From Start, This Story Was Made to Be on TV

Real-life tragedy is big business in the world of television movies, and the tale of Richard Worthington had all the elements of a hit: birth, death, religion, terror, insanity, remorse.

You may remember Worthington. Last September, he stormed a maternity ward in Sandy, Utah, killed a nurse and for 18 hours held seven hostages, including two newborns and one woman who delivered a baby during the siege.

A devout Mormon and the father of eight, Worthington intended to kill the obstetrician who had performed a tubal ligation on his wife. Worthington believed that another baby girl was waiting in heaven to be born to him and had convinced himself that the doctor had sterilized his wife against her will while she slept. In fact, she had insisted it be done.

The news story got massive press coverage; producers converged on Utah in the following weeks to chase down story rights. Some were motivated by a piece I had written for View.

Worthington’s story was, to be perfectly cynical, a made-for-TV movie before it ever became one.

It’s a predictable phenomenon of print journalism--particularly in major cities--that something you write eventually will be considered fodder for a two-hour TV extravaganza. Legions of TV-movie producers apparently buy this newspaper for one reason: to get ideas for their movies.

Apparently, the same phenomenon occurs on the East Coast, only with a more effete result: Literary agents read the newspapers looking for stories that can be turned into books. I understand that this has happened once or twice on this coast, too.

What happens when a reporter gets a call from a producer?

First, she gets excited by the hot, seductive breath of Hollywood in her ear. Agents and producers are leaving messages for her-- a lowly reporter! --and even call back when she doesn’t get around to returning their calls right away.

Second, she gets to brag to friends about how influential her work has become. (Of course, she doesn’t come right out and say that. She merely feigns surprise when, after she’s recounted the story in jaded tones, they respond by acting impressed. Oh, it’s nothing! she says. It happens all the time!

Then, when the movie finally airs, she gets to sit back and think smugly that they’ve stolen the best quotes from her story. (It conveniently eludes her that the best lines in the story never belonged to her in the first place, that they were in fact uttered by someone else--someone, presumably, who has sold his or her rights to the producer for a tidy sum.)

And she also gets to be a little miffed, because they always portray reporters as idiots.

I was at work the Sunday the Utah hostage story was published. An enterprising producer called at noon, hoping I could give her phone numbers of the principals.

She was pleasant--and about to board a plane for Utah, which meant she was sincere. I gave her a few numbers. And, since I have no industry allegiances, I gave them to a few other producers and agents who called Monday.

Now, a reporter learns quickly that if she stays on the phone long enough with a producer or appears to be hesitant to help, the producer will inevitably dangle a little bait, a little green. He or she will hint that there might be “a little something” in it for you--perhaps as much as $5,000 or $10,000 and maybe the credit line “based on a story by”--if you cooperate.

I think they do this compulsively. I know of only one or two reporters who have ever been paid for such help.

Mostly, the money talk is a silky way to convince you to give them what they need now . For free. And it serves, I suppose, to cultivate you for next time. Only next time, now that you are close personal friends, they hope you will tip them off to the story before it is published, giving them a jump on the sharkish competition. That such a tip-off would be unethical is probably lost on most producers.

One disillusioned colleague, after many close calls with remuneration, has developed a powerful producer repellent. When they call, he wastes no time: “How much will you pay me for this information?”

Two competing production companies ended up with the story rights of the various Utah principals; both sold the movies to networks.

One company is still working on its version. The other--Citadel--rushed into production. The result, “Deliver Them From Evil: The Taking of Alta View,” starring Harry Hamlin as Worthington and Teri Garr as one of the nurses, aired two weeks ago.

Citadel had secured the rights of one nurse, three hostages and a police negotiator, who had his own agent by then. Anyone whose rights they didn’t get was relegated to a secondary part in the movie, even the nurse who helped talk Worthington into surrendering. (She sold her story to the second set of producers. Karen Worthington, who divorced Richard within months of the siege, also sold them her rights.) No one had to buy Worthington’s rights; sentenced in March to 35 years in prison, he’s public domain now.

The CBS movie was a fair version of the main events. No major liberties were taken with the truth. (And yes, some of the best lines were lifted from my story.)

The public apparently approved too; the movie came in second in its time slot (behind “Roseanne”) and ranked 10th of 83 prime-time shows that week.

I imagine the people whose lives were touched by this tragedy would like nothing better than to put it behind them. But that’s impossible, of course. They sold their stories for public consumption, and now they have another TV movie to face.

Not to mention the reruns.