MEDIAWEEK November 25, 1991

Pssst ... did you hear that America is obsessed with stuff of which much is made but that is intrinsically worthless?

Gossip.

It has become an American obsession. The public seems to care as much about Liz's wedding to a construction worker as it does about the death of Communism in the U.S.S.R.

Gossip is thus big business--some of the highest-paid and most popular people on TV and in journalism traffic in nothing else. It seems odd that none of them want to admit it. Perhaps that is tantamount to an admission that there is something wrong.

"I don't do gossip. But you can call it that if you like," says Liz Smith, the nationally syndicated goddess of gossip who hangs her hat at Newsday.

Once loose lips sank ships, today they help keep the media afloat. Gone are the days of "just the facts." Now columnists, talking heads, paparazzi and reporters pump out an endless stream of unnamed sources, boldfaced names and "trivia" tidbits. And, as the grapevine grows, it increasingly finds its way into hard news reports.

"We're way beyond gossip," says Anthea Disney, former executive producer of A Current Affair and current editor-in-chief of TV Guide. "Gossip has become imbued into almost every part of journalism. That's not bad, it's just a fact, though Gary Hart may disagree." So would the Palm Beach rape victim, whose detailed biography by The New York Times last April serves as an extreme example as to how far gossip has come.

Need more examples? How about the college football player who secretly taped conversations with his coach so that his accusations of scandalous wrongdoing later come complete with media-ready sound bites. Roseanne Barr, without prompting, reveals her childhood of sexual abuse. Geraldo Rivera conveniently airs his Bette Midler laundry during the November sweeps. And Midler aptly times her version of the "affair" before the release of her new film, For the Boys. Barbara Walters confronts Richard Gere about those "awful, disgusting rumors." And, speaking of rumors, word is that even the venerable New York Times, the closest thing we have to a national newspaper of record, is considering a gossip column for its new metro section.

It may just be a sign of the times. But it may also be symbolic of an increasing tendency of Americans to embrace the anile. What's not important is. What is important is too taxing to think about. They want their trivia, details, quotes and almost any fresh gossip about their beloved celebrities--dirty laundry.

Part of this social dysfunction certainly has something to do with the concept of celebrity, which has mutated from the simple concept of a star to anyone, or indeed anything, that the American masses can become obsessed with. Indeed, it may be obsession that they actively seek.

To be sure, Hollywood stars remain the most regal of celebs, but thanks to technology and a plethora of publications with space to fill, politicians, rich society types, athletes, business people and even gossips themselves can attain instant, if fleeting, stardom. Even a bigamist from Dubuque gets a quick blaze of Warholian glory.

"No one used to give a damn about what an editor had for breakfast, yet I've been asked that because people want to know," says Disney, a former editor of US magazine. "And if people want to read it, it's newsworthy."

The dovetailing of gossip with news kicked into high gear in 1974. That's when People magazine embarked on its successful journey, and the Washington Post ousted a president. "Watergate spread gossip's wings," says People staffer Peter Castro, who writes a weekly column called "Chatter." "Gossip entered a new realm--politics. It used to be more focused, as in Walter Winchell's era. Some things were sacred then. John F. Kennedy, for example, could have been scorched like Gary Hart, but the press respected him and the taboo against that sort of revelation. It wasn't until Watergate that everything became fair game. I mean, a newspaper, through unnamed sources and unsubstantiated reports, brought down a president."

That burst the dam, according to Smith. "All journalists wanted the exposure Woodward and Bernstein got," she says, "so they threw off their restraints and went for it."

The public, of course, happily eats it up. After all, enquiring minds want to know. "Gossip is the underpinning of human nature," theorizes Jim Van Messel, a co-executive producer of Entertainment Tonight. "There's a natural gossip streak in all humans, and even some animals. Also, everyone fantasizes about being a star, and our technology takes you up close to the stars."

"Eating, listening to music, sex and gossip," adds Smith. "I mean, what else is there?"

Iain Calder, editor-in-chief of the National Enquirer, thinks he can answer that. "Loneliness," he chortles. "Billy Graham says that's the number one problem in America. And through gossip you get to know people."

