For Hatch, fame has been the real test of survival

It's no stretch, not even a small one, to suggest that fame sank Richard Hatch.

Reality TV's most celebrated snake, who will be sentenced today for failing to pay taxes on the $1 million prize he won on the first ''Survivor" series, might never have been targeted at all had he not been sure to generate a certain kind of attention.

''Your odds of being prosecuted criminally for tax evasion are so low as to be almost nonexistent," says Peter Henning, a former prosecutor and current professor at Michigan's Wayne State University Law School. The federal government is resource-strapped and tends to choose plaintiffs who will earn the most attention.

Even before he won ''Survivor," Hatch emerged as one of the show's most distinct characters, known for his Machiavellian tendencies, his skill at catching fish, and his penchant for walking around the island naked. His victory was seen as a triumph for connivers; fans debated whether he should be admired or despised.

News of his comeuppance reached far beyond the financial pages, fueling gossip columns and late-night monologues. ''The media can make you a star," Henning says, ''enough for the IRS."

Still, six years after ''Survivor I," it's worth considering why America took the news so gleefully. For reality stars, Hatch offers a special cautionary tale -- about the danger of a TV persona that sticks, and the public's capacity to hold a quasi-fictional grudge. If the aftermath of reality TV is hard to bear, the aftermath of the aftermath can be wicked.

''We don't really like to see the scoundrel win and then gloat, which is basically what Hatch did. It offends our naive sense of justice," says University of Iowa professor Mark Andrejevic, the author of ''Reality TV: The Work of Being Watched." ''We live in a world where lots of people who are kind of jerks do end up winning and gloating. Maybe TV is one of those places where we like to see them get punished."

Whether Hatch, 44, is actually a scoundrel has been a matter of debate. From the start, since he took the ''Survivor" prize, Hatch has insisted his ''character" was a calculated shtick, created by TV producers and his own sense of competition.

Hatch, convicted in January on three counts of tax evasion and deemed a flight risk, has spent the last few months in jail awaiting sentencing. He faces a maximum of 13 years in prison and a fine of $600,000.

His lawyer, Michael Minns, wouldn't comment for this story or facilitate an interview with his client. Hatch's manager, Alan David, declined an interview request, and several ''Survivor" alumni did not return requests for comment. But some who knew him when fame struck say Hatch seemed to understand the balance between milking his TV character and presenting a more rounded image.

Within days of winning, he had signed on with the top-dog Creative Artists Agency. Within months, he was presenting at the MTV Video Music Awards. Annie Leibovitz shot his photo for Vanity Fair. Time named him one of the most important people of 2000. Talk shows put him up in fancy hotels and fed him free meals. He booked a stint on ''Hollywood Squares" and a gig on Boston radio. He was plucked to headline a nudist cruise. He had endorsement discussions with Reebok and talks to host a version of ''The Weakest Link."

Through the initial flurry, Hatch was savvy and grounded, with an edgy sense of humor, says Amanda Horton, his publicist for six months after ''Survivor." ''I don't think he had any illusions about what [fame] was going to bring," she says; his attitude was, ''Let's take advantage of the fact I've been put in the limelight."

He also seemed magnanimous about his former life. Early on, Hatch publicly thanked his former high school teacher, Paul Mello, for supporting him as a troubled kid. ''He was very gracious," Mello said by phone from his home in South Wakefield, R.I. ''I think he was using it to thank me for what he maybe didn't thank me enough for at the time."

And Hatch seemed committed to his early pledge to use his winnings for good. With Mello's permission and advice, he resurrected ''Horizon Bound," an outdoor program for troubled youth that Mello had run when Hatch was a teenager. Reporters began to gush about Hatch's soft-and-gentle side.

Still, the bad press was concurrent, and often reported with a wouldn't-you-know-it wink. Days after he returned to Rhode Island from the ''Survivor" filming, Hatch was arrested for child abuse after yanking the ear of his 9-year-old son. The charges were later dropped. The following fall, a judge found him guilty of assault after a scuffle with an ex-boyfriend. The conviction was overturned on appeal.

Still, the images stuck. And as showbiz demands slowed to a trickle -- by 2004, Hatch seemed to mainly get gigs on reality spinoff shows, such as ''Survivor: All Stars" and ''Battle of the Network Reality Stars" -- the bad news seemed to take precedence. Hatch, accused tax cheat, was a storyline that seemed to resonate. ''Hatch Can't Outwit Tax Man," read one headline last September, when he was indicted for tax, mail, and wire fraud.

The trial itself played out as a sort of battle over Hatch's personality. Prosecutors tried to paint him as the artful schemer the country had seen on ''Survivor." His lawyer described him as the ''world's worst bookkeeper:" smart about TV, perhaps, but not about accounting.

Mello, who testified on Hatch's behalf, said he believes Hatch wasn't trying to cheat. Ever since high school, Mello says, Hatch ''would make up his mind as to the way he sees things are, and he definitely will stick with that. I don't see him as evil, as some people have portrayed him."

In January, Hatch was convicted of three counts of tax evasion, for failing to pay taxes on his ''Survivor" winnings and the money he earned on Boston radio. He was acquitted of bank, mail, and wire fraud charges, related to charges that he had misappropriated funds for ''Horizon Bound."

He's almost certain to get jail time, says Henning, the law professor. Most likely, he'll wind up in a minimum-security federal prison or a prison camp, where the living is dormitory-style.

But TV experts know, by now, that fame gives Hatch a clear advantage over fellow cons. ''If he plays his cards right," Andrejevic says, ''He'll get another reality show out of this."