Audio By Carbonatix
I had been in Phoenix exactly one day when I saw a news story on TV about former Governor Evan Mecham’s plans to publish a newspaper. At the time, Mecham refused to give a publication date for Arizona Newsday, but he said that when it did start, it would be big.
My first assignment as a summer intern for New Times? Get a job as a reporter at Mecham’s newspaper.
I put together my resume and a cover letter to Mecham stating that I had become “disillusioned by the mainstream press.” I complained about “widespread bias among journalists.” Then I added, “But after learning of your paper, I have become excited at the prospect of working for such a publication. I would be willing to help in any way–reporting, writing, researching, etc. Please contact me . . . .”
I dug up some clips from a nice newspaper I had worked for in my hometown. I ironed some shirts, unpacked a paisley tie and bought a can of hair-styling mousse.
The assignment landed me in Mecham’s inner sanctum. Was it journalism? Actually, it was fund-raising.
On the bright side, I did generate more than $3,000 for the impeached governor’s newspaper.
Here’s what happened:
MDRVTHURSDAY, MAY 30
I have spent several days trying to imprint my persistent persona onto Ev Mecham’s psyche. I’ve sent him my resume and clips; I’ve chatted with him by telephone. Finally, it’s paying off.
“If you want to come out tomorrow around 2:30, some of us are meeting at United Pottery, a company owned by my son,” Ev tells me over the telephone. “We have an office for the newspaper, but we’re just getting our office phones hooked up tomorrow, so we’ll have to use United Pottery. He’s got phones there.”
MDRVFRIDAY, MAY 31
I show up at United Pottery, a building in the area of 51st Avenue and Missouri. The receptionist tells me to wait in the showroom, pointing to a man and a woman who also have come to see Ev.
I walk up to the others and introduce myself. Florence Preston sports large, round eyeglasses and a huge smile. Flo was a field manager in Mecham’s last campaign for governor; she had worked for Mecham’s right-hand man Earl Taylor. The man is Rick Lanning; he introduces himself as a longtime newspaperman who started out “when news was news.” He exited the daily-news world, he says, when slanting stories became the norm.
I explain that I moved to Phoenix from Chicago to look for work after losing faith in journalism. But when I learned of Mecham’s newspaper, I became excited at being a part of such a noble and courageous effort.
I grumble about “bias” among professors and students in journalism school. I say I’m interested in objectivity, and that today’s journalists don’t do that. Lanning agrees, saying he can’t believe how journalism has changed since when he started.
Preston fills me in on Mecham’s past miseries, how poorly the press has treated him, how biased media coverage led to his ouster. I express sympathy.
Preston and I are chatting when, suddenly, her eyeballs bulge. The governor has arrived! She hurries over to him. I follow.
After wiping off my sweating palms, I introduce myself. The governor remembers me from our telephone conversation. With Ev is a guy I’ll call Pete Jones. (He could lose his other job if his bosses find out he’s working for Ev.)
The five of us go into a small back room that has tables along two walls, a desk in front and twelve telephones. During the day, sales representatives use the telephones to sell pottery to chain stores across the country. We will use the telephones to sell Mecham.
Ev says we need a “brainstorm session.” Here’s the scene: Preston, Jones, Lanning, Ev and me, sitting in a circle with our legs crossed, planning the future of Mecham’s newspaper. Only Lanning and I have had newsroom experience–besides Mecham. Nobody there has known me for more than an hour.
Mecham hands a computer print-out of 15,000 names to Jones, who calls it “gold.” Mecham tells Jones to guard it with his life.
Earlier in the week, Mecham sent these 15,000 “supporters” a letter asking them to subscribe. For $100, Mecham offers a two-year subscription, $200 in free advertising, a “handsome, numbered Charter Certificate suitable for framing,” plus “additional benefits.”
In the letter, Mecham boasts of having the “best brains in the business” working for his operation.
“I don’t want to give out our secrets but I can assure you we will have the most circulation, the best delivery, and the most factual, interesting and easy to quickly read newspaper you have ever seen,” Mecham wrote. “This is the case where the old monopoly newspaper begins to look like the dinosaur of the past in comparison to us being the rocket model of the future.”
The three-page letter went out at the end of May. About 8 percent of those who got it sent it back, a high return for sale by mail, which typically gets 3 percent. But almost a third of those who responded didn’t send checks with their subscription coupons. Mecham attributes this to his failure to number the pages of the letter, causing many readers to skip the back side of the first page. That was the page with the prices.
