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Despite
their deep pockets, urban dailies have often found competing
against suburban papers tough going. In mid-September, the
Los Angeles Times conceded a major defeat, closing
12 suburban editions and laying off 170 employees.
In filings
with the Oregon Liquor Control Commission, Pamplin listed
the value of his stock in R.B. Pamplin Corp. as being worth
$464 million, but he says he has other assets as well. "I
don't how much I'm worth and I don't give a hoot," he says.
Pamplin (above), whose Lincoln High buddies included Ron
Saito (now manager of rival KEX), says he was stripped of
the senior class presidency in 1960 for organizing a keg
party.
Pamplin's
holdings include the Your Northwest retail stores, Columbia
Empire Farms, Ross Island Sand and Gravel, Pamplin Communications
and Mt. Vernon Mills, the textile operation that accounts
for the bulk of his wealth.
"Not exactly Xanadu: Last December, after a year of pounding
by The Oregonian, Pamplin's gravel operation finally
agreed to stop mining Ross Island.
Pamplin
says that between personal and corporate donations, he has
given away more than $150 million. Pamplin's Christ Community
Church feeds 1,000 people a day. Much of the food is produced
on Pamplin's farms.
KPAM
is having difficulty selling ads, even at what industry
insiders say are prices as low as $12.50 per 60 second spot
(rivals KEX and KXL command $200 to $400 for similar spots).
"I haven't seen rates like that for a long time," says media
buyer Doug Fish of Gerber Advertising.
Jim
Rue, Ross Island Sand and Gravel environmental manager,
is blunt in his assessment of the O's coverage: "In my opinion,
it has been biased and clearly representing a point of view.
It was journalism for the sake of selling papers and clearly
was looking at the sensational aspects of the story."
In May
and June, KPAM's Arbitron ratings were 0.3, which means
a third of a percent of all local radio listeners tuned
into that station; in July listenership was too low to be
measurable. AM news talk leader KEX averaged about a 6.1
rating over the same period.
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Sidebar: What
Pamplin Bought
At an age when most people are pondering retirement, Bob
Pamplin Jr., 59, is em-barking on a holy war against perhaps
the state's most powerful monopoly-- The Oregonian.
An ordained minister who traces his family history back
to the Crusades, Pamplin, a man with no prior experience
in journalism, is on a spiritual quest. "I'm the best thing
that's happened to journalism in this community in a long
time," he says. "I'm going to have a great time making things
better and create history at the same time."
The Northwest's largest newspaper hasn't faced well-financed
competition since 1961, when its owners bought the Oregon
Journal, only to fold it in 1982--and if there's one
asset Pamplin possesses, it's a formidable bank account.
With a fortune--most of it inherited--approaching $500
million, Pamplin is among the few people in this state wealthy
enough to challenge one of the crown jewels in the $4.2
billion newspaper and magazine empire owned by the Newhouse
brothers of New York.
Pamplin also possesses supreme self-confidence. "All of
the great people set examples," he says, invoking the names
of Gandhi and Jesus as others who, like him, felt compelled
to show people the way.
In May, after luring two of The Oregonian's best-known
writers, Pete Schulberg and Dwight Jaynes, with lucrative
long-term contracts, Pamplin cranked up KPAM (860 AM), a
50,000 watt all-news station. Then in August, Pamplin bought
11 newspapers--nearly all of them located in territory coveted
by The Oregonian.
Most audaciously, he also announced plans to launch a downtown
weekly paper that will debut in February with an initial
circulation of 150,000. Such a move is highly unusual, according
to Robert Broadwater of the New York media investment bank
Veronis Suhler. "I can't think of another example of a general-interest
weekly that's been started recently," he says.
Pamplin's new paper, as yet unnamed, will be a broadsheet
(like The Oregonian) that will include investigative
journalism, business, sports and entertainment news and
the return to print of Schulberg and Jaynes--and most likely
Phil Stanford, the controversial columnist who left The
Oregonian in 1994. The paper's newly named editor will
be Roger Anthony, a veteran editor and reporter at The
Oregonian.
