When Franki Chipman was "laid-off," in 2009 she knew she was sunk. Chipman, was already struggling to pay bills, her financial topography was spider webbed with fault lines, losing her job at Sabol and Rice, began the movement of tectonic plates that caused an earthquake forcing her eviction, sending her adult daughter to find her own place to live, and her son to move in with his father. Chipman was relegated to sleeping on a series of sofa's owned by friends, while she scraped desperately to find work.
In the panic days after Bear-Stearns collapsed triggering the begining of the most significant recession since the Great Depression, Chipman found it impossible to even get a call back from potential employers. She was forced to move from her family, her hometown and her children to Dallas, Texas to take a job that, in the end, was only temporary.
She was told by Chris Robertson, the principal at her old company Sabol and Rice, that the economy had turned and S&R couldn't afford her anymore. Chipman was let go on a Thursday, by Monday of the next week, her position was filled by another person.
Chipman says the economy had nothing to do with her firing, she says the moment she told police about the owners dirty, little vice, she was cast out.
Sabol and Rice began selling heating and cooling equipment in 1958. Very little has changed at the company since. If you stand outside their simple, one-story Salt Lake City office building, you can almost imagine it as a black and white photograph, with men in double-breasted suits and fedoras upon their heads, and a '55 Chevy Impala stationed in the gravel parking lot.
In 1958 the HVAC sales company was populated almost exclusively by men, and in 2012, that is still the case. The owners, we are told, take a casual approach to everything, In 50 years, it appears, the company never authored an employee handbook. Chipman says the policies were made up on the fly, and to fit the occasion. Do you need a sick day? (no need to count them), vacation day? (take a day if you need it) and sexual harassment? (He didn't mean anything by that.)
Franki Chipman, a mother of 2, found this out the hard way in 2009. In a place populated by men, a place with seemingly no rules, and a place with a boss who Chipman and others say had a perverse addiction, Chipman found her self literally "throwing up" in her car on the way to work.
The man who sets the standard at Sabol and Rice is D. Chris Robertson. He worked his way up from the bottom of the small company to become the owner. He also, it turns out, loved to look at child porn, daily, and I'm told, with little regard for the people, particularly the woman, who might see it.
Robertson's computer screen faced the opening of his office, so when Chipman and later Krystall Butters would enter with an invoice to sign or a document to be initialed, they were often greeted with blood chilling images of children engaged in disturbing sexual acts. The Attorney General's office says some of the images that Robertson stored on his computer included pictures of toddlers forced into sex with adults. In all, when investigators did a forensic analysis of Roberson's work PC, they found more than 24,000 images of child porn, and more than 300 videos.
Both women say they were stunned by their boss's cavalier viewing of porn. When the women would enter his office, Robertson, they say, was in no particular hurry to click out of these horrific websites, rather Chipman says, she would have to wait, sometimes for several seconds for Robertson to wrap up his entertainment, before he would return to the world of work.
The pair (both of them parents) began to construct strategies to avoid seeing children being assaulted. Butters wore flip-flops, and would loudly slap her way towards Robertson's office, while Chipman would clear her throat as she made the arduous trip to her bosses lair, both hoping he would digitally meander his way back to his email.
Chipman says Robertson's disturbing hobby was an open secret in the office, and his twisted sex desires, Chipman says, filtered down to the other men in the office. Sexual comments flew fast, and frequently at Sabol And Rice says Chipman, and so did touching. Chipman says the credit manager at S&R once grabbed her breast as she passed his office, then again "grabbed her butt,"
She says when she reported the aggression to her immediate supervisor the man allegedly said, "I thought of doing that myself but didn't know if I'd get slapped."
After some time on the job, Kristall Butters, couldn't take it anymore and she reported Robertson to the Attorney General's office. Police later interviewed Chipman about what she saw, soon after Robertson was arrested, and when he was released from jail, he allegedly told his receptionist, that he had every intention of firing the people you turned him in. Two months later both Butters and Chipman were laid off.
Robertson will be sentenced October 17th on more than 20 counts of possession of child porn.
Both woman spent months looking for new jobs, and finally are employed.
