Adults in the Room: Blame the Messenger

You've probably heard you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

Well, I disagree.

“On the latest episode, I talk to a cover designer who's job it is to catch your attention.”

You'll hear about all the work that goes into it, plus we'll critique the covers of some of last year's most popular books. Listen to meet me here on the KUOW app or wherever you get your podcasts. Focus from KUOW in Seattle. This episode includes descriptions of abuse and discussion of suicide. If you or someone you know is in crisis, call or text 988 for the suicide and crisis

lifeline, or contact the crisis text line by texting talk, T-A-L-K, to 741-741, please take care while listening. In the 22 years I've been a journalist. My thing has been investigation with a focus on a particular beat.

“I call it the Bureau of Men Behaving Badly.”

My proudest moments have been revealing the missed deeds of powerful people, who let's be real, tend to be dudes.

A rock star, accused of assaulting multiple women, a Seattle nightlife mogul suspected of rape and assault, a Seattle mayor who witnesses said pulled a gun on a pregnant woman. I wonder sometimes why these characters appeal to me. You could make the case that for the past two decades, I've been rewriting the story of my senior year at Garfield High School in Seattle. That I'm still the crusading teenager who wants to expose the bad guts, even when it's risky.

But now, I've got better tools to work with. I've developed my reporting methods and to be honest, a lot of my identity on the premise that what I do for a living is unquestionably good.

“But when I say that, a voice in my head sometimes goes, "But is it?"”

The misconduct I expose can ruin people's lives and shatter communities. I know this too well because I've lived through it. During senior year, when we were editors for the messenger, our school newspaper, my best friend, Ella, who's hugging an eye, heard that a popular teacher, Tom Hudson, had possibly abused at least one student.

We reported that allegation to school authorities, we hinted at it in an article, ultimately Mr. Hudson was placed on leave.

An art journalism teacher who we admired and respected tried to kick us off the paper. That was just the beginning, because Ella and I had unwittingly set off a series of events that would shock Garfield for years to come. And in doing so, we put targets on our own backs, our teachers, friends, even local media, all but accused us of destroying a great man. And it seemed nobody would be satisfied until they've destroyed us too. From KUW Public Radio in Seattle, this is adults in the room, episode three, blame the messenger.

I'm as old or after. It was the week after Thanksgiving of our senior year. Ella and I sat on the floor of the messenger classroom. Our journalism teacher, Dave Eric, stood in front of us. He said two editors on the paper had acted unethically.

They'd taken a rumor about Mr. Hudson and printed it as fact, and now Mr. Hudson was suspended. Mr. Eric was asking these editors to resign. He didn't call anyone out by name, but everyone knew who he was talking about, Ella and me. We just published a story, questioning student teacher relationships, and it included an anecdote told to us by Ella's ex-boyfriend. He said he'd been pressured by Mr. Hudson to shower with him naked after the two-played racquetball at Mr. Hudson's gem.

We kept it vague, writing that Ella's ex felt sexual tension from an unnamed teacher and kept his distance after. Ella's ex said the teacher didn't like that, and started treating him differently.

But Mr. Eric still blamed us in front of the entire messenger staff for his colleagues' suspension.

“Which was confusing, because Mr. Eric had already heard even more troubling allegations from us about Mr. Hudson.”

And he'd promised to take action. Just a few weeks earlier, messenger reporter Rosie Bancroft and Ella told Mr. Eric that a friend of Rosie's was also coerced to shower with Mr. Hudson on several occasions. And that sometimes Mr. Hudson was aroused in those showers. Rosie's friends said that Mr. Hudson even kicked him once in anger, and that the teacher gave students alcohol and shared porn magazines with them on his boat.

Rosie and Ella assumed that as a mandated reporter, Mr. Eric would go to the authorities. Instead, Mr. Eric said he'd have a man to man talk with Mr. Hudson and convince him to knock it off. And he directed Ella and Rosie to not tell anyone else. But Ella told me everything. And I went to my social worker mom who'd phone the authorities within weeks, Mr. Hudson was placed on leave.

