Читать книгу Prison Wars: An Inside Account of How the Apocalypse Happened By Martin Sanger - Martin Sänger - Страница 5

I told all my friends (both of my friends) and my colleagues about my meeting with Quentin and how excited I was about it. But between the time of our first encounter and the press conference we only spoke twice.

A few days after I returned to Omaha, Quentin called to tell me of the logistics; which hotel, flight, limo company etc. were to escort me. And right before my departure date, he called again to confirm that I was coming.

Though I had Quentin’s number I was too nervous about accidentally blowing my opportunity to call him. Both times he called me the same dynamic applied. In disbelief, and not wanting this to fall through, I tried to sound unexcited and businesslike.

Quentin treated me like an old friend. He apologized for not contacting me more often. He had been really busy getting final negotiations and logistics ready for the big night and promised we’d have some real quality time to talk after the press conference.

“Sounds great,” was all I could say. My head and heart had to process both the fear of blowing this opportunity and tremendous excitement. This emotional balancing act percolated under every word.

Though I was honored and felt his warmth from our first handshake, trusting is hard for me. After each call I felt jaded, evil, and dirty. He had love and trust while I had skepticism. Had the world made me so gun shy of people? Was it my upbringing? It was almost unnerving to talk with him. My lack of love became more apparent to me each time. It was if I were being readied for a therapeutic immersion I might not be able to handle. That period filled me with the type of tension that must precede religious conversions.

I was intrigued by the potential of our relationship. Not having many connections with people--and those just being with run-of-the-mill folk -- friendship with him seemed like a rare and strange blessing. Like a beggar confronting Jesus, I wasn’t sure why I was worthy of such attention.

Looking back, perhaps he chose me because I was average. It is easier to trust folks that haven’t swum with big sharks. Perhaps it was out of an admiration for my writing. But I’ve never thought my writing was that special. Perhaps he just enjoyed bestowing blessings on good people that seemed to need love.

Such were the sorts of questions that besieged my worried brain in the weeks preceding the big event. Even after the limo picked me up, after I flew for a second time in his private jet, and I was dropped off in front of the Sunset Hyatt, I could barely believe that this was happening to me.

The Wilshire Beverly was the normal place for large corporate announcements in Los Angeles. Both of my previous assignments covering mergers were held there. The Hyatt on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood had an entirely different atmosphere. In retrospect, choosing it was a stroke of genius. The rich-meets-poor, party-infused atmosphere of this adult playground was perfect for the juvenile spectacle being announced.

The Sunset Strip is Hollywood’s hottest street. This was the first time I had seen it at night. The whole thing is television. Though it was night, the street was lit as brightly as a movie set. The sidewalks were full of women that looked like supermodels. All of the guys looked like they are top-of-the-chart rock stars. Never had I seen such a concentration of people wearing tight, vinyl and leather pants.

The excitement builds in the Sunset Hyatt elevator. How fantastic you are is measured by how high you go. I remember predicting that the order of the passengers leaving. The couples all went first, then went the heavier businessmen, then went the sleek young businessmen, the scruffy partiers left and then we three hit the top.

Leaving the elevator I passed guards at a table and finally entered a large dark room with booths. I went to the wet bar in the left of the room. Drinks were on the house, but everyone was leaving five-dollar tips in the tip jar. Against the back wall there was a stage where a disc-spinner was fronted by a revolving cadre of strippers that went all the way to topless.

The topless women didn’t go too well with this media crowd. The media folk looked too old to be titillated with such teenager type stuff. But they didn’t disregard the strippers. They weren’t shocked and outraged. They just tried to look disinterested. I suppose the odd blending of elderly and youthful thrills is now a part of our youth-worshiping culture. The media men not showing enjoyment made them appear bizarre and antiquated.

Not having anyone with me, I scanned the crowd. One guy stood out. He was tall angular, thick and dark. He had a bad-guy dartiness in his eyes and spoke to no one all night. It might have been due to my focusing on him as a character, but he appeared to take crowd pictures too often. Once or twice I actually felt my privacy was violated as he seemed to be taking pictures of me.