With the combination of his downtown paper, the suburban
weeklies, a strong website and KPAM's ability to break news
24 hours a day, Pamplin believes he will offer all the news
Portlanders need. "I'm going to raise the bar for local
journalism," he says.
Pamplin also points to a key industry trend that supports
his strategy. "Weeklies are growing and dailies are declining,"
he says, adding that he expects his papers to match The
Oregonian's readership of 500,000.
Still, Pamplin faces daunting odds. For all its faults,
The Oregonian is a powerhouse. The paper boasts an
army of experienced reporters and editors and has a lock
on local advertisers. "They are the elephant in the kitchen,"
says University of Portland journalism professor Mick Mulcrone.
But Pamplin is confident he will succeed. "I don't think
there is a 'plan B,'" he says. "When I really believe in
something, I'll stick with it and I'll figure out how to
get it done."
The question is why Pamplin, an enormously proud man who
has never known failure, would put his reputation at risk.
Does he really want to serve the public? Or is it his ego,
his conservative Christian beliefs or a desire for revenge
against The Oregonian that motivates him?
Tycoons from William Randolph Hearst to Rupert Murdoch
have bought newspapers for a variety of reasons--money,
power, political agendas--but Pamplin says his aim is simple:
He hopes to return honor to an industry debased by sensationalism
and greed. "I want to do something that's pure journalism,"
he says. "Let's bring the profession back to where it ought
to be."
He bristles at the notion that he might have other motives.
"I would think you'd look at it like the sun has broken
through the clouds," he says. "Finally somebody is putting
money into the principles of journalism."
With his unlined face, ear-splitting grin and an accent
evocative of his Georgia boyhood, the 5-foot-7 Pamplin looks
more like a kindly uncle than a crusader.
But the first thing a visitor to his office in the Standard
Insurance building sees are the accoutrements of war. Crossed
swords, matched Civil War-era pistols and shelves of history
books of that period fill a glass-fronted cabinet in the
waiting area.
Pamplin spent two years at military college, and although
he never served--he'll roll up a pants leg to display a
brace on the bum knee that he says disqualified him--everything
from his hair, which gets clipped weekly, to his daily hour
and a half of weight lifting, situps and running reflects
iron discipline.
From the circa-1980 word processor next to his desk to
his diet--"I eat steak as many times as I can," he says,
"none of this vegetarian stuff for me"--Pamplin is a throwback
to simpler times. He is wary of the digital revolution and
loath to use the Internet. "There are people all over the
world who spend their lives trying to breach other people's
security," he says. "Why them give them the opportunity?"
At times Pamplin seems eerily like Ross Perot, another
diminutive, well-heeled outsider convinced that his common
sense and strict moral code can solve everything. Like Perot,
who argued that his lack of political experience was an
asset, Pamplin says his lack of media experience could be
an advantage. "Maybe somebody not in the business can see
its problems more clearly," he says.
Some people in Portland suspect that Bob Pamplin is building
a media empire to feed his ego. After all, what better way
to capture attention and influence people than by controlling
the flow of information? "Being in the publishing business
is a lot of fun and great way to engage people publicly,"
says Scott Campbell, owner of the Vancouver Columbian.
"It sure beats owning a taco stand."
Pamplin's ego represents the central paradox in his personality.
Friends, and even people who have no reason to speak well
of him, unfailingly describe him as polite and reserved,
and above
all a Christian.
Pamplin buys dinners for anonymous staffers, greets people
he hasn't seen for 40 years by name, always sends thank-you
notes, and once showed up unexpectedly at a Lewis &
Clark faculty party, handed out $50,000 in unrestricted
checks and left. "If there's one word that describes Bob,"
says Robert Kraus, a friend of 25 years, "it's 'caring.'"
And yet, the same man can come across as a relentless self-promoter.
Pamplin's desire for a legacy is evident. Thanks to generous
contributions, his name is stamped all over Lewis &
Clark College, the University of Portland and Virginia Tech.
