June 2007 - Posts
by Marianne O'Donnell, Dateline Producer
The murder of Christa Worthington had been national news for more than four years by the time I stepped inside the Barnstable County Superior Court on Cape Cod.
It was October of 2006 and the state of Massachusetts was about to present its case against Christopher McCowen, a 34-year-old garbage man accused of raping and murdering Worthington inside her Truro home one winter night.
After reading reams of news copy on the case I felt pretty well versed in the broad strokes and adjectives of the victim’s life: attractive; cultured; bohemian; sharp-witted; Vassar-educated; accomplished fashion journalist. But like most of my colleagues I had no idea who the real woman was, and that was by design. CONTINUED >>
We heard the news of Seth Cook's passing from his parents, who sent the following note Monday evening:
It is our regret to inform you that on June 25, 2007 at 2:10 p.m. left the presence of his family on earth to join his family in Heaven. He will be missed by so many as there were so many lives he touched. I believe it was Ruth Graham that said we look at death the wrong way. We see it as we are loosing someone dear to us, but, there is a homecoming in Heaven as Jesus is welcoming one of his precious children into his arms. Our angel boy has gone HOME, but, Jesus has given us the hope that we will see him again.
Blessings to All of You!
You all made his life worth so much.
Patti and Kyle Cook
We originally told Seth's story last year in a story called "The Remarkable Seth Cook." For more information about progeria, the rare disease that ages children prematurely and took Seth's life, visit the Progeria Research Foundation.
by Fred Rothenberg, Dateline Producer
I learned a lot from Seth Cook. And he was only 11 years old.
When I first met Seth for a Dateline story, he was racing his toy truck down the hill in front of his house in Darrington, Wash. Because he was just 3-feet tall and would never get any bigger, he was actually "on" the truck, riding down the hill. I was scared for him, but he had mastered the move and showed no fear.
It was Seth's lot in life, as teacher, that he taught so many people not to worry about him and enjoy him for who he was.
Who he was, was so much more than just a boy with progeria, the rare disease that ages children prematurely. Except for his wisdom beyond his years, he would never grow up ... just grow older.
He was a joyful pre-teen who loved playing video games and watching his hyperactive dog crash-land trying to reach an elusive bubble. Oh, did that make him laugh as the dog -- who was not hurt -- landed with a thud.
But that wasn't his only type of infectious laugh. Anyone who watched him play a cutthroat game of Monopoly will remember that infamous cackle as he successfully maneuvered past enemy properties and collected 400 bucks. Then we'd all laugh as he fanned himself with his new-found pile of cash.
But we also cried when he announced to correspondent Rob Stafford, "I can't wait to get to heaven." It had gummi bears, chocolate rabbits and no limitations on the fish he would catch, he said. His late grandfather was there, too.
As we all wanted, Rob said he wanted Seth to wait ... to wait long enough for a cure for progeria.
Well, there's a big hole on earth today and a bigger addition to heaven.
Seth Cook died Monday, a month before his 14th birthday. His huge heart finally gave out on him.
As his mother, Patti, said in announcing his passing: "He will be missed by so many as there were so many lives he touched."
Dateline and our viewers were honored to be among the people he touched.
For more information, visit The Progeria Research Foundation
Airing Wednesday is a Dateline/Court TV exclusive about the mysterious murder in Cape Cod of Christa Worthington, a high-profile writer for fashion magazines, and the trial that finally took place more than four years after her death. Dennis Murphy reports.
Airs Dateline NBC Wednesday, June 27 at 10 p.m. Click here for a background story.
By Joe Delmonico, Dateline Producer
Let me be candid: I was predisposed not to like these guys.
You see, I am not a royal watcher. Quite the contrary. It’s always been hard for me to care about the doings of people who were born into immense wealth, guaranteed admission to the finest schools, and assured of a lifetime of total privilege, comfort and security, without having to earn any of it. William and Harry don’t just automatically go to the head of the line—they never see the line. How can they possibly have insights that are relevant to those of us leading normal lives? And aren’t they so programmed to always say the right thing that they’re incapable of the spontaneity that makes an interview interesting?
Add to that the inherent hassle of interviewing such people. It’s nobody’s fault, just the way it is. For example, you can’t interview two princes just anywhere. Their representatives decided the interview should take place at Clarence House, which is the official London residence of the Prince of Wales. It’s a lovely old building with manicured gardens and a courtyard where there’s a footprint reputedly left by Henry VIII. Clarence house also has security cameras watching your every move, machine guns on the roof, and guards who wear those very photogenic red coats and beaver hats and carry very impressive assault rifles. We were cautioned – only half in jest-- not to stray too far from the area assigned to us, lest bullets start flying.
