Why Do You Make Me Do This?!

"You're a sleazy reporter!"  He seethed into my face releasing the strong smell of booze into my nostrils. "And I'm glad I got to know that," he continued, his eyes red rimmed, and coated with a clear sheen.  "Ok," I responded, seeing that the conversation was quickly devolving, "Thanks for your time," I continued, and turned to walk away.  "Oh F*%k you!" he blurted, annoyed by my sudden politeness, and he staggered away, veering sharply to his left, then, over correcting wildly, and snapping quickly to his right. The man, who we will call Allen, was upset with a story I had reported about some unfortunate events in his life (I will withhold his name because he was cleared of any wrongdoing)

Rep. Michael Grimm (R) accosts reporter Mike Scotto

I thought of the encounter this morning as I read about New York Congressman Michael Grimm threatening to throw a reporter "off this f#*king balcony" after NY1 corespondent Mike Scotto tried to ask the representative about allegations of improper handling of campaign finances.

Scotto was interviewing the congressman about President Obama's State Of The Union Address, and his last question of the congressman was about the investigation.  Grimm refused to answer the query and stormed off, only to march back a few seconds later and threaten the reporter.


Allen, wasn't being interviewed when he accosted me, it was really a chance meeting, but I suspected, when I saw him posted outside my office, that there would be fireworks that evening.

I had stepped outside the 2News studios in downtown Salt Lake City, just before 10 PM to do a live report, when I noticed Allen sitting awkwardly on a planter near our Main Street Studios.  I found it kind of humorous, because the pot Allen had plopped down upon was wide, but very short, so as he sat with his neck craned back so he could watch  the Jumbotron screen, that shows our newscasts live, outside our station, his knees where thrust high into his chest, and his arms dangled, lifeless, down both sides of his body.  Allen listed side to side, as he watched the images flicker across the large television screen, and then he noticed me as I put my IFB in my ear, and fastened a small lav mic to the lapel of my coat.

He slowly ambled his way towards me, casually looking to his right then left as if he was just out for a leisurely stroll directly in to the marble pillar by which I was standing.

I decided to make it easy for him, and I approached Allen with my hand extended.  he, gently grabbed my palm and slowly squeezed tighter and tighter, and without releasing his grip, seethed and  fumed about "sources," and a "smear campaign" when in reality I'd done one story about him, based on allegations filed in court.  After about 5 minutes of his glossy eyed rant, I responded, "perhaps you should turn your attention to the person who made the allegations," I suggested, as I prepped myself for my live report, "Oh f*&k you!" he yelled, then wandered away.

Later that night someone emailed me a link to his Facebook where he posted details of the encounter on the page, and reveled in his "confrontation."  In the comment section, his friends wrote statements like: "Go get 'em Allen,"  he reveled in the encounter, only to delete the entry the next morning, presumably after sobering up.

Oddly, several weeks later, he came across a co-worker of mine from 2News, and Allen told him he "felt badly," about what he'd said, and asked my friend if he should try to get in contact with me to "have a beer and talk it out."   My Colleague said "sure," but I never heard from Allen.

The day after his outburst, Allen regretted it, and had been ruminating on it for weeks.  This morning Rep. Micheal Grimm, likely regrets what he said, and would like to move on.  the difference of course is Allen shouted his profanity at me, on a near empty street, and reveled about it in the abyss that is social media.  Grimm on the other hand, exploded in front of a camera, near a "hot" mic.  Allen wanted to explain to me what happened, and that he was sorry, Grimm is likely readying an apology for all 84,000 voters in district 11.

Throwing Hats and Punches

"I don't want to risk it," Speaker of The House Becky Lockhart smiled after Rod Decker of 2News asked her to repeat some incendiary words she had uttered in a speech just moment earlier.  "You can read the speech," she urged reporters.  It's hard to say what Lockhart would "risk," by re-tossing her hand grenade at Gov. Gary Herbert, you can't un-explode and explosion.   Lockhart, in what is usually a ceremonial pep talk to members of the state house on the first day of the legislative session, called the governor "an inaction figure," because of his support for accepting ObamaCare money to help Utah pay the health care bills of the poor.

Lockhart had to know her, "inaction figure" phrase would get attention, from legislators, certainly the governor, and of course, the press, but when questioned, she was dodgy when pressed by reporters about the comments, and at times seemed a bit put off by the repeated grilling from my colleagues.