Visitors to Pamplin Historical Park, a newly opened Civil
War theme park in Petersburg, Va., are treated to a vast
portrait of Pamplin and his father.
Pamplin's need for recognition extends beyond the philanthropic
realm. For instance, Phil Knight and Les Schwab--the only
two Oregonians wealthier than him--don't post their résumés
on the Internet. But Pamplin's is there (www.pamplin.org/pg/pr.htm).
The seven-page document is both impressive and a nearly
audible cry for attention.
His résumé states that Pamplin possesses
eight college degrees (the most of any living American,
it says), including three from Lewis & Clark and two
from the University of Portland. Among his degrees, however,
is a doctorate from California Coast University, a correspondence
school that has neither classrooms, faculty nor regional
accreditation.
The résumé also reveals that Pamplin has
authored 13 books, though several were written with the
aid of up to three professional writers and published by
a vanity press. Among the books are his autobiography, Everything
Is Just Great; a biography of his father; and Heritage,
a history of his family dating back to 1066 AD. "Through
the centuries," he writes in Heritage, "generations
of Pamplins have become a repository for the miraculous."
Last year, Pamplin hired Portland's Tyee Productions to
film parts of Heritage, and he has talked with Will
Vinton Studios about producing an animated version.
The same self-regard is evident in Pamplin's office, where
nearly every square foot of wall space is covered by a diploma,
award or reprinted article about him. He rejects the notion
that his wall candy and the credentials he collects like
baseball cards represent self-promotion. "These aren't here
to impress anybody," he says of his mementos. "They're here
because they make me feel good--kind of like a teddy bear."
He defends his résumé, saying there's nothing
on it that's untrue; further, he says, it's his obligation
to serve as a model for others.
Anyone who reads the history of Pamplin's family will see
evidence of what many people say is his life-long motivation--trying
to step out of the Douglas fir-like shadow of his father,
who built Georgia-Pacific into the nation's largest forest-products
company. After retiring, Pamplin Sr. started R.B. Pamplin
and Co., which last year had sales of $840 million, most
of it from southern textile mills. At age 88, he remains
chairman of R.B. Pamplin and still comes to work most days.
In Heritage, Pamplin muses at length about the challenge
of following such an act. "Like any son faced with an extraordinary
father," he writes, "I understood there could be only one
way [to succeed], namely, finding something new."
There is also the possibility that Pamplin plans to use
the media to advance his own agendas.
A deeply religious man, Pamplin founded and serves as senior
pastor of Christ Community Church in Newberg. "I'm very
conservative in a lot of ways," he says. "And one of those
is my faith."
Along with his evangelical Christianity, Pamplin is a Republican
who donated $100,000 to George W. Bush's campaign in July.
His 25-store Christian Supply chain bills itself as "the
Northwest's largest retailer of homeschooling products."
And Pamplin has clearly spent a good deal of time pondering
ways to use the media to influence people. At Portland's
Western Conservative Baptist Seminary, for instance, Pamplin's
1982 doctoral thesis describes a business plan for using
mainstream radio to proselytize listeners.
Pamplin insists, however, that all he will ask of his journalists
is that they be objective. "I want to be as balanced and
as close to the middle as you can be," he says. "I don't
want to be labeled one way or the other."
There's reason to believe him. For instance, Pamplin gave
money to 1996 City Council candidate Gail Shibley, Oregon's
first openly gay elected official. He is also City Commissioner
Erik Sten's largest contributor. Sten finds Pamplin different
from most donors. "He wants to hear what you think first
before he tells you his point of view," the city commissioner
says. "That's very unusual in my business." Sten says that
while he and Pamplin may be on different wavelengths ideologically,
all Pamplin asks is that Sten be honest.
As for his new ventures, the first reporter hired for Pamplin's
downtown weekly is Jim Redden, a former WW staffer
who co-founded the now-defunct PDXS because he thought
WW was too conservative.
