Cover Story: Adventures in data mining

On Sept. 4, I first attempted to tap into the intricate system of records maintained by ChoicePoint. I logged on to the data-mining company’s website to find the answer to a dangling promise: that anyone can see the goods ChoicePoint has gathered on them.

I figured out in no time how to run a background check on my nanny, tutor, gardener or housekeeper. But I have none of these. And I found no mention of how to go about determining what ChoicePoint has on me.

So I sent ChoicePoint an e-mail, asking where I could find my own file. The company responded five days later, providing a link to an application I could fill out ... to request copies of all insurance claims made against my car or house.

I responded: “Hello again, and thanks for your reply. However, I think I wasn’t clear enough in my request. I’m not looking for a report on my home — or, I should say, I’m not merely looking for a report on my home. I’m looking for all of the information ChoicePoint has compiled on me (including background checks, employment checks, criminal checks, motor vehicle checks and whatever other information ChoicePoint can make available to businesses or the government). I feel that I have an obvious right to view this information to check it for accuracy.”

I never heard back, so I called. After placing me on hold for 20 minutes, a representative told me I could run a background check on myself, offered at www.choicetrust.com. The cost: $107.

My bosses decided my file’s contents would be too sparse for that price, considering I’m under 30 and have little in the way of a public records trail. And there’s no chance I was going to hand over that kind of cash. Fortunately, a co-worker, Scott Henry, volunteered to be the subject of my search, and CL agreed to reimburse me.

To order a copy of Henry’s file, I had to give ChoicePoint my birth date, Social Security number and past addresses. The screen then said my request couldn’t be fulfilled because my own identity couldn’t be verified. I tried at least 10 more times over several days before giving up.

CL Senior Editor John Sugg then stepped in and ordered our colleague’s file. Somebody from ChoicePoint was to call our guinea pig within three days to get his permission to release the file. But nobody from ChoicePoint rang.

Any number of the 30-plus federal agencies with which ChoicePoint holds contracts can get Henry’s file without his permission. But a paying individual can’t get it with his express consent?

On Nov. 10, after ChoicePoint invited me to their Alpharetta headquarters, I asked Chief Marketing Officer James Lee if $100 is too high a price to check one’s ChoicePoint file for mistakes.

“Undoubtedly the answer to the $100 question is yes,” Lee answered. “We are working on a pure self-check product. It will be a lot less than that.”

I also asked if having to hand over your birth date and Social might be a little intrusive if all you want to do is run a background check on, say, your child’s nanny. Lee said that if I was intimating that the information was being funneled into one of ChoicePoint’s gazillion databases, it’s not.

Finally, I asked why, after Sugg ordered Henry’s background check, it was never delivered. Lee promised someone would get back to me.

That very day, I got an e-mail from ChoicePoint spokesman Chuck Jones, who said Sugg’s month-old request was denied because the subject of his search was listed as “co-worker.”

“That is not a permissible purpose for which ChoiceTrust would allow an individual to conduct a background screening,” Jones wrote. “Had he entered ‘nanny’ or ‘tutor’ or ‘contractor’ or ‘pet sitter,’ ChoiceTrust likely would have allowed the screening to continue.”

In the end, Jones claimed, it was our guinea pig who was victorious: “It appears that ChoiceTrust worked to protect Mr. Henry in this case from what appeared to our system to be an impermissible screening.”