So now we have to call them back and ask for the checks.
The five of us begin to discuss our sales technique. Ev gives us some tips:
* Refer to him as “governor.” “We can use `governor’ with these people,” he says. “They’re our friends.” * “Be sure to use the word `historic,'” Ev says, “because that’s what this is.”
* Emphasize that “the news is going to be news, not opinion.”
* Tell them the newspaper will begin publishing “as soon as our equipment is installed.” Shy away from giving a specific date, Ev says. For our own knowledge, he says, it should begin in “early fall.”
* Explain how its tabloid format is “the wave of the future” for newspapers. I nod my head in agreement.
* Mention that the newspaper will be owned by “the people of Arizona.” When I ask how to explain exactly who “the people” are, Ev says, “Just tell them a group of citizens headed by me.”
* Use a soft-sell approach. Ev thinks most of the people will be honored to become charter subscribers. He counts on having several thousand. These special subscribers will be invited to a press party just before the first issue is published.
Ev leaves to take a call, and I ask the others if he’s hired editors or other workers yet. Jones says he is lining people up. “But how will we know they’re committed?” Preston says.
Lanning doesn’t seem to think it will be a problem, saying that a good newspaper editor can weed the good, objective reporters from the bad.
Preston isn’t convinced. “Governor Mecham can spot them,” she says, “but he’s going to have to be very careful.” Jones nods in agreement, saying, “There’s always one bad apple in a group.”
We begin calling the first of 400,000 to 500,000 people Ev says he plans to hit up for money this summer.
I make about fifteen or twenty calls from a list of 100 Mecham supporters in Mesa. Many say they’re interested but aren’t going to send in money until they see the newspaper.
When Ev returns, he says that the rumor that the newspaper will be distributed free is a misconception created by the media. He still leaves me with the impression that the first newspapers may be free–but we aren’t supposed to tell that to the people we’re calling. Regardless, he says, these people will be charter subscribers.
Ev clenches his right fist, puts it in his left hand, and says, “We have to break this evil monopoly of out-of-state-owned newspapers who only care about making money.” With that, he leaves again, and we go back to the telephones to rustle up some dough.
MDRVSATURDAY, JUNE 1
When I get to the United Pottery building at 11 a.m., only a woman named Melody is there. Pete Jones said he would be there from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m., but there’s no sign of him or Ev. Melody drags me inside and insists on calling Mecham to see if he’ll be coming in. Mecham’s wife tells Melody she doesn’t know whether Ev will show up. “She is soooo nice,” Melody says after hanging up. “They are the nicest people.”
Melody works for United Pottery and used to work at Mecham’s Pontiac dealership (which the former governor no longer owns).
“You can make judgments about the Mechams all you want from the paper and TV,” she says, “but when you meet them, you just want to beat up” the people who say bad things about them. Melody makes a punching motion.
She then offers to show me around United Pottery. The warehouse is at least the size of a couple of football fields. It doesn’t look like a business that has filed for bankruptcy. Metal shelves are full of pottery. Most of it, she says, is bought in bulk and resold to retail stores.
(United Pottery filed for Chapter 11 protection in federal Bankruptcy Court in March 1989, according to court records. Mecham and his son Dennis own the company, which owes hundreds of thousands of dollars to a grocery list of creditors. More than two years later, the debtor has filed the second modification of the third amended plan of reorganization.)
United Pottery, as far as one can tell, is still fully operational. Melody says Mecham often uses the building for meetings or as an office.
“I just love working for them,” she says.
MDRVMONDAY, JUNE 3
Three new people–two older woman and a heavyset man in his twenties– have telephones glued to their ears when I arrive at United Pottery around 3:45 p.m.
Pete Jones greets me with a firm handshake and apologizes for missing me on Saturday.
I make a few dozen calls. One of the new telemarketers tells Preston that she accidentally referred to Mecham as “Governor Reagan” while trying to sell the newspaper. “That got us on real good terms,” she says. There’s a collective laugh.
On my way home, I see Lanning waiting for a bus and offer him a ride.
“How did you get involved in this?” I ask.
“The governor and I,” he says, “go back a long way.” Lanning was one of the original reporters for Mecham’s long-defunct Daily American.