I've often wondered why Mr. Eric thought talking to Mr. Hudson directly would be effective. I didn't see how having a chummy conversation with stop Mr. Hudson from taking advantage of teenage boys. But I got the feeling that Mr. Eric didn't believe Mr. Hudson's actions qualified as abuse. He'd been quoted in the Seattle Times a few weeks earlier in a story about our principle, Dr. Al Jones, who had been suspended the month before for a sexual relationship with a student.

In the article, Mr. Eric opined about student teacher interactions saying quote, "There is a lot of doubt as to what the line may be. Because when we hear about inappropriate conduct that is not a legal or intimate relationship matter, that leads a lot of territory." As Mr. Eric chastised Ella and me at the messenger staff meeting,

he expanded on that, telling the class that even he crossed the line with students sometimes, but he thought of us as adults and expected us to handle it. The school bell rang, "I burst into tears and bolted from the room. I was devastated about being fired. Ella stayed behind to try to convince Mr. Eric to change his mind."

“"I had this notion that, like, this doesn't make any sense. You must not understand.”

I know he's like a kind of a dick, but like, I'm just going to talk to him." Alone in the classroom with Ella, Mr. Eric said, "Our anonymous story in the messenger was obviously about Mr. Hudson. How many teachers meet with students outside of school?" he asked. Ella mentioned the swim coach, but Mr. Eric was in no mood for a good faith debate about journalistic

ethics. He gave me a lecture, basically, where he was like, "Well, you know, Ella, I've done a lot

of psychoanalysis, and the world is just not black and white. It's gray." And, you know, it goes both ways in these relationships and what about the students who, you know, come over to me and rub their tits on me when they're asking about their grade? When Mr. Eric said that, Ella remembers a feeling of suddenly leaving her body, but Mr. Eric didn't stop talking. Through the fog, Ella tried to focus.

Mr. Eric said that when he was a student, teachers made sexual advances toward him, but he didn't push back because he didn't want to jeopardize those relationships. Teachers, hitting on students, students, hitting on teachers. Mr. Eric implied that was just high school.

Nothing worth tarnishing or respected educators career for. Here's what Ella wrote in her diary at

the time. It was so f*cked up. He made himself the victim and put his older and I in a position where we couldn't defend ourselves, but everyone was questioning us and what we did. But Ella also found herself wondering, "Maybe Mr. Eric had a point." And he felt sort of persuaded. I remember feeling a little bit like, "He's right. I don't know. There's a lot. I don't know. I'm just a kid."

And actually, there probably is a lot more complicity in terms of how these relationships work

“between students and teachers. And they felt very like confused. And did I do something wrong?”

What do I know? It's such deep, deep, deep gaslighting and it was so effective on me.

earring and he wore leather and he seemed awesome. You know, even if we knew he was sometimes a little

achy, it didn't take away from his like coolness. I'm almost embarrassed to say this now, but Ella and I really did think Mr. Eric was deeply cool. He was a man in his 40s and he was flirty with us in a way that felt exciting at the time. Even though we were his students and miners,

“Mr. Eric made us feel like equals with his mature banter. I remember one time Mr. Eric and I were talking”

about a story in the messenger classroom. He paused, looked me up and down and said, "What size is your underwear?" I froze. Wait, what? He was watching me for a reaction, so I laughed. I felt like I had to play along. When he asked again later, and then another time, I turned it into a joke. I wrote the bus to Archie McFeeds, a gag shop in Seattle, and bought a gigantic pair of tidy whiteies. I then made a big show in front of our whole class,

pinning them to the wall. From his desk, Mr. Eric laughed. I thought he'd stop asking about my underwear after that, but he still wanted to know. Seriously, what size? Dude. Mr. Eric

wasn't the only grown-up leering at us. The first time I noticed a man ogling my friends