I met chipman at her small, functional apartment in Sandy, Utah, and after the interview, I asked, "so you're working again? You're doing well?" She perked up, almost as if conditioned to do so and sang, "Oh yes!" then it appeared she was quietly pondered her financial spreadsheet, maybe thinking about the bills still owed, or the collection agencies that likely still harass her and she amended her statement, with eyes cast downward, "I'm catching up."
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Emotional Deliberations
It is 11 PM, so the air conditioner in the 4th District Court House had been off for hours. It is hot, slightly sweaty and muggy, and reminds me of my days covering stories in the Greene County Mississippi Court House. The Antebellum architecture is beautiful, but the antiquated HVAC system always put a fine sheen on the judge and attorneys in rolled up sleeves as they discussed the minutia of state law, in a poorly ventilated, yet historically and architecturally significant court room.
The Courthouse in Spanish Fork is new, modern and state of the art, but the moist heat and raw emotions and tensions inside it makes the place feel primal.
Pat Finlinson, is the prosecuting attorney of Millard County. A hardscrabble place of about 12,000 who have worked the fields for generations.
Finlinson has toiled for two and a half excruciating years to put Roberto Ramon behind bars for the murder of Millard County Sheriff's deputy Josie Fox.
Ramon had admitted to shooting and killing the deputy after she pulled him over near Delta, Utah January 5th, 2010. This seemed like, to borrow a cliche, "an open and shut case," but in a piece of court room drama, Ramon takes the stand and accuses the deputy's brother, Ryan Greathouse of shooting Fox.
Greathouse and Ramon had been together earlier in the evening of her murder. Ramon claims Greathouse was in his car when the pair was pulled over by Fox, Ramon says Greathouse fired the fatal shot. The deputy's brother would later be found dead of a drug overdose in a Las Vegas hotel room.
The longer the jury deliberates, generally speaking, the better it is for a defendant, and Finlinson, is wearing the stress of that fact openly on his face. He sits quietly, gazing at the earth tone tile that lines the hall of the courthouse. He buries his thumbs into his eyes, and burrows his head into the palms of his hands.
I can hear him mutter to the attorney next to him, "this is agony." A woman he knows, a tough gal, likely hardened by running a plow or tending the crops, asks him, "Well, do you wish you woulda been a farmer?"
Finlinson went to high school with Josie Fox, and probably knows her dad, her mother, and all of her siblings. On the streets of Delta, he is likely stopped by weather-worn men in John Deere baseball caps and work soaked blue jeans, who ask, "How's your daddy?"
Stephen McCaughey, is a defense attorney of some note. You can often see him strolling to the Matheson Court House in Salt Lake City with a white Fedora placed jauntily on his head.
When I chat with him as we wait for the verdict, I notice his bright, patterned tie, it is finely handcrafted, and probably cost more than I would be willing to pay for 6 ties. McCaughey says in his long career, he has put a defendant on the stand maybe 3 times, as a rule it doesn't do them any good, but tonight as the jury deliberation creak towards 8 hours, it is clear, these city slickers may have made the right decision for their client.
The muttering around the court house seems to suggest we may have a hung jury, for Finlinson this would be a monumental pain, because he would have to try Ramon again, but at least, for the prosecuting attorney, it's not acquittal.
You could tell the jury agonized over the decision to acquit Ramon, as they are polled by the judge who asks if they are in agreement on the verdict each one, labors out a painful, "yes."
Ramon will likely serve 10 years in prison for other charges including tampering with evidence and possession of a weapon by a restricted person, but for Fox's family, and for the prosecuting attorney, it appeared as if they had been gut-punched by the decision.
I watch as McCaughey, heads to his car, he elevated his white hat onto his head with a confident toss.
As Finlinson clumps down the stairs of the ultra modern 4th District Court House, he politely declines to comment. Despite the modern air of the architecture, the building is filled with the ancient, hot emotion of despair that dates back to the beginning.
The Courthouse in Spanish Fork is new, modern and state of the art, but the moist heat and raw emotions and tensions inside it makes the place feel primal.