Lanning began working for Mecham around 1962 and later worked for the Phoenix Gazette between 1976 and ’84, but was fired. He went to work for a newspaper in New York, but quit to work for the supermarket tabloids in Florida, doing stints on the Globe and the National Enquirer.
Mecham and Lanning stayed in touch over the years, and Mecham eventually asked Lanning to help with his newest autobiography, which hasn’t been published. Lanning says he helped rewrite about 75 percent of the book. “Mecham really liked what I did with it,” he says. I ask him: “Does Mecham have all the money for this?” Lanning replies that Mecham has some individual backers, but “if you came to him with $50,000, he’d let you into his inner office.”
The printing presses are in storage–where, Lanning doesn’t know. “He has been tight-lipped about this,” Lanning says.
Lanning plans to invest 20 percent of his salary in Arizona Newsday. “I am that confident in this paper,” he says.
MDRVTUESDAY, JUNE 4
Before my telemarketing shift at the United Pottery warehouse, I decide to visit the Newsday plant on 43rd Avenue just south of Camelback. I walk into a deserted lobby. A window looks into a courtyard with ailing cacti, trees, and a bone-dry concrete pond. Most of the first floor consists of deserted offices with a yellowish carpet that doesn’t hide the plaster or dirt stains. Wires, outlets and other electric hookups hang from the walls. The previous company, some sort of kitchen-appliance manufacturer, had painted murals on the walls, pictures of kitchens, cabinets, happy workers and smiling people.
I return to the lobby, having seen no signs of life, and hear some voices from above. Ev’s office is upstairs.
The only furniture in the barren office is three large desks. Occupying them are a woman named Shirley; a guy named Haney Womack, who’s the plant manager; and Ev himself. They have telephones on their desks, but nothing else.
I ask Ev: “Are there any stories I can do on my own time for the first issues–either sample news stories or something else?”
“Not really,” replies Ev. “We still don’t have our editorial offices set up yet.”
I say: “I was thinking you might want a story on the paper, from the day you got the idea through the actual process of setting things up. I would like to start it now while things are still unfolding. That would be a good story for the paper’s first issue.”
Ev sits back and thinks for a second. “That sounds like a good idea, but the problem is, all these things take my time,” he says. “And until we get things going, I won’t have much time. I still have to do everything. Once we get everything in place, I’ll have more time to worry about these kinds of things, but probably not until then.”
Womack chimes in. “You have to learn how to give work to other people, Ev. It’s called `delegation.'”
“Once we get our employees,” Ev says.
Ev quickly changes the subject, quizzing me on my success as a telephone laborer. “How’s it going?”
“Real good,” I say.
“Did you get your five?” he asks.
No one had said anything about selling five a day as a goal, but I played along. “Yes, at least.”
“Well, that’s real good,” Ev tells me. He looks over at Womack and says, “If we have ten people selling five a day, that’s $30,000 a week.” He smiles at Womack. He then looks back at me and asks: “Are most people subscribing for two years?”
Actually, I say, it seems like more are opting for one-year plans. “But it’s close,” I say. “A lot weren’t sure. A lot of people would like a shorter option–three months, or two months.”
“We’ll see,” he says.
I head over to United Pottery and introduce myself to the heavyset man I had seen the day before. He’s Jeff Wick of Mesa, a former GOP precinct chairman in Mecham’s last bid for governor. Wick drove Mecham around the state.
Wick recently graduated from Arizona State University with a degree in political science.
“He’s such a nice man,” Wick says of Mecham. “If you believe what some people say, you’d think he was the devil.” A cynical type, Wick matter-of-factly says to me: “The other papers will do their best to get spies in here to try and sabotage it.”
Before we get down to our telemarketing work, Jones tells me we now take Mastercard or Visa. Just take their card number, he says, and we’ll take care of it later. To date, we have made 301 calls, and 84 have committed for a 28 percent rate of success.
We’re joined today by a new telemarketer, a retired crop duster who’s obviously nervous; he’s never done telephone sales before. As a seasoned pro, I tell him to relax and not worry about it. “Take a deep breath,” I say. “These people are nice. They’re Mecham’s supporters.”
During breaks, we exchange war stories about our calls. “I spoke with one woman who says she couldn’t take the paper because she was blind,” Wick says. “I felt like saying, `I don’t care if you’re blind, just send the money.'”
Another woman told him: “I read the letter and it was full of typos. Is that an indication of how the paper will be?”