Political watchers believe this was her first salvo in the long battle for the governor's office.  Lockhart jabbed then played defense with the press afterwards.  She tried to soften the ax she'd swung by saying she was simply trying to encourage all in the legislature, including herself to be "action figures,"  an odd metaphor which made me envision a bunch of tiny law makers encased in plastic resin.  Not emblazoned in ties and pant suits but rather encased in scuba gear, skin tight superhero garb, and toting little plastic machine guns, while sitting at a committee meeting listening to a division head droning on about an appropriations bill.


Lockhart's reluctance to go "all in" with her "inaction figure," comment, reminds me of my friend who had been eyeing a British racing hat.  He told me, "you know, I'd really love to wear that around if I could, but I'm afraid people would make fun of me." I told him I would definitely make fun of him, but I'd be less likely to do so if he wore the hat with  absolute confidence, as if that's, "Just the way it is."

Lockhart wore the hat, for a while, but when she noticed people looking, she quickly took it off and tossed in the back of the closet.  If she plans on throwing that hat in the ring for governor, she might want to get comfortable with wearing it all the time.

Miscalculation

 "Come in, come in!"  Mark Shurtleff waves me into his home enthusiastically as I stand on his front stoop in 2001. Shurtleff is the newly elected Attorney General of the state of Utah, and I remember sitting comfortably in his living room after an interview about his hopeful agenda as AG, chatting with ease about a variety of topics.

Shurtleff, who was in the process of rounding out his staff, was oddly open about whom he was considering for positions.  He asked me about a former colleague of mine, Paul Murphy.  Shurtleff was considering him for his PR boss.  "I  don't think you could do much better than Paul," I told the new Attorney General.  Two weeks later Murphy (not because of my endorsement I'm sure) was on staff in the AG's office.

That friendliness highlighted Shurtleff tenure, I recall once, being rounded into duty during my day off. The governor was making a major, unexpected announcement at the state capitol, so I hustled up to the hill in a blue sports coat and, self-consciously, a pair of casual sandals.  While the governor spoke, Shurtleff ambled up to me, "Those sandals really go nicely with that coat," he joked.  "They compliment my eyes," I  retorted,  Shurtleff laughed and jabbed me with his elbow and marched off.

The most powerful man in Utah law enforcement, isn't particularly imposing, despite his sizable frame. Shurtleff is easily 6'6" perhaps 220 pounds, but he carries his girth rather awkwardly, like a newly born fawn, struggling to find it's gate, probably because of a badly injured knee that has required countless surgeries over the years, but it is not Shurtleff's knee that has on occasion caused his public missteps.

Shurtleff's chin out approach made the AG susceptible to public pratfalls, like the time he accidentally Tweeted his intention of running for the US Senate.

I remember wondering about his judgement after I stumbled upon this Youtube video of the Attorney General on stage at a pep rally for local, Multi-level marketing company, Usana.  Shurtleff was an enthusiastic shill for the elixir company, and I thought it seemed like a blatantly odd place for the Attorney general to be, so  I cross-reverenced the health food manufacturer against a list of Shurleff's donors, only to find they had given Shurtleff a sizable pile of cash.

At the time Paul Murphy, the man whom I had enthusiastically endorsed for Shurtleff's PR job, was exceedingly angry with me after the story ran, but I knew it was an important headline, and went to the attorney general's decision making.

More than bad Judgement seems to be at the center of the expansive investigation involving the former AG and his protege, John Swallow, who followed Shurtleff as Attorney General, only to resign recently.  Investigators have uncovered a breathtaking list of issues.  State Senator Todd Weiler, who sat in a committee meeting with dozens of other lawmakers, told me there were "audible gasps," as investigators unraveled a laundry list of alleged schemes, dirty politicking, and questionable money handling by Shurtleff and Swallow.


The jolly, deliberately goofy Shurtleff seems like an unlikely candidate for the role of political villian. He lacks the dark-hearted scowl of a Richard Nixon, and his gentle eyes are more like a Golden Retriever's, than those of crooked Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich.  The AG's sunny, self-deprecating humor reminds you of your the friendly accountant who lives next door, not the back-slapping political intimidater, LBJ, or the icy, calculated ambition of a man like Joe Kennedy.
Shurtleff never seemed calculating at all, actually the opposite, but in the end, particularly if the former AG faces charges, perhaps a little calculating is exactly what Shurtleff needed. 