Pat Finlinson, is the prosecuting attorney of Millard County. A hardscrabble place of about 12,000 who have worked the fields for generations.
Finlinson has toiled for two and a half excruciating years to put Roberto Ramon behind bars for the murder of Millard County Sheriff's deputy Josie Fox.
Ramon had admitted to shooting and killing the deputy after she pulled him over near Delta, Utah January 5th, 2010. This seemed like, to borrow a cliche, "an open and shut case," but in a piece of court room drama, Ramon takes the stand and accuses the deputy's brother, Ryan Greathouse of shooting Fox.
Greathouse and Ramon had been together earlier in the evening of her murder. Ramon claims Greathouse was in his car when the pair was pulled over by Fox, Ramon says Greathouse fired the fatal shot. The deputy's brother would later be found dead of a drug overdose in a Las Vegas hotel room.
The longer the jury deliberates, generally speaking, the better it is for a defendant, and Finlinson, is wearing the stress of that fact openly on his face. He sits quietly, gazing at the earth tone tile that lines the hall of the courthouse. He buries his thumbs into his eyes, and burrows his head into the palms of his hands.
I can hear him mutter to the attorney next to him, "this is agony." A woman he knows, a tough gal, likely hardened by running a plow or tending the crops, asks him, "Well, do you wish you woulda been a farmer?"
Finlinson went to high school with Josie Fox, and probably knows her dad, her mother, and all of her siblings. On the streets of Delta, he is likely stopped by weather-worn men in John Deere baseball caps and work soaked blue jeans, who ask, "How's your daddy?"
Stephen McCaughey, is a defense attorney of some note. You can often see him strolling to the Matheson Court House in Salt Lake City with a white Fedora placed jauntily on his head.
When I chat with him as we wait for the verdict, I notice his bright, patterned tie, it is finely handcrafted, and probably cost more than I would be willing to pay for 6 ties. McCaughey says in his long career, he has put a defendant on the stand maybe 3 times, as a rule it doesn't do them any good, but tonight as the jury deliberation creak towards 8 hours, it is clear, these city slickers may have made the right decision for their client.
The muttering around the court house seems to suggest we may have a hung jury, for Finlinson this would be a monumental pain, because he would have to try Ramon again, but at least, for the prosecuting attorney, it's not acquittal.
You could tell the jury agonized over the decision to acquit Ramon, as they are polled by the judge who asks if they are in agreement on the verdict each one, labors out a painful, "yes."
Ramon will likely serve 10 years in prison for other charges including tampering with evidence and possession of a weapon by a restricted person, but for Fox's family, and for the prosecuting attorney, it appeared as if they had been gut-punched by the decision.
I watch as McCaughey, heads to his car, he elevated his white hat onto his head with a confident toss.
As Finlinson clumps down the stairs of the ultra modern 4th District Court House, he politely declines to comment. Despite the modern air of the architecture, the building is filled with the ancient, hot emotion of despair that dates back to the beginning.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Losing Faith
Cara Tangaro is unlike any lawyer I've ever met. She says what is on her mind, and in her case file.
She is also one of two attorneys for Greg Peterson, a high-powered, big money fund raiser for the GOP in Utah.
He is, at last count, accused of raping or sexually assaulting 5 different women, police in Wasatch County are investigating three other possible victims as well.
Tangaro, will tell you, to your face, and on tape, that the case against her client is weak, and she's not afraid to call out the women making the accusations. One of the alleged victims who says she was raped by Peterson, has, we are told, accused three other men of rape as well. Tangaro says "she is either the unluckiest woman on earth or something else is going on."
Another of the alleged victims says Peterson kidnapped her, forced her to go to his mother's house and raped the woman over several days. Tangaro, says after the rape, the woman contacted Peterson on Facebook, and went on several other dates with him as well.
Tangaro, representing a staunch Republican, admits proudly, in a state, that is overwhelmingly Republican, that she is a registered Democrat, and she says, this case is steeped in religion.
All the victims are proud members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, or more commonly, the Mormons.
In many cases, Peterson met them on LDS dating websites, LDS cruises or at church. Tangaro supposes that the woman knowingly and willing had sex with Peterson, but later had, "buyers remorse," her words.