MDRVWEDNESDAY, JUNE 5
I decide to try Ev again on the “story of Arizona Newsday” idea. I call him at home in the evening and make my pitch: “I know it’s still early and you haven’t set up your editorial offices yet, but I thought I could get started on that story about the paper I told you about. I thought it would be good to start while things were still unfolding. If we could just meet for half an hour, for lunch or something . . . .”
Ev replies: “I’ve got some key balls up in the air right now, and I can’t let my attention be diverted. A half-hour here, a half-hour there, it adds up.”
I try another tack. “Is there anyone else who I might be able to talk to, just to get some background information? It would help me get started.”
“No, I don’t think anybody else could give any background.”
“Yes, I understand,” I say. “But one other thing. I’ve read your book Come Back, America, but Rick Lanning says he had helped you with another, more recent biography. Could I maybe take a look at that just to fill me in on what’s happened since then?”
“Rick was going to help me market it,” Ev says. “To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure I know where it is. I’m going to go through and redo it. I just don’t have the time.”
Ev talks about the problems of finding a publisher for his book. “I’m not even sure the book is the answer,” he says. “Maybe I’m not a good enough liberal for those publishers. Some of them wanted me to pay them to publish it. I don’t have that big of an ego.”
I shift gears. “How are things going with the paper?”
“I’m moving ahead,” he says. “We still need approval from the city and an engineer to get the presses set up.”
“Is the permit from the city getting caught up in the bureaucracy?”
“Let’s hope not,” he says. Then he shifts gears. “How did you do today?”
I admitted that I didn’t go in today, but I had sold ten subscriptions the previous day.
“That’s even better than the day before,” he says. “Yep,” I say.
Ev apologetically says, “I’m sorry. Once I get everything moving I’ll have more time. I just don’t want to get diverted from the thought process.”
MDRVTHURSDAY, JUNE 6
I do some “research” on media bias and put together an article based on the dailies’ coverage of Mecham’s ’88 impeachment. I call it “Slanting the `News’: Anti-Mecham Bias in the Daily Press.” “The Arizona Republic and Phoenix Gazette have been questioned for consistently showing bias in their coverage of former Governor Evan Mecham,” I write. “Time and time again, both the Gazette and Republic published questionable stories on the news pages under the guise of `objectivity.'” I list seven examples of “anti-Mecham reporting.”
When I get to work at United Pottery, the others are filling out payroll-tax forms and exchanging IRS horror stories. As Lanning listens to the revenooer-bashing, I see a light go on in his brain. “I ought to write a column called `Cry Freedom’ about the government’s infringements on people’s rights!” he says. “We could have a different one every week under the banner on the back page. I’ll have to talk to the governor about that.” Everyone agrees it’s a great idea. Later that day, Lanning announces that he’s finally made up his mind: He wants to cover “the federal beat.”
As I make calls today, I realize I’m becoming a Mechamite. I’ve made almost 200 telephone calls to his supporters. My sales pitch is improving; I’m selling subscriptions all the time.
I’m beginning to feel real good inside when someone agrees to send in a check. Especially if it’s for two years–that’s $100 for Ev and $6 for me. I’ve probably raised more than $1,500 for Mecham. The time is going faster now; I actually look forward to a real good political conversation with whoever picks up the telephone. If I sell a subscription, all the better.
Later in my shift, I seek out Ev, who’s fiddling around on an Apple computer, and say to him: “I went to the library today, Governor, and I did a little research. I’ve done this before in journalism school and I thought you’d be interested.”
I give him my article. He reads the cover letter, glances at the story.
“This needs to get out,” Ev tells me. “We’re going to have to pull out the brass tacks on this one. I don’t know how we’ll get it out, but we will. Either in a newspaper or a pamphlet. You could write a small book on media bias in the Arizona press.”
“That’s what I’ve been seeing,” I say. “Especially in the Republic and Gazette.”
The governor, never looking up from his computer screen, says, “They’re such an evil influence in this state. It’s not even funny.”
Ev hands me a press release he had given to David Schmidt, his public relations man. Schmidt was supposed to have faxed it to all the media. I see that Ev is announcing publicly a September start-up date.
“September 1 is the day?” I ask him.
“I wouldn’t say the 1st, but I’d say September,” he says. “The most optimum day would be September. If we’re a little late, it won’t hurt anything.”
