Utah lawyer turns 'porn czar'

By Marco R. della Cava, USA TODAY

SALT LAKE CITY — Paula Houston is only three weeks into her new job, but it already feels like years.

"If you had asked me on my first Monday how long I'd be doing this, I'd have said Friday," she says with a sudden grin, a rarity from this proudly conservative 41-year-old who prefers to keep her emotions in check. The job in question is Utah's — and by all accounts the USA's — first-ever Obscenity and Pornography Complaints Ombudsman, or as even the state office building's switchboard operators call her, "the porn czar."

Shortly after being named to the position, which Utah's legislature approved last year to the tune of $150,000 to cover a czar and an assistant, Houston found herself — and her sex life — front-page news.

She had spoken of her devotion to the Mormon faith, and headlines had translated that to: Single virgin takes job reviewing hard-core porn. Because Mormons decry sex outside marriage, local reporters had assumed her celibate status. Houston still refuses to get specific about her personal life.

"My sexuality is irrelevant to the job," she says over Mexican food, a favorite lunch. "I am here to help people fight for community standards. Besides, my job is more boring than most people think it is."

She's more likely to spend hours reading up on court cases than screening X-rated videos, though she has done the latter over the past decade as a prosecutor in nearby West Valley City. Utah may seem squeaky-clean, but it has its share of porn shops and nude clubs. Houston hopes to help stem that tide.

Although her new position is still in its formative stages, she describes her role as a resource for residents looking to curb porn in their communities. She will be paying special attention to Internet porn (though she says she's "not a techie") and checking out the latest software filters that parents can use to block adult material.

Hardly the stuff of courtroom drama. But Houston's new desk job has people buzzing. A spokeswoman for U.S. Attorney General John Ashcroft, a fellow conservative, says Utah's experiment will be studied.

Liberals also are watching; alarms have sounded in the offices of free-speech advocates such as the American Civil Liberties Union. "This position isn't necessary. There are laws in existence to help protect citizens from pornography," says Carol Gnade, executive director of the ACLU's Utah branch. "We're taking a wait-and-see attitude, but our fear is (Houston) might violate due process and First Amendment rights."

For some, Houston's appointment has a familiar ring.

"What's happening in Utah is a throwback to the Reagan days, when (Attorney General Ed) Meese was brought in as a morality czar," says Larry Flynt, a veteran of court battles as publisher of Hustler and other magazines. "But the culture has changed. People feel less comfortable imposing their values on neighbors."

Utah Attorney General Mark Shurtleff disagrees, suggesting that the porn czar concept could take off nationally.

"I've had calls from fellow state attorneys general, and they're all eager to see how this works out," he says. "But let me be clear: I hired Paula because she understands the First Amendment. This is not going to be a witch hunt."

Houston is convinced that her experience as a local prosecutor has given her a vital insight into her fellow Utah residents: Whereas Flynt feels Americans don't want to impose their values on neighbors, Houston says residents simply "don't know how to fight for local standards in a nice way."

One thing is certain: Houston has the home-field advantage in Utah's crackdown on porn.

A Mormon majority

Less a state and more a nation within a nation, Utah was settled in 1847 by a rugged band of Mormon pioneers. Today, this vast square swatch of mountains, plateaus and the Great Salt Lake is home to 2 million residents. Two-thirds of them are Mormons, followers of the strict Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which bans alcohol and sex outside marriage.

A fairly typical resident is JoAnn Hibbert Hamilton of the Salt Lake City suburb of Bountiful, mother to a brood of 21 kids from two marriages and foster parenting. She's a local crusader on the luncheon circuit who speaks against not just hard-core porn, but even popular women's magazines such as Glamour and Redbook.

"We want the covers of these sorts of magazines hidden from our kids, and I'm happy to say that with persistence, a number of local businesses have seen things our way," says Hamilton, a Mormon and state president of the national non-profit American Mothers.

Hamilton applauds the porn czar position, noting that amateur activists need legal resources: "There's a silent majority that's not speaking out, and with her help, maybe I can change that."

Not surprisingly, Hamilton and others are fans of businesses such as CleanFlicks, an Orem-based video rental chain run by Ray Lines.

CleanFlicks stocks Hollywood blockbusters — all locally adapted by Lines on his $100,000 editing machines to remove profanity, violence or nudity.

If you want him to edit your own copy, bring $12 and he'll see that Titanic comes without the sex scene between Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet; Saving Private Ryan will be free of gore.

Lines says he has written letters to leading movie studios to discuss any possible copyright infringement issues, but none have contacted him. He's convinced his is an idea whose time has come.

"This isn't just a Utah thing. Our Web site gets e-mail from people throughout this country, saying, 'When are you going to come to our state?' " says Lines, a Mormon. "We're tired of waiting for Hollywood to fix itself. Maybe we can do it ourselves."

In fact, he thinks Houston's appointment as porn czar might be superfluous. "I'm not so sure we need her," he says. "We're stocked with people with the highest moral values. I don't know, maybe Nevada can use her."

Back to Montana

Growing up in tiny, rugged Columbia Falls, Mont., Houston knew she wanted to see the rest of the world. So at age 21, she went off to New Zealand as a Mormon missionary. The experience changed her life.

"I really became more confident, more comfortable speaking with others. I was a law-and-order type of person already, so I decided I'd be a cop," she says.

Drawn to Utah because of her faith, Houston paid her dues as a matron in a county jail before attending law school in the mid-'80s at Brigham Young University in Provo. After graduating, she was hired as a law clerk in West Valley City, where one of her first cases involved pornography.

"It struck me early on that porn was a destructive force in families and the community," says Houston, who went on to chair various domestic violence organizations.

"I see how pornography always played into domestic cases, often men whose passion for it had eaten away at the family's core. I know statistics don't suggest a causal relationship, but there is enough of one for me."

Houston clearly prefers her world smut-free, and she's willing to get dirty for the cause. She recalls that during one trial in which she was prosecutor, she logged hours watching hard-core videos.

The experience left her "numb," she says, but it was worth it.

"It's not like you're sitting at home eating popcorn. You're watching and writing it all down, using technical terms for what you're seeing." She sighs. "You do what you have to do."

Houston clearly dreams of simpler times, particularly after her sex life — or alleged lack of it — briefly became the talk of the state.

Pursuit worth the spotlight

Once during lunch, the cold-eyed prosecutor vanishes, and the girl from Montana returns. A smile crosses Houston's face as she reminisces about Columbia Falls.

The walks around town with her parents, watching her brothers ride motorcycles, snowmobiling in winter and going fishing in summer.

The immensity of her chosen task isn't lost on her. Tackling pornography in the borderless world of high-speed Internet access, a world that seems far more tolerant these days than her state or her own sensibilities, sometimes seems daunting.

One can't blame her for wanting to nurture seeds of doubt.

"There are days," Houston says, "when I think I've had enough, and I just want to go back home."

Columbia Falls can wait. As Utah's first porn czar, Houston is ready to face public scrutiny — and, if necessary, crates of salacious material — in pursuit of her vision of decency.

Why bother? For her, the bottom line is as unambiguous as the restaurant bill that arrives.

"Because I feel like I'm helping people."