I was going to confront him when I noticed that there was an outside. Just how special the place I had the privilege to be in became immediately apparent as I first viewed the rooftop patio. It sported another bar and a full buffet. But beyond this it had a view to die for - a view of all the lights of Los Angeles.

Twenty-four floors below I looked down upon the jammed cars that cruised the strip. They thought that they were hot. And I realized I was in the hotspot they were dreaming of. Damn! This was it. I was in where the in-crowd was.

Looking down from this fantastic height actually put me in the mind of achieving final glamour by jumping. Now that I was finally fulfilled I didn’t need to continue. The glass wall that lined the roof likely made the temptation of jumping a repeating subconscious theme to all. But it was so tall that our fulfillment would have to wait.

And there, precariously perched on a riser was Quentin. The riser was so high that it lifted him above the glass partition. Behind him shone all the lights of the city. In front of him was a small table with a pitcher of water and a glass on it.

I think he must have been waiting for me. Because as soon as he saw me and gave me an uncharacteristic thumbs-up he launched into his presentation.

“Ladies and gentlemen I am ready to proceed. If I may have your attention I’d like to start by thanking you for coming here this evening. I hope you’ve had a good time thus far. And again, thank you for coming.

“Ladies and gentleman, what you are about to hear about may disturb you. It may excite you. It may make you think that I am a madman. But it will happen.

“What I am about to announce will be the single most important development in the history of media. I am not joking or exaggerating. Take me seriously. The contracts have been signed. The legalities have been checked. We are set to go in approximately three months.

“Please hold your questions until the end of my announcement. But know that Prison Wars are for real. ESPN has already bought the broadcast rights.

“Prison Wars are what they sound like. Gladiator style games using prisoners as gladiators. We will have various battles in the courtyards of prisons. These battles will result in injury and perhaps death for some of the participants. The fascinating essence of all sport will be shown raw in Prison Wars.

“Each battle will have different rules. They will be creative in costume and setting. Each contest will be a different spectacle. Each will require intense athletic training and ability. And, as it will be a real battle to the death, you won’t be able to turn away from it whether you want to or not.”

Murmurs among the journalists were getting loud. And several journalists started to vie for his attention. “Mr. Longus, Mr. Longus”

“Please no questions until the end of my announcement. I believe my presentation will answer many of the questions you have. And if you have others at the end of my presentation, I will answer them then.” He smiled with an imperial sense of self-satisfaction that quieted the crowd.

“You may be wondering how we can get away with such a brutal spectacle. We are employing the same legal contracts that are used in other sports. Fights in hockey and other sporting events aren’t punished criminally. Such altercations are within the jurisdiction of the sponsoring league. We have used the same business model. Our contracts require that participants waive their rights to prosecute those that inflict injuries upon them.

“The league is responsible for penalizing inappropriate behaviors. But we won’t.” Quentin chortled with his mouth close for a moment.

“Giving the spectator everything he wants, without restrictions, is our mission. We plan to do so in a way that cannot be surpassed. We will not pull punches.”

Quentin sat even taller and continued.

“Legal objections aside, some folks may object to Prison Wars on moral grounds. We have taken two actions that will hopefully qualm the ethical concerns you might have.

“First of all, all games will be preceded by disclaimers, the full text of which will be available after the press conference. In addition to the usual warning that the material is inappropriate for children, the lengthy statement will note that the participants are in prison because of their brutality. The disclaimer makes the very valid point that the desperation of the participants is proof that crime doesn’t pay. The best way to avoid such violence is to stay out of prison. I have every expectation that Prison Wars will be a deterrent to crime.

“Secondly, we will be donating twenty percent of the proceeds, before taxes but after expenses, to the State’s general fund. In addition, ten percent of the profits shall be put aside for payment of the contest participants themselves. In consultation with the Governor of our great State of California, we have arranged for forty percent of the proceeds going to the State to be earmarked for education. Fifteen percent of the State’s funds will help the State Penal System.

“Prison Wars will be what we call a win-win-win-win situation. Prisoners will win. The Attorney General’s office has agreed to adjust the terms of the participant’s sentencing conditions in recognition of their positive and valiant contributions to society. The winners will also receive considerable revenues.

“Children will win. The projected income will allow a reduction in the teacher-to-student ratio in our State. This will serve to keep kids out of prison and increase their ability to lead our State out of its current economic decline.

