a few pages discloses that most deal with accusations. Only a few refer to the outcome of the Portland investigation.

In Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, I cite a far-reaching sting operation by U.S. Customs agents as an example of the huge disparity between the beginning and end of criminal investigations and indictments.

Attorney General Richard Thornburg, U.S. Attorneys and Customs officials regularly overstated the importance of spurious arrests at news conferences during the Exodus sting operation. Journalists dutifully wrote down the names and allegations, but rarely questioned what turned out to be bogus charges. Nonetheless, the bloated cases made front page headlines. But after being tossed out of court, the verdicts were relegated to the back sections of newspapers alongside obituaries.

Worse, television reporters completely ignored the outcomes of the trials.

The Exodus cases I refer to in the book are not exceptions. Innocence is not news. The same journalistic rule applies to allegations involving public policy issues—especially in the hardball game of politics. Al Gore struck out several times trying to correct inaccuracies during his 1992 campaign as Bill Clinton’s running mate.

There were, for instance, the infamous stories accusing him of claiming to have invented the Internet. Gore never made such a claim. He did say he was a co-sponsor of legislation that facilitated the development of the Internet.

Nor did Gore exaggerate a claim that he and wife Tipper were romantic models for the best-selling novel, Love Story. According to a few rare reports that are accurate, author Erich Segal is to blame for the myth.

[A] reporter for The Nashville Tennessean who knew that Mr. Gore and the author were friends had asked if there was not a little bit of Al Gore in Oliver Barrett. Mr. Segal said yes, there was, but the reporter “just exaggerated,” Mr. Segal said. “He made it out to be the local-hero angle.”

So someone had “exaggerated,” all right, but it was a reporter for the Tennessean, not Gore.

Still, the claims linger on. Indeed, the Love Story angle was used in several recent reports about the Gore’s marital separation. In an era of lunatic birthers and the lies spread about President Obama, what can we expect? 

Although I could cite other erroneous Gore fables that have gained traction over the years, lets talk about the weather. It’s damn hot. Nearly as hot as the winter was cold. And how about floods and other strange weather phenomena. Just like Gore predicted.

However, we all know it has nothing to do with global warming. Ask the Republicans. It is a result of natural cycles. So how could Al Gore make such accurate predictions? He has no training as a TV weatherman.

I conclude he is a modern day Isaiah. Remember, the Biblical prophet faced a lot of embarrassment. It turned out, though, he had a direct line to God. Maybe God tipped Al Gore to future weather cyles.

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. The book is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career. 

Is U.S. Senator David Vitter brain dead or what? The Harvard graduate and Rhodes Scholar is making a career out of breathtaking stupid  stunts. As I reported yesterday, the Sarah Palin brain epidemic has infected Louisiana Governor Bobby (Smarty Pants) Jindal—another Ivy League educated Rhodes Scholar. However, I expect him to partially recover after television cameras leave the Gulf Coast and he quits saying stupid things that contradict experts.

Senator Vitter is a more challenging case. He has been haunted by hookers throughout much of his political career—first in his hometown of New Orleans and later in the nation’s Capitol where he was identified as a prostitution client of notorious D.C. madam Deborah Jeane Palfrey. The irony of the disclosure is remarkable. Vitter’s voice was among the loudest in the impeachment of President Bill Clinton. 

Despite world class hypocrisy—a level of which challenges a title long held by TV evangelist Jimmy Swaggart—Vitter’s voting record causes far-right conservatives to wet their britches in glee, an appropriate reaction to a politician whose paid paramours claimed he had a diaper-wearing fetish.   

