The Monday and Tuesday episodes of "The Montel Williams Show" past week were shocking, lurid and riveting.

In the world of daytime talk television, that means they were a smash.

Baltimore resident Jerome Stanfield told a national audience that he, a drug addict and carrier of the HIV infection, had raped more than 90 prostitutes in his hometown over the last three years. Teary-eyed and soft-spoken, he pleaded with Mr. Williams to help him end his "misery."

Even by the exhibitionist standards of daytime talk, this was powerful stuff, and the Williams people knew it. Before airing the programs, they took steps to maximize their impact.

They invited reporters from TV stations nationwide to attend the taping in New York March 16. They arranged for Mr. Williams to be interviewed. And they sent breathless faxes to TV critics trumpeting the shows in which "the self-professed serial rapist confesses for the first time his heinous crime" and by show's end "voluntarily put himself in the hands of police department officials."

Nothing was going to stand in the way of this triumph for Montel Williams. And nothing did, including Mr. Stanfield's recanting of his confession moments after the taping or the Baltimore Police Department's statement that it could not substantiate his story.

In fact, though Mr. Stanfield was taken into custody by the New York police after the taping, he was quickly released, his claims dismissed as a hoax. But in the don't-look-back world of daytime television, none of these facts proved to be obstacles. The shows aired without any corroboration -- or any regrets.

"If I had to do it again, I'd do it exactly the same way," supervising producer Mary Duffy said.

The episode is symptomatic not only of the cutthroat fight for survival in daytime television, but also of the blurring of the boundaries between rigorous news-gathering and the slap-- rush slake the public appetite for the salacious.

For viewers, there are no distinctions made about the information served up to them, no gauges offered to measure the relative credibility of different programs. At a time when even network news programs have been guilty of distortions and manufacturing evidence, who is to know which facts can be trusted and what standards are being observed? There are no warning labels for information shows (Caution: The following program contains information that we never substantiated).

In "Confessions of a Serial Rapist," Montel Williams' two-part interview with Mr. Stanfield, the show applied a peculiar logic. Instead of taking the position that it would broadcast Mr. Stanfield's sensational revelation only if it could confirm his claims -- a conventional journalistic standard -- the Williams producers decided to air his claims unless they were disproved.

"We have no information at this time that leads us to believe that he is not telling the truth," Mr. Williams said in introducing the shows. "We feel it is our duty and our responsibility to broadcast this program out of concern for public safety."

An appreciation of how Jerome Stanfield found his way onto a nationally syndicated TV show with 6 million viewers starts with an understanding of the world of daytime TV talk and its increasingly prominent role in American culture.

It's the world of Oprah, Geraldo and Sally Jessy Raphael, who embraced a format originated by Phil Donahue in 1968 that is in the midst of dramatic change. In recent years, there has been an explosion of new talk shows, supplanting game shows and soap operas. There are 16 daytime talk shows on the air, with at least 13 more in development.

"They are the future of TV -- low cost and high revenue," says Dr. Douglas Gomery, a media economist at the University of Maryland College Park.

The stakes are high

Daytime talk brings in $500 million a year in advertising revenue, according to industry estimates. But the best indication of the kind of money at stake is suggested by the contract Oprah Winfrey signed last week for $60 million a year. Diane Sawyer, perhaps the brightest star in nighttime news, makes $7 million a year under the terms of her new ABC contract.

But with all the new shows competing, the gold is harder to reach.

"I don't think there is any more room for growth in the number of shows on the air," says Barry Thurston, president of Columbia Pictures Television Distribution.

Montel Williams is locked in a fierce fight, trying to find a niche that will enable him to hold on.

In terms of ratings, his 3-year-old show, which is carried in 120 cities, is in the middle of the pack. It finishes seventh among daytime talk shows, according to A.C. Nielsen. That puts it ahead of such shows as "Jerry Springer" but well behind "Geraldo," "Donahue" and "Oprah."

Mr. Williams, a Baltimore native, is strongest with black viewers. In Baltimore, for example, which has the highest percentage of black viewers of any major TV market, his ratings are about three times higher than his national performance.

But being popular with black viewers is not enough to guarantee success; Mr. Williams still needs other viewers.

