I Had to Say Something (26 page)

“Okay, what happened?” I asked when yet another newsroom staffer greeted me in the lobby. She took me back to the newsroom, which was again abuzz with people scurrying back and forth and phones ringing like crazy.

Just like the day before, a lot was happening, but nothing in particular seemed to be in the works. I sat as patiently as I could.

The following news release came across the wire moments after I arrived:

“He resigned! He resigned!” a staffer cheered.

My eyes welled with tears. No one was saying a word to me directly. I felt sick to my stomach.

“How do you feel about Ted Haggard stepping down?” asked the reporter. I felt like I had been coldcocked. I tried to compose myself, dabbing my eyes to make sure they weren't too puffy. I could hear the camera buzzing, laying in wait for my response.

I cleared my throat and said, “I wish the best for Ted.” Damn, this was harder than I'd thought it would be. “I hope he looks within himself and finds honesty. I wish the best for him and his family and congregation.” After pausing a moment, I said, “I hope that he can return to the church when the time is right and do what he enjoys in life.”

Then, with no emotion whatsoever, one person took off my microphone, another shut down the camera and the lights, and another gathered some papers and other items. And they all left me sitting there, alone.

I don't remember saying good-bye to anyone or even seeing anything else happen. I exited the building and went home. Just like that.

Before I even opened my apartment door, I could hear my phone ringing. Simultaneously, my cell phone started ringing as well. The number on my caller ID was from KHOW.

“Mike, we still need you to do the polygraph test,” Greg
said. “Can you do it early tomorrow morning at 5:00 a.m. and then come back to the studio to discuss the results?”

“Okay,” I told him, in what sounded to me like the voice of defeat.

Then there was a knock at my door. By that point, I was moving like a zombie.

“Who is it?” I asked. So much for a secured building.

“
Denver Post
, Mike. Could we please speak with you?”

“Hang on.” I told Greg I would do it. Then I shuffled to the door, unlocked it, and invited the two people—I assumed a reporter and a photographer—inside. I spouted off the same answers I had given all day and posed for a few pictures. All the while, my phone kept ringing off the hook.

How ironic that the one call I decided to take while the
Post
was there came from the other major Denver paper, the
Rocky Mountain News
.

“Can we come over now?”

Well, why not? They were there in a flash, which made me think they had been parked outside my building. I buzzed them up, answered more questions, and tried to look like the hunk next door while fighting off my emotions and fatigue.

“Are you happy he resigned?” I was asked.

“He only temporarily resigned,” I replied. “Who knows what will happen tomorrow?” Truer words had never been spoken.

After the reporters left, my phone kept ringing all through the evening. I got calls from news outlets in Germany, Ireland, Australia, and the BBC in London. Somehow, ABC News got through. They wanted to tape something for their morning show,
Good Morning America
, and asked if they could send a limo for me. I looked at the clock and saw that it was only seven. It felt like it was already well past midnight.

Again, I said sure. The limo picked me up and took me to a studio just west of downtown Denver. I was still wearing the same clothes I'd had on all day. Stopping in front of the building, the driver passed me off to someone who walked me down a long hallway to where two men with a camera and microphone were waiting. By that point, I knew how to slip the microphone wire under my shirt, so I just did it myself.

As I sat in the hot seat, I could hear the two men talking with New York, trying to make sure all communications were working. Then, 3-2-1 and it was show time.

“You're sure it was Reverend Ted Haggard?” they asked. This was getting old. I offered them the tapes I had made of Ted's voice mail messages. A reporter in New York asked one of the men in Denver to get a player so he could listen to them. Apparently, this reporter had interviewed Ted Haggard just a couple of weeks earlier. I started playing the tapes, and as soon as I finished the first one, the reporter said firmly, “That's him, no doubt that it's his voice.” That made me feel great because I was still dealing with people doubting my story. Once the question and answer session was done, I posed for some footage, and then, quick as a wink, I was back in the limo and returned to my apartment.

It was almost nine o'clock. The calls started to slow down a bit but not for long. Flashing through the caller IDs, I was impressed by the numbers I saw. Yet after more than twelve hours of nonstop calls to discuss the link between Ted and me, I was getting very tired and feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

Why am I doing this all by myself
, I thought.
There must be someone I know out there who can help me.
But try as I might, I couldn't think of anyone I knew whom I could call for help. I knew nothing about the media, but there I was,
talking with the Associated Press,
Newsweek, Time
. Even Arianna Huffington called, though she wanted to know more about the nude photo spread I'd done for
Inches
magazine years ago. How did she find out about that?

Before long, it was 10:30 p.m. I had not eaten since morning. Since I usually consume large amounts of food on a daily basis, I was famished by that point. I hadn't had so much as a protein bar all day. My body felt like it was crashing, but there was no way I could fall asleep. I do not sleep very well when my life is boring, and it turns out that I sleep even less well when it seems that everyone in the world wants to talk to me.

Half an hour later, the calls were still rolling in. That night I learned the hard way that many reporters never give up. No one wants to be left out, so they just keep calling.

“No, I did not fall in love with Ted,” I told one reporter. As the night wore on, I kept thinking that I had to get to bed so I could take that polygraph test in the morning. I finally managed to turn off my phone around one o'clock.