Prosecutor Joseph Hill says yes, religion played a part in this case, but not on the side of regret, but of aggression.
Hill says Peterson was quick to point out to his alleged victims, his high position in the LDS Church, the assistant DA says Peterson used this as a way to draw in his victims.
I actually spoke to one of the accusers earlier this week. The widow and mother of five met Peterson on an LDS cruise. She says sometime later he would expose himself to her and force her to touch his penis, perhaps to his chagrin, she had a conceal carry permit, and possibly even more to his chagrin, she had a holstered handgun strapped to her side. When the woman placed her hand on her holstered gun and told him to take her home, that's exactly what he did, she says.
She also told me a story that disturbs everyone who hears it. Just minutes before he allegedly assaults her, Peterson insists on giving the widow an LDS blessing, in the blessing he prays for her fertility, and that she will someday come back into the fold. About an hour later, she says, he will be showing her his hand gun, and demanding that she touch his erect penis.
Tangaro has not been retained for this particular case, but it is likely she will be, and chances are, she'll have a few choice words about it as well.
She is also one of two attorneys for Greg Peterson, a high-powered, big money fund raiser for the GOP in Utah.
He is, at last count, accused of raping or sexually assaulting 5 different women, police in Wasatch County are investigating three other possible victims as well.
Tangaro, will tell you, to your face, and on tape, that the case against her client is weak, and she's not afraid to call out the women making the accusations. One of the alleged victims who says she was raped by Peterson, has, we are told, accused three other men of rape as well. Tangaro says "she is either the unluckiest woman on earth or something else is going on."
Another of the alleged victims says Peterson kidnapped her, forced her to go to his mother's house and raped the woman over several days. Tangaro, says after the rape, the woman contacted Peterson on Facebook, and went on several other dates with him as well.
Tangaro, representing a staunch Republican, admits proudly, in a state, that is overwhelmingly Republican, that she is a registered Democrat, and she says, this case is steeped in religion.
All the victims are proud members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, or more commonly, the Mormons.
In many cases, Peterson met them on LDS dating websites, LDS cruises or at church. Tangaro supposes that the woman knowingly and willing had sex with Peterson, but later had, "buyers remorse," her words.
Prosecutor Joseph Hill says yes, religion played a part in this case, but not on the side of regret, but of aggression.
Hill says Peterson was quick to point out to his alleged victims, his high position in the LDS Church, the assistant DA says Peterson used this as a way to draw in his victims.
I actually spoke to one of the accusers earlier this week. The widow and mother of five met Peterson on an LDS cruise. She says sometime later he would expose himself to her and force her to touch his penis, perhaps to his chagrin, she had a conceal carry permit, and possibly even more to his chagrin, she had a holstered handgun strapped to her side. When the woman placed her hand on her holstered gun and told him to take her home, that's exactly what he did, she says.
She also told me a story that disturbs everyone who hears it. Just minutes before he allegedly assaults her, Peterson insists on giving the widow an LDS blessing, in the blessing he prays for her fertility, and that she will someday come back into the fold. About an hour later, she says, he will be showing her his hand gun, and demanding that she touch his erect penis.
Tangaro has not been retained for this particular case, but it is likely she will be, and chances are, she'll have a few choice words about it as well.
So...You DO know my Password
Lies and lessons can be combustible. Just ask Zachary Sheeley of Salt Lake City. Or more to the point, ask his wife.
According to court documents, Mrs. Sheeley was thumbing through the video gallery of her husband's cell phone when she came across, what they call in the world of porn, "Upskirts." A series of videos shot up the skirts and dresses of unsuspecting women as they change clothes in a changing room or as they sit casually eating lunch.
Many times these videos are shot by anonymous men (or women) and distributed to other anonymous men (or women) on anonymous websites that you can find on the internet, but to Mrs. Sheeley's surprise, these videos where taken at a local Wal-Mart, and a Mexican restaurant, just a few blocks away from where the couple was living.