If any doubts remain about Vitter’s quirks and misogyny, he erased the questions by allowing an aide with a criminal record of domestic abuse to act as the “women’s issues” representative in his Washington Senate office. 

http://www.salon.com/news/politics/war_room/2010/06/23/vitter_aide_abuse 

At a photo op last week when Vitter officially registered as a candidate for re-election, he refused to discuss the aide’s misconduct and position on his staff. The Senator abruptly ended an impromptu news conference and fled from the courthouse. In an editorial today, the Baton Rouge Advocate took him to task over the issue and his unwillingness to offer an explanation.

http://www.2theadvocate.com/opinion/98293574.html

I figured Vitter would lay low for a couple of days. But I learned long ago that desperate politicians are apt to embrace any issue they believe consituencies support. The Republican Senator obviously believed he was standing before a rally of morons Sunday evening when he voiced his support for lawsuits by so-called birthers, who continue to question whether President Obama was born in Hawaii.  

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100713/ap_on_go_pr_wh/us_republican_senator_birthers

And the now the video.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/07/13/david-vitter-birther-gop_n_644031.html

Because the nation’s mental institutions are already overcrowded, birthers have been deemed harmless to our health and safety, and are allowed to run free in society. In fact, a good number of these folks were cured of the birther delusion by learning to read something besides viral e-mail. Vitter and former CNN commentater Lou Dobbs—another Harvard graduate, believe it or not—may be last “educated” people in the country to exploit the birther issue.

Anyway, I wait with bated breath for Senator Vitter’s next stupid stunt. He is far more entertaining that Governor Smarty Pants. Even though he has a comfortable lead in the most recent polls, I am naive enough to believe voters will recognize his shortcomings and allow him to become a lobbyist—an advocate perhaps on behalf of ladies of the evening.

I will certainly miss him when he is gone. But if  re-elected by some strange set of circumstances, I can then ask the same question I posed at the beginning of this post. But with a slight variation.

“Are Louisiana voters brain dead, or what?”

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. The book is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career.

Well, it only stands to reason that Dr. Glenn Beck has decided to establish his own university. After all, he is now the distinguished owner of an honorary doctorate degree bestowed on him by the late Jerry Falwell’s prestigious Liberty University.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/07/06/glenn-beck-university-fox_n_635980.html

Beck University is only taking baby steps in the beginning while waiting for accreditation by the American Association of Public Affairs Embeciles (AAPAE). On-line classes begin with three professors, including the Chairman of LSU’s political science department, James Stoner. According to the Baton Rouge Advocate, Dr. Stoner is an avowed conservative, who has spoken to tea partiers about constitutional issues. He compared his Beck University lectures to guest appearances on the Comedy Channel’s Daily Show by prominent educators, politicians and authors. Stoner said his lectures would be devoted to educating students on matters relating to the U.S. Constitution. He has written extensively on the subject.

A pro-family activist and an expert on business affairs are also early recruits for Beck University’s faculty. I have a couple of suggestions for other faculty members. Brother Jimmy Lee Swaggart would be an excellent selection for a class titled, “Tears and Sobs on Demand.” And how about a class called, “Ten Ways to Escape a Straight Jacket”. Neither of the two subjects are offered by other colleges, although I must admit that I have failed to check the curriculum of Liberty University.

Dr. Beck’s “institution of higher learning” will not award credits for its classes. But the scam…oops, I meant to say tuition is a bargain—$75.00 a year or $45.00 for six months. Students will receive either an education or an indoctrination. And despite Dr. Glenn’s racism, I’m reasonably certain Beck University has an open door policy. But as a precautionary measure, African Americans, Hispanics and Muslims should mark “No Preference” when questioned about race and/or religion.

Seriously, folks, I can’t decide if Glenn Beck is the craziest son-of-a-bitch on radio and television or the smartest con man since the days of P.T. Barnum whose famous quote, “There’s a sucker born every minute” is personified by a large segment of Beck fans. Glenn never misses an opportunity to exploit his celebrity to earn a few bucks. In addition to radio and TV shows, he writes barely coherent books, does live video appearances carried in movie theaters at jacked-up admission prices, and he merchandises lunacy in every forum he can find.

I suspected for a longtime that Beck fans were in on the joke—that they really didn’t take his ramblings seriously. But he is the guy who claims to have started the tea party movement. And the folks shouting about taking back their government are deadly serious. Thankfully, it has failed to grow beyond the size of the Ross Perot base, if that big. November will tell the tale of the tea party’s influence on elections. Actually, a couple of the candidates they support are eligible to share a padded cell with Dr. Beck. But you never know the mood of voters.

