If You’re Chasing a Story, Money Beats All

Remember the story? An Ashland, Ore., family--dad, mom, two kids, his mom and her new husband--go missing on a day trip in a motor home. All-points bulletins, search parties, helicopters, bloodhounds, prayer vigils.

Nada. The search is called off. Hope fades.

Then, 17 days after wrong turns got them lost and snowbound in Oregon’s coastal mountains, dad and mom come hiking through the snow, tired but healthy. Miracle in the mountains!

My writing partner stumbles on this story before the national media get it. We see a multigenerational family movie: a marriage fraying around the edges; alienated kids; a grumpy, fault-finding older couple. Two weeks off the map, coping with the elements. Food dwindling, water a problem. Maybe a hint of danger. Then grumpiness emerges as wisdom. Kids blossom under adult attention. Forced to work as a team, the family comes together, one for all and all for one.

In other words, pure movie gold.

Every producer we pitch is interested--if we can get exclusive rights.

We can’t outbid a network. And we know this tale won’t make the family rich. A TV movie means a modest budget; story rights never sell for anywhere near the leading actors fees. But first we must beat the inevitable stampede of fast-talking producers waving fat checkbooks.

By the time we track down a family member, they’ve been on “Good Morning America.”

“You must be thrilled to have your family back safe,” I begin. “Our faith was in the Lord,” the maternal grandmother says, and I switch to gospel mode, complete with a fairly credible country twang.

“Praise God!” I say. “It’s mighty comforting to know that He has a plan, even if we don’t know what it is.” “Amen to that,” she whispers. I continue, “We think this ordeal might make an inspirational movie. Would your son-in-law be willing to discuss this?”

“He’s all for it,” says the maternal grandmother. “Wants everybody to knows what happened.”

“Wonderful! Could I talk to him?”

“We really need somebody to sort through all the offers,” she says. “In New York, the limo driver gave me his agent’s card.”

“If I could just talk to your son-in-law.”

“The driver said that he’s a Christian man. Someone with more than dollar signs in his eyes, know what I mean?”

“We’d like to write this story, and we want you to know that we will treat your family with respect, that they will be proud to watch our movie. Not everyone in Hollywood can promise that, but we do.”

She tells me to call back the next day. “Not too early,” she says.

But by then the warm and fuzzy multigenerational story had an edgy new twist: Some family members were wanted on drug and weapons charges. And they were on the lam again. Red meat for the news networks.

So instead of the grandmother I get an answering machine referring me to a family friend in St. Louis with show-biz savvy. He says, “I represent the family. Fax me your best offer. Maybe I’ll get back to you.”

And reality dawned. Hollywood is about nothing more than money. Even when you don’t live in Hollywood.