But likely more crushing to her, was the fact that, according to the charging documents, Mrs. Sheeley's own husband, was the one, according to police, who was aiming and recording these awkward, grainy images.
Mrs. Sheeley, in her stunned rage lashes out, as you might imagine. She may have confronted her husband about his alleged hobby, "tearing him a new one," as the kids might say, but we don't know that for sure. What we do know is, she called up police and turned the videos over to them. Her husband Zachary was charged with 4 counts of voyeurism, and 4 counts of attempted voyeurism.
It prompts the question: What motivated her to call police instead of simply raging against a husband with a disturbing fetish.
was something else brewing under the surface of this marriage?
Are we looking at a married so broken that Mrs. Sheeley, at her wit's end, was willing and secretly aching for her husband to be "stuffed and cuffed."
Did she hate her husband so much, that she relished the idea of him sitting nervously, shamefully, for his mugshot. A mugshot that would be taken and distributed on a number websites who feature EVERY criminals picture taken everyday in the state of Utah.
Was she exstatic when she saw my story with the headline, "Salt Lake Man Arrested on 4 Counts of Voyeurism," lead the 10 pm newscast on 2 News.
Or did she think, a call to the police department would help, "scare him straight?" Did she think the police would give him a firm, "talking too?" Did she think police would shake their finger at Zach and leave him with a forceful warning, "If you do this again, there will be real trouble," then place their caps upon their hats and jump into their black and white, and go out and arrest "real" criminals?
Is it possible that she didn't realize that when you call the police you start up a mammoth, faceless, creaking machine. A machine that isn't in the business of teaching lessons, or shaking fingers, its in the business of processing. The legal system is like a giant wind up clock. Once you turn the knob, you engage the inner working of that time piece, the pendulum, gear train and escapements all engage. The clock's job is to keep the time, not care about it, or how it ages us, deteriorates buildings or how it slowly changes landscapes.
The legal system is a machine as well. Once you call the police, the process has started, the gear train begins spinning on, and there is very little that can be done to stop it.
We don't know what motivated Sheeley's wife to call police, maybe she felt there needed to be justice for those women, maybe she simply despised her husband so much that she couldn't live without the idea that he was behind bars, or maybe she just thought she would teach him a lesson. If that is the case, they both learned a very difficult, stark lesson indeed.
According to court documents, Mrs. Sheeley was thumbing through the video gallery of her husband's cell phone when she came across, what they call in the world of porn, "Upskirts." A series of videos shot up the skirts and dresses of unsuspecting women as they change clothes in a changing room or as they sit casually eating lunch.
Many times these videos are shot by anonymous men (or women) and distributed to other anonymous men (or women) on anonymous websites that you can find on the internet, but to Mrs. Sheeley's surprise, these videos where taken at a local Wal-Mart, and a Mexican restaurant, just a few blocks away from where the couple was living.
But likely more crushing to her, was the fact that, according to the charging documents, Mrs. Sheeley's own husband, was the one, according to police, who was aiming and recording these awkward, grainy images.
Mrs. Sheeley, in her stunned rage lashes out, as you might imagine. She may have confronted her husband about his alleged hobby, "tearing him a new one," as the kids might say, but we don't know that for sure. What we do know is, she called up police and turned the videos over to them. Her husband Zachary was charged with 4 counts of voyeurism, and 4 counts of attempted voyeurism.
It prompts the question: What motivated her to call police instead of simply raging against a husband with a disturbing fetish.
was something else brewing under the surface of this marriage?
Are we looking at a married so broken that Mrs. Sheeley, at her wit's end, was willing and secretly aching for her husband to be "stuffed and cuffed."
Did she hate her husband so much, that she relished the idea of him sitting nervously, shamefully, for his mugshot. A mugshot that would be taken and distributed on a number websites who feature EVERY criminals picture taken everyday in the state of Utah.
Was she exstatic when she saw my story with the headline, "Salt Lake Man Arrested on 4 Counts of Voyeurism," lead the 10 pm newscast on 2 News.
Or did she think, a call to the police department would help, "scare him straight?" Did she think the police would give him a firm, "talking too?" Did she think police would shake their finger at Zach and leave him with a forceful warning, "If you do this again, there will be real trouble," then place their caps upon their hats and jump into their black and white, and go out and arrest "real" criminals?
