The Accidental ‘Expert’ on Rudy

Those who watch television, and even those jaded few who write about it, doubtless assume vast forethought and planning go into the process of deciding what gets sprayed out into millions of homes--that intelligent, organized people are at work seeking to bring you the best in news and entertainment.

It’s always enlightening if a bit unnerving, then, to gaze directly into the belly of the beast--especially when the latest trip brought me face to face with a world that seemed plucked out of a Tim Burton film, a place that would have made Dorothy feel like Oz was Kansas.

The odyssey began innocently enough several months ago, when the Fox News Channel called to ask if I would appear on “The O’Reilly Factor,” a talk program hosted by Bill O’Reilly, whose no-nonsense approach dovetails nicely with Rupert Murdoch’s notion of news as verbal wrestling. A producer had read a column I wrote and thought it would make a fun segment when O’Reilly was in Los Angeles taping some episodes.

Being on television always makes me a little queasy, beginning with the premise that I generally feel I have a good face for radio, and that having one guy on TV who resembles film critic Leonard Maltin is more than enough.

Still, my mother gets an occasional kick out of telling out-of-town relatives they can see me on TV, and after all, it isn’t like Fox News attracts so many viewers I needed to worry about saying something embarrassing in front of millions of folks. Screwing up on “60 Minutes” or “Nightline” is one thing. On Fox News, well, let’s just say there’s a bit more margin for error.

This week, the same Fox producer called to tell me the piece had changed. They still wanted me on, but instead to discuss an article I had written about “Frogmen,” an NBC pilot starring O.J. Simpson that miraculously failed to surface even in the exploitative aftermath of the Simpson trial. Granted, it represented a shift to a more tabloid-style topic, but at least it would draw attention to a newly published story I had spent months researching, instead of a months-old column I barely remembered.

On Wednesday, I showed up at the Argyle Hotel on Sunset Boulevard, where--in one of those classic California stereotypes news organizations love--”The O’Reilly Factor” was originating from a sun-drenched rooftop. I was told to relax while I waited for my appearance, probably about 30 minutes away.

In the hotel suite that amounted to their green room, I was introduced to two other guests scheduled for that hour: Hae Jung Cho, project director for the Coalition to Abolish Slavery & Trafficking, and Sharon Mitchell, a former adult-film star who had co-founded something called the Adult Industry Medical Health Care Foundation.

In the world of cable talk, this is to be expected. A usual day would feature the two-headed boy from the circus and his psychologist, followed by Lazaro Gonzalez’s postal carrier. Larry King could be found interviewing Tammy Faye Messner a little ways down the dial.

Just as I started to enjoy a bite of cantaloupe, however, there was a sudden flurry of crazed activity: I was needed on the air . . . now! No one seemed to know why. A makeup artist slammed some powder onto my forehead as I headed outside, while a man I didn’t know shoved an earpiece into my ear, clipped a microphone to my tie and shoved something attached to it into my pocket. I’ve had dates where there wasn’t this much activity.

Assuming a guest had dropped dead or failed to show up, I was seated across from O’Reilly, who told me the breathtaking news: Donna Hanover, the wife of Mayor Rudolph Giuliani, had held a press conference saying her husband had cheated on her and that they were going to separate. Desperate for any angle to get into the story, O’Reilly wanted to explore if there would be a lot of media coverage of this latest development.

“I’m sorry to do this, but I couldn’t put on the porn star” to discuss it, he said.

I wracked my brain looking for an escape. While I obviously cover media and have paid attention to the anticipated New York Senate race pitting Giuliani against First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton, I am by no means a political analyst. Yet here I was, being passed off as a pundit and expert so O’Reilly could have someone to bark at as he fretted about what damage this would do to Giuliani’s campaign.

Our chat was preceded by a tape from Hanover’s press conference, although my earpiece wasn’t working. As soon as the clip ended, O’Reilly asked me about the implications of the videotape I had just seen but not heard.

Tap-dancing as best I could, I pointed out the story would undoubtedly get a lot of attention. News coverage, I suggested, often breaks down into what is interesting and what is relevant, and this fell into the former category if not the latter.

I even tried to ad-lib a joke after O’Reilly said this would make Giuliani--who built his esteem in part by chasing New York’s prostitutes off 42nd Street--look like a hypocrite. On the plus side, I said, having a mistress reflected a sound grip on fiscal policy if the alternative was shelling out money to pay for prostitutes. O’Reilly didn’t get it and quickly moved on.

After what seemed like an eternity of this blather, O’Reilly made a rather awkward transition to the topic that I had nearly forgotten brought me there in the first place, “Frogmen.” He misidentified who currently holds the rights to the project and asked whether I felt it should be put on now--a question that really had nothing to do with the story I wrote, which was all about what happened a half-dozen years ago and the experiences of those involved.

All told, we talked about “Frogmen” for 50 seconds. Our discussion, if you can call it that, about the Donna Hanover mess--a topic I would have never agreed to address had I been notified in advance--ran 5 minutes and 50 seconds.

Now, I understand the process of journalism, even something as remotely connected to it as “The O’Reilly Factor.” I ask people questions myself, often on uncomfortable topics. Working in print, however, allows for evaluation and reflection before information reaches the public, unlike this high-wire act, staged not only without a net but seemingly without even a blueprint for where to place one.

O’Reilly acknowledged as much Thursday morning, leaving me a message apologizing for throwing me on so abruptly in response to the nasty message I had fired off to the producer who initially contacted me.

“I had to do the segment,” he explained. “There was no way I could not do it with the immediacy of television.”

A few hours after the initial telecast, a friend who works at another publication called, having watched the show. Her first comment was that I had at least looked OK, but after seeing me on TV she was convinced the beard needs to go. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but it makes you look too much like Leonard Maltin.”