“Society will win. Contributing to the General Fund and covering some of the costs of the Penal System will go a long way to alleviating our State’s perennial budget crisis. The prisoners will be paying their debt to society by paying societies’ debts. Who knows? We may even live to see it resulting in a tax cut.”

Quentin laughed silently and a couple of drunks in the audience laughed out loud.

“Society will also win morally as this will be a deterrent to crime.”

“And we the viewers will win. I promise you a show that will create an unprecedented buzz. I promise you a spectacle that will be more gripping than anything you have ever seen before. This will be reality television for the modern era.”

Quentin paused to survey the assembled audience. They all looked somewhat ridiculous. Their faces showed a combination of distorted reactions. Simultaneously, surprise, disbelief, continued nervous laughter from a few, confusion, and excitement occupied the viewers’ faces. They wanted to talk, but couldn’t. A lot of round sounds bubbled out of their mouths. It was if the reporters and guests were trying to spit out tar.

“The design of the individual events will be interactive. We are working with groups of video game designers, sports enthusiasts, television producers and the prisoners themselves to make this a test of skill that will be fun to watch.

“At the end of each contest, we will have on-line polls and discussion groups. We will implement every one of the most popular suggestions at the very next contest. And nothing . . . nothing will be off the table. Weapons, sets, costumes, different rules and gadgets will all be considered. We are proud to say that this will be the first truly interactive mass sport. Our viewers will be in control. Whatever the public wants, up to and including injury and even death, we will manifest.”

Several people made spontaneous outcries. These sounds were preverbal. They sounded like proto-exclamations and wails.

Instead of continually asking folks to please quiet down, Quentin just got quiet himself. He put his index finger in front of his lips while calmly smiling and made oceanic shushing sounds. He exemplified the state he wished to see. With patience, a look of extreme bliss, and no sense of anger at the sound, he waited for the audience’s sound to pass.

It took a few minutes for people to start shushing each other and for the air to be cleared again for him. And I don’t think that anyone missed the fact that he waited until the sound of the cars below and the breathing of those assembled were audible before he continued.

“In short, Prison Wars will be the revolution in programming that we have all been waiting for. It will provide more financial aid to our society than all the telethons ever run combined. It will radically reform our prison system. It will provide the final leap to the collective interactive nature that television and computers have made possible. And it will take us to the extremes of reality and fantasy our psyches have always sought.

“It will be the single most important cultural event of our generation. Get ready for Prison Wars. Death is expected. Nothing will ever be the same again.”

Strangely, this shocking last string of sound bytes created no reaction at all. But still there was a nearly audible sound of thoughts racing. It was very dramatic.

“I am now open to take questions. Please, for my records, state your name and the name of the news organization for whom you work.” The silence broke into the familiar frenzy of journalists vying to be recognized. Looking like he was having a lot of fun, Quentin pointed at one.

“Mr. Longus, Peter Flemming, Time magazine.” This man was very professional.

“Yes.”

“You must be aware that these contracts will be challenged in court. Do you really expect these battles…”

“Prison Wars. Please refer to them as Prison Wars. Prison Wars will be referred to as games, not battles.”

“Yes Mr. Longus. Do you really expect that these Prison Wars games will be aired? Won’t the courts tie them up for years, until the project is dropped?”

“These contracts are legal. No coercion is being used. If prisoners do not wish to sign-up to participate in the Prison Wars, they don’t have to. The contracts we are using are based on those that other sporting organizations use. They are fairly standard.

“Besides lawsuits require plaintiffs. The athletes that participate won’t sue. If they don’t want to participate, they won’t. And the State won’t sue as it is co-sponsoring these events.

“The network airing the program, ESPN, is a cable network. The FCC’s jurisdiction over them is limited as they use no airwaves. Believe me we have had a team of lawyers investigate every possible legal objection to our project and our contracts are unassailable.”

“Mr. Longus, Mr. Longus.” The crowd again burst into sounding like a classroom where everybody had the answers and needs credit for answering.

“Yes you.”

“Thank you Mr. Longus. Paul Salerio, ABC. It seems that this scheme, which frankly, I’m still having trouble believing isn’t just a hoax of some sort, would get high ratings.”