Is it possible that she didn't realize that when you call the police you start up a mammoth, faceless, creaking machine. A machine that isn't in the business of teaching lessons, or shaking fingers, its in the business of processing. The legal system is like a giant wind up clock. Once you turn the knob, you engage the inner working of that time piece, the pendulum, gear train and escapements all engage. The clock's job is to keep the time, not care about it, or how it ages us, deteriorates buildings or how it slowly changes landscapes.
The legal system is a machine as well. Once you call the police, the process has started, the gear train begins spinning on, and there is very little that can be done to stop it.
We don't know what motivated Sheeley's wife to call police, maybe she felt there needed to be justice for those women, maybe she simply despised her husband so much that she couldn't live without the idea that he was behind bars, or maybe she just thought she would teach him a lesson. If that is the case, they both learned a very difficult, stark lesson indeed.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Trust
August 14th, 2012.
Sometimes there is no easy ways to ask a difficult question. I thought about that as I knocked on the door of a woman who had accused a high profiled Republican fund raiser of exposing himself to her then grabbing her hand and forcing her to touch his penis.
When, I'll call her "V," came to the door, it is clear she had far too much on her plate, today, and likely everyday. She juggles a small child in her right arm, and a stuffed, plush toy in her left. Her long brown hair is clean, but I can tell, washing it was a monumental achievement, styling it, on the other hand, would loose the battle today.
"V" had the look of a woman who had just spent the last five minutes cleaning macaroni and cheese out of a borrowed CD player and praying someday it would play music again.
"Hi, sorry to bother you," I say as I try to comprehend what her afternoon must have been like, "Uh-huh," she says trying to wrap her mind around what a man in a sports jacket and another in casual shorts and a rumpled hiking shirt would be doing at her home at 4:30 in the afternoon.
"I'm Chris Jones from 2News. How are you?" I ask, as an uncomfortable smile mixed with embarrassment, reluctantly spreads across her face, "I know, why you're here," she says as she cautiously eyes me and bounces her 17 month old baby in her arms.
"First I want to say, I'm sorry you had to deal with all that." I exclaim, "All that," according to charging documents includes allegations that Greg Peterson, a GOP fundraiser, tried to sexually assault her at his cabin in Heber City. It's the same cabin where he raises money for big-time Republican politicians in Utah.
Peterson is currently in jail in Salt Lake County accused of raping and assaulting 4 other women.
Now is the time, when as a reporter, I'm obligated to ask a vulnerable, woman, a mother of 5 and a widow, if she would be willing to share details of one of the most disturbing, difficult days of her life, with me, and not only with me, but with thousands of others, on television.
"I know how difficult this must be for you, but would you be willing to talk to us about what happened?" I forced myself to ask.
"I don't know, I'm not much of a public speaker," she says brushing her hair out of her eyes, as if the camera might already be rolling.
"I know, but perhaps your story could help other woman who may also be victims of sexual crimes, if they find they can relate to your circumstances, maybe they will be wiling to come out, and tell what happened to them," I say.
I can see this approach seems to be working, "well, that is why I went to the police in the first place, after I saw the other reports," she says almost to herself, but then she begins to change course, "but I'm pretty shy, and I have my kids to take care of," she says as sh uses her forehead to point at the baby squirming in her arms. "And, I if he gets out, he'll know it was me."
I'm losing her, "well, we can agree not to show your face, or say your name." I pause, she thinks, but not convinced. "It will take about 10 minutes, and we could even disguise your voice, if that would make you more comfortable," I pause again, she thinks even more, but it's clear few of these bargaining tools are working.
"What's her name?" I ask as I take two fingers and tug gently on sleeve of the child's pink top, "M," she says, "relieved that I am changing the subject, "she's 17 months old," she announces more comfortable talking about baby stuff than sexual assault.
"Ok, so at this age they are walking right?" I chime in, not having kids of my own, "Oh yeah, she is all over the place," she proclaims proudly.
