15 Minutes of Infamy:
My Brief Career as a National Enquirer Reporter
Andy Warhol famously quipped that “In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes.” I don’t know if I’ve achieved my quarter-hour of renown just yet, but I’ve most definitely lived the corollary…namely I survived a remarkable 15 minutes of infamy.
Watching the CNN/Magnolia Pictures documentary “Scandalous” last Sunday — a real good one about the history of the National Enquirer — sparked my memory of a most notorious event back in the early ’80s, which has been mercifully repressed for reasons you are about to learn.
At the time, I was a kid going to McGill University, working at the Sunday Express newspaper, and freelancing for showbiz publications like Variety and Circus Magazine. I suppose this sterling journalistic pedigree was the catalyst for an out-of-the-blue phone call from the aforementioned tawdry tabloid, one that made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
While I don’t remember the editor’s name, I can recall our brief, to-the-point conversation verbatim.
“Julio Iglesias has become one of the most popular singers in the world,” the guy told me. “He’s generating the type of fan craziness rarely seen since Elvis Presley. On top of that, he’s been dating Priscilla Presley.”
“What’s this got to do with me?” I asked.
“He’s giving a press conference in Montreal tomorrow. We’ll pay you $500 to attend on our behalf. And if you can get him to say ‘I am the new Elvis Presley’ on tape, or at least agree with the statement, we’ll pay you $5,000.”
Gulp. I asked him to repeat the numbers again. He did (and also reiterated that as a potential front-page headline, the need for it to be clearly captured on tape). Five hundred to attend? Hey, I wasn’t even making $500 a week at the Express. And five thousand for six words? That seemed like a million at the time. Why, I could buy a new car, a drawer-full of designer jeans, gold-plated everything…all for just getting Julio to equate himself to the King!
And with that, I agreed and started the most fleeting of careers as a reporter for the National Enquirer.
Cut to next afternoon. I’m at the luxurious Harlequin club, tucked away in the basement of the Four Seasons Hotel, itself conveniently located across the street from McGill’s Bronfman Building, where most of my classes were held. As was usually the case, most of the media gathered was much older and more conservative, but armed with my trusty $50 Radio Shack-branded, hand-held cassette recorder, I was on an outsider’s mission to grab a quote and run.
After a brief introduction from his record company representative, the dapper Iglesias sat down at an elevated table and invited questions. “Click” went my machine’s record button and up popped my hand. First in line. Let’s get this over with.
“Mr. Iglesias, you are being met with the type of wild fan reaction not seen by a solo performer for years. Would you say that because of this, you can be considered as a new Elvis Presley?”
There was a pregnant pause. I held my breath.
But he didn’t take the bait.
“Not at all. Elvis Presley was a unique performer. He had his way and his fans, as do I. But we are completely different.”
Arggghhh! Strike one. This tabloid trip was going to be tougher than I thought.
A few other journalists asked questions, but I wasn’t listening. I was preparing my next shot-across-the-bow. And I was going for the gut.
“Next?” said the record company rep.
Again I raised my hand, and although I got strange looks for making a repeat appearance before most others had their first kick at the can, I plowed through.
“Mr. Iglesias, you have been seen in public frequently with Priscilla Presley. Would you say that this relationship makes you the new Elvis?”
He looked at me like I was nuts.
“No. That is irrelevant. There is no relationship between myself and Ms. Presley. We are merely good friends.”
Double arggghhh! I was flushed with flop sweat at this swift rebuke. In my mind, I pictured a glowing cheque of $5,000 with flapping eagle wings, flying far into oblivion.
Strike two, swinging. Yes, I was down, but not totally out.
The conference continued, and I was muzzled…until I heard the words “Any last questions?” and once more raised my hand.
The record rep rolled his eyes, pointed at me and said “You again?”
I took a deep breath and went for the Five Thousand Dollar Hail Mary.
“Mr. Iglesias, can you please repeat after me: ‘I. Am. The. New. Elvis…”
I didn’t even get to say the word “Presley” before I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders. “Sir,” said an imposing figure in a dark suit, “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
And with that, ignoring the incredulous stares, I clicked my machine “Off” and rapidly made my way out the door, across the street into the safe sanctuary of the McGill Management library…where I consoled myself with a far-from-negligible runner-up prize instead of a most magnificent windfall.
Epilogue
I called the Enquirer editor and told him what went on. While he was a little disappointed, he wasn’t surprised. Onto the next front-page headline search, I guess.
The $500 arrived within a week, and I never crossed paths with the Enquirer again…until a Just For Laughs Gala I directed that starring a scantily-clad Kelly Ripa made the front page.
A few weeks after the infamous press conference, the Enquirer ran this story about Julio and Priscilla. A web search brings up dozens of photos of the two together (including the one atop this piece).
And every time I hear a Julio Iglesias song…I just have to crack an embarrassed smile.
