40 years of City Weekly—Volume 10, 1993-1994 

It had been a decade since 7,500 copies of the first Private Eye newsletter were mailed out, and five years since street editions first appeared. Now in its 10th volume—the first full year of weekly publication—Private Eye was distributing 33,000 copies, reaching more than 85,000 readers every week.

John Saltas had many people to credit for this exciting new stage, particularly the paper's many contributors and its then-editor Tom Walsh.

"Thank you because no one else around these parts has ever done what all of you have," Saltas wrote in the June 9, 1993, issue. "And whether we're 10, or 4, or 1 year old, we must celebrate because we've won."

Others joined in the exultation, such as Richard Barnum-Reece with a characteristically bold letter of congratulation on June 16. "I'm still convinced the Private Eye Weekly is the only local newspaper or magazine that has the courage to challenge the Unholy Alliance between the Deseret News and the Tribune," he opined. "And if it's true, as they told us long ago and far away in journalism school, that the electorate needs information to be informed, then a pox on those two ... dailies, and a laurel wreath to the Private Eye Weekly."

Such lofty honors can only come from high-quality stories, and this year was full of them: Lynn Packer's ongoing investigative series on Deedee Corradini and Bonneville Corporation plumbed the depths of a growing scandal; Stacy Steck profiled the still-formidable-today Eagle Forum president Gayle Ruzicka; Carolyn Campbell explored the Impact "self-awareness" seminars; Ben Fulton reported on renewed interest and trends in paganism; and Tom Walsh released a two-part series on life in Fidel Castro's Cuba.

Schools were being sponsored by corporations, gangs and heroin were a present worry, and many areas of the Salt Lake Valley were pushing for incorporation.

This year also saw the introduction of Katharine Biele's coverage of the Utah Legislature, the Hits & Misses column (see page 8), and the debut of Ted Scheffler's longrunning dining series.

Remembering Vol. 10: In the schools
A "cultural canyon" separated the Navajo and Anglo residents of San Juan County, reported Ellen Fagg for the Oct. 13, 1993, issue. "Divisions are so deep that complaints about an attitude of apartheid surface with cyclical regularity here."

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At the time of this story, a lawsuit from the 1970s (Sinajini v. Board of Education) had been reopened by civil rights lawyer Eric Swenson against the San Juan School District, leveling charges of discrimination against Navajo citizens, their culture and their language.

The existing conditions were not good for Navajo youth. Students who spoke only Navajo were automatically put into special-education classes. More than 50 teens living at the base of remote Navajo Mountain were left without a high school to attend, as the only school in the area–operated by the Bureau of Indian Affairs–stopped at the eighth grade. And children in the Monument Valley region had to take a 90-minute bus ride to Mexican Hat each day.

"If they had 40 to 60 white kids anywhere in the district, they'd build a school," Swenson observed.

Because decision-making positions were overwhelmingly occupied by a white majority, even the best of intentions could be nullified in administering policy.

"Anglo officials implement programs that make Navajos think they can only succeed by becoming more 'white'—talking up in class; showing more motivation; speaking English," Fagg wrote. "Some Navajos, who keep butting up against what feels like a brick wall of discrimination, eventually just drop out."

This case resulted in a 1997 consent decree calling for additional construction projects, bilingual education and a cultural-awareness program. Additional cases have flowed from Sinajini in the ensuing years, leading to the construction of a high school at Navajo Mountain and court-mandated redistricting of San Juan County's school board and County Commission districts.

In the pews
To many within The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, September 1993 came to be known as "Black September." The events of that month—with its high-profile excommunications and disfellowships of intellectuals nicknamed the "September Six"—were but the most visible examples in a series of institutional purges pursued by church officials.

Other Mormon educators and writers had been subject to punitive actions before these excommunications, and several of their supporters resigned their memberships for conscience's sake.

"Altogether," noted Allen Roberts in the Oct. 20, 1993, issue, "the spiritual 'body count' of those who have recently left or been forced out of the church may reach into the hundreds. The number of those affected less directly, such as family and extended family members, friends, employers, concerned ward members and watchful members and non-members worldwide is incalculable."

Furthermore, the purges coincided with other developments in 1993 related to tensions between church hierarchy and members, such as the firing of BYU educators Cecilia Farr and David Knowlton as well as the institutional pressure upon Mormon professors discouraging attendance at the intellectual Sunstone symposia.

"One control philosophy dominating current church thought is the idea of managing growth by eliminating or greatly reducing diversity, complexity and individuality," Roberts wrote. This leaning into fundamentalist practices, as Mormon sociologist Armand Mauss pointed out, creates the very disillusionment crisis that church leaders seek to avoid.