I offer "M" my hand palm up, and she enthusiastically slaps her tiny fist into my large mit, and smiles large and brightly, letting out an ecstatic coo.
Randy the photographer, standing by quietly behind me, ready to retrieve the camera as soon as I give the signal, is impressed, "she likes you!"
"M's" mother is impressed as well, she begins to see I'm kind of human, not just a face from the TV, trying to take advantage of her the way an alleged attacker did.
"M" wrestles with my finger, as I make a clicking noise with my mouth, that the little girls finds hilarious for some reason. She laughs as she extends both of her tiny little arms directly at my neck hoping I'll lift her and continue our game.
"So. What do you think?" "V" juggles the baby to her left arm, "Ok, do you want to come in."
Often times, particularly when dealing with sensitive, down right disturbing subjects like sexual assault, if an interview is granted, a little time to think is all it takes for someone to change their mind.
We are holding steady to our agreement, we won't show her face, and we won't say her name, but as Randy adjusts his camera so he can show her arm and my face only, I can see she might be having a change of heart, "V" is becoming uncomfortable as the Frezzi light on Randy's camera blazes on. I've lost many an interview at this point, I'm ready to accept it again, as "V" begins to ring her hands uncomfortably
That's when the baby, teeter's towards me, smiles broadly, lets out a giggle and hands me a mushy, baby sized handful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch Cereal that mom gave her to preoccupy her during the interview. "What in the world!" I say with mock shock, as I pretend to loudly eat the moist fistful of sugar filled cereal, "Num, num, num," I fake eat the stuff, the baby scampers off laughing loudly, as mom, gazes at her child, then at me, reminded again, that perhaps I'm not so bad.
Kids during interviews, particularly babies, present unique challenges. Since they are not aware of interview decorum, they will scream, run through your shot, or grab a sharp dangerous object just as your subject is beginning to share their most intimate stories.
"M" is no exception, as her mother recounts how she met Peterson, the baby, barrels towards the front door, that was left slightly ajar, and race out of the house, "Oh no!" she says as she practically rips the lovelier mic off her lapel, "Ill get her," I march towards the door, grab the tiny escapee and pretend scold her, "where do you think you're going, huh," as i toss her in the air, she cackles with joy and "V" smiles, relaxes, and finishes the interview.
I thank "V" for sharing her story with us, and as I head out the door, "M" reaches towards me, arms extended full, I grab her out of her mothers, arms (probably inappropriate) toss her in the air one more time, "goodbye baby, goodbye!" I say as she smiles at me, then her mother, the woman she put at ease long enough to tell a frightening tale.
Sometimes there is no easy ways to ask a difficult question. I thought about that as I knocked on the door of a woman who had accused a high profiled Republican fund raiser of exposing himself to her then grabbing her hand and forcing her to touch his penis.
When, I'll call her "V," came to the door, it is clear she had far too much on her plate, today, and likely everyday. She juggles a small child in her right arm, and a stuffed, plush toy in her left. Her long brown hair is clean, but I can tell, washing it was a monumental achievement, styling it, on the other hand, would loose the battle today.
"V" had the look of a woman who had just spent the last five minutes cleaning macaroni and cheese out of a borrowed CD player and praying someday it would play music again.
"Hi, sorry to bother you," I say as I try to comprehend what her afternoon must have been like, "Uh-huh," she says trying to wrap her mind around what a man in a sports jacket and another in casual shorts and a rumpled hiking shirt would be doing at her home at 4:30 in the afternoon.
"I'm Chris Jones from 2News. How are you?" I ask, as an uncomfortable smile mixed with embarrassment, reluctantly spreads across her face, "I know, why you're here," she says as she cautiously eyes me and bounces her 17 month old baby in her arms.
"First I want to say, I'm sorry you had to deal with all that." I exclaim, "All that," according to charging documents includes allegations that Greg Peterson, a GOP fundraiser, tried to sexually assault her at his cabin in Heber City. It's the same cabin where he raises money for big-time Republican politicians in Utah.
Peterson is currently in jail in Salt Lake County accused of raping and assaulting 4 other women.