“was on Ellis' 12th birthday. We were wandering through downtown Seattle. Our mom's”

trailed behind. I heard one say to another, "They're at that age when men start checking them out." Once I saw the first man eye in us, it was impossible not to spot the others. The mom's thought it was gross, but seemed to view this as an inevitable right of passage. Just pretend you don't notice them staring. Pretend it's fine when your teacher asks about your underwear. After Mr. Eric called for our resignation from the messenger,

I felt like a lost child. So I be lined to another adult at Garfield. Cheryl Chow,

our interim principal. Miss Chow was a local legend. Her mom was Ruby Chow, a restaurant owner who regaled the journalist and politicians of old school Seattle. Miss Chow had been on the Seattle

“City Council and was close family friends with Bruce Lee. Yes, that Bruce Lee. She'd been brought”

in to clean up Garfield after the sex scandal that ended the tenure of our previous principal. Which meant the day I talked to her, she'd been on the job for less than two months. Miss Chow listened as I sobbed and told her what Mr. Eric said. She looked angry. "He can't fire you," she said. "Your students!" In all the drama I forgot. The messenger wasn't a job. It was a class. Miss Chow told Mr. Eric he couldn't make us resign and she said

something else. He had to apologize to Ella and me in front of our peers on the newspaper. Mr. Eric must have sent his apology to Miss Chow for approval because I found a copy of it during our research for this podcast in a trove of Miss Chow's old records. I asked a co-worker at KW to read part of what he said to us. "You are, to me, fellow adults, pursuing journalism. I'm guilty of confusing these priorities. My comments in this class, which resulted in my

calling for editors to resign their positions, resulted from this confusion. Most of the time I am happy to confuse you as adults because for one, you almost are. And for two, it makes for a wonderful working relationship." A few days later, Seattle's alternative weekly paper, the stranger wrote a short news piece about Mr. Eric's failed attempt to fire us and how Miss Chow came to our defense. When I read it, I freaked out. Ella and I had no idea

how our story came to their attention, but we knew Mr. Eric would punish us for it. Which he did. Mr. Eric demoted us from our editor positions. He put me on arts reviews and he made Ella a photographer. None of this helped Mr. Hudson. The district soon launched an official inquiry to see if the allegations against him had any merit. They brought on an investigator who was headed for Garfield. And over the next few months, this investigator and I would talk a lot.

On the latest sound politics, why would an Iranian American in Seattle support the U.S. and

and hear from many people with complicated feelings about the war, including an Iranian American Democratic lawmaker who feels what comes next is going to devastate your own. Already, the human toll is steep. We'll talk about the future in what Iranian Americans in the Seattle area hope for on sound politics wherever you get your podcasts. Soon after Mr. Hudson was put on leave,

I started getting pulled from my first period physics class. The classroom phone would ring.

This was a clunky, cute green landline, fused to the wall. My teacher would answer. Hello. And then turn to us, make eye contact with me, frown, and mutter into the receiver. I'll send her down. The school districts investigator waited for me in the main office. L.A. and I helped each other remember this guy. He was an ex-cop from Chicago.

“His name was got this accent. Eddie, Eddie, somebody junior. Do you remember Eddie Hill?”

Indeed, Eddie Hill senior. He was an older black ex-cop who wore rumpled suits and reminded me of

detectives I'd seen on TV. In winter 1999, Eddie Hill and I met every week. I assumed he wanted

to talk to me because my mom had reported the allegations about Mr. Hudson to the authorities. Our chats lasted roughly 15 minutes. I told him everything I'd heard about Mr. Hudson. But usually, Eddie did most of the talking. He divulged what others were saying to see what I thought. As a journalist today, I tried to be like Eddie and find the sources I can trust. I call them my rabbis. These are incitors who feed me intel, guide me around potential landmines,

and vouch for me to others who have information. I pointed Eddie to Rosie Bancroft,

who knew a lot about Mr. Hudson. Besides being a reporter at the messenger,

Rosie was also a member of Post-84, the after-school outdoors club that Mr. Hudson ran. A group that was extremely loyal to their leader. Rosie said her post-84 friends were fine with her

