Send in the clowns

On the night of April 26, 1993 -- nearly three years after Pottker's initial magazine story on the Feld family had caused such a commotion -- Robert Eringer attended a presentation on family dynasties that Pottker was giving at a local library. When she finished, Eringer introduced himself, said he liked her ideas, and wanted to help her get some books published.

Like any writer, Pottker was flattered. She'd gotten "several" nibbles from book publishers after her Regardie's piece, she told him. She also confided that she'd just sent a piece about child abuse at the circus to Mirabella (a now-defunct women's glossy). She'd love to work with Eringer if he could help, she told him. They agreed to meet again soon.

So began one of the strangest campaigns ever waged against a writer, freelance or otherwise. It would become a convoluted, drawn-out saga that seems at once tragic and ridiculous. Ridiculous, because it's unclear at times exactly what Feld was getting for his money. Although they tried, there is no direct evidence that Eringer or George succeeded in causing any book publishers or magazines to reject Pottker's proposals -- although they may very well have. By their own testimony, however, they admit that they ran an eight-year-long operation to divert her into different projects.

Eringer promptly reported on his easy seduction of Pottker to Clair George, especially the important detail on her piece for Mirabella, "which was finished but not edited," according to their undated "Memo No. 1" to Feld. "It is our intention to monitor Pottker closely."

But spying on her wasn't enough. They needed to distract her as well. "To this end, we need a hook," they wrote to Feld. They planned to commission a book on the Rockefellers, which, they wrote, "will side-track Pottker for many months to come -- probably a couple of years." Since book advances are customarily paid out in thirds, they explained, "if we agree to an advance of $35,000 we will need only $11,666 up front."

There was an additional benefit, Eringer reported. "It will give me the opportunity, as Pottger's [sic] 'editor,' to monitor her work closely and, incidental to the (book project), collect intelligence on her sources and methods pertaining to her interest in Ringling Bros."

As it turned out, the Rockefeller book would never happen, but a book on the Mars candy family would -- with many problems from the moment it was published. And for years to come, Pottker would face one perplexing hurdle after another, unaware that her career was being monitored, prodded and shaped by a group of spies.

In late 1991 Eringer was busily insinuating himself into Pottker's life, as friend, book partner, confidant. They met regularly at restaurants and talked constantly on the telephone. One day she told him she was distressed to learn that an editor at Mirabella, who had at first received her circus piece enthusiastically, now wanted a "new direction," which could take months. She wasn't sure why, but, as Eringer wrote, she had noticed that the magazine "is now owned by [Rupert] Murdoch," the right-wing media baron not reticent about using his publications for partisan ends. She'd also heard from her editor that an attorney from the Feld company had called Mirabella to disparage her as "a tabloid writer with no credibility." Eringer reported this, too.

Next Page: Pottker's story dies on the vine

• View blog reactions