On the ride home, Lanning is bubbling with enthusiasm. Maybe he’s still thinking about the IRS and “the federal beat.” “It is going to be a snowball going down the mountain,” he tells me. “Mark my words.”
I’m looking forward to attending the Arizona Breakfast Club Saturday morning. Ev’s the featured speaker, and I’ve been invited to the weekly confab of right-wingers.
MDRVSATURDAY, JUNE 8
It’s 7 a.m. at the Beefeaters restaurant at Third Avenue and Camelback. Breakfast isn’t for another half-hour, but the eight main tables are almost full–this is Mecham’s first club appearance in at least two months.
Most of the Breakfast Clubbers are white senior citizens, but two teenage girls are introduced as “future leaders” who will attend a friendly conservative summer camp called “The Summit.”
A woman across the table from me introduces herself and the small talk quickly turns to Mecham. “I still say Ev was a victim of the news media,” she grumbles. “They wanted him out from the beginning.” Referring to Ed Buck, the leader of the recall campaign against Mecham, she says: “And that homosexual. He was behind it all.”
Our “Table Chair”–every table has one–asks me why I’ve never come to breakfast before. I tell him I didn’t know about it. Without warning, he then says, “There’s still people who say communism works. There’s still people for it.” I agree, saying communism probably is more popular among American leftists than in the Eastern Bloc. “They’re everywhere,” he says.
In the back of the room are tables with pamphlets and books. I pay $1 for a red and white bumper sticker that reads, “I DON’T BELIEVE THE LIBERAL MEDIA” and pick up info from the John Birch Society. Back at my table, I sign a petition to limit the terms of legislators.
Harry Everingham, the club president, leads the ritual singing. We stand and belt out: “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here! Morning Breakfast Clubbers! Morning Breakfast Clubbers! Chow, chow, we all want chow! That is what we’re here for now!”
We sing “Let’s Get Acquainted” and shake hands all around. It’s time for the buffet line–prunes, canned fruit, French toast, runny scrambled eggs, sausage and bran muffins.
After we’re seated again, a guy called “The Judge” introduces Mecham: “He’s been a businessman, successfully. He’s been successful in politics, he was a governor. He’s going to go into a new venture, a publisher. In sports parlance, that would make him a triple threat.” The Judge dubs Mecham the “pit bull of a new publishing venture.”
Grinning, Mecham takes the pulpit, tells a few jokes and starts cutting to the bone.
“The news media and the entertainment world are doing a pretty good job of making everybody think that all of us are a bunch of humanists and atheists and agnostics and anti-Christs,” he says. “But that isn’t the case.”
I have read articles about Mecham and even his autobiography and have talked with him several times. I am amazed how this little guy with a harsh view of life commands the crowd. They listen intently; some even take notes.
“The very same people who control the information are the ones who have ended up controlling the government,” he says. “Socialism could never have happened in America if the same people who wanted it brought about didn’t have newspapers and television stations and radio stations and the entertainment industry.”
Then he serves up some real food for thought: “How many of you when you cook bacon, you start out with a pretty good size piece of bacon and when you cook it you cook all the fat out of it and it gets down there quite small? That’s going to be the correlation to our news stories and those you find in most other newspapers.”
The crowd’s digesting this easily. Mecham continues: “In this case the fat you cook out is the opinion of the reporter and the bias and the rewrite people. We’re just going to give you what you eat the bacon for–which is the meat. When you get that on your plate, you’ll read rapidly.”
Ev’s speech receives a standing ovation.
Time for questions, the first of which is about advertising and money. “Notwithstanding the fact you want to get the truth out, you’ve got to make money,” Ev says bluntly. “This is a money-making operation.”
Content?
“We’ll give you what you need to know.”
News about churches and religion?
Coverage in a “very forefront” way. Mecham, along with publishing and supervising the news coverage, also will be religion editor. An editorial cartoonist to joust with Mecham nemesis Steve Benson of the Republic?
“A thought comes to my mind I won’t express. I did term this. It is a little bit uncouth. When you get in a urinating contest with a polecat, you always come up second best.” Even the old ladies laugh. A man at our table says, “He hasn’t changed.”
Ev adds: “I hope you won’t think that’s too crude, but it is quite descriptive.”
How do you beat the R&G?
“I hope and pray the R&G will continue to do what they’ve been doing the last five years. We’ll have 30 percent more circulation than the Republic has the day we start.” Afterward, people line up to shake hands with Mecham.