I hate to use this cliché because people will think it is autobiographical, but “Ignorance is bliss.” For anyone that doesn’t get it, my middle name is Bliss. I was named after my paternal grandfather and don’t have a clue of its origin. I like to state that the name reflects the ecstasy of my wives—or should I say wife. The other two kicked my sorry ass out. Read all about it my book. But I digress.

Anyway, our nation has dumbed down—thanks in large part to television. Part of the blissful ignorance that has swept the country is a result of laziness. People don’t take the time to read newspapers, magazines or do a little research on the Internet to determine the truth of fables spread by Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity, Keith Olberman and a whole slew of propagandists on the left and right. Like hogs at the trough, they consume whatever is fed to them.

Consequently, politicians treat voters like simpletons. Washington Post columnist Richard Cohen wrote this week about his surprise in learning that a U.S. Senator with a dumb-downed commercial was in fact a pretty smart guy.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/07/05/AR2010070502659.html?hpid=opinionsbox1

In an era when the Internet puts news and background at our finger tips, it is distressing to know that so many people live twitter lives. If Beck University is to succeed, its founder may need to reduce class time to 140 characters.  

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. The book is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career.

Glenn Beck has reached a milestone by signing up the 400th radio station for his syndicated show. Being a fair guy and knowing that a few drooling right-wingers scan this blog, I refer readers to Glenn’s website listing all the stations that air his rants. 

http://media.glennbeck.com/content/radio/

Happy now?

The headline of today’s blog post refers to the dilemma faced of AM radio station ownrs. Over the past two decades, listeners have deserted AM radio with the speed of folks fleeing a theater following a shout of “fire.” That is, of course, until Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck and other talk show hosts representing the lunatic fringe came along.

In a strange turnabout, listeners tune in to hear these characters shout “fire.” They have become the ”saviors” of AM radio. Otherwise, folks listen to FM stations, satellite or personal digital collections. Air America was once a liberal alternative. But nobody cared. Or listened. The network went into bankruptcy earlier this year.

There are also a few stations that depend on ESPN for programming. However, all sports, all the time can get boring for people who don’t go to sleep wearing baseball caps and/or football helmets.

That brings me to Savior with a capital “S.” Many AM stations around the country have been “saved” by religious programming. In fact, Jimmy Swaggart Ministries controls 28 radio stations—AM and FM—mainly in the south and midwest. And his programs are carried by many other stations. In fact, radio was the financial salvation of the disgraced preacher’s ministry following sex scandals that nearly destroyed Swaggart’s $150-million a year organization.

Moreover, religious and Gospel music programming has salvaged untold numbers of AM and FM radio stations—especially in rural areas. On long drives, it is interesting and sometimes entertaining to scan stations and listen to preachers of every persuasion. Radio time is relatively cheap on small stations. So just about any pastor can afford to spread his or her message on the airwaves. And they can recoup the investment with a pitch to listeners for contributions. Long before TV evangelists spiritually manipulated audiences for a few dollars, preachers found radio to be a lucrative venue.

The irony in contemporary radio is that the Becks and Limbaughs violate every principle of Christianity. Their messages of hate, distortion and misinformation contaminate the airwaves. Even more curious is that a large segment of their listening audiences profess to be “good Christians.” Yet, they have no qualms about proselytizing the gospel of the loonies.

By the way, is Rush Limbaugh gay? I don’t have any evidence to suggest that he is, but why shouldn’t I ask questions and spread unfounded rumors in the same manner as Limbaugh and his ilk. After all, he paid Elton John a million dollars to play at his recent wedding to bride number four. And right-wing homophobics like Limbaugh often get caught in gay scandals. Just asking. Sometimes, I can’t resist taking cheap shots.

Anyway, this whole issue of choosing between Glenn Beck, et al, and Jesus causes me to wonder about my own choices as the owner of a radio station on the brink of bankruptcy. I’ve been in that position.

