In the late 1970s Sacramento was terrorized by a serial murderer who committed acts against his victims so horrifying I won’t detail them here, but you’ll understand a bit when I tell you the local media dubbed him ‘The Vampire Killer.’ His name eventually became known when he was caught: Richard Trenton Chase. You can look him up. He’s considered to be one of the worst criminally insane killers in U.S. history.
I was working in the news department of KGNR (formerly KCRA) Newsradio. Our News Director was the now-late Don Ross. I was banging out copy for my next afternoon newscast when I overheard this conversation, and it’s pretty much verbatim. I’ll never forget a single word of the reply.
REPORTER PAT CASEY: “My guy at the cop shop just told me they’ve recovered a mutilated baby’s body from a dumpster near recent Vampire killings. Want me to talk to the kid’s parents?”
NEWS DIRECTOR ROSS: “Leave those people alone.”
The late Pat Casey, it must be said, was a good guy, a terrific news reporter, and a stellar example of radio news of the time. His question wasn’t unreasonable. I was very young and still learning. Don’s four-word response hit me like a sudden downpour.
He was a wonderful news anchor before he became a terrific news director, but Don Ross was always a special person. His warmth and wit were surpassed only by his humanity. Those four words, “Leave those people alone”, crystallized my philosophy of radio news. Over time I began to think of it as a media equivalent to the medical Hippocratic Oath: “First, do no harm.”
Does the public really have a right to know? And, if so, how much?
In August of 1989, I was co-hosting the KFBK Morning News with Bob Nathan. The big story of the week was the shocking suicide of a young Sacramento Kings NBA player, Ricky Berry. We dutifully told the story based on reports from local authorities and our reporters but by the second and third day, the story began to get deeply personal. It went into the background and inside information that Bob and I believed was nobody’s business except the Berry family. They had asked for respect and solitude. They didn’t get it. The most titillating pieces of the story were uncovered and reported everywhere. Except on our show.
While we were on the air in the midst of cold-reading and commenting on an update prepared in the newsroom I looked across the console at my partner and said, “I don’t think we need to talk about this anymore,” or words to that effect. Bob agreed. We apologized to our audience, explained that in our judgment none of this was any of our business or theirs, and we moved on.
Were we wrong? Some will argue we were, but I’ve never had a single regret about that moment except that we hadn’t pre-read the story before we jumped into it. That happens a lot on morning news radio. Again, like Pat Casey years earlier, whoever had written the new story in our newsroom was just doing his/her job. We decided to draw the line.
Should radio listeners be allowed to eavesdrop on the personal grief of parents whose child has been found mutilated or of internal family problems that resulted in a senseless tragedy? Nearly 50 years later I would have hoped we’d learned our lesson but it’s still happening and blown up a hundred times the size it was back then.
Legitimate, experienced news reporters have always learned information that required delicate consideration and in some cases burial. Let’s call that professional integrity and human decency.
If the personal matters of a story don’t affect anyone except the subjects it’s none of our business and no, the public doesn’t have a right to know them. Future developments may change that but at the point where we’re about to dive into deeply disturbing private grief, we need to stop.
What about national security matters? I don’t mean leaks like Watergate or the Pentagon Papers stories. Those are crucial to our national interest. This is where the phrase, “The public’s right to know” is imperative. It’s the ultimate backstop to the U.S. governmental separation of powers.
But personal tragedies are clickbait trash. Telling sordid details just to compete not only taints our professional reputation but also injures our private dignity.
Here’s the question that keeps me on the straight and narrow about everything in life: How would you feel if your son or daughter did that?
It’s easy for us in our professional sanctimony to reason that the information is already out there, we have to join in the frenzy, but we’ll do it better than everybody else. That’s a cop-out.
In the old days, it was standard policy in radio newsrooms to not report bomb threats unless and until the police gave us a statement. Most bomb threats are hoaxes. We didn’t want to panic people, especially parents of kids in school. When I retired a year ago those reports went over the air on TV and radio as standard procedure, followed by the promotional promise: “We’ll have more information when it’s available.”
In talk shows the line between information, opinion, and ethics is usually blurred to the point of indistinction. As a listener, I know that what you’re telling me is your perspective with some opinionated tweaking of the facts. I get that and consider it. In rare cases, I suspect talk hosts are exploiting hearsay or manufacturing facts to sell their point. That’s clickbait radio. Happily, these sensational wannabes are few and short-lived. I believe that most hosts, purveying every view and opinion, are smart, professional, respectable, and honest in their passion. They aren’t all right or left-wing political idiots. They talk about the news and social issues from the heart
and mind. As a listener, my job is to decide whether it makes sense.
I’ve said it a thousand times: news & talk radio ethics need to be resolute, and listeners need to be encouraged to think before committing to an opinion, even yours.
——————————-
PS: The Sacramento Vampire Killer, Richard Trenton Chase, was a childhood friend of mine. I use the term friend loosely because even as a kid something about him bugged me. His parents and mine were friends, we spent time together. You just never know.
PPS: Ricky Berry’s father, Bill, was a coach for the Kings when his son was on the team. He was also the coach of my high school basketball team. Circles of life.