KPAM also lends credence to Pamplin's vow to be objective.
There are no identifiable conservatives on the station's
staff. News director Bill Gallagher, a 20-year veteran of
Portland radio known for his moderate views and affable
personality, sets the tone. So far, KPAM broadcasters
have worked so hard to be neutral that their shows often
lack spark. "I've found out what they're not," says Tim
McNamara, station manager of rival KXL. "But I don't know
what they are."
Others speculate that Pamplin is building a media empire
because he wants revenge against The Oregonian.
In half a dozen articles that stretched out over a year
beginning in December 1998, reporter Brent Walth (another
former WW staffer) chronicled the environmental misadventures
of Ross Island Sand and Gravel Company, which Pamplin owns.
Walth's articles incensed Pamplin. "They weren't balanced,
they were inaccurate and they withheld information," he
says.
It's worth noting, however, that Pamplin never returned
Walth's phone calls to present his own version of the Ross
Island story. "He [Walth] talked to other people in the
company first," Pamplin explains. "He was obviously on a
mission and it wouldn't have mattered what I said."
Pamplin insists, however, that revenge is not his motivation.
"I've always stuck to the notion that if you go into a venture
vengeful, you'll lose your soul," he says. But Pamplin adds
that the Ross Island coverage is symptomatic of widespread
problems at The Oregonian. "The issue is not just
that story but a larger picture," he says.
Whether Walth's reporting served as a catalyst for Pamplin's
move into mainstream media or not, Pamplin plans to target
the same audience that The Oregonian serves. "Willamette
Week is not going to be my competition," he says.
Luring readers and advertisers away from The Big O won't
be easy, given that paper's dominance of local news. Beyond
its circulation, which reaches nearly half the daily newspaper
readers in the state, The Oregonian also thoroughly
dominates local broadcast news. It's not accidental that
many of the news stories on local television and radio sound
the same: Nearly every station in Portland relies heavily
on the Associated Press wire service, which in turn gets
most of its local news from The Oregonian.
With revenues in the neighborhood of $400 million--more
than 50 times those of WW, its next-largest local
print competitor--the Northwest's largest daily has a market
share that Microsoft would envy.
"The Oregonian is big and strong and obviously very
profitable," says Frederick Taylor, the former executive
editor of The Wall Street Journal and now part-owner
of the Eugene Weekly. "I guess God is guiding Pamplin,
but it's a pretty sporty chance he's taking."
To improve his odds, Pamplin hired Don Olson to publish
his new paper (Jaynes will be the paper's president, in
charge of editorial quality).
Olson previously started a weekly in Spokane and also served
as publisher of This Week, an entertainment and columnist-dominated
free newspaper delivered to nearly half a million metro-area
homes in the early '90s. The paper's vast circulation attracted
some of The Oregonian's biggest advertisers, including
Fred Meyer and Safeway. The Oregonian's parent company
subsequently purchased This Week for tens of millions
of dollars.
In theory, Pamplin will be able to offer large advertisers
a more compelling package: a targeted downtown paper along
with suburban circulations of nearly 80,000. "If he can
go to advertisers and say 'I'll give you all of downtown
and the attractive suburbs at a much cheaper price,' that's
a hell of a sales tool," Taylor says.
It's unclear how worried The Oregonian is--if at
all. Schulberg's departure wasn't a complete shock,
says the paper's metro columnist, Steve Duin. The $150,000,
multi-year salary Pamplin reportedly offered him to return
to broadcasting--Schulberg spent 20 years on radio and television
before becoming a print reporter--was too good to pass up.
But when Jaynes, an ink-stained 25-year veteran of the Oregon
Journal and The Oregonian, accepted a similar
offer from Pamplin, Duin says, that was sign something radical
was happening.
In short order, Pamplin swiped two of the O's most visible
faces--and reportedly nearly landed a third, columnist Margie
Boulé. He also hired longtime Oregonian staffer
Paul Duchene, who edited A&E from 1985 to 1990. "It
got their attention," says former Oregonian reporter
and editor Mike Francis.