Political Cancer

"She had 2 different kinds of cancer," says the former state representative, fiddling with his black tie framed against his bright red dress shirt.  Brad Daw stands inside his Orem home, as photographer Paul Sampson extends a light stand, and un-spools a black cable for our interview.  Daw glances at a blank wall, I suppose, recalling his wife's fight against the ravages of breast cancer, and his own battle against a nebulous, mysterious, and brutal political action committee, that, to Daw, may have seemed like the political equivalent of cancer.  "Needless to say, 2012 was not my favorite year." he says with melancholy.

Former State Rep. Brad Daw

In 2012, representative Daw and his wife huddled together, grappling with the stark realities of her mortality. At the same time, Political mega-broker Jason Powers and soon-to-be Attorney General John Swallow were, according to a recently released affidavit, gathering as well, in the back rooms of pay day loan companies, planning Daw's political death.

Court documents suggest that John Swallow, being mentored by outgoing Attorney General Mark Shurtleff, was constructing a political machine, that Boss Tweed might have envied.

Search warrant affidavits claim Swallow, with Powers, were raising money, not only for Swallow's AG race, but to defeat politicians with whom they saw a a threat to their allies.  In the case of Brad Daw, it was the peddlers of pay day loans.  Daw who had championed a modest bill that pay day loan businesses didn't like, found himself in front of Swallow's money machine investigators claim.

Swallow had secretly funneled money into a PAC called "The Proper Role of Government Defense Fund, say investigators, and the PRDGF began to brutalize Daw with a misleading ad campaign that suggested he was a supporter of ObamaCare, was for illegal immigration, and was even a proponent of school yard bullying.

For years, Daw never knew who was truly behind the scathing blitz that lead to his eventual defeat, but he never suspected it could be his old friend, John Swallow.  A friend for whom Daw had expended considerable political capitol, leading the charge on a child predator bill that was not popular among some state legislators.

Former AG John Swallow

I can tell, the defeat still stings deeply for the former representative.  "Do you still have any of those old flier?" I ask, in hopes of getting a few pictures of some of the more egregious attacks against him, " I have them all," he responds with pained enthusiasm.  Daw marches up the steps of his split level, and like a homing pigeon locates a plastic, aqua folder containing the offending fliers.  He holds the handbills with pained, cautious reverence, as if the card stock handbills are historic relics or a basket of rattle snakes.

Anti-Daw flier

Daw splays the political placards out gently across the flowered love seat in his sitting room, "that was one of the first ones," Daw eyes a glossy handout, showing the former rep, next to President Obama, both men in surgical scrubs, claiming the two were allies on health care issues.

 After our interview,  I ask how his wife is doing with her cancer battle, and with real joy he responds, "remission!" That joy is tempered a bit as he bends down to carefully gathered up the fliers,  attentive not to crease them as he places them into that vile aqua folder,  remembering the time that a different kind of cancer, killed his political career.

An Early Christmas Gift

"So, it's not like a gay couple is going to be able to rush out and get married tomorrow," I ask attorney Peggy Tomsic, really as an aside, at the end of our interview at 3PM on Friday.  Tomsic, who argued for marriage equality in front of Judge Robert Shelby,  sits up in her chair, adjusts her reading glasses, and with some urgency, makes a dramatic correction, "they could go out and get married right now!" she peers at me.  "Wait, what?" I respond, and at that moment, I realize, history is unfurling in front of us all, and I am just now understanding the implications, and the early Christmas gift getting ready to be delivered to a large portion of Utah's population.

Peggy Tomsic

I knew that Judge Robert Shelby's ruling that Utah's ban on gay marriage was unconstitutional was big, but I assumed, wrongly of course, that there must have been a stay in place until the state's inevitable years long appeals of the Shelby's proclamation was settled.  There was not.

Shelby has ruled that banning gay couples from marrying as Utah voters had done overwhelmingly in 2004, violated those citizens due process, and consequently is a violation of the U.S. Constitution.

Thus began a frenetic, electric, buzzy, and most importantly, monumental day in the news.

The Salt Lake County Clerk's office is one of a handful of a few that decides they will begin issuing marriage licenses.  The clerk's office is bulging within the hour.  Impromptu weddings are being conducted in the halls, and back offices.  For those couples it was absolute, unexpected jubilation.

For those who support the idea of traditional marriage, judge Shelby's ruling was equally unexpected, but evoked a wholly different emotion.

Judge Robert Shelby

"So, attending any weddings anytime soon?" I joke with Gayle Ruzicka, the head of the ultra-conservative Eagle Forum as the photographer quickly adjusts his focal length on the camera in preparation of our interview, "oh yeah," she laughs on her porch, adorned with a pair of fanciful snowmen and, as you might imagine, a complete manger scene.  "Can you believe it?!" she joshes, "I didn't even get an invitation to Jim's wedding!"  Ruzicka is talking about State Senator Jim Dabakis, the openly gay lawmaker, who was among the first to be married in the wake of the marriage equality ruling, and he  did so very publicly on 2News live at 5 PM.

