Gold in the Gift of Gab

By Gerald Clarke

Despite recession, lecturers are in demand and in the money

Vegas is hurting, and Broadway is no longer booming. Hollywood is nervous, and book publishers are crying recession. But recession has a soft and silky silver lining for some people in the entertainment business: those who make money on the lecture circuit. Fees are up as much as 30% over last year, and audiences are not only willing but eager to pay and listen. "The lecture business is better in a recession," says Robert Keedick, president of the Keedick Lecture Bureau Inc. "People are concerned, and they want to find out what's going on. And lectures are also cheaper than going to a nightclub."

Long gone are the days when a celebrity spoke for fun and a free lunch. Hardly anyone with a reputation steps onto a platform now for less than $1,500. A big name, like Henry Kissinger or Gerald Ford, can demand $15,000; a bigger or at least a more commercial name, like Walter Cronkite or Radio Commentator Paul Harvey, can ask for a piece of the moon--or as much of it as $20,000 can buy. "I'm astounded by the fees people offer for lectures," says Economist Milton Friedman, who asks for, and receives, an astounding $15,000. "I find it hard to believe I'm worth what I'm paid."

Colleges provide a lucrative market, with fees underwritten by student activity funds, indulgent alumni and the sale of tickets (usually from $1 to $10). Less issue oriented than they were a decade ago, students want to be entertained while they are being informed. When they do listen to issues, today's college students usually prefer the liberal side. "They don't want to listen to people in the Administration," says Joe Cosby, who heads Conference Speakers International, one of the five biggest lecture bureaus. "What they love to hear is someone saying to the Administration, 'You've got it wrong.' "

Business groups have a similar bias--on the conservative side. "They want to hear from Republicans," says Cosby, "except when Democrats are in office; then they still want to hear from Republicans, but they'll listen to Democrats first. When Democrats are out of office, they wish they would just blow away."

With so much gold for gab available, competition is rough, and lecture bureaus, which take anywhere from 30% to 40% of their clients' fees, move swiftly. A couple of TV talk show appearances or a bestseller can double a $2,000 fee in just a few months. Easy up, easy down, however. The sun is now setting on such onetime stars as Abbie Hoffman, Jody Powell and Gloria Steinem. Perhaps the most provocative current act, and the oddest, couples G. Gordon Liddy, the Watergate tough guy, and Timothy Leary, the apostle of LSD (who was busted in 1966 by then New York State Prosecutor Liddy). Splitting an $8,000 fee, the two debate the power of the state (Liddy) vs. the freedom of the individual (Leary). "I'm grateful to Tim for drawing out his constituency so that I can convince them of my point of view," says Liddy. Responds Leary: "I think I'm doing a great public service by luring Liddy onto a platform and pressing him to say publicly what Haig, Reagan and Kissinger think privately." Other popular combinations: John Dean and Bob Woodward, who share between $6,000 and $9,500; Watergate Conspirator E. Howard Hunt Jr. and former Senator Sam Ervin, chairman of the Watergate committee, who divide $3,500 to $5,500.

Not all speakers even pretend to seriousness, however. Jerry Mathers, 33, who played Beaver in Leave It to Beaver, a series of the '50s and '60s, gets $4,000 mining a deep vein of nostalgia in the TV generation. Audiences yell "Beaver! Beaver!" before he arrives onstage and seem dreamily content to let him recount his rather uneventful life since the series faded from the screen. "My appearances have the same atmosphere as a high school reunion," he says. It looks more like a boarding-school reunion when The Official Preppy Handbook Editor Lisa Birnbach ($4,000) appears. "Sometimes," she says, "there are so many pink button-down shirts out there that I have to wear sunglasses."

There are other hazards on the circuit. Anyone who has made the rounds can tell stories of the host who forgot to meet the plane or reserve a hotel room. "Sometimes they put you up in the cheapest motels because they are trying to save money, and frequently you have to eat dormitory food," complains Dr. Alvin Poussaint, a Harvard psychiatrist ($1,500), who lost ten pounds doing a series of 19 lectures in one month last year. If they have enough clout, speakers can minimize such dangers by specifying what they need ahead of time. Clare Boothe Luce ($5,000 to $8,000), for instance, requires a queen-size bed and windows that open.

Audiences are not usually so successful in pressing their demands. Hunter Thompson ($3,000), the leading -- and only -- exponent of Gonzo Journalism, filled an auditorium at the College of Marin, outside San Francisco. The only problem was that Thompson did not appear for 40 minutes and then showed up drunk, waving a bottle of Wild Turkey. Refusing to give a speech, he answered questions instead, and when he was done, many in the room asked for refunds. The college refused. Thompson's performance, it maintained, represented Gonzo Journalism at its very best. And lecture-fee gouging at its very worst.

--By Gerald Clarke.

Reported by Adam Zagorin/New York

With reporting by Adam Zagorin

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