“talking to Eddie Hill at first anyway. I think maybe they thought great, like whatever say”

whatever you'd say, a lot of your system and the long one about our lives. Winter break came and went 1999 turned into 2000 and the investigation continued. When I look through school records from that time, it's clear that Mr. Hudson's many defenders were anxious about how long Eddie Hill's investigation was taking. I have copies of old faxes sent to Mark Green, the top attorney for the school district. I can't tell who wrote them

because the sender's personal details are blacked out, but they seem to have come from parents. One reads, quote, "You indicated things would be wrapped up by the time school resumes. I'd like to know if things are unscheduled or if something unforeseen is delaying matters."

“There are also phone messages from unnamed parents from Miss Child, scribbled on note paths,”

saying Eddie Hill did not have permission to interview their kids any longer. Post-84 students were also done cooperating with the investigation. When Eddie called members back for interviews, they denied knowledge of any inappropriate behavior by Mr. Hudson and Rosie said her clubmate started pressuring her to stay away from Eddie. That wasn't all. Boys in post-84 approached Rosie to say they had lied about Mr. Hudson. They said Mr. Hudson hadn't done anything wrong.

As Rosie recalls, this reticence to comply just prolonged the inquiry. The whole investigation was in this position where like, "Okay, there's plenty that we can't just let this go, but there's not enough that we can act on it because the people who were there are not willing to talk about it, and so it just kept going on and on and on." I became a target of this pro- Hudson push to. One evening, the student president of post-84

called me at home asked in me to stay quiet. At that point, I'd been talking to Eddie for weeks, and I had no interest in changing course. I know now that part of the reason for post-84's sudden hostility toward the investigation was because Mr. Hudson was talking to post-84 kids and their parents. He was calling them distraught by his distance from the club he

admired so much? The district heard that Mr. Hudson was still in touch with his students.

“They sent a letter telling him to stop, but he didn't. This campaign of silence wasn't”

keeping Eddie from doing his job. In fact, the details he shared with me were more shocking than anything I'd heard before. One day, he asked me if I'd heard about incidents of oral sex involving Mr. Hudson. I hadn't. Eddie questioned Rosie about this, too, but she didn't

understand what he was saying at first. He had to explain to me what Felicia meant.

I could also feel a tone shift from a lot of my classmates. They seemed colder, more stand-offish. E-mails between L.A. and me at the time showed that we both thought Mr. Erick's apology would get our fellow student journalists back on our side. But we were wrong. The messenger's

“news editor wrote an open letter to the stranger, defending Mr. Erick. After the all-weekly”

published the story about our almost firing. It's not the job of any paper to report on rumors. She wrote, "It felt like a slap in the face. This tension followed us everywhere at Garfield." I had this English teacher who I really, really liked. She was like, "Well, I really want to teach

you guys how to waltz. You kids never learn formal dances, and I want to teach you to waltz, but I can't.

If I touch anyone, even like on their elbow, I might be the next person in trouble." And I just felt like, "Wow, fundamentally, nobody gets it. This is not about a f*** elbow touch." Our teachers had always liked L.A. and me, but as the investigation into Mr. Hudson dragged on, they became short with us. One teacher invited L.A. and me to her house for tea, and then scolded us saying we'd done the wrong thing by reporting the claims against Mr. Hudson.

And my first period physics teacher, the one who kept getting calls from the main office to

“excuse me during class, lost one of my exams. At least, that's what he told me. He let me retake it,”

and I got an A. But he reduced my overall grade to a C, because he averaged the retake with an F from the missing test. That knocked down my GPA, and it meant I couldn't be valid Victorian. It felt like the entire school had turned against L.A. and me. Every day, we were subjected to a mere constant barrage of angry looks, snide comments, an outright retribution for speaking up about Mr. Hudson, and it would only get worse from there.