Now is the time, when as a reporter, I'm obligated to ask a vulnerable, woman, a mother of 5 and a widow, if she would be willing to share details of one of the most disturbing, difficult days of her life, with me, and not only with me, but with thousands of others, on television.
"I know how difficult this must be for you, but would you be willing to talk to us about what happened?" I forced myself to ask.
"I don't know, I'm not much of a public speaker," she says brushing her hair out of her eyes, as if the camera might already be rolling.
"I know, but perhaps your story could help other woman who may also be victims of sexual crimes, if they find they can relate to your circumstances, maybe they will be wiling to come out, and tell what happened to them," I say.
I can see this approach seems to be working, "well, that is why I went to the police in the first place, after I saw the other reports," she says almost to herself, but then she begins to change course, "but I'm pretty shy, and I have my kids to take care of," she says as sh uses her forehead to point at the baby squirming in her arms. "And, I if he gets out, he'll know it was me."
I'm losing her, "well, we can agree not to show your face, or say your name." I pause, she thinks, but not convinced. "It will take about 10 minutes, and we could even disguise your voice, if that would make you more comfortable," I pause again, she thinks even more, but it's clear few of these bargaining tools are working.
"What's her name?" I ask as I take two fingers and tug gently on sleeve of the child's pink top, "M," she says, "relieved that I am changing the subject, "she's 17 months old," she announces more comfortable talking about baby stuff than sexual assault.
"Ok, so at this age they are walking right?" I chime in, not having kids of my own, "Oh yeah, she is all over the place," she proclaims proudly.
I offer "M" my hand palm up, and she enthusiastically slaps her tiny fist into my large mit, and smiles large and brightly, letting out an ecstatic coo.
Randy the photographer, standing by quietly behind me, ready to retrieve the camera as soon as I give the signal, is impressed, "she likes you!"
"M's" mother is impressed as well, she begins to see I'm kind of human, not just a face from the TV, trying to take advantage of her the way an alleged attacker did.
"M" wrestles with my finger, as I make a clicking noise with my mouth, that the little girls finds hilarious for some reason. She laughs as she extends both of her tiny little arms directly at my neck hoping I'll lift her and continue our game.
"So. What do you think?" "V" juggles the baby to her left arm, "Ok, do you want to come in."
Often times, particularly when dealing with sensitive, down right disturbing subjects like sexual assault, if an interview is granted, a little time to think is all it takes for someone to change their mind.
We are holding steady to our agreement, we won't show her face, and we won't say her name, but as Randy adjusts his camera so he can show her arm and my face only, I can see she might be having a change of heart, "V" is becoming uncomfortable as the Frezzi light on Randy's camera blazes on. I've lost many an interview at this point, I'm ready to accept it again, as "V" begins to ring her hands uncomfortably
That's when the baby, teeter's towards me, smiles broadly, lets out a giggle and hands me a mushy, baby sized handful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch Cereal that mom gave her to preoccupy her during the interview. "What in the world!" I say with mock shock, as I pretend to loudly eat the moist fistful of sugar filled cereal, "Num, num, num," I fake eat the stuff, the baby scampers off laughing loudly, as mom, gazes at her child, then at me, reminded again, that perhaps I'm not so bad.
Kids during interviews, particularly babies, present unique challenges. Since they are not aware of interview decorum, they will scream, run through your shot, or grab a sharp dangerous object just as your subject is beginning to share their most intimate stories.
"M" is no exception, as her mother recounts how she met Peterson, the baby, barrels towards the front door, that was left slightly ajar, and race out of the house, "Oh no!" she says as she practically rips the lovelier mic off her lapel, "Ill get her," I march towards the door, grab the tiny escapee and pretend scold her, "where do you think you're going, huh," as i toss her in the air, she cackles with joy and "V" smiles, relaxes, and finishes the interview.
I thank "V" for sharing her story with us, and as I head out the door, "M" reaches towards me, arms extended full, I grab her out of her mothers, arms (probably inappropriate) toss her in the air one more time, "goodbye baby, goodbye!" I say as she smiles at me, then her mother, the woman she put at ease long enough to tell a frightening tale.
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