Duin says that Jaynes' departure in particular was a blow
to The Oregonian's culture: "The paper values loyalty
tremendously, and the possibility people might leave for
other jobs locally was not on the radar screen."
The Oregonian's first response was an unwritten
edict that forbade reporters to appear on KPAM, as they
sometimes do on other stations.
And while Oregonian President Patrick Stickel declined
to comment and Executive Editor Peter Bhatia did not return
phone calls, there are indications that the paper isn't
standing still.
For the first time since 1995, for instance, the sports
section will soon have two regular daily columnists. In
another unusual decision, the O rehired investigative reporter
Les Zaitz in August. As recently as May, Zaitz, who bought
the Keizer Times after leaving The Oregonian,
told people that he planned to retire from journalism.
And in a move that will put The Oregonian in direct
conflict with Pamplin's papers, the O will soon announce
an aggressive expansion. According to an internal memo obtained
by WW, beginning on Nov. 2, The Oregonian
will produce two new sections from its Tigard bureau, one
for the towns of Tigard, Tualatin and Sherwood and the other
for Lake Oswego, West Linn and Wilsonville, with separate
sections for each town.
With Portland's population stagnant and graying, the suburbs
will continue to be the battlefield for readership--and
that's where Pamplin, with several well-established community
weeklies, is strongest. "I'm sure Fred Stickel [The Oregonian's
publisher] would have preferred that those weekly papers
have separate owners," Francis says.
Pamplin's downtown paper won't be available for months;
so far, all that people can judge his media business by
is KPAM.
For all of Pamplin's talk of lofty principles, KPAM has
shown some aggressiveness. "Free your radio from corporate
control," commands its promotional material; "it's time
to take the airwaves back from the kooks."
To date, however, the kooks still have the upper hand.
Despite big names and a news staff of nearly 25 people,
KPAM's ratings are abysmal. The station's motto--"Radio
Free Oregon"--does more to describe its ad rates than any
ideology. "Talk radio doesn't have to be rude, but it needs
conflict," says KXL morning host Lars Larson. "Listeners
want to hear you stake out a position and defend it, and
that's just not happening on KPAM."
Still, some people who tune in are impressed. "They're
actually doing some local radio journalism, which was an
extinct species in this town," says the University of Portland's
Mulcrone.
For his part, the boss is happy with what he hears so far.
"I think they're absolutely superb," Pamplin says of the
KPAM staff, adding that it's premature to worry about ratings.
KXL's McNamara, who would obviously prefer that Pamplin
stick to selling Bibles, agrees that it is too soon to write
off KPAM. "A talk-radio station takes a long time to build,"
he says. "At least a year. What KPAM is asking people to
do is to change their habits--and that's not easy."
Bob Pamplin Jr. has spent nearly his entire adult life
toiling for his father. If he accomplishes nothing else
in his desire to become a media mogul, he'll probably force
The Oregonian, WW, The Business Journal and every
other provider of news in this town to do a better job.
That in itself is a pretty nice gift to the people of Portland.
In a lot of ways, he's in the same position as the young
Charles Foster "Citizen" Kane. "Sorry, but I'm not interested
in gold mines, oil wells, shipping or real estate," Kane
says to the executor of his mother's estate. "One item on
your list intrigues me...I think it would be fun to run
a newspaper."
WHAT PAMPLIN
BOUGHT...
In August, Pamplin announced the purchase of Community
Newspapers Inc., which publishes papers in Tigard, Tualatin,
Beaverton, Lake Oswego, West Linn, Forest Grove, Sherwood
and Hillsdale and Our Town in Portland. Separately,
he bought the Sellwood Bee and the Clackamas County
News. Pamplin also tried to purchase another paper this
past summer. In June, Jack Faust, a local lawyer, inquired
on behalf of an investor whether Willamette Week's
owners were interested in selling. They were not. Some snooping
revealed that the investor was Pamplin, who will not comment
on whether he plans to buy more papers. --NJ
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