Free Teaching the Pig to Dance: A Memoir by Fred Thompson

possession, resulting in a very troubling picture of potential widespread corruption in the Blanton administration. Before long, Marie was working with them closely. It seems that our civil trial for wrongful termination was going to be the tip of a very large iceberg. Although the proof was still developing and Marie and I were limited to the facts of our case, we were able to paint enough of a picture of what was going on in Tennessee’s criminal justice system that the truth became apparent during our trial. She had been the only impediment to putting rapists and murderers back on the street after serving absurdly short periods of time in jail. Much to everyone’s surprise (including my own), we won our case, even though one of our key witnesses had been mysteriously murdered days before the trial.
    The verdict was front-page news across the state, with all the details of all the suspicious circumstances, and soon people began to come forward with additional information. Then the FBI developed an informant, and after that they carried out a sting operation. The governor’s house of cards came tumbling down. His legal counsel and his assistant hadbeen selling pardons and paroles out of the governor’s office. They were convicted and sent to prison. Ray Blanton was convicted of selling a liquor license.
    A few months after our trial, I received another call from Marie. She wanted to know if I wanted to go with her to listen to a talk that was being given by Peter Maas, the famous author of many books, including
Serpico, The Valachi Papers
, and
The King of the Gypsies
. He was appearing at a function in Nashville, and she wanted to tell him her story. I probably rolled my eyes while politely declining. The next day, she called me again. She said that she had met Peter Maas; that they had had a long talk, she told him the Blanton story, and she thought he might be interested in writing something about it.
    I assumed the role of the wise and worldly older brother and explained that probably what Peter was interested in was her and that she shouldn’t allow him to lead her on. After all, a governor going to jail was not that big of a story. A week or so later, she called me back. “Peter is still interested in doing something with our story,” she said.
    Losing patience, I said, “If he is interested in this story, have him come to see me and explain why one of the best-known writers of nonfiction in America thinks that this Tennessee tale is worthy of his time.”
    A few days later, lo and behold, with Marie in tow, Peter Maas, a sporty gentleman with a shock of gray hair and darkbushy eyebrows, was sitting across from me in my office, chain-smoking dark cigarillos, and answering my questions. “It’s not a political story, it’s a personal story—a courageous woman’s story. This battered divorcée, sole support of her three children, working at everything from a cocktail waitress to volunteering at the Catholic church, putting herself through Vanderbilt University, who had the best job that she’d ever had—this woman put it all on the line (the only one to do so) in order to stand up for the right thing. And this, by the way, was while all of the men around her were cowering.”
    “Wow,” I said. “Doggone it, I knew we had a story here.” It was Marie’s turn to roll her eyes.
    I went to New York and negotiated the book deal with Sam Cohn of ICM, Peter’s agent. The result was
Marie: A True Story
, published a year later, in which Peter followed the original vision he’d outlined in my office. The lead-up to our trial was the integral part of the story, with the trial itself written as the closing chapter. Marie and I were both pleased with the final product and marveled at the research that had gone into the book—the detail and drama that this consummate professional was able to weave together. And Marie deserved to have her story told. But the story was not quite over.
    Of course, it never occurred