Life Strategies:
Doing What Works, Doing What Matters

"Nine-tenths of wisdom consists in being wise in time."--Teddy Roosevelt

Target: America's Sweetheart

As Oprah moved silently down the long, winding staircase in the pitch black of night, she was totally alone, a rare circumstance given the intense schedule we were following in Amarillo. Since a conventional hotel would have been a security nightmare, we were living in a rambling, three-story house on the outskirts of this West Texas town. The armed guards who kept twenty-four-hour watch around the perimeter of "Camp Oprah" now sat in the dark, huddled against the cold. They had no idea she was on the move; every floor appeared dark and asleep. Except for the familiar low moan and creak of the frigid wind from the north, everything was silent. Descending a second flight of stairs, she tapped lightly on my door with a single fingernail. I knew itwas she, and she knew I would know, so she spoke not a word. It was well after midnight. She had gone to bed two hours earlier, but I knew she would sleep fitfully, if at all. It was like that for all of us, but especially for her. Behind enemy lines in cattle country, we all slept light and kept our guard up, alert to the reality of hostile feelings from certain factions in Amarillo.

Over the course of the previous day, I had seen a certain change occur in her eyes. At the federal courthouse downtown people were not saying nice things; they were attacking her staff in order to get to her. Like a mother lion whose cubs were being threatened, she was up and on the prowl. Could it be the enemy had gone too far?

When I opened the door, she looked forlornly alone, and her face betrayed the painful struggle that was keeping her awake. There were tears in her eyes, but these were not the tears of sympathy and love that millions of viewers had often seen on her television show. In her familiar flannel pajamas and huge fuzzy house shoes, she looked much younger than she was. She needed to talk. It would be a long night.

The private Oprah and the television Oprah are about as close to the same as anyone might imagine. But no one had ever seen her in a situation like this. In some ways, the experience of this trial was foreign to her; in other ways, it was the same old test, different classroom. Oprah's high-spirited, "always on," self-assured persona sometimes caused even me, who had come to know her so well, to forget that she was as vulnerable to hurt as any of us. As I came to learn, the trademark self-assuredness that twenty million Americans see every day springs from her being masterfully in control, even in what may seem like spontaneity and chaos, and from doing what she dearly loves--two conditions obviously not present in her situation in Amarillo. Nevertheless, she remained the trouper, always doing for others, always concerned, even under siege.

But her face at my door reminded me of her humanness, and of how terribly alone one feels when under attack. She wasn't feeling sorry for herself or playing the victim; that's not any part of who she is. But she was hurting, she was frustrated, and she was confused. We were living a strange and high-pressured existence in a surreal world, where it seemed that time had stopped its march long before social progress had been made. The concepts of logic, fairness, and common sense seemed to have been suspended. Members of our group had spotted anti-Oprah buttons with a red diagonal across her face. Hostile bumper stickers were commonplace, even being distributed at the local schools, a stark contrast to the respect and admiration that were the currency of her day-to-day life. Even the president of the city's chamber of commerce had circulated a letter to his staff warning against supporting this "outsider." As a result of these conditions, security was tight, even though tens of thousands of adoring fans were also keeping a constant vigil.

Oprah was facing civil charges of fraud, slander, defamation, and negligence, among other more technical claims. She feared a "kangaroo" court. She was publicly accused of lying and manipulating the truth to sensationalize a story about Mad Cow disease in the beef industry, all allegedly to generate higher ratings. Her integrity and ethics were being trampled, and her accusers were telling America that she was not who she presented herself to be. They had depicted her as a greedy, irresponsible betrayer of the truth. In court, her accusers pounded the table and said that she was not to be trusted--that she should be humiliated and penalized to the tune of over $100 million. The attacks on her professionalism were painful, but it was the attacks on her staff, whom she cared about so much, and also the personal attacks on her that were cutting deep, very deep. Moreover, in contrast to her world, where she could freely answer questions as to the truth, the rules of federal court required her to sit silent, and an ironclad gag order from a no-nonsense federal judge muzzled her in the public domain, at least while the trial continued.