Sociologists agree. Deborah Tannen, author of the bestselling You Just Don't Understand, writes in a chapter on gossip that the details of others' lives provide us with a pleasurable sense of involvement, which we innately crave.

Judy Pearson, a professor of interpersonal communication at Ohio University and author of several books on intimacy, agrees. "Since we don't know or see the personal lives of others, we feel better when we realize that we're like other people, and perhaps bizarre like them too. People also want gossip because it empowers them. We compete for knowledge, and gossip is knowledge, because those in the know gain prestige and power."

The secret-sharing gossip elite certainly know about that. Smith, Walters, Oprah, Geraldo and their numerous counterparts have made careers--and hefty salaries--out of digging for dirt. Yet most describe their trade as good old-fashioned reporting--working the phone and getting out on the street. "I just talk to celebrities and extract quotes," Castro says.

Smith calls her nationally-syndicated Newsday column a collection of observations and reports. "I don't write for a specific audioence," she says. "I just write what interests me." She says she won't report on the misfortunes of relatives of the famous ("Cher's daughter can't help it that she's Cher's daughter") or drug-taking ("I'm not a whistle-blower on private lives."). "One of my regrets is printing an advance account of Mrs. Nixon's drinking before All the President's Men was published," Smith says. "It was true, it was in the book, and if anyone ever needed a drink, it was her, but I felt bad for writing that."

Smith, considered the top of the line when it comes to gossip, maintains that her stature arises from such an ethnic and her willingness to admit mistakes. "I'm credible because I work with wonderful editors and because I admit when I'm wrong. I want to be fair. There's a myth that I make more mistakes than anyone, when actually it's because I'm one who admits them. Others make goofs and go on riding roughshod," she says. "And if I run a rumor, I call it a rumor.

Army Archerd, who's been writing a gossip column for Variety for 39 years, insists he doesn't print rumors. "It's easier to get down to the truth, because people know it will be printed correctly with me," he says.

The supermarket tabloids, naturally, take a more sensational approach, resulting in fun headlines to share with friends at cocktail parties. The leader of the pack, the Enquirer, combines with sister publication The Star to sell seven millions copies a week. "It's easy to laugh at us and make denials about our stories," says editor-in-chief Calder. "But we've broken many stories, like the involvement of John Belushi's girlfriend in his death. We have an annual editorial budget of $ 16 million and some of the highest-paid journalists in the country. If we made things up, I'm sure we could do it a lot more cheaply."

What does the Enquirer do with that budget? It spends it on things like dispatching reporters to infiltrate Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and rent helicopters to hover over celebrity weddings. But Calder claims to draw the line at "stories our readers just wouldn't stand for, like the Richard Gere thing--you know what I'm talking about?"

Only about ten percent of the celebrity leads that cross Calder's desk make it into the paper. "I've got more secrets stuck in me than the CIA," says Calder, adding that the Enquirer tries to be a family paper. "We can even be prudish about sex," he says, "unlike Cosmo or some of the other women's magazines that stretch the envelope when it comes to sex."

TV gossip took off ten years ago, when Entertainment Tonight arrived on the scene. Its success--nearly 11 million homes tune in daily--has spawned dozens of imitators with names like Hollywood Insider. So many that Van Messel and co-executive producer David Nuell spend much of their time focusing on how to stay ahead of the competition. "We have to continually evolve to be fresh and ahead," Van Messel says. "Demand for access to the stars has increased drastically."

ET's most recent innovation--frequent polls with US magazine on entertainment issues like Michael Jackson's latest video--takes its cue from TV news organizations that combine with newspapers to survey the public on serious issues. Van Messel admits that while it's an inherently dirty word, ET does contain an element of gossip. "But we don't engage in destructive gossip," he says. "We have good researchers and strive to get the principles talking about themselves. If we hear that someone's pregnant, or that Warren Beatty is the father of that one too, we won't do it. We'd rather have Roseanne Barr talking about herself. And when you see that, it's much stronger than the written word."

ET also does what Van Messel calls "anti-gossip," in which stars are allowed to set the record straight. He cites Randy Travis clearing the air of rumors about his homosexuality and Robert Stack insisting that he is healthy as recent examples.

Tabloid news shows like Inside Edition operate in a more investigative reporting mode, but they mix deep dish with sensational news. Despite what Disney says, they deal in gossip. Recent Current Affair segments included a report on "the seamy side of the movie business" and "Crusader Liz: The secret family heartache behind Elizabeth Taylor's charity work against AIDS," a story on her stricken daughter-in-law. Anything goes on these shows, whose anchors act incredulous at their own truth-is-stranger-than-fiction stories.

"Nothing is sacred anymore," says Archerd. (Alas, somebody finally said it.) "And celebrities can thank themselves due to their own self-revelation. Their books are totally revealing now, yet when a reporter asks a personal question, they squeal like stuck pigs."

Smith feels that while little may be held sacred, it matters little. "Nothing endures anymore," she says. "Look at all the terrible things that have been written about me, and I don't think they've hurt me. I've been accused of everything but child molesting, so I try to stay away from kids."

But are ears too quick to prick up with talk of the latest Jackson family boil-up, or when the Wall Street Journal publishes the name of a tycoon's mistress? Sometimes our regard for the truth seems diminished. Tannen writes that rumors are effective even if later disproved and retracted. "Their mere existence does damage because most people think where there's fire there's smoke," she writes. Adds Pearson: "When a rumor has more value than the truth, aren't we accepting things too quickly? Today's college students aren't as adept at being critical and applying tests of evidence. They simply accept what they read and hear without questioning."

Celebs aren't so gullible. In the past year, Sylvester Stallone and Tom Selleck struck back at different tabloids with libel suits in excess of $ 20 million. And further back, Carol Burnett filed and won a gossip-related lawsuit against one of the tabloids.

Still, gossip has its plus side as an antidote to bad news. "It's a luxury, like going to an analyst," says Smith. "After the heroin of Watergate, we need the methadone of gossip."

During the Gulf War, for example, Et ratings and Enquirer sales went up. "People want escapism, especially in difficult times," says ET's Nuell.

Gossip also helps keep public figures, Ted Kennedy not included, on their toes. Gary Hart's monkey business ruined his political career but probably saved many others. And the gossipy elements of the Clarence Thomas hearings and Magic Johnson's sex life have helped bring sexual harassment and safe sex to the forefront of the public conscience.

With all the gossip that's now out there, though, you have to wonder when--and where--all this will end, if it ever does. While the masses may stay riveted, an increasingly niched media may render the masses inconsequential.

US readers, for example, may have already had enough. In the latest issue, they take exception to the magazine's coverage of Julia Roberts' attempted night out with Jason Patrick. One reader writes, "How pathetic we are that we actually enjoy seeing two people attempt to live normal lives and fail because they can't escape the public eye."

Still, gossip is not in peril. "You may not care when Jimmy Swaggart gets caught with his next prostitute," says Smith. "You may not care already. But I can't envision the death of gossip--there's too much money in it."

Smith should know, given her high, six-figure salary.

The media continues to spend great sums in order to chase down exclusives that will make the famous and not-so-famous more famous. Readers can't resist turning first to Page Six in the Post and Intelligencer in New York magazine (maybe the Dish column in MediaWeek also?). Channel-hoppers freeze when they come across the latest tabloid talk show. Magazines and newspapers aren't complete anymore without dishy reporting and a column of juicy scuttlebutt. Small-town papers have it, and the Times and Post want it. New talk shows from the likes of Kitty Kelley and Sassy editor Jane Pratt loom on the horizon, as do nearly a dozen new dating/sex shows along the lines of Studs. Kiss-and-tell books top best-seller lists, and Cindy still writes about Liz.

"Thank God gossip isn't dead," says Enquirer publisher Marks, "or we'd be out of business."

So what does all this mean for the future of American demoracy? Pssst! We hear that ....

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