Also for reasons of security and the princes’ comfort level, the palace representatives required us to severely limit the size of our crew and radically simplify our usual lighting setup. (The fact that this ancient building has ancient wiring also argued in favor of the fewest lights possible.) We all of course underwent the usual background checks, and all our camera and lighting gear was gone over by bomb-sniffing dogs.
All the while I am asking myself: for what? So we can interview a couple spoiled kids with nothing much to say?
Then the interview started.
CONTINUED >>
by Stone Phillips, Dateline anchor
I like inspirational stories. We in the media don’t do enough of them. So when I heard about the Vietnamese-Americans of New Orleans and how their remarkable recovery after Katrina lifted an entire community, I was intrigued.
The tip came from a friend of mine named Thuy Vu. Thuy and her husband Phuc are former boat people who now operate a radio station in Houston. In the aftermath of Katrina, their station became an open channel for communication and a beacon of hope, broadcasting in both Vietnamese and English to help connect storm evacuees with families willing to open their doors, shelter and feed those in need.
(Thuy Vu and her husband Phuc, photo courtesy of Radio Saigon Houston) CONTINUED >>
Tommy Nguyen, Dateline producer
I was told by my senior producer to bring my small digital video camera for a simple reconnaissance mission. That was the initial idea.
The Vietnamese American community in New Orleans was doing some astonishing things post-Katrina, and my senior producer thought an extra pair of eyes might be helpful as Stone went down to check out a story. Even though it began as a research trip, my senior wanted someone who had some shooting experience to go along. While I am certainly no cameraman, I was looking forward to the assignment. And my understanding of the Vietnamese language, even on a mere first-grade level, would probably come in handy.
The scouting project had a special appeal for me. Unlike my experience as a print reporter -- where I often covered a range of specialized topics -- I’ve since discovered that working in television news forces one to be a generalist most of the time.
But here was a world I’ve known since I was five years old. Growing up in Orange County, California, my mother would take me on weekend shopping trips to the sprawling Vietnamese community of Little Saigon, about a 20-minute drive away from my family’s first home in east Anaheim. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but at that age I knew my mother was a different person whenever she took me there.
CONTINUED >>
by Josh Mankiewicz, Dateline correspondent
This will be Paris Hilton’s eighth night behind bars, probably the most-discussed jail term ever.
Monday on “The View,” Barbara Walters talked about the phone call she received from Hilton, who’s in the medical ward of the L.A. County jail.
Harvey Levin, TMZ.com: She’s doing better. She’s adjusting to it. She’s still fragile. But I think, just psychologically, from what I’m hearing, she’s not this ping pong ball anymore. She knows she’s going to be at this facility for awhile.
Last week, Harvey Levin’s TMZ.com was reporting Hilton was disintegrating under the pressures of incarceration...saying she’d become sullen, withdrawn...a train wreck....and being visited by her psychiatrist.
That set up last Friday’s tug-of-war between a sheriff who sent her to home detention and a judge who wanted this Hilton back in the crossbar hotel.
What’s also astonishing about this case is not just the attention it has received, but the venom it’s generated. Browse any Internet board—you’ll find a legion of posters wishing Ms. Hilton a long, unpleasant stay in the hands of the law.
It’s not just the blogosphere—one Web site is selling “Paris Go Away” T-shirts.
And while she’s a familiar target in the late-night cross hairs, the huge audience reaction to any mention of her plight is so enthusiastic, it’s become predictable.
Why do people care so much about her fate? CONTINUED >>
by Keith Morrison, Dateline correspondent
Sometimes the people you never get to meet are the ones who somehow stick in your imagination. Wanda Wood Darling has been dead 10 years now, and yet every once in awhile, the picture intrudes: that innocent young face staring out at a future she would never experience, hope and disappointment written in equal measure on her plain, broad features.
Wanda lived in a world that values pretty girls, that worships perfect bodies and cosmetic features; she was lovely on the inside. I mean, really lovely. Wanda took care of people, had done so all her life. She loved her family, her friends, the people in her town. Can you blame her if, in return, she wanted to know how it felt to have a boyfriend, to be married in a fine white wedding dress, to be loved by a man?
So here is the question we set out to answer, as we followed the strange case of Wanda Wood Darling's violent demise up on the rocky cliff face in Alaska: Did she really know the man who claimed to love her? Did wishful thinking cloud her judgment?
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