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Cult 45

 

Tracilyn George

 

©2020 Tracilyn George

 

Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

 

 

 

 

DEDICATION

 

To all legitimate and honest news organizations dedicated to speaking the truth, including CNN, NY Times, and The Washington Post.  To quote Chris Cuomo, “Let’s get after it!”

 

 

 

 

 

HISTORY OF ME AND MY CONNECTION TO MARTIN WAGNER

 

Before I start my book, I suppose I should introduce myself.  My name is Emerson Montgomery.  Pretty good name for a reporter, don’t you think?  

 

Anyway, I am the second of three sons born to Paul and Rose Montgomery.  We lived in a modest bungalow in Brooklyn, NY.  My father worked as a foreign correspondent for ABC News while my mother had her hands full with my brothers and me.  

 

I thought my dad had the greatest job in the world; traveling to different locales every few days.  He was the inspiration for my becoming a journalist.  Watching him report from far-away places had me hooked from day one.  

 

“Don’t let the exotic-looking locations fool you, son,” he advised.  “I’m not there to take in the sights.  It’s my job to cover breaking news stories; most of them far from pleasant.  

 

Did you know I almost shit my pants the first time I covered an armed conflict?  If you really want to be a journalist, you need to suck it up, put on your big boy pants, and pretend your surroundings don’t bother you.”  

 

While I’m certain he was trying to dissuade me from following in his footsteps; to my twelve-year-old ears, it sounded as if my father was encouraging me.  Neither of my parents believed in discouraging us kids from going after our dreams, even if we wanted to join the circus; which my younger brother wanted to do.  Who knew I’d be in the middle of a circus on a daily basis?  

 

As a political reporter, I faced the comedic drama, it seemed, every moment of the day.  But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.  Covering politics had fewer chances of injury or death than covering wars overseas.  

 

My father never admitted it, but my mother confided in me one day how often my father feared he wouldn’t come home in one piece, if at all.  We realized after every trip, a part of my father had died or had become permanently damaged.  

 

He became more and more reclusive; finding solace in drink.  He had transformed from a loving, gentle person to a cantankerous, bitter old man.  

 

After my own experience reporting from armed conflicted regions, I understand why my father succumbed to a heart attack at fifty.  I believed he lost the will to fight for his life, which was the reason I swore to not continue as a war correspondent.  My wife and kids needed me fully engaged and not a shell of a man.  

 

I had the wonderful fortune to work with a news outlet that understood and put me into the political sphere.  They realized my genuine passion belonged to the political beat.  

 

When Martin Wagner emerged as a prominent figure in the mid-1980s, my gut told me there was more to the real estate mogul than met the eye.  I found Wagner pompous, arrogant, and outright full of himself.  He came from money and had no qualms in flaunting it.

 

You must think I’m a snob for thinking this way.  Or maybe I’m envious?  Maybe, but not exactly.  If a person gains wealth through hard work and determination, I don’t have a problem with that.   I’ve met many of these self-made people and they are the kindest, most generous individuals I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.  

 

I find some children of wealthy families—note; I said some—are more arrogant and self-righteous.  With Martin Wagner, it’s an accurate description.  I dislike him from the moment I met him.  I found him overbearing, rude, and not as smart as he claimed.  

 

We met at a charity auction and dinner for the New York Children’s Center.  Wagner refused to shake hands with any of the men, but fawned all over the female attendees.  I could tell by the expressions on their faces how uncomfortable they were to be near him.  

 

After he approached the fourth or fifth lady, I finally had enough and confronted him regarding his behavior.  “Knock it off, Martin,” I demanded.  He feigned ignorance, but he knew exactly what I was telling him.  

 

“What are you talking about, Mr. Montgomery?”  I stood nose to nose with him, showing no intimidation.  

 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.  You’re making the female guests here very uncomfortable and none of them want your advancements.  It stops right now.”  

 

Wagner backed off and I swear, I thought I could see fear and rage in his eyes.  I have four daughters and I would want someone to defend them if I wasn’t around.  

 

The last thing I’d want for my girls is to have a creep like Wagner anywhere near them.  Fortunately, their mother and I have raised them to have self-respect and to avoid anyone who acted the way Martin Wagner did.  

 

A year or so after the charity event, my station asked me to do a one-on-one interview with Wagner.  I was hesitant to do it because I was uncertain if he would remember the incident or not.  

 

My higher-ups informed me I needed to put aside my own animosity, be a professional, and do my job.  So, I made the call to Wagner’s assistant and set up the meeting.  

 

When he failed to cancel the interview, I thought he had forgotten about the confrontation.  But I then remembered how full of himself he was and wouldn’t forego an opportunity to brag about his accomplishments.