In my opinion, the millionaire power-broker cattlemen who had filed the suit, and dragged her to Texas in the intricate net of a dubious state statute, smelled blood in the water. Through legal maneuvering, they had her on their turf, cornered in their own backyard. Here was an extremely wealthy black female, whom they were portraying as the beef industry's scurrilous enemy, trapped in Amarillo, Texas--the white-male-dominated, undisputed beef capital of the world. All that Oprah could say, all she could feel, was that it was not fair: "I can't believe this is happening. This is so unfair. Surely this isn't happening to me. It can't be real. Why is this happening to me ? There has to be some reason for all of this."

Hadn't she been the one who refused to sell out to the circus-freak atmosphere that had come to dominate the talk show circuit? Hadn't she been the one to take the high road? Against all the pressure to grab higher ratings through a grotesque parade of misguided humanity, trying to "out-bizarre" one another, hadn't she been deeply committed to staying the course and doing things right?

Was there no justice? Could people not see through the sham of this lawsuit? Oprah just didn't get it. The problem was, I knew that if she didn't get it soon, they were going to get her.

As with any other television or movie star, we are mesmerized by the image of Oprah. We might imagine that in every moment of her life, she's somehow bursting onto a stage, hugely confident and in control, arms outstretched in that familiar wave as music washes over the whole scene. She may seem to be bigger than life. She is not. But even under siege in Amarillo, even in the grip of this inner turmoil, Oprah Winfrey kept up the standard. Millions of viewers had come to rely on her as a daily "rock" in an otherwise crazy world, a breath of rational fresh air. And she, in turn, honored her commitment to those viewers, even while being attacked. She continued to be "Oprah." The show must go on.

January nights in Amarillo are typically freezing, but the quaint Little Theater never lacked for warmth. Every night, as 400 people sat shoulder-to-shoulder inside, it was hard to tell whether their excitement or the brilliant spotlights overhead gave off more energy. "Hollywood" had come to town. The buzzing murmur of anticipation gave way to a hush as a producer in headphones raised a hand, then an explosion of cheers and applause filled the room as the first notes of the "Oprah" theme song suddenly boomed from gigantic speakers.

As Oprah herself strode eagerly out into the lights, there was no doubt that people were in the presence of a star. Everything was perfectly put together, from the set to the music to her personal appearance: all of it sophisticated, colorful, stylish, but at the same time relaxed and unpretentious--something you couldn't help getting caught up in. But everything on the set seemed to be just a backdrop to that smile--a smile that expressed an innocent delight in life, a love of her audience and of what she was doing. And through two consecutive one-and-a-half-hour tapings, the audience returned the love; they cheered and stomped their feet, their applause flowing wave upon wave, in a Texas-style lovefest. It was her world again. She was in control; she was doing what she loved; she was Oprah.

For those three hours at the theater, everybody was having fun, and she more than anyone. People wanted to touch her, hug her, as if doing so would win for them some of her warmth and energy. That energy seemed to be bottomless. Long after the theater had emptied, when most of her audience had gone to bed, she would still be there alone with her crew, videotaping promotional spots--still at work, that smile still glowing: America's sweetheart.

But in the quiet house it was after midnight, and I was witnessing the end of the energy. In the near-dark of the basement gameroom, America's sweetheart wasn't smiling. She sat with me on the floor, her hair awry, hugging her knees. Like so many days before, this had been a long day. Tired isn't a big enough word when days start at 5:30 A.M. and include being pounded on for nine hours in a courtroom before taping two talk shows back to back. Still, sleep would not come. Sitting there with Oprah in the basement, I knew that "they" were getting to her. She was reeling, struggling to find herself.

The broadside attacks were causing unwanted feelings from times long past to float back to the surface. In the face of crisis, Oprah had lost herself. She was responding in a very human way. She was responding with behavior and thoughts that, frankly, are epidemic in American society today. They are behavior and thoughts and patterns that can cripple a life, and cripple a society, for that matter. And whether they are your behavior, Oprah Winfrey's, or those of the society at large, they are the kind of response that promises certain disaster.

As a friend, I wanted to hug her, to tell her that it would be okay and that she shouldn't worry. But I knew better. I knew if she didn't snap out of it and snap out of it soon, she was going to lose and she was going to be labeled by a verdict, however unfair. What's more, I knew that there were already would-be plaintiffs in a whole slew of other states, waiting to yank her into their own courts if she lost here, all smelling money. But I wasn't there to commiserate with her and be a sympathetic ear. I was there as a strategist to generate a plan for winning this jury's minds and hearts, and winning this trial.