After starting my broadcasting career almost a half century ago in a tiny radio station in Northern California, I began harboring a dream of ownership. In my minds eye, I could see me in the owners chair, making all the decisions about programming and format. Twenty years later, I fulfilled my wish. A partner and I bought KCLF, an AM station in New Roads, Louisiana. Its signal barely reached across the Mississippi River to Baton Rouge, where I was then a mini-Mike Wallace exposing crime and corruption in the Capitol City.

Absentee ownership of KCLF provided me an AM radio education. I learned it was a shortcut to bankruptcy. My big mistake was programming the station with what I liked—old time rock and roll from the fifties and sixties. In a small community with a large population of African Americans and an equal number of young people, all of whom preferred FM, I was doomed from the get-go. The station eventually put me in bankruptcy court.     

Glenn, Rush and the others were not around to offer me salvation. Although KCLF carried a few religious broadcasts, Jesus was not present enough to keep the creditors from the door. Its now easy for me to criticize station owners who opt to carry hate-filled programming to avoid financial ruin. But in retrospect, WWJD? What would John do? Or have done? 

I’m lucky. I never had to make the choice.

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. The book is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career.   

Hands down, South Carolina has won the title for the nation’s weirdest political sex scandals—no easy achievement in an era when politicians are stumbling across each other in an effort to get caught in compromising situations that expose varying levels of hypocrisy.

South Carolina began its record run a few years ago with the disclosure that U.S. Senator Stom Thurmond, a staunch segregationist, fathered the child of his black maid. This was a mini-scandal compared to the missteps of Republican Governor Mark Sanford during an alleged hike on the Applachian Trail that led him all the way to Buenos Aires and a rendezvous with his Argentine girlfriend. The romance played out like a comic soap opera. The Governor conducted news conferences to announce his regret for blindly falling in love. Or was it falling in lust. Either way, Sanford’s wife failed to see the humor and dumped his philandering ass.

The latest South Carolinian caught up in a potential sex scandal is a Nikki Haley, who wants to succeed Sanford. Not in a sex drama, but rather as the state’s Republican Governor. Her embarrassment is the work of a blogger named Will Folkes, a political hanger-on and sometimes advisor to candidates. He has created a furor by claiming a previous affair with the married candidate. Folkes says he is only making the affair public to protect Haley in the wake of being shown a photograph showing the candidate and him in a compromising position. Being a noble guy, Folkes is making a pre-emptive disclosure before the picture becomes public.

Haley denies any amorous involvement with Folkes. And the only evidence he has provided are copies of cell phone records showing lengthy post-midnight conversations between the two. She offers no explanation for the calls, refusing to discuss the matter beyond her denial.

All of this is reminiscent of Geraldo Rivera’s 1991 memoir, Exposing Myself. In a case of ”he said, she said,” entertainer Bette Midler denied Geraldo had an affair with her—one of several celebrity conquests he described in the book. Midler’s version of their encounter amounted to him groping her following an interview at a Greenwich Village apartment. Whatever the case, the context of Geraldo’s confessional was an admission of sexual addiction, which is a bit ironic given his obsession with Jimmy Swaggart’s sexual adventures in the 1980’s.

Geraldo and I became acquaintances in the late 1970’s when he was a correspondent for ABC’s 20-20and I assisted him on a follow-up report of a celebrity tax shelter exposé I uncovered while heading an investigative reporting team in Boston. Despite his reputation for trash TV, Geraldo has always been a good a reporter if kept under control. 20-20 failed in that regard and he left ABC to syndicate his own sensationalistic interview show, Geraldo.

I then back in Baton Rouge reporting on the rise and fall of TV preacher, Jimmy Swaggart. And in 1988 after he got caught in the company of a hooker in a New Orleans area red light district, I was a guest on Geraldo’s show a couple of times—something of an obligation since our TV station carried the program. As I write in Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, my friendship with Geraldo led to a bizarre church-going experience when Jimmy decided to return to the pulpit following a self-imposed three month interlude to rehabilitate his genitalia after a memorable confession of whore-mongering. The rehabilitation turned out to have only temporary results.