Gayle Ruzicka, Eagle Forum

Ruzicka, is much reviled and conversely, beloved by many in Utah for her unabashed and often curt criticism of anything that falls slightly to the left of her ardently conservative views.  Despite her prickly persona, and pronounced politics, in conversation she always allows for some humor.

When the camera gears up, Ruzicka assumes the position, and begins to breath fire, using words like "incompetent," to describe the Utah Attorney General, and "disgusting," to characterize, Salt Lake City Mayor Ralph Becker, proceeding over wedding in Salt Lake County.

Ruzicka finds herself talking about a very different Utah, a Utah that she and fellow opponents of gay marriage, ironically helped to create.

The campaign to ban gay marriage was frenzied 9 years ago, with pro-traditional marriage groups working long hours, knocking on countless doors, and sending out thousands of fliers in the mail.  They worked hard, and their work payed off for them, the Amendment passed overwhelmingly in a referendum by 66 percent of the vote.

Had the ban never existed though, Peggy Tomsic would not have had anything to challenge, and Judge Shelby would have had nothing to overturn.  Ruzicka and others it appears, made all the slapdash wedding spilling into the halls of the Salt Lake County building on 2100 South, possible.

As we pack up our gear, and leave Ruzicka's Alpine, Utah home, I turn and toss a parting quip, "Don't forget to pick up some wedding gifts this weekend," She guffaws, "Yeah right!", and waves us on cheerily, unaware that in many ways she actually helped wrap the gift of marriage equality for gay couples, just days before Christmas.

Accidentally Perfect.

"You know," I say, as the white lights from our Christmas tree dance across her clear eyes, I caress the flawless, gentle skin of her cheek,  "I'm going to get old," I press aside a lock of blond hair that, like a velvet curtain in a old movie house,  reveals her large, deep blue eyes.  "I'm going to get old much faster than you."

My wife Amanda is 17 years younger than me, I am 43, she, 27.   "I'll love you forever," she frowns, offended at the mere thought that she would ever find my sagging skin, creaking knees, or chaotic morning snorts unappealing.  "You are my dream man," she says as she thrust her blonde head into my white t-shirt and closes her eyes, pressing her forehead hard into my chest, and she smiles, content.  "I love you," I say as I run my fingers over her recently washed and beautifully chaotic, accidentally perfect mane.

Oddly enough, my dad was 17 years older than my mother. There are patterns in nature, birds, they say, fly south for the winter and the currents keep salty water moving across the globe, and it turns out, at least in the case of the Jones family, we follow familiar patterns as well.

I never thought I would replicate my father's life.  I thought babies, families and dogs were for squares, and I never wanted a wailing child, or K-9 eager to play fetch, to ever interrupt my date with a mug of beer, or a rocks glass teeming with whiskey.

Today, at the dog park, as Daisy bounded towards a crusty old pug, and wiggled her bobbed tail at the sight of a spastic Terrier, I found myself, encases in gentle, subtle, happiness, better than the achy, bloated high I got as I dragged fermented hops out a bottle.

Today I find myself, smiling unconsciously,  at a life I didn't particularly try to achieve, but one, that I stumbled upon on with accidental perfection.

A while back, Amanda and I kicked our way down the wet gravel of Doolin, in Ireland, just a mile from the Cliffs of Moher, it was frigid, and the icy drizzle, peppered our faces with uncomfortable pinpoints of stinging rain.   The ornate restaurant seemed "good enough," as it was flanked by tour buses, and purple haired grandmas from Kansas slowly creaking their way off the massive people hauler and into the teeming restaurant. The building was crammed full, like the backpacks worn by 20 something college kids from England on holiday looking for an "authentic" Irish experience.

As the waiters, all in matching t-shirts sporting the restaurant's name, scurried quickly from table to table, bringing plate after plate of fish and chips to bulging tourist, Amanda and I, burst from the trap, back into the rain, and took in deep breaths, as if we had been submerged under water for too long.  We walked for a quarter mile in the damp air, and pushed our way into a nondescript little pub.  It was serene and soft inside, only the clouded natural light, barely pressing through the smudged widows lit the place.  We sipped Guiness, as a handful of American's quietly chatted and laughed.  Amanda and I warmed by the popping, hot embers, housed by a 500 year old fire place.  As Amanda pressed the spoon into her mouth, her eyes widened, "This is the best claim chowder I've ever had!" she grinned, as we both dipped into the white creamy soup.  After a couple of hours (and more than a couple of beers) we began gently singing to each other, composing a little song, then as we giggled, recorded the tune into her cell phone,  then we kissed.  It was accidental perfection.