When it’s my turn, I say, “Good speech, Governor.”
Ev replies, “How many subscriptions did you sell yesterday?”
“About a dozen,” I reply, adding, “Looks like you’re selling a lot here.”
“I should have brought more envelopes,” Ev says.
It’s true. People are writing checks like crazy.
MDRVMONDAY, JUNE 10
Mecham’s on the telephone in his office when Wick and I walk in at 2 p.m. When he hangs up, Wick asks if he was selling subscriptions. “I’m a salesman at heart,” Ev says. “I’ve been one all my life.” Then he asks us, “What do you think? The Ninth Floor wasn’t nothing compared to this. Old Symington will want to come and take a look.”
Ev tells the story of the dealership he bought from a man who had said he wanted to have an office bigger than the that of the president of General Motors. Trouble was, Ev says, the guy didn’t run the dealership well, and one day he shot himself in the head, right in the office. That’s when Ev came in and bought it. “His office wasn’t as big as the president of GM’s,” Ev says. “I’ve been there. It’s more like the size of this one.”
The “Pit Bull of Publishing” asks Wick how many subscriptions he sold last week. Wick says sixty. Ev asks how many calls he made hourly, and Wick says about forty. Ev asks me the same questions. “If we have fifteen people selling sixty a week . . . ,” Ev ruminates, looking at Womack. “Not bad.”
Wick points out that all of his calls have been to people in Mesa, and says it may be harder to sell in downtown Phoenix. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Ev says. “They go both ways in Mesa and Phoenix. There’s some that like us and some that don’t.” Later, Ev says, “I don’t know anyone that’s met me that doesn’t like me.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking.
On my list of calls for today are an Earl Taylor and his wife, Ruth. She answers the telephone, and I hit her up for a subscription. “I’m not sure,” she says. “We’ll probably subscribe. My husband’s done a lot of work for him.”
“Well, good,” I say. “Can I put you down for the two-year option?” She says she has to put Earl on the telephone. I realize it’s Earl Taylor, Ev’s campaign manager. This should be a cinch!
“Earl,” I say, “we’d like to sign you up for the two-year subscription.”
“How much is it?” he asks. I give him the prices and tell him he can be a “charter subscriber.”
“I’m not sure,” he says. “I don’t know if I can do it just yet.” I’m getting pretty good at this, so I say: “Can I put you down as a subscriber who’s not sure if you want to do it for one year or for two years?” He’s not buying. “Why don’t you put me down as to call back in a month?” he says.
“Okay. Thanks anyway.” Wick, who’s listening in, says, “Better not let that get out–`Ev’s campaign manager isn’t sure if he’ll subscribe.'”
At one point during our work, Jones hangs up his telephone and says to me and Lanning, “I should be a reporter. Isn’t that how they are? Act stupid and get all the info?”
Yep.
So far, I’ve sold 42 subscriptions. That’s at least $2,520 for Mecham. I don’t know how many people will actually send their money in, though. A lot of them tell me they’re poor or unemployed or in danger of being laid off.
There haven’t been more than a handful of us making calls on any given day, but we still managed to telephone more than 1,000 people last week. On my way out, Jones gives me my first paycheck: $42.48, signed by Mecham.
MDRVTUESDAY, JUNE 11
MDRV
Stopping by the Newsday plant on my way to telemarketing at United Pottery, I chat with Florence Preston, who’s looking over a list of people who have sent checks.
I tell her that some people want to know whether they’ll get their money back if the newspaper folds before the end of their subscriptions. What should I tell them? “I hadn’t thought of that,” she says. “I better ask the governor.”
Later, Pete Jones gives us telemarketers a pep talk, saying we made 1,500 calls in the past week, and half of those were answered. Of those home, about 195 people had committed, and about 20 others already had sent in their money.
We’re averaging 16 calls an hour; Jones and Mecham want 25 an hour. We have only touched the original list of 15,000, and the governor is planning to send out another mailing–this one to 25,000 residents–at the end of the week. This list would be a harder sell as Mecham began to repackage himself to the general public. Ev wants to make 20,000 calls a week, Jones tells me.
How many of those who respond are even able to send him money? One callee tells me: “We’re on Social Security and the wife just had an operation to have a vein removed. We’d have to take a loan out to get the paper.”
