"Newspapers are a mature, non-growth industry, vulnerable to cyclical economic downturns and increases in the cost of newsprint," he said. "That's why we diversified the company and went into television and cable and forest products and books and medical and legal publishing."

During Willes' brief tenure as publisher — he relinquished the job to Kathryn Downing in 1999 so he could concentrate his energies on Times Mirror — he did initiate a number of controversial strategies designed to increase Times circulation and advertising revenue. But results were slow in coming, and many top-level executives left.

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The change that ignited the biggest debate was Willes' announced intention to blow up, "with a bazooka, if necessary," the "wall" that had traditionally separated and insulated the newsroom of the paper from the business department to avoid conflicts of interest.

Although Chandler worried that the paper's standing among opinion-makers would decline and that the new management was no longer committed to making The Times the best newspaper in the country, he said others in the Chandler family didn't share his concerns or his priorities.

Various Chandlers controlled about 65% of the Times Mirror voting stock before the sale to Tribune in 2000, and most of them "love Willes," Otis said several months before those negotiations began. "Mark has the stock price and dividends up, and that's all they care about."

In a controversial 1996 story in Vanity Fair, Chandler was quoted as criticizing his relatives as "coupon clippers elitists bored with the problems of AIDS and the homeless and drive-by shootings." They wished The Times wouldn't cover those issues, and they weren't interested in either the paper's editorial quality or its social responsibility, he said.

That article deeply wounded some of the 160-odd descendants of Otis' grandfather, family patriarch Harry Chandler. Many had led quietly productive lives outside the newspaper industry and had tried to keep their complaints about cousin Otis and The Times within the family circle. Chandler tried to make amends, claiming he had been misquoted, but the damage had been done.

Several prominent members of the family — cousins of Otis who reflect the more conservative side of the family — declined requests to be interviewed for this article.

Laventhol, Johnson and Thomas, among others, agreed that Chandler was just about the only member of his family who was interested in the social issues he mentioned in Vanity Fair, and they shared his anxiety about the threat he said the family's indifference posed to his legacy and to The Times.

Despite Chandler's worries and despite what he said was a "constant stream of calls and letters" from Times executives past and present, asking him to "do something" about the direction of the newspaper, he made no real effort for most of Willes' tenure to influence what was happening at Times Mirror Square.

"That's not in my nature," he said. "I don't butt in."

Then came the Staples controversy.

A Newsroom Hero Again

In October 1999, The Times published a special issue of its Sunday magazine devoted entirely to Staples Center, the sports arena and entertainment venue then about to open in downtown Los Angeles.

Unbeknown to the reporters and editors who worked on that project — and to the entire editorial staff of The Times — the paper had agreed to share the profits from the issue with Staples Center as part of a complicated arrangement by which The Times became a "founding partner" of the arena.

This was a flagrant violation of the independence of the editorial department, and it placed the credibility of the paper in jeopardy. When stories in local alternative weeklies, followed by the New York Times and Wall Street Journal, disclosed details of the deal, the newsroom erupted in protest, circulating petitions and demanding an apology from Downing, the publisher, who had signed the original founding partner agreement.

Although Chandler had previously been insistent that his criticisms of the business strategies pursued by Times management remain private, this undermining of the paper's editorial integrity stirred him to action. He wrote a statement, dictated it to Bill Boyarsky, then city editor, and asked that it be read aloud to the newsroom staff.

Word that Chandler was breaking his silence ricocheted through the newsroom. Three top editors asked Boyarsky not to read the statement aloud, fearing that it would further provoke an already enraged staff. The city editor, who had been hired during Chandler's heyday as publisher, said he felt an obligation to carry out his former boss' wishes.

"I said he was a great man who made this paper what it was," Boyarsky would say later. "We wouldn't be working here if it weren't for him."

The statement was a stinging and unprecedented rebuke of Willes and Downing.