The Other American Hostages

By Janice Castro

Some families back home feel like captives of journalism

Deborah Plotkin does not like to answer her telephone any more; her lawyer screens calls for her. The Sherman Oaks, Calif., wife of American Hostage Jerry Plotkin says she has tired of answering questions from reporters who "just don't realize that I've already received two dozen other calls. They don't take no for an answer either." Plotkin also wishes the New York Times and the Washington Post would not call after midnight. Says she: "Any time something exciting is happening in Iran, they want my reaction. But I do not always have a reaction."

The negotiations this month on terms for the release of the U.S. hostages in Iran have intensified the other ordeal that the captives' families have endured for more than a year: the close scrutiny and, in many cases, constant companionship of the press. In Globe, Ariz., Balch Springs, Texas, and dozens of other towns across the country, each new development in the hostage dilemma means that the telephones start ringing again late at night and reporters camp out in front yards waiting for "reaction."

Some families do not mind, believing that if they talk about their feelings, their countrymen will remember the missing Americans. Says Allyssa Keough of South Burlington, Vt., 19, whose father William Keough Jr. is a captive: "I don't want people to forget. This is the only way I know to help." Dorothea Morefield of San Diego, wife of Hostage Richard Morefield, has found reporters to be a source of emotional support. Says she: "Some of them I trust completely. A group of CBS correspondents stayed here one night answering the phone, so that my boys and I could get some sleep. I do not feel harassed in any way."

Other relatives do not feel so fortunate. Hostage Paul Lewis' mother Glorian Lewis had to quit her job as a crossing guard in Homer, Ill. (pop. 1,400), after reporters hounded her as she worked. When the town declared last July 4 Paul Lewis Day, ceremonies in the tiny municipal park were interrupted by a TV station helicopter that zoomed in for a landing near the crowd. Recalls Mayor Marion Woodside: "I thought, Jesus Christ, I hope nobody gets in the way of one of them blades." Shirley Buck, Paul Lewis' aunt and the owner of Buck's Cafe in Homer, has banned the press from her restaurant. Regular customers began staying away for fear of having their meals interrupted by requests for interviews.

Virgil and Toni Sickmann of Krakow, Mo., the parents of Hostage Rodney Sickmann, give fewer interviews since KMOX-TV, the CBS affiliate in St. Louis, had a telephone installed near the couple's driveway without asking their permission. Says Mrs. Sickmann: "We think they owe us an apology."

Telephone calls from the press have not been the worst intrusions. Several families have received inquiries from manufacturers offering product endorsement deals or from literary agents urging them to sign book or story contracts. "I've had about half a dozen offers," says Morefield. She adds: "One even wanted me to contact my husband now, in Iran, for his story, if you can believe that!"

Some news organizations have gone to great lengths to chronicle the family stories. The New York Post wanted to fly the Morefields to Wiesbaden, West Germany, if a Post staffer could go with them. One family turned down $10,000 and travel expenses to West Germany from a "media corporation of international reputation, definitely not a scandal sheet," in exchange for exclusive story rights. LIFE has offered to pay the airfare to the reunion for the five brothers and sisters of Hostage James Lopez of Globe, but with no strings attached. Keough has accepted a flight to Wiesbaden from Boston's NBC affiliate, WBZ-TV. The Boston Globe blasted that as "checkbook journalism." Keough fought back by temporarily refusing to talk to the Globe, cooperating instead with the rival Herald American.

ABC and CBS had made similar offers, she explained. So had the Globe.

Several hostage families have changed their telephone numbers to avoid such calls. But Plotkin is afraid to. She has re ceived two calls from her husband in Iran.

Says she: "It would be terrible if he called and found the number had changed." Bettie Kirtley of Little Rock, Ark., mother of Marine Sergeant Steven Kirtley, 23, al ways answers her phone on the first ring.

Most of the calls are from reporters. But one of these days, she hopes, it will be her son.

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