MDRVTHURSDAY, JUNE 13
MDRV
Armed with my Canon Sureshot and a roll of film, I head to the Newsday plant. Near the entrance, plaster and metal fixtures and wallpaper and dry wall are strewn around a rusted dumpster.
Inside, Ev’s on the telephone. Womack is concerned that we have received checks from only 100 of the 300 people who have pledged over the telephone.
Trying to move the conversation into the topic of journalism, I ask if they’re going to erect a Newsday sign outside, and Womack says a woman is coming in at the end of the week to talk about that. I ask if they have a logo for the newspaper; he says they aren’t worried about that yet.
“Looks like things are coming along,” I say.
I ask where the newsroom will be. Ev, who’s still on the telephone, answers, saying classified will be on the first floor, and the newsroom on the second floor. So far, there’s been no visible remodeling to make space for a newsroom, but the downstairs has been completely cleared out to make room for telemarketers.
I leave to snap some photographs. When I return, Ev and Womack and MDRVan architect are standing around Ev’s desk, which is covered with drawings and blueprints. From what I can tell, the ceiling is about 23 feet high, but one part of the press needs 28 feet. They conclude that they will have to cut open the roof. The architect says he needs to stop by the Republic to see how things are set up at the competition. “Looks complicated,” I say to the architect.
“We seem to have more questions than answers,” he says.
When Mecham gets off the telephone, I ask him to pose for a photograph with me. “Sure,” he says. Afterward, Ev walks me to the door and explains how we have received only about 100 checks from the 300 people who committed over the telephone. “We’re not getting all we expected,” Ev says. “What do those who commit to pay tell you on the phone?”
“Most people sound sincere,” I say, “but many might lose their envelopes or just forget.” Ev says we may have to call some of them back. I suggest that we send them a bill. He responds as if he thinks that’s a good idea. As I’m about to leave, he says, “Keep plugging away.”
After running an errand for Ev’s secretary, I hunt him down again, paste an expression of reluctance on my face and say, “I don’t really want to ask this, but some people have asked me on the phone what happens if the paper doesn’t last two years? Will they get their money back? I’ve been telling them, `Of course it’ll last,’ but some want a guarantee.” Ev loses his grin. Without hesitation, he says, “If they say that, they might as well not subscribe. We don’t need them.” His analogy: “The sun may not come up tomorrow, but it will.”
The telephone rings, Ev picks it up, and I leave.
I go back to my telephone and sell six more subscriptions.
MDRVSATURDAY, JUNE 15
Back at the Arizona Breakfast Club, attendance is down since Ev’s not there.
I ask the man sitting next to me if he has subscribed to Arizona Newsday. He says he signed up for two years. He also says he spent an hour with Mecham yesterday trying to figure out how to move the press into the plant. The guy says he specializes in heavy moving. Mecham, he says, now plans to excavate twelve feet from the floor of the building. “He’s not going to have it done as soon as he thinks he will,” the guy says.
In the buffet line, I speak with a man named John. He won’t subscribe to the newspaper until he sees it. He thinks Mecham got a “fair shake” by the media.
“You should subscribe,” I say, reflexively giving my pitch. “It’ll be the only paper in town that prints the truth.” “You know what the truth is,” he says. “The truth is Jesus Christ.”
I mumble, “Yep” and counter, “But how can we put that in the newspaper?” He doesn’t know. MDRVMONDAY, JUNE 24
MDRVMDBU
I’ve taken a week off to try to restore my sanity. The day I return, Pete Jones gives us another pep talk.
“We’re happy to be here, aren’t we?” Jones says. We’re now in the actual Newsday plant, and he now has about a dozen solicitors. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news.” He starts with the bad.
“Ev is a little concerned. People aren’t sending their checks in. The commitments are there. The money is not. I told him not to worry, the commitments will follow through. But we want to encourage people to use their Master or Visa card.”
He says we’re now offering a six-month subscription for $30 and a three-month subscription for $15. We’re supposed to tell people about these options only if they ask. “We want everybody to feel like they’re a part of the paper,” he says. “We don’t want to turn anybody away.”
The good news startled me. “We’ve got the okay to give everybody a raise,” he says. Pay will now be $4.50 an hour. Our commissions jump from $6 to $11.50 for each two-year subscription we sell.
