"I WAS INVOLVED IN A DECEPTION"

Charles Van Doren's story before the House Subcommittee on Legislative Oversight:

I've learned a lot about life. I've learned a lot about myself, and about the responsibilities any man has to his fellow men. I've learned a lot about good and evil. They are not always what they appear to be. I was involved, deeply involved, in a deception. The fact that I, too, was very much deceived cannot keep me from being the principal victim of that deception, because I was its principal symbol. There may be a kind of justice in that. I don't know. I do know, and I can say it proudly to this committee, that . . . I have taken a number of steps toward trying to make up for it. I have a long way to go.

Van Doren told how Twenty One's associate producer, Albert Freedman, offered him the chance to dethrone the champion, "unpopular," "unbeatable" Herbert Stempel, promised him $1,000 for the first night's appearance, with "guarantees" later raised.

I asked him to let me go on the program honestly, without receiving help. He said that was impossible. I would not have a chance to defeat Stempel. He also told me that giving help to quiz contestants was a common practice and merely a part of show business. Perhaps I wanted to believe him. He also stressed the fact that by appearing on a nationally televised program, I would be doing a great service to the intellectual life, to teachers and to education in general by increasing public respect.

Freedman regularly handed him the questions and answers, sometimes entire scripts, coached him to pause before some answers, skip parts of questions and return to them, building suspense. At one point, said Van Doren, Producer Dan Enright handed him a $5,000 advance and wished him Merry Christmas.

I had supposed I would win a few thousand dollars and be known to a small television audience. But from an unknown college instructor, I became a national celebrity. I received thousands of letters and dozens of requests to make speeches, appear in movies and so forth. To a certain extent, this went to my head. I was winning more money than I ever dreamed of having. I was able to convince myself that I could make up for it after it was over . . . I didn't know what to do nor where to turn, and frankly, I was very much afraid.

After he asked several times for permission to lose, his defeat (by Mrs. Vivienne Nearing) was arranged. He won $120,000, and a $50,000-a-year NBC job.

In August 1958, Herbert Stempel's charges against Twenty One broke publicly.

I was horror-struck. I have said I received many letters. Thousands were from schoolchildren and students. All expressed their faith in me, their dedication to knowledge. I could not bear to betray that faith and hope. I felt that I carried the whole burden of the honor of my profession. And so I made a statement on the Garroway program the next morning that I knew of no improper activities on Twenty One and that I had received no assistance. I was, of course, very foolish. I was incredibly naive. I couldn't understand why Stempel should want to proclaim his own involvement. In a sense I was like a child who refuses to admit a fact in the hope that it will go away.

When the New York County grand jury started investigating, both Freedman and Enright urged him not to talk, Van Doren testified. Van Doren need fear no leak, Enright told him, since everyone in Enright's organization would "die" for him. When the House hearings began, NBC asked Van Doren either to offer to testify or be suspended. Van Doren said he tried to stall by conceding some half truths, e.g., that he had been offered help, but had not accepted it. Then Van Doren and his wife drove off for the famous "lost weekend," in New England.

My life and career were being swept away in a flood. I tried to save whatever part seemed in the most immediate danger. First, I hoped to save the contract. I just was unable to walk out on a $50,000-a-year job . . . I simply ran away. Most of all, I was running from myself. I realized that I had been doing it for a long time. I knew that I could not lie any more, nor did I want to. But I was not yet at the point where I could tell the whole story . . . I was beginning to realize that the truth is always the best way, indeed it is the only way, to promote and protect faith. My father had told me this, even though he did not know the truth in my case. I think he didn't care what it was so long as I told it. In the end, it was a small thing that tipped the scales. A letter came to me from a woman, a complete stranger, who had seen me on the Garroway show and who said she admired my work there. She told me that the only way I could ever live with myself, and make up for what I had done, was to admit it clearly, openly, truly. Suddenly, I knew she was right. Whatever the personal consequences, and I knew they would be severe, this was the only way.

In the morning I telephoned my attorney and told him my decision. He had been very worried about my health and perhaps my sanity, and he was happy that I had found courage at last. He said, "God bless you."

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