in American journalism—sexual investigative reporting. His work on the PTL story coincided with an even more famous moment in the history of this new territory. In May 1987, just as Isikoff and Harris were pursuing Bakker and Hahn, reporters from The Miami Herald were crouched in the bushes outside a town house in Washington where the presidential candidate Gary Hart was having a tryst with a woman named Donna Rice. The journalists who covered these stories never had any trouble coming up with rationales for their work. For Hart—for any politician—inquiries into sex life were said to reveal “character,” or, in Hart’s case, “recklessness.” For Hahn, it was said that the public had a right to know that she was not as innocent as she claimed to be; it was true, as Isikoff and his partner wrote, that “questions have been raised” about her sex life—if only by the reporters themselves. At each of these landmarks of sexual investigative reporting, there were misgivings expressed inside and outside the journalistic world. But journalists moved in only one direction—toward more investigations and more disclosures about the sex lives of public people. These changes, of course, took place in an ever more competitive business environment for journalists, and sex, it need hardly be said, sold. Whether sexual investigative reporting was rooted in serious questions about character or merely in profitable voyeurism, there was more of it all the time.
Mike Isikoff was perfectly situated to take advantage of this new world. For one thing, he was good at his work. He did second-source blow jobs—and much else besides. Isikoff had journeyed to Washington in the great post-Watergate migration of investigative reporters. A native of Long Island, he had graduated from Northwestern’s Medill School of Journalism in 1976, and he came to Washington to work on a Ralph Nader project. Because many small newspapers could not afford to hire their own Washington correspondents, Nader believed that most members of Congress never received adequate scrutiny from the press. So he founded the Capitol Hill News Service, hired a bunch of energetic kids just out of school, and gave them each a state delegation to cover. Isikoff had Illinois.
A little more than a year later, at the age of twenty-six, Isikoff was being profiled on the front page of The Washington Post , his future employer, because of his first big scoop. Isikoff had been monitoring votes on the year’s farm bill when, as the Post reporter wrote, “he noticed something funnyabout George Shipley,” a congressman from east-central Illinois. Shipley was missing lots of votes that mattered a great deal to his rural district, so Isikoff tracked him down and asked him why. “My back hurts, Mike,” the congressman said. “Sometimes it hurts so bad that I just have to stay in bed. But the folks back home don’t know about it—and I don’t want them to know.” Isikoff wrote the story up for his subscribers, such as the Decatur Herald , and Shipley’s missed votes as well as his comments about keeping his constituents in the dark generated a modest tempest back home.
Many reporters might have left the matter there, but doggedness was always Isikoff’s trademark. In the course of following up his investigation of the congressman, Isikoff received a tip that at the same time Shipley was claiming he was too sick to vote, he was actually hosting a golfing fund-raiser for his campaign back in Illinois. The tip checked out, and Isikoff’s story made news across the state. SHIPLEY ATTENDED FUND-RAISER WHILE TOO SICK TO VOTE , cried the headline in Decatur. Not long afterward, Shipley announced he would not seek reelection to Congress.
However, it was only when the Post profile was published several months later that the full story of Isikoff’s scoop became clear. The tipster whose information ended George Shipley’s political career was an Illinois businessman named Gene
Mike Isikoff was perfectly situated to take advantage of this new world. For one thing, he was good at his work. He did second-source blow jobs—and much else besides. Isikoff had journeyed to Washington in the great post-Watergate migration of investigative reporters. A native of Long Island, he had graduated from Northwestern’s Medill School of Journalism in 1976, and he came to Washington to work on a Ralph Nader project. Because many small newspapers could not afford to hire their own Washington correspondents, Nader believed that most members of Congress never received adequate scrutiny from the press. So he founded the Capitol Hill News Service, hired a bunch of energetic kids just out of school, and gave them each a state delegation to cover. Isikoff had Illinois.
A little more than a year later, at the age of twenty-six, Isikoff was being profiled on the front page of The Washington Post , his future employer, because of his first big scoop. Isikoff had been monitoring votes on the year’s farm bill when, as the Post reporter wrote, “he noticed something funnyabout George Shipley,” a congressman from east-central Illinois. Shipley was missing lots of votes that mattered a great deal to his rural district, so Isikoff tracked him down and asked him why. “My back hurts, Mike,” the congressman said. “Sometimes it hurts so bad that I just have to stay in bed. But the folks back home don’t know about it—and I don’t want them to know.” Isikoff wrote the story up for his subscribers, such as the Decatur Herald , and Shipley’s missed votes as well as his comments about keeping his constituents in the dark generated a modest tempest back home.
Many reporters might have left the matter there, but doggedness was always Isikoff’s trademark. In the course of following up his investigation of the congressman, Isikoff received a tip that at the same time Shipley was claiming he was too sick to vote, he was actually hosting a golfing fund-raiser for his campaign back in Illinois. The tip checked out, and Isikoff’s story made news across the state. SHIPLEY ATTENDED FUND-RAISER WHILE TOO SICK TO VOTE , cried the headline in Decatur. Not long afterward, Shipley announced he would not seek reelection to Congress.
However, it was only when the Post profile was published several months later that the full story of Isikoff’s scoop became clear. The tipster whose information ended George Shipley’s political career was an Illinois businessman named Gene
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