 

When I arrived at the Wagner High Rise, Martin fumed as he stomped around the conference room.  He refused to do the interview, claiming they duped him into agreeing to an expose with an incompetent reporter.  

 

“We did no such thing and you know it.  You’re the one who wanted this interview and you requested the best to do it.  You’re simply pissed off because the person they sent refuses to cower down to you.  

 

That incident at the charity event should have told you, I’m not one you can bully into submission.  I didn’t then and I won’t now.  

 

The ball is in your court, Mr. Wagner.  You either do the segment with me or you don’t do it at all.  So what’s the verdict?”  

 

I watched as Martin continued to stomp around the room, seething.  I swear, I saw steam coming out of his ears.  But he settled down enough to do the interview, albeit with resentment and a lot of hostility.  

 

Martin glared at me throughout the interview. I asked how he funded his first project in Manhattan. “I secured a small loan from the bank which helped me get my foot on the ground.”

 

I raised an eyebrow, knowing this wasn’t the truth. Well, not the full truth. “From what I understand, Mr. Wagner, your father funded you for your first venture. Is this not what happened?”

 

I watched as Martin shifted his weight upon his chair, trying to find a way to spin his response. “Yes, my father gave me some cash up front, but only enough for me to get started. The rest of my money came from a bank loan to complete my first project.

 

By the time my condominium complex was completed, I had already recouped the funds to repay the loan and made a tidy profit to boot.

 

I’m a great businessman, Montgomery. Everybody knows it; everybody but you, apparently.

 

You know that I know, you’ve set out to undermine me from the first day we met. What do you have against me?”

 

I motioned for my cameraman to pause filming. Knowing Wagner as I did, I understood what he wanted – to catch me on tape saying something I might regret or to use as blackmail.

 

Wagner hated me for humiliating him at the charity event and wanted to find any way he could to exact his revenge. He hadn’t counted on my being aware of his intentions. Then again, he did have a history of underestimating everyone around him.

 

Once my cameraman signaled, he had stopped filming; I leaned in and stared into Wagner’s cold blue eyes. “Now, listen to me, Martin Wagner. I am not one of your lackeys you can intimidate any time you want.

 

Whether or not you cooperate and answer my questions truthfully, that’s completely on you. But I will not sit here, and have you disrespect me or my colleagues. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

 

Martin returned my glare but agreed to proceed with the interview. From that day forward, Martin treated me with hostility and resentment. I was one of the few male journalists he handled with disdain; something he reserved for my female compatriots.

 

With every venomous answer he gave me, I knew I was doing my job and asking the right questions. Martin Wagner preferred to be asked simple interrogations that required no thought and those of us who did our jobs put out ones which required a legitimate and honest response.

 

Venom laced the rest of his responses. He was sarcastic, and he contradicted himself frequently.  He threw a tantrum when I pointed out his contradictions and inaccuracies.  

 

Even when we replayed the footage to him as proof, he still insisted he never made such comments.  My crew rolled their eyes, but otherwise remained professional and courteous.  After we finished up and left, the lot of us cracked up laughing.  

 

None of us could take him seriously and we believed after seeing the interview, no one else would either.  Who knew we would be so wrong?

 

Martin resented me as much as I did him.  He hated the fact I insisted on making him accountable for his words and his conduct.  I refused to back down from neither his bullying tactics nor his attempts to avoid answering my questions.  

 

His subordinates acted the same and resented push back from me and my fellow journalists.  They didn’t seem to understand our job was to ask the tough questions, report the truth, and keep them accountable.  Our duty as the fifth estate was to report the news, no matter how pleasant or unpleasant it may be.

 

The worst part about all their crazy ways was those antics became the news instead of actual newsworthy events.  It frustrated many of us in legitimate news organizations.  We would rather do our jobs and report on the happenings around the world instead of the petty antics of Martin Wagner and his administration.

 

They refused to see how immature they appeared whenever they overreacted to our questions or became defensive when a question posed to them they didn’t appreciate or what to answer.  Many of Wagner’s spokespeople spoke over reporters when said reporters attempted to point out the flaws in their logic.  

 

We all knew they would rather breeze through the press briefings and spin whatever tale they wanted without being called out on it.  Unfortunately for them, that wasn’t how it worked in the United States.  We couldn’t allow our politicians to get away with thinking they were the supreme leader like Kim Jong-un or Adolph Hitler.  

 

Innocent people were already getting hurt or dying because of the choices being made by our government.  If we didn’t keep them in check, the US would end up a country with blood on its hands.  I don’t know about anyone else, but I don’t want to be like Germany and be witness to our version of the Nuremburg trials. 

 

I had a sickening feeling if we gave him even an ounce of power, he would destroy any good we’ve already accomplished.  He claimed he would never run

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.10.2022
ISBN: 978-3-7554-2223-5

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