I've lived in Seattle most of my life, but I've often felt like a bit of an outsider. I think that's because I'm an immigrant, my family moved here when I was four. My dad is Irish, my mom is from France, and we spoke French at home. My mom's sister is used a term to describe the sad bitter anger I felt in the winter of my senior year. Amen. It also sounds like French for out at C. That was me, salty and alone. Garfield was the first place where I'd found my people,

but after blowing the whistle on Mr. Hudson, I felt like an interloper again. I joked in emails to L.A. that I couldn't eat anything but Eminem's, but it wasn't far from the truth. I was often nauseous. Between November and February, I dropped from £90 to £75. It was obvious that most of my friends were keeping their distance from me. I wrote to L.A. about how I no longer knew how to talk to people, and that I had nothing to say anymore. But then, L.A. started

pulling away, too. She now regretted telling me about Rosie's friend. I felt like you're the one who took

this, and when told you mom, and now, you know, I'm in the hot seat. I never want to be in the hot seat.

I hate that. It was just so upsetting. Like our senior year, which was supposed to be so fun, sort of, marred by this really horrible experience right in the middle of it. We had been in this together at first, but our closeness became suffocating. It's like a scab, you can't stop picking. Like, I just remember being like, I'm tired of being angry, I'm tired of being sad, and so we did,

and our emails, but they became less frequent. When we did write, it was to ask each other, why we weren't spending time together anymore. Ella hung out with other kids, but she felt like no one wanted to be near her. Sleep was hard. She had nightmares and nashed her teeth. At school, someone called her a nark. It was a joke, but it's stung. My mom saw how I was struggling. She sent

me to a psychiatrist whose office was past the university bridge. As I walked across it to my first

appointment, I stopped at the midway point. I held my breath. What if I jumped? I couldn't see a way through these bad feelings, but I was so exhausted, even dying felt like too much work so I kept going. My boyfriend Toby seemed to be the only person who wanted to spend time with me. You heard about Toby in episode 2. He was in post 84 when they went on a scuba diving trip with Mr. Hudson to Maui. And Mr. Hudson made Toby nap with him in the back of the group's truck. Toby was a tall chill guy,

but he couldn't reconcile the teacher he knew with the one I was describing. And that frustration entered our relationship. We fought at her folks' plays. We fought at my folks' plays. We fought at the

“beach from her perspective. I think it was sort of like how can you not see what's happening here.”

And for my perspective, it was how can you accuse this good person without actual evidence. And how do you believe this about this person? I spent a lot of time at Toby's house and tried to talk to his parents about Mr. Hudson. They are some of the sweetest people you could ever meet, but they seemed unsure of how to engage me. I was wild-eyed and fanatical about Mr. Hudson's guilt and they probably didn't want to disagree and set me off. I'm a mom now and my heart hurts

thinking of what this must have been like for them. The limbo of not knowing if Mr. Hudson was a predator and the fear that they might not have protected their children from him. Toby's older sister had been in post 84 or two. We're talking eight years of trusting your kids off in mountains and oceans. And that, I mean, that's a hard thing to as a parent to say, wow, this is possible.

“What situation was I letting my kids get into this whole time?”

As a journalist, when I ask my sources to go on the record about sensitive situations, I don't tell them I've been in their shoes. But I say it will be hard to speak the truth that people will doubt you and then it'll get worse. You can expect blowback from those who don't want whistleblowers to speak up. You may be too anxious to sleep or eat. You may wish we've

never met. But then I say, it will get better. And that's when you'll find out something

important that you are very brave. It's a pep talk I wish I could have given my younger self. By the end of January 2000, Eddie Hill had been investigating Mr. Hudson for two months. I started to worry that the school district was prolonging the investigation on purpose. My graduation was a semester away. Would Eddie Hill disappear once Ella, Rosy and I

“weren't around to make trouble anymore? Would the district let Mr. Hudson return to school?”