Everyone has something they do. Some people build houses; I build strategies for living. I am a strategist; I study human nature and behavior. Along with Gary Dobbs, my partner, my best friend, and someone I believe to be the best legal analyst in America, I design plans to help get people what they want in life. It's all I do, and if it's your life with which I am dealing, the stakes are always high. For Oprah, they were exceedingly high, monetarily and otherwise. Coming in second in a $100 million trial is not an option. I had a plan, a well-thought-out, well-researched strategy, to get the truth out and get it out effectively. This strategic plan had been months in the making. Not surprisingly, Oprah was a huge part of that strategy. Without her, all of her, we could lose this trial in cattle country and lose it big.

We needed her; we needed the totally focused energy that is the essence of who she is--and we needed all of that now . Getting Oprah ready was a big part of my job and I intended to do it. The truth was on her side, but make no mistake: the courtroom is no crucible of truth. Just as in life, if you walk into court without a plan, a really good plan, you're kidding yourself. I could wait no longer for her to come around.

This trial was underway and it was building speed every single day. Decisions were being made, plans were being executed, witnesses were coming and going. All of it was building toward Oprah. The press, the plaintiffs, the jury, even all of us--her defense team--were waiting for her to tell her story. But our star witness was struggling with the "insanity" of it all, stuck in denial, and not coming to grips with the fact that this "Twilight Zone" experience was really happening. Not even lead counsel, Charles "Chip" Babcock, Oprah's extraordinarily gifted media trial lawyer, could pull this plan off without her and her complete focus. Every day, Chip asked me, "Is she ready? We must get her ready." Trial lawyers don't come any better than Chip Babcock, but he knew this case was dangerous because Oprah was out of her element. He had successfully defended super-high-profile media people all across America, and although he had a great track record, he knew that nationally, 80 percent of these cases are lost at the trial level. He was good, really good. In this venue, he would need to be.

Sitting on the floor across from this woman I had come to admire so very much, I searched my mind and heart for the right thing to say. We had been talking, analyzing, and working for some time now, but Oprah continued to struggle with the why of it all. What I knew was that, regardless of "why," we were here and she was in the crosshairs. Finally, I just took her hand and said, "Oprah, look at me, right now. You'd better wake up, girl, and wake up now . It is really happening. You'd better get over it and get in the game, or these good ol' boys are going to hand you your ass on a platter."

Now I suppose when you are arguably the most influential woman on the planet, people don't often step up and tell you how the cow ate the cabbage. I saw a flash of anger in her eyes as she instinctively recoiled. But I recognized that her anger had nothing to do with me. To have said any less would have been to cheat Oprah: This was the truth told in a way that she would hear. She deserved no less. As direct as I am, it was hard for me to be so blunt with her, but Oprah knew me, and she knew that my interests were her interests. She looked me in the eye, and with a resolve I had not heard in all of our previous work together, said, "No they will not.

I truly believe that at that precise moment, the cattlemen lost their case. Until that instant, Oprah had been fretting over whether this deal was fair or unfair, rather than accepting that, either way, it simply was . She had been philosophically distracted instead of focusing on what she must to do in order to win. From the very beginning, she believed deeply in the rightness of her actions; she believed passionately in her First Amendment freedom to hold an open debate on public health and safety, including our food supply, whether the mega-millionaire beef factories liked it or not. But the viciousness of the attack on her person and profession had so unsettled her that she had stopped being Oprah Winfrey. She fought back from her head, but not from her heart. She had done a lot of right things to help in her defense: moving her show to Amarillo, agreeing to be in trial every day, working and studying the facts every night. But she had been hung up on the belief that because it was unfair, something would derail the problem and it would go away.

The nonstop attacks on her production staff had also seriously distracted her, because she viewed Harpo Productions and all of its people almost as family. Preoccupied by what she believed to be the totally disingenuous nature of the complaints, she had given her power away. I saw that she was letting these men, the judicial system, and the whole circumstance of being under such vicious attack deprive her of her identity. Had she taken the stand in that state of mind, full of self-doubt and distracted by that inner turmoil, to face the three days of relentless, tedious, manipulative, and grinding cross-examination, it would not have been good. Without a strategic plan that included clearly defined objectives, she probably would have sent a very bad message to the jury. They would have wondered, "If Oprah is not sure, how can we be?"