But I had also seen things at two networks that had troubled me profoundly: nationally important stories not pursued; well-connected, powerful people and companies with questionable policies and practices that were not investigated precisely because of the connections and the power they boasted.

My last 60 Minutes segment, “Foreign Agent,” featured well-known former U.S. officials and presidential campaign aides from both parties who were cashing in on their political connections by working as lobbyists or investment bankers for foreign entities. One of the latter was former Commerce Secretary Pete Peterson, at the time the CEO of the New York-based investment firm Blackstone and, more important, one of Don Hewitt’s closest personal friends. The two men were so close that Don would often join Peterson on his company helicopter for Friday-night flights to the Hamptons, thereby avoiding the summertime bumper-to-bumper traffic.

The script we’d written included the line, “For Japan and other foreign interests, finding former U.S. officials to do their bidding is not at all difficult,” accompanied by the image of a Japanese newspaper advertisement with five smiling Blackstone officials, extolling their prior U.S. government service and connections. The translation of the ad read, “If you are thinking about developing a new business or an investment strategy … that will be effective in the U.S., by all means, consult us!”

During the production process, when I showed Mike Wallace the photo I’d had shipped from Tokyo, Mike said, “That’s not our story—you’re not filming that.” And I countered, “Mike, what are you talking about? This is the nut of the story—former officials trading on the prestige of their former positions, trying to make a buck with foreign companies and governments.” Wallace and I had a huge expletive-filled shouting match, toe to toe, our faces close; I refused to back down, and he stormed out. We put the picture in the piece.

The first time Don screened the piece, he quipped, “I guess I’m not going to get any more rides on Pete’s helicopter.” But as the days and weeks wore on, with the piece not green-lighted for air—ostensibly because it was “too long”—I realized that I had no choice but to find some sort of editorial compromise, which was offensive to me then and, quite frankly, still is.

One day, while I was on the phone, Don walked into my office and asked whether I’d found a way to “fix” the piece.

“Yes,” I said, and I suggested that we remove Peterson’s name from the script and replace it with the name of another well-known Blackstone official, former Reagan budget director David Stockman. It was a nanosecond shorter—two syllables instead of three—and it solved the unstated, real problem that Don had with the story. Don smiled, said “Terrific,” and left the room, which meant the segment had just been approved for air that Sunday.

I picked up the open phone receiver and resumed my conversation with one of the segment interviewees, Pat Choate, the Ph.D. economist and author who later ran for vice president on the Ross Perot ticket in 1996. I asked Pat, “Did you hear all that?” And he replied, “Every word.”

The substitution of Stockman for Peterson didn’t settle all the problems with the piece. In the days leading up to the broadcast, other prominent people mentioned in the story had been applying personal and legal pressure on Don and Mike, as well as the president of CBS News. So instead of being praised for producing a powerful, important story, I was under siege, being blamed for causing problems. I found myself in an inhospitable environment for original investigative reporting and its occasional consequences—pushback from the powerful (which should be a badge of honor for a reporter), but also spinelessness from my employer about what we had just published. Wallace and I had several venomous arguments that week, none more boisterous or invective-filled than some phone calls in the hours before the Sunday broadcast, in which we literally hung up on each other.

The whole noxious ordeal made something inside me snap. The morning after “Foreign Agent” led the broadcast, in the midst of a four-year contract, with a family to support, a mortgage to pay, and virtually no savings, I quit 60 Minutes.

Producers there usually retire, voluntarily or involuntarily, or die on the job—hardly anyone just up and quits. In a brief phone call from my Washington office to the show’s offices in New York City, I matter-of-factly informed Mike Wallace that I had decided to leave. My announcement came moments after Wallace had called me, somewhat giddy, to say that CBS chairman Laurence Tisch had just phoned him with effusive congratulations about our hard-hitting story the previous evening. It was the best thing he had seen on CBS in years, Tisch had told him, a “real public service.”

Later that morning, I faxed Don Hewitt a three-sentence letter of resignation.

Wallace and others at the program later asked my friends and colleagues if perhaps I was having a nervous breakdown. Don Hewitt wanted to know if “this” was all about money; he indicated that my contract could be substantially renegotiated upward, and then I could get back to work.