“I’m banking on it.” Quentin jabbed quickly. All giggled a little press conference giggle with the addition of a nervous edge.

“It seems that this would create a sort of, race to the bottom scenario where the brutality would get out of hand.”

“We will not be outdone. Besides which, we have the exclusive access to the States’ prisons. For the meantime, no one has the contracts and no one else could host such events without litigious battles over copyright infringement and the assumption of a lot of liability. We plan to corner this market as long as we can. I don’t see any competition on the horizon.”

The crowd burst back into the cacophony of a thousand chickens clucking. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thanks. Wynonna Lippman, E! Magazine. Who will be announcing these contests? Have you lined anyone up?”

“This being a new sport, there are no experts. And I hope you understood that we are looking to be a legitimate sport. The rules we decide on will be complex and changing. As such the announcer must be capable of both rousing excitement and explaining details simultaneously.

“We are currently in negotiations with several nationally known football announcers for both play by play and color commentary. But I’m sorry I cannot give you any names yet. I can only tell you that we aren’t currently interviewing anybody that you haven’t heard of.”

“Yes ma’am, you.”

“I am shocked and angered by this…”

“Your name!”

“I will not stand on formality…”

“Okay, shoot.”

“This is horrible. We’re talking about human lives. You want people to die on television for entertainment??!! This is barbarous. This must be stopped.”

“Thank you for your honest concern. First of all, no one will be coerced into doing anything. We must consult the prisoners themselves as to what the rules of the contests will be and how they will divide their earnings. Winning teams may have access to privileges such as alcohol, conjugal visits, nice furniture, unlimited television and various other perks. All the prisoner’s premiums will come directly from proceeds of the contests, with no expense to the taxpayer. Next question.”

“Gregg…”

“No! No! No! You didn’t answer my question.” The woman who attacked him wasn’t done. “You’re exposing America to horrible barbarous cruelty. It isn’t civilized! This is disgusting.”

“Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me.” Quentin suddenly looked more serious than I had previously seen him look, “Speaking of civility, you had your turn and it is now over.”

“I’m not done.”

“Look miss whatever your name is, these people are criminals. These are people in hardcore lockdown. Most of them are really brutal. If several of them get hurt or killed, I won’t lose a lot of sleep. In fact, I’ll sleep better.

“This, again, is a win-win situation. If they get hurt paying us back I don’t mind. If you live by the sword you must be prepared to die by the sword. I’d hate to see someone I loved or any law-abiding citizen hurt. But these people, they are dangerous to us.”

“Gregg Hernandez, the previous…”

“Mr. Hernandez, which news agency are you with?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m with KTLA channel five here in Los Angeles. The previous questioner was right in that this proposal is pregnant with ethical problems. What would you say to those that would worry about the effect this program will have on children?”

“I have two children under the age of thirteen. They aren’t who they are because of television. Their loving and strong family is the source of their values. I am hoping that they grow up to be civilized humans.

“However, as an American, I am a lover of freedom. If, when they are old enough to choose, my children choose to watch Prison Wars, I will watch it with them. Because I know my children, I have no worries that they will become criminals because of a television program.”

A rage for a follow up re-erupted.

“Yes, you in the back.”

“Chad Auster, Fox. Sir I think that there is no doubt that such programming will be very popular, but don’t you think that it will have a deleterious effect on our culture as a whole? Isn’t it crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed in the interest of the public good?”

“I don’t think that it will have a deleterious effect. I don’t think that I am capable of committing brutal acts of aggression, just as I don’t think that you are.” He smiled broadly, but like William F. Buckley one got the impression that this smile was meant to mask hatred. If not brutal acts, a that moment all could believe that Quentin was capable of hate. He put his head down and briefly closed his eyes, as though he was trying to remember something. Then, nodding his head, he came back beaming and relaxed again.

“Mr. Auster, people are born the way they are. I don’t think my son and daughter will end up in Prison. It won’t be much more violent than the video games that kids play today. My kids play those games and they aren’t violent. After they’re done with their games they are just as sweet as ever.” His smile went back to its original, natural warmth.