Back on the telephones, a few of my callees ask why Mecham hasn’t acknowledged receiving their checks yet. “We have been wondering why he hasn’t sent us a receipt yet,” one woman says. “We’ll see in a few days if we get a canceled check back. Isn’t he going to send us something?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
Another man says: “You’d better check your records. I sent you $100 at the start of the month. And when do I hear about the free advertising?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
I walk over to Pete Jones, who has set up a makeshift office at the other end of the room, and say, “What did we do to earn a raise?”
“Nothing,” he says. “Ev said this morning that our next list was going to be harder because they weren’t all supporters. He wanted to provide more incentive.”
Working from the new list, I make some more calls. After several failures, I return to my original list of supporters. It feels good to talk to them. They’re friends, after all.
Dimly recalling that I infiltrated the Mecham camp to try to work on his newspaper, I take a break and go upstairs to see whether they’ve begun putting together a newsroom yet. They haven’t.
I run into Jones and we pass the area where the press will be. Jones says they haven’t begun moving it in. He’s under the impression that they still have to lay some concrete. I thought they were going to excavate.
MDRVWEDNESDAY, JUNE 26
MDRV
At the Newsday office, I look for Ev, but he hasn’t arrived yet.
“How many checks did we get in today?” I ask Shirley. Heavens, I’m even beginning to sound like Mecham; maybe it’s time to leave.
“None,” she says. “The mail hasn’t arrived.”
“How many are we up to?”
“We haven’t reached 2,000 yet. We have about 1,500.”
“That’s pretty good so far, isn’t it?” “I think the governor’s a little disappointed.”
On Womack’s desk is a watercolor sketch of a sign for the building. The word “Arizona” runs across the top of the sign in black cursive letters; underneath are the big bold words “News Day.” Below that, it reads, “Just the Facts, Ma’am.”
“That bottom part’s not for real,” Womack says.
“Is this how it’s going to look on the paper?” I ask. (I’m still not sure if the name of the newspaper is Newsday or News Day.)
“I don’t know. We haven’t thought about that yet,” he says.
“Do you have a design for the front page?” I ask.
“No, we’re not that far along yet. We’re still working on getting the engineering done. They’re saying the ground isn’t sturdy enough to move the press in.”
“Someone told me you were thinking about excavating to make room for it,” I say.
“No, we’ll go through the roof. You have to allow for future growth.”
On my way out I catch Mecham coming in.
“I was just asking Womack about when you’re going to start hiring reporters and editors,” I tell him.
“We’re still working on the engineering side of things,” Ev says, checking the mail to see whether more checks have arrived. “But we should get that permit in a week or so. I’d say thirty to sixty days after that.”
“The reason I’m asking is because I’ve gotten an offer from another publication, and I wanted to see when you thought you might be making your decisions.”
“I don’t want to make any commitments,” he says, beginning up the stairs that lead to his office. “Have you hired an editor yet?” I ask.
“No, not yet.”
I tell him I want to practice journalism, and we exchange small talk about media bias and how the newspapers in Phoenix were out to get him when he was governor.
“That’s what happened, all right,” Ev tells me. “They said, `We’re going to get that son of a bitch,’ and that’s what they did. The publisher told the editor, `Either he loses his job or you lose yours.’ They did things you wouldn’t believe. But we won’t do that. We’ll get even in the marketplace.”
“Well, thank you,” I say. “I wouldn’t want to hold you back,” he says. “That’s just the way it is.”
He reaches out and we shake hands. Before he heads upstairs to his office, he smiles broadly and says, “Real good.”
I walk outside. Free at last, free at last.
When I ask how to explain exactly who “the people” are, Ev says, “Just tell them a group of citizens headed by me.”
“I’ve got some key balls up in the air right now, and I can’t let my attention be diverted.”
I’m beginning to feel real good inside when someone agrees to send in a check.
“You could write a small book on media bias in the Arizona press,” Ev tells me.
The governor, never looking up from his computer screen, says, “They’re such an evil influence in this state. It’s not even funny.”
“The most optimum day would be September,” Ev says. “If we’re a little late, it won’t hurt anything.”
The Judge dubs Mecham the “pit bull of a new publishing venture.”
“We’re just going to give you what you eat the bacon for–which is the meat. When you get that on your plate, you’ll read rapidly.”
“I should have brought more envelopes,” Ev says. It’s true. People are writing checks like crazy.
“What do you think? The Ninth Floor wasn’t nothing compared to this. Old Symington will want to come and take a look.”
Ev says, “I don’t know anyone that’s met me that doesn’t like me.” I can’t tell if he’s joking.