In 6 months, Amanda will give birth to our first child. I'm much older than my wife, like my father before me.  The parallels may simply be accidental,  but I know, they are perfect.

Baking Up Trouble

Timothy Lawson, is a name dropper.  Constantly evoking the nature of his friendship with former Attorney General Mark Shurtleff.  In fact he did it so much in casual conversation, that his easy use of the AG's name, would eventually, one attorney in the AG's office prophetically predicted, "bring down the whole house of cards."

Lawson was charged yesterday with 6 felonies, including tax charges and trying to intimidate potential witnesses, just to name a few.  The Davis and Salt Lake County District Attorneys alleged that Lawson was a bit of a political fixer.  He would get paid thousands of dollars by a crooked businessman, Marc Jenson, to try and curry favor with Utah's top cop.  Jenson, although serving time in  jail on fraud charges bought by Shurleff's office, was paying for Shurleff, and his deputy John Swallow to stay at a swanky California villa.  Lawson allegedly did all the dirty work, using Jenson's money to pay for Swallow and Shurtleff, to get massages, and gorge themselves on fresh fish pulled right from the Pacific Ocean while the squinted into the soothing West Coast sun.

Lawson, according to charging documents, was quick to throw out Shurtleff's name when he and Jenson, didn't like what someone was doing.  Lawson allegedly told one man that he was Mark Shurtleff's Porter Rockwell, referring to the notorious and colorful "Avenging angel of Mormondom." Rockwell was the body guard for both Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, some historians say Rockwell, was quick to do the bidding of the two men, sometimes violently.  Rockwall was said to have tried to assassinate the governor of Missouri by shooting Lilburn Boggs through a window in his study, Rockwell was arrested, tried and acquitted of all charges.

Unlike Rockwell, it appears Lawson's most active weapon was his mouth.  One neighbor told me, that his son had a playground tiff with one of Lawson's daughters, Lawson allegedly called up this neighbor and warned him to keep his boy in check because Lawson, "Is good friends with Mark Shurtleff."  "Really?"  The balding man exclaimed, shaking his head, as he watched a handful of FBI agents scurry around the exterior of Lawson's expansive, Tudor home.

"He's a wheeler-dealer," the neighbor told me as he walked into his home, looking back one more time at federal agents as they rolled large plastic crates into Lawson's house.

Lawson, is, of all things, a baker.  He apparently does a sizable business, selling gluten-free bakery goods from right inside his home.  He has dozens, if not hundreds of large, yellow food crates stacked high on his front porch, and at least two large cargo trucks, crowded tightly into his driveway.  Even as a simple baker, Lawson found an opportunity to puff up his cream puffs, by making mention of the Attorney General in the "About me" section on his bakery website:

They see him as the “Shield of Truth” against injustice, the voice of the faceless masses and the “Sword of Justice” for the people’s right to live in a free Democracy. To me, he was my dear friend, my sounding board and my confidant that always listened, always cared, and always tolerated me.

It's customary to mention when you started your business and why, but it seems a bit odd to expound romantically about the prudence of the attorney general on a website that sells multi-grain dinner rolls.

"What's going on in there!?"  An older woman says, darting her blonde head into the open front window of our news truck.  "Lawson's been arrested," I say,  as I prepare for my 5 PM liveshot.  "Good!" she folds her arms with satisfaction.  I thought she was excited about Lawson's incarceration because of all the news about he and the AG's office, but that wasn't the case, "Hopefully now we can do something about all this bakery business baloney." The woman claims Lawson has 30 employees who report to his HOUSE for duty everyday, crowding the winding, narrow streets outside his home.  "I have no idea how this has continued to go on," she says, almost shouting.

Lawson has been running this business out of his house for some time say neighbors, and despite repeated complaints to the city, he continues to produce gluten-free sourdough bread and pecan caramel bars from in his kitchen.

Perhaps Lawson's "wheeler-dealing" allows him to continue to run a large bakery in a residential area or maybe he tossed around a certain name to help keep production running, either way, as he sits in jail trying to come up with $250,000 dollars bail, it is clear, Lawson has baked up a batch of trouble for himself, and it's possible, others might get a taste of that as well.