“That said, no, I don’t think this will make for suitable viewing for young children. If my boy wants to watch it when he gets a little older we’ll watch it together. I’ll explain what it is and that these bad things are happening to bad people. I think, were my children anything but sweet and well raised, it could even serve as a great deterrent to criminal activity to them.

“But, I would definitely recommend parental discretion.

“One last question. Yes you in the green hair!” His broad grin didn’t evoke the resonance with his audience that it had before.

“Justin Geller, MTV”

“Yes Mr. Geller, love your shows, watcha think?”

“Well, it sounds pretty rad!”

“Thank you.”

“But, Mr. Longus, do you really think that mainstream sponsors are going buy advertising segments for such a program? Major sponsors are easily dissuaded.”

“Well, ESPN has already bought onto the concept. They’re major. And let me tell you something you already know. Though corporations talk about corporate responsibility etc, it is just hypocrisy. They are following the money trail just like everyone else. As they would put it, ‘They have a responsibility to their stock holders.’ I think that they cannot afford to miss out on this prime target audience, males between the ages of 18 and 35. If beer, fast food and truck companies want to be popular, and they do, they’ll come around.

“Ladies and gentlemen that concludes the press conference. Thank you very much for coming. I am going to be leaving the building, but I invite you to stay until the closing time of one a.m. Again our disclaimer is on the table near the elevator, and I hope you give us some good copy. Enjoy the view and consumables.”

At that Quentin looked over at me and made the gesture of putting a phone to his head and mouthed, “Call me,” and was busily escorted away. Many people saw him gesture to me and I, for the first time in my life, momentarily became the center of attention.

Looking back on it, I am surprised at how quickly I adjusted to the other side of reporter’s inquiries. I had been on the querying side of many of these feeding frenzies. It had always seemed very serious. But looking at all of these petitioners, they appeared comical. I felt a sense of superiority and power as I played bigwig.

As I had seen many folks do I told them that I was not authorized to give them further information. I wanted to keep them interested by giving tidbits. I told them my name and that I was Quentin’s official publicist. But they quickly figured out that they already had a huge story and that I wasn’t going to share my scoop.

I’ve never seen a press conference clear out so quickly. This was a hot item and folks were all rushing to their outlets to make their report. My article due date, Fortune Magazine being a monthly, was weeks away. But I left quickly too.

I left because I realized I had a lot of thinking to do. No, it was worse than that. I was dizzy with confused feelings. My first reaction to Prison Wars was terror and repulsion. The terror of the idea mixed with the lingering rush of the attention I had received, pride in the way I handled myself, total disbelief that this was happening and a million questions about where this might lead, all fought with each other for attention in my thoughts.

The nearly painful sensation that there wasn’t room enough in my head, heart and stomach for all of these conflicting impulses didn’t die down for hours. Finally, I told myself that if I didn’t take this opportunity, someone else would take it. I reasoned that leaving it would be running away from the biggest opportunity I would ever run into. As a human, I couldn’t be a part of this adventure. But as a journalist, I had to go where the action was.

That was a fateful night. As a person who could see the potentially destructive effects and morally questionable nature of Prison Wars, perhaps I should have stood for my principles. I cannot deny the fact that I sold out my morals for opportunity. I had no idea how horrible the outcome would be, but anyone with any sense could tell that it wasn’t a good development for our culture.

As it turned out, my personal writing ability and lingering residue of common sense are what have enabled this very report. Saying that I foresaw my ability to write against this tragedy with intimate knowledge, and thus provide a moral worth to my actions, as a justification of my efforts, would be a lie. I just plain sold out my morals for opportunity.

I have blood on my hands. My failure to distinguish between infamy and fame, my lack of shame, by making money off of horror, the words I wrote and spoke without thinking about the ultimate implications of my words, all implicate me. All of these things have tattooed my hands with indelible guilt that makes my failure to kill myself an affront to decency.

But, ultimately, for this report to have accomplished any good you have to look at the blood on your own hands. Did you watch Prison Wars? Did you fight with people who did? How many times have you sold out your morals for convenience?

Anyhow, you didn’t know. I didn’t know. But, I pray that whatever social order finally emerges from the chaos that now engulfs us will be cognizant of the importance of distinguishing between a healthy culture and a pathological one. I hope they tell their children about what happened to us.