That night, Ross Parsley, who was quickly appointed interim senior pastor of New Life Church, wrote to the congregation: “It is important for you to know that [Ted] confessed to the overseers that some of the accusations against him are true. He has willingly and humbly submitted to the authority of the board of overseers, and will remain on administrative leave during the course of the investigation.” Parsley added, “Please continue to keep Ted and Gayle and their family in your prayers.”

Boy, what a long day. As I was finally falling asleep, I realized that no one was coming out of this a winner, including me.

For three days, I had awoken earlier than normal and did not have time to go to the gym. Call me names, but keep me from the gym, and I can get mean. Just in time for my polygraph test, I awoke from a very disturbing nightmare with one very bad migraine. I took a Maxalt tablet and hoped it would kick in fast. On top of that, I was also having trouble breathing, which usually means that an asthma attack is coming on. I reached for my Albuterol inhaler and took a couple of puffs. I wondered if the medication would affect the polygraph results.

John, the polygrapher, met me at the door of his office and took me to the room where he had his equipment set up. More nervous than the previous day, I asked him if my migraine and wheezing and overall queasiness would affect the polygraph test.

“It shouldn't,” he replied.

We spent almost an hour going over questions and procedures. He asked me if I understood everything. I felt I did, so we started the test.

None of his questions were about drugs. The first one was simple: “Did you have sex with Ted Haggard.” Of course my answer was yes.

It was impossible to feel relaxed with all those wires hooked up to your arms and chest.

Another question he asked was, “Have you ever sneaked a peek at another man at a urinal?” I would have responded yes, but he had prepped me earlier to answer no on that question. My guess is that he needed that to make sure a lie would show up on his monitor.

After he was done, I was ready to thank him and leave. But then he said that we were going to do it all over again, just to
make sure the results from the first round of questions did not vary. I was not happy, but I had come this far, so I said sure.

After he got his last reading almost thirty minutes later, I was glad to get unhooked from all the equipment. While I waited, John pulled out the printout of the test and examined it. I watched him mark certain areas and write some comments. It was nervewracking, but I felt fine because I was sure everything was all right, and it would show I was truthful.

After checking a few more things, John looked at me sternly and said, “Mike, I have some bad news. Your test shows deception.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Are you kidding?” Suddenly, I felt I was being set up, but I knew I had to keep calm. “What is ‘deception'?” I asked as calmly as I could.

John told me that rather than say someone “failed” a polygraph test, which is technically incorrect, the results of a polygraph may indicate that someone is trying to deceive or not present a correct or honest picture. He also told me that people who give polygraphs do not use the words “lying” or “liar.”

John went on to say that the polygraph simply showed “deception,” repeating that word again. But to me, that meant I was a liar. And now this information would be made public, and everyone would think I'd made the whole story up.

I was devastated. I sat there, slumped in my chair. I called Peter to let him know the horrible news.

“You haven't been lying to me, have you?”

Peter's response to my “deception” was pretty flat, and the thought of taking more angry calls from listeners plunged me into an even worse mood. I gathered my things, hopped in my Pontiac, and began one of the longest thirty-minute drives of
my life, all with John right on my tail since he was going to be on the show as well.

“It's all over!” I said to myself. Once again, I cried. How would I dispute the test? How was I going to face Peter, Paula, Patricia, the reporters, and the public? All I could envision was a big headline that read “LIAR,” right next to a picture of a smiling Ted Haggard.

I took some deep breaths and reminded myself that I am a survivor. I have survived everything from bullying to baseball bats to the head. I would survive this, too.

How could I have failed?
I asked myself. As I came within blocks of the studio, I tried to steer my mind toward happier thoughts. I did not want anyone to see me cry. To make matters worse, several television trucks with high antennas protruding into the sky were parked in front of the radio station waiting for me. I drove right past them and parked in the back as I had before.

A staffer met me at the back door and let me in. Instantly, my public relations persona went into action. I wore the same game face I used when a client arrived for an appointment. It had served me well throughout my life, but this was the first time I remember questioning whether or not my face would hold up.

When the elevator stopped at the studio floor, I felt my heart sink all the way back to the ground floor. The doors opened, and the games began. It was Mike Jones versus the world this time.

I mustered a smile, trying to hide my pain. None of the photographers and reporters heckled me, and they all seemed nice. There must have been ten to fifteen of them.

Once I got inside the KHOW studio, I sat down, put on a pair of headsets, and waited for the show—or the roast—to begin. Five cameras and reporters also crowded in with me, as well as John, the polygrapher, and Peter. The whole time, I held on to my portfolio, the one with the envelope from Art, my tapes of his voice mail, and other items that would help me prove my case.

As the show started, Peter told the world that he would be reading the results of my polygraph test live on the air.
Where would it all end?
I wondered.

After a commercial, Peter asked John for the results, and my mind went blank.

“The test showed deception,” John said. By that point, I had given up trying to keep my poker face on.

“I must admit, I was surprised by the results,” John added.

He went on to say that, based on his preliminary interview with me, I seemed to be telling the truth. I tried to listen more closely, but my migraine was going so strong that I could hear my own heartbeat better than I could hear John and Peter.

“What do you think, Mike?” Peter asked me.

“I just don't get it,” I said. “The questions were about sex, not drugs. Sex is the reason Ted Haggard contacted me to begin with.” I took a deep breath, trying to remember what I just said and searching for my next words. “I stand by my story and the facts.”