"The competition is unbelieveable today . . . and there's pressure every day to get ratings," says Bruce McKay, a co-producer of the "Rolanda" talk show and a veteran of 20 years in talk television.

And the way to ratings success, these shows have found, is titillation, sensation and intimate confession.

"Children Who Beat Their Parents," "Men Who Cheat on Their Wives with Other Men," and "Men Who Serve as Sex Slaves" are the carnival call to potential viewers.

Jerome Stanfield's brief elevation to national prominence began Friday, March 11, when he phoned the "Call-Montel" line and made his revelation and plea for help.

Ms. Duffy, the show's supervising producer, and Halle Sherwin, the producer of the Stanfield shows, say they responsibly examined Mr. Stanfield's claims.

They hired an investigator to verify Mr. Stanfield's name, address, Social Security number and claims of hospitalizations. They say the investigator confirmed those facts and also learned from an AIDS clinic at Johns Hopkins Hospital that Mr. Stanfield had tested positive for the human immunodeficiency virus, which causes AIDS.

Ms. Duffy said the key to "validating" Mr. Stanfield came on the weekend of March 12-13, when Ms. Sherwin had several phone conversations with Dr. Fred Berlin, a Baltimore psychiatrist who had treated Mr. Stanfield.

With Mr. Stanfield's permission, Dr. Berlin, who treats sex offenders and patients with inappropriate sexual impulses, spoke to the producers. Dr. Berlin and the producers agree on most key points of their conversations, though Dr. Berlin said they did not occur until Monday, March 14.

Dr. Berlin made these points to the producers: that Mr. Stanfield had told psychiatrists he had committed multiple rapes, that he had been uncooperative in counseling and that the Baltimore police had been informed of his lack of cooperation. Dr. Berlin also told them that Mr. Stanfield was not psychotic or delusional.

"I was very clear to them that there was no outside corroboration or had ever been one way or the other about whether he had ever done this," Dr. Berlin said.

The producers acknowledge those conversations but say Dr. Berlin said he believed Mr. Stanfield's claim. Dr. Berlin's supposed belief in Mr. Stanfield's confession was persuasive to the producers.

"It was very powerful, and that was one of our deciding factors to go ahead with the story," Ms. Duffy said. Dr. Berlin denies that he ever offered an opinion about whether Mr. Stanfield had committed rapes. Instead, he said he explained to the producers why the police were called when Mr. Stanfield became uncooperative. "The most I said was that if someone were to say something like this to me, I would certainly want to take it seriously and err on the side of public safety," he said.

On Tuesday, four days after Mr. Stanfield's call, Baltimore police learned of the purported rapes when a producer asked whether someone from the department would participate in the taping the next day. The producer told police about the claims but refused to identify the alleged rapist, said Sam Ringgold, a police spokesman.

"They didn't give anyone an opportunity for anyone to prove anything," Mr. Ringgold said. Still, he said, the police checked to determine whether there was any pattern involving rapes of prostitutes and found no evidence. And they sent two investigators to New York to attend the taping and question the mystery guest afterward.

Sister gets involved

At least one other person received a call that week. Mr. Stanfield's sister, Deborah Kane, said a producer asked her to appear on a show with her brother to discuss his drug addiction. No one from the show ever asked Ms. Kane, Mr. Stanfield's closest relative, about his claims of being a serial rapist.

Mr. Stanfield later told The Sun that the producers told him he would be paid $10,000 for his appearance on the show. Money was his sole purpose in calling the program, he said, but he never got any. The show's producers deny that they paid or offered him anything.

"We don't practice checkbook journalism," Ms. Duffy said.

Mr. Stanfield's life has become rather hapless. One of nine children, he graduated from Mergenthaler High School in 1976 and then attended classes at Coppin State College until 1978. In the 1980s, he was a mail clerk with the Baltimore Department of Social Services for about eight years. His sister says he was fired from that job because of drug use. He appears not to have been employed since last summer, when he worked at a Popeye's restaurant in Randallstown.

Convicted in 1988

According to court records, Mr. Stanfield was convicted of possession of marijuana in 1988 and was placed on probation. The records indicate he once served in the Navy.

In 1990, he was convicted of stealing a stroller and some clothing from the mother of two of his three children. He received a suspended sentence and was ordered to pay a small fine. