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<UID>
9602020108
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
961020
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, October 20, 1996
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
COM
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1E
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1996, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
MURDER TRIAL REVEALS THE EVILS OF TALK TV
</HEADLINE>
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</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

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<BODY>
I've been on a few TV talk shows. This is how they work. You sit in a room,
waiting to go on, and a person comes in to encourage you and the other guests
to keep things "lively." This person is often  a young, good-looking
production assistant, smartly dressed, with an air of having done this a
million times before.

  He or she will smile a lot, and use words such as "fast- paced" and
"excitement"  and "have fun out there" and "keep it moving."

  What they are saying, without ever saying it, is "don't be boring."
  At no time do they say, "Be careful."
  So I find it easy to believe the testimony  of Donna Riley, who accompanied
her friend Scott Amedure to a taping of the "Jenny Jones"  show last year, a
show that, in no small way, got Amedure killed.
  Riley says the Jenny Jones people encouraged  her and Amedure to be
"outlandish." She said one producer suggested they "have a few drinks before
the show" to "help release our inhibitions."
  Now, it doesn't take much to get people to drink, especially when the show
is paying.
  So Riley and Amedure apparently had a few pops at the hotel bar -- even
though it was still morning -- and Amedure allegedly brought a bottle of vodka
to the program, where  he and other guests mixed it with orange soda and drank
up before they went on.
  You can only imagine how the producers loved this.
  By the time the guests got out there, they were nice and loose,  and
immediately began answering Jenny's questions, which had to do with sexual
fantasies about their same-sex secret crushes. 
  This is a "topic" on shows like Jones'. 
  What else do you need to  know?
Whipped cream and champagne 
  Jones encouraged Amedure to talk about his crush, which happened to be on a
man named Jonathan Schmitz. Amedure mentioned the first time he saw Schmitz,
and admired  his "cute little hard body -- one you want to pick up and put in
your curio cabinet."
  The crowd whooped. Jenny smiled.
  She asked Amedure to describe his fantasies about Schmitz. He mentioned
doing things with brake oil.
  The crowd whooped. Jenny smiled.
  Then, with Jenny's prodding, Schmitz mentioned "I got a pretty big hammock
behind my house."
  "And?" Jenny said.
  "I think  about tying (Schmitz) up to my hammock . . . it entails, like,
whipped cream and champagne and stuff."
  The crowd whooped again. Jenny smiled.
  Of course, the only thing sicker than the guests  on these shows are the
people who sit in the audience. Getting them to whoop is pretty much the
point. It's the accent that supposedly keeps viewers tuned in, thus keeping
ratings high, thus making the  show rich. This might explain why Jenny smiles.
  Schmitz, however, was not smiling. He had no idea his "secret admirer" was
a man. The producers, once again, had manipulated things by telling his  pals
to lie to him, to get him to come on the show and be surprised. Had he known
the truth, he might never have been there.
  Instead, he sat on national TV, hearing some guy fantasize about him in  a
hammock. With whipped cream. While Jenny smiled.
  And you know the rest. 
  Three days later, Schmitz went to Amedure's house and shot him dead.
Another day, another topic 
  Now, let's be  clear about something. No one forced Schmitz, Amedure or
Riley to go on Jenny Jones' program. It was Riley who called up and
volunteered them all.
  Nor did Jones or her producers pull the trigger  on that gun. There are
lots of ways to vent your anger and embarrassment without blowing someone's
head off.
  But while Schmitz is facing first-degree murder charges, and Amedure's
family sits stunned  in that courtroom, the "Jenny Jones" show goes on. It
hides behind a lot of "deep regrets" and legal mumbo jumbo -- but it goes on.
Day after day. Making money. Hey. Sorry about the guest who blew his  secret
admirer away. But we're on to another topic.
  And there's something terribly wrong with this. Jones doesn't have to be on
trial for murder to be held accountable for her actions. In this country,  you
can be charged for serving someone too much alcohol, for not keeping your dogs
tied down, for not shoveling snow off your sidewalk -- in short, for creating
dangerous conditions even if you didn't  do the dangerous deed.
  You mean to tell me -- when anger sparks hundreds of deaths each week --
that there's nothing to punish people who encourage lying, drinking and
embarrassing, confrontational behavior in as explosive a setting as a national
TV show?
  Come on. Last week, Amedure's grieving stepmother was asked why she shies
away from media. "If Scott was never on camera," she said, "we'd  still have
Scott."
  Before this thing is over, justice had better look on the other side of
that camera. There's a pretty big monster hiding behind that lens.
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THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
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