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He explodes in anger into the receiver: “Why do you want to know where I am? What do you want? What do you mean, what am I doing? It’s 10 o’clock at night.… What do you need to connect with me for? I am not a trained dog. That was pretty nice.”Īll through dinner, Wigand keeps his cellular phone on the table. I started at $20,000 a year and wound up at $300,000 a year. “When you were in your 30s, how did you think your life was going to turn out?” I ask him. A form of moral outrage seems to have driven him from B&W, and he is often irascible and sometimes, on personal matters, relentlessly negative: “What does your brother think?” “Ask him.” “Is your wife a good mother?” His expression hardens he retreats into an inner zone. By this time, Jeff Wigand and I have spent several days together, and I am accustomed to his outbursts. I follow Wigand out of the Hyatt and down the street to a restaurant called Kunz’s. They are going to use the trump cards on me.” O.K.? I am going to lose economically and I am going to lose my family. “I am a national figure instead of having a family. “You are becoming a national figure,” I say.
#El hombre irving wallace tv
How am I supposed to relax?” Wigand stares at the TV screen. I was gotten up again by someone from 60 Minutes telling me I should relax. Just when I thought I was going to get some sleep, the investigators called me at midnight. In front of us, on a large screen, a basketball game is in progress. Wigand wears the same clothes I have seen him in for days-jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt, his basic wardrobe for a $30,000-a-year job teaching chemistry and Japanese. There is a wary quality in his face, a mysterious darkness that reminds me of photographs of the writer John Irving. He has coarse silver hair, a small nose, and a fighter’s thick neck from his days as a black belt in judo. Although he has been on the CBS Evening News twice in the last five days, no one in the bar recognizes him. He wears silver-rimmed aviator glasses, which he takes off frequently to rub his eyes.
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He has reached that moment when he understands that circumstances are catapulting him into history, and he is frightened, off his moorings. Wigand is worn out, a fighter on the ropes.
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In the bar, Wigand sits with his security man, Doug Sykes, a former Secret Service agent. He is mired in a swamp of charges and countercharges hurled at him by his former employer, the third-largest tobacco company in the nation, the manufacturer of Kool, Viceroy, and Capri cigarettes. Wigand is under a temporary restraining order from a Kentucky state judge not to speak of his experiences at Brown & Williamson (B&W). Wigand is trapped in a war between the government and its attempts to regulate the $50 billion tobacco industry and the tobacco companies themselves, which insist that the government has no place in their affairs. Five days from now, he will be on 60 Minutes. In two days Wigand, the former head of research and development (R&D) at the Brown & Williamson Tobacco Corp., will be on the front page of The Wall Street Journal for the second time in a week. TV vans are often set up at DuPont Manual, the magnet high school where he now teaches. He is deluged with requests for interviews. “How would you feel if you had to reconstruct every moment of your life?” he asks me, tense with anxiety.
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His lawyer will later call this period “hell week.” Wigand has recently learned of a vicious campaign orchestrated against him, and is trying to document all aspects of his past. On January 30, when he and I arrange to meet at the sports bar at the Hyatt Regency in Louisville, he is in the first phase of understanding that he has entered a particular American nightmare where his life will no longer be his to control. By his own description, Wigand is a linear thinker, a plodder. It was never Jeffrey Wigand’s ambition to become a central figure in the great social chronicle of the tobacco wars. It is a kind of infamy doing what I am doing, isn’t that what they say?”