Anticipating drama, Geraldo Rivera came to Baton Rouge for Brother Jimmy’s renaissance and I was assigned to be his escort and pew mate. As we took our seats at Family Worship Center, ushers told me that Donnie Swaggart (Jimmy’s son) wanted me to leave or move to the balcony. Geraldo went with me. The commotion caused all eyes to be on him. In the balcony, people caused a disruption by lining up for autographs.

The evangelist’s return to the pulpit lacked the melodramatics of his departure. When he suggested that he had kicked the hooker habit, followers applauded, shed a few tears and prayed. But not nearly as enthusiastically as before. A woman stood and spoke in tongues. A member of the congregation interpreted the gibberish, saying in effect that Jimmy was going to be okay. Something must have been lost in translation. The preacher would be caught again in the company of another whore in Palm Springs, California.

Following Jimmy’s announcement of his return to the pulpit, Geraldo was eager to get an exclusive interview for his Monday show. So we located Swaggart to a restaurant where he was having lunch with his family. As he left, he answered Geraldo’s questions in a straightforward manner. I kept my mouth closed. Good thing, too. As soon as I tried to ask a question, he walked away. We did not speak for another ten years.

Geraldo’s interview was the centerpiece of his show the following day. The ministry’s lawyer and an Associate Pastor of Family Worship Center were guests on the program. I was also on the program, but didn’t have much to contribute.

The Swaggart interview was an example of the two faces of Geraldo. His Sunday interview with the preacher that of a good reporter, as were the Monday show interviews—at least until near its conclusion. That’s when Geraldo sprung an audience participant, who formerly worked for the ministry. He complained that Swaggart refused to take action against an employee accused of raping his daughter. The man had come to me several days earlier and I spent considerable time investigating the allegation before deciding it did not stand-up under reasonable scrutiny. Nor was there ever a criminal complaint filed.  Learning that Geraldo intended to give the man a forum, I cautioned him to be careful. However, my advice was ignored and the accusation went unchallenged on the program. It was typical of Geraldo.

Three years later, he launched a new show titled, Now It Can Be Told. At an Investigative Reporters and Editors convention in Chicago, Geraldo was recruiting muckrakers for the staff and he invited me to his hotel suite to discuss the show. I was already under contract then at CNN—not that I would have considered working on the show under any circumstances. But a producer I worked with during the first Gulf War joined Geraldo. A few months later, I asked him how he liked the new job. His reply was classic.

“I don’t know if it ever happened to you in your drinking days, John. But working on the show is like waking up in a bathtub with a horrible hangover surrounded by dozens of broken beer bottles.” He added that Geraldo was driving him crazy trying to prove he bedded Bette Midler.

Based on my memories, it seems to me that the South Carolina gubernatorial campaign follies of “he said, she said” should be right down Geraldo’s alley. He can advise the blogger, as well as report  tabloid-like stories for his current employer—Fox “News.”

Excuse me.  I forgot. There ain’t gonna be no kind of exposé on Fox of a GOP candidate—regardless of the evidence, if any exists.

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. The book is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career.

I have often said that the highlight of my investigative reporting career was the seven years I spent in Baton Rouge at WBRZ. By then, I was a well-traveled muckraker with a handful of awards collected in Miami, Boston and as a freelance reporter for ABC’s  Close Up  documentary unit. Ironically, I viewed my return to Baton Rouge as a step down since I was returning to the city where I first took on the title of investigative reporter in the months preceding the Watergate burglary, which made muckraking fashionable.

But in Baton Rouge, I received the national recognition I had always sought to compensate for my attention-needing deficit. During my tenure, WBRZ emerged as one of the leading news stations in the country, despite being ranked as the nation’s 90th market in terms of size. Thanks to the station’s commitment to investigative reporting, we would receive multiples of every major journalism prize—including two Peabody awards, the so-called Pulitzers of broadcasting.