Would he abuse more boys? Then on February 2, at the start of lunch, Ms. Chow's voice boomed through the intercom. Toby remembers hearing it. There was an announcement over the loud speakers to call you in a set of folks into Cheryl Chow's office. And I remember people being angry later that she sounded too chipper on the intercom announcement like, "Hey Bulldogs, can such and such

come on down?" And I just happened to be in the main office and basically she was like, "Well,

you can come into." Ms. Chow had requested an urgent meeting with post-84 student leaders. Strangely, police officers were there too. Toby doesn't remember much from this meeting, or who delivered the news, but he recalls how quiet everyone got. Lunch ended and fifth period started. Ella and I went to AP American government. Ella's mom was a nurse practitioner at the Garfield Health Clinic. She pulled Ella and me from class

Ella's mom kept saying it wasn't my fault. And Ella said she never wanted to come back to Garfield.

I went looking for Toby. I found him in the school's computer lab. I remember being in that room across from the messenger in the computer room with his older,

“just bawling my eyes out. I just remember that was the only time I ever cried at school.”

As I held Toby, Ms. Chow got on the inner calm again. Students, this is Principal Chow. It is with sadness and concern that we must announce the death of Mr. Tom Hudson.

What she didn't say? First responders had found Mr. Hudson's body in a motel room north of Seattle.

He died by suicide. When I first saw Toby in the computer lab, I was afraid he was angry with me. I could draw a direct line from when I reported the allegations about Mr. Hudson to his death.

“But to my relief, Toby fell into my arms. Here's how I described this moment in my diary at the time.”

I feel Toby's tears soak through my coat and I like it. I am glad to have temporarily taken

on the role of caretaker because figuring out what's going on through my own head would be too difficult.

Toby and I parted ways for the day. As I left the building, I ran into a group of classmates who peppered me with questions. What happened? How did he die? A girl in the group pointed at me and said, "Congratulations, you killed Tom Hudson. Everyone stared at me. I had no response. The Seattle Post Intelligencer, one of Seattle's two daily newspapers published a story about Mr. Hudson's death the next day. Reporter Rebecca Dan wrote that the school district would

probably not finish the investigation now that Mr. Hudson was dead." Then she quoted an unnamed teacher from Garfield, who said, "The question that's going to be looming is someone being falsely accused of something that can drive them to their death and ruin their career. And can this happen to someone else?" For the next week, the counselor at Garfield told Ella me to stay home for her own safety. She also put us on suicide watch, which meant she called us

every 30 minutes to make sure we were okay. We were not okay. No one was. But I wouldn't find out just how bad it had been for some of my classmates until many years later. And it would be a long time before Ella and I discovered if we really were the ones responsible for Tom Hudson's death. In episode 4 of adults in the room, 25 years after our senior year at Garfield, Ella and I scrutinized the life and death of Tom Hudson through the eyes of a member of his inner circle. He went into

talking about how worthless he was, how he doesn't deserve to stay with with all these people, how he doesn't deserve to have me in his life. I was like no Tom, you mean so much to me. You are a good person you do matter. This insider shares new revelations about Mr Hudson's final days and completely

“upends our idea of how far this abuse went. I heard that he didn't even remember calling me”

because he was so drunk and like how could destroying me not even be a memory for him. That's coming up next. Adults in the room is part of focus, a dedicated documentary channel from KOW Public Radio in Seattle, a proud member of the NPR network. Original reporting for this project was done by me, is older aftery, Ella who's hoggin, genie and all and will james. Our producers are will james and allot count. Our editor is genie and all. Music by BC Campbell,

additional music by Allet Cowan, logo designed by Alicia Via, Amelia Peacock,

our director of marketing is Makela Gianotti Boyle, KOW's chief content officer is Marshall Eisen,

“voice acting by Shane Mellon, Genie Andal, Phyllis Fletcher, Marshall Eisen, Jason Pegano,”

and Allet Cowan. Special thanks to Rosie Bancroft and Maria Coriel Martin. I'm

Azora Raffrey. Thank you so much for listening.