"Young people reared in the either/or style of fundamentalism, and also in a commitment to personal and intellectual honesty, will find ... crises of faith very difficult to deal with, unlike the troublesome 'intellectuals,' who are by training and cognitive style actually better able to handle the relativity and ambiguities in religion," wrote Mauss in The Angel and the Beehive. "If the Mormon institutional pasture is not big enough for its intellectuals, then it will not likely be able ultimately to accommodate its disillusioned fundamentalists, either. That will leave an unquestioning and satisfied herd, to be sure, but one of a far different quality from the restless souls to whom the claims and teachings of Joseph Smith had such appeal."

Diversity—and especially religious diversity—comes with maturity, according to Roberts. "As churches go," he concluded, "Mormonism is only in its adolescence, as the current growing pains and awkwardness demonstrate." He pointed out that Catholicism and Judaism both have become great world faiths in their allowance for lay groups, orders and subcultures, and Mormonism might also follow that path one day. "But it may mean that church leaders need to loosen their grip, not tighten it, if Mormonism is to fulfill its goal of becoming a truly Christlike, worldwide religion."

This story won first place in the Magazine News Story category at the 1994 awards banquet for the Utah Headliners Chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists.

In the comments
"Last night, I was in a supermarket when I was surprised—although proud and excited—to hear a couple in their 80s say to one another, 'We have to pick up a copy of the Private Eye. Do you think they have it here?' Incidents such as this made me feel a closeness with the readers."—Katherine Topaz, Private Eye art director, Aug. 11, 1993

"I am a strong supporter and advocate of your newspaper. Last quarter, I gave the students in my classes at WSU the option of reading the Private Eye Weekly for one of their cultural experiences."—Marjorie Anderson, Oct. 6, 1993

"Gene: You've made my dreams come true. Just think, only weeks 'til we have our baby girl in our arms. We have so many special times ahead of us. I'm glad you're my sweetheart."—Mary, in the Backstop section, Feb. 9, 1994

In the running
Tom Welch was on edge during his phone interview with John Harrington for a cover story in the Feb. 16, 1994, issue. Welch, then-president of the Salt Lake Olympic Bid Committee (SLOBC), was in Lillehammer, Norway, to boost Utah's chances of hosting the 2002 Winter Olympic Games.

"While Welch is overseas 'schmoozing,'" Harrington reported, "... a key piece of Olympic legislation is running into resistance on Utah's Capitol Hill, largely because of what one state official calls 'Tom Welch's credibility gap.'"

Members of the Utah Sports Authority were trying to talk the Legislature into selling state facilities to Welch's Olympic Committee. If successful, the state of Utah could back out of the Olympic business and leave it to Welch's group, minimizing public financial risk.

"Look," Welch told Harrington, "in the 10 years I've been doing this, I've never taken a dime for myself. We're all Utahns in this together, and I am not in it for me."

Much of the distrust of Welch stemmed from his reputation—in the words of one official—of spending money "that isn't there." Welch's style, considered slick and overly expansive to some, was the primary cause of hesitation to go along with his proposal of paying the state $99 million for the use of state and county facilities.

On top of which, as Utah Sports Authority official Randy Dryer pointed out, no one had any assurance that the Games wouldn't go into debt, adversely affecting the state, cities and counties.

"So," Dryer told Harrington, "I just have to concern myself with making sure [SLOBC] raises enough [$99 million] to buy the public out of the Games. I am doing everything I can to ensure that the state is not going to underwrite this deal."

Still, Harrington noted, questions remained. Who would be in charge of the Games if the bid is successful? And would there be enough money in the television and cable market to pay a rights fee?

"How about beer companies, the No. 1 supplier of sports advertising revenue?" Harrington asked. "Utah has a law that restricts their advertising at sporting events. One Democratic legislator says, 'We shot our foot off when we passed that. It will have to be repealed.'"

In a March 2 letter responding to Harrington's article, David Owen was appreciative of the report but stressed that the facility deal was less a sale and more of a giveaway for the "Olympic boondoggle."

"This does not in any way limit the state's liability, when all is spent and done," he added. "Mark my words, folks, this deal stinks to high heaven: The state gets no shelter at all from Olympic red ink, and whatever tiny glimmer of profit (17 out of 17 winter Olympics have lost big dough) goes straight to the good old boys on the Olympic inside."

The 2002 Winter Games were awarded to Salt Lake City in June of 1995. Welch and his colleague David Johnson—both leaders on the Salt Lake Organizing Committee—were later charged by the U.S. Department of Justice of bribing the International Olympic Committee. They were acquitted in 2003, and the 2002 Games became an outlier for generating revenue—rather than debt—for its host state. However, its impacts upon the environment, education and government ethics carry a mixed legacy.