I recalled these triumphs yesterday at the funeral of former colleague, Ed Buggs, Baton Rouge’s first black prime time anchorman. He died last week at the age of 55. Among those sharing memories during services were John Spain and Andrea Clesi McMakin. John was WBRZ’s News Director in the station’s heyday. Andrea was Ed’s co-anchor for a period of time. In recalling Ed’s superb skills as a reporter, they touched on the quality of the station’s news department and what seemed to be an unlimited budget and resources when it came to providing viewers with the information they needed to know.

Local stations have been doing a decent job in recent weeks in covering the oil spill disaster off Louisiana’s coast. But that kind of reporting was the standard for nearly all important stories during the seven years before I departed WBRZ to become CNN’s Senior Investigative Correspondent. Indeed, when first contacted by CNN, I rejected the cable network’s recruiting efforts even though it offered an important sounding job title, a much higher salary and a national audience. I did not believe that CNN could match the professional satisfaction I received in my role at WBRZ—an accurate assessment, although I have very few regrets about my decade with the network. At worst, it was a good time to build my IRA.

Anyway, Ed Buggs and I remained friends long after my departure from Baton Rouge. I was an occasional guest after he became a radio talk show host. We also had a common interest in alcohol and drug recovery. Like me and everyone else I know, he had his share of personal flaws. One of my vivid memories is making Ed my alter ego. Following the fall of TV preacher Jim Bakker, televangelist Jimmy Swaggart took it upon himself to stomp on his preaching competitor’s balls. He was taking shots at Bakker in interviews and news conferences, including a series of satellite appearances to accomodate local stations. While in Los Angeles for a crusade, Swaggart agreed to tape a satellite interview with WBRZ—so long as I, his “old nemesis” as he called me, was not the reporter asking questions.

So Ed Buggs agreed to be the interrogator—with me sitting at his side feeding questions. Brother Jimmy had spent considerable time in Los Angeles bragging about the purity of his loins and claiming that his ministry was immune to scandal. However, he knew that I knew about a family sex scandal in which he threatened to break the legs of his top musician and musical arranger. The information was part of a lawsuit, which I had known about for years but didn’t report to avoid embarrassing a family member. Still, I wanted Swaggart’s explanation on tape in case there was a future need to disclose details of the incident. Ed did the dirty work of asking the questions. Incredibly, Jimmy denied the confrontation ever occured. Maybe it was long-term memory loss. Thirty minutes later, ministry officials called the station to amend Swaggart’s answer. The story finally came out after the horny preacher was caught in a New Orleans area red light district with his zipper down. But WBRZ did not report the incident until several publications disclosed his temper tantrum.

And that brings me to the tale of homesick cows. The story has no relevance to Ed Buggs or Jimmy Swaggart. However, it is indicative of the manner news was covered during my WBRZ years. I had received a telephone tip that several dead cows were scattered in a pasture in close proximity to injection wells located on a large dairy farm on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. These particular injection wells were used to dispose of non-toxic waste water gathered from oil wells. My tipster suggested that the wells may have polluted a creek that ran through the pasture. I immediately alerted John Spain and then Assignment Editor Phil Oakley that residents of our fair city could be consuming milk from poisoned cows. As was the case when big stories were brewing, the station helicopter was quicklysummoned.

An hour later, I’m in the chopper hovering 30 or 40 feet above the pasture as a photographer gathered close-up video of a dozen or so dead cows. I was later told that the owner of the farm considered shooting down the helicopter. He believed we were trespassing. Nevertheless, we gathered several minutes of dead cow video and went in search of a story. Our best source was the Louisiana Department of Agriculture. At our request, the agency’s senior veternarian was dispatched to the scene.

A week later, we received his report. He said the cows died of home-sickness. What? According to the vet, the cows were recently transported from Florida to Louisiana. He claimed that cows became emotionally distraught when moved from the pastures where they once roamed. We had to take his word for it, or slip into the pasture and risk getting shot while gathering our own blood samples.

The story never made it to air. But how I yearn for the good old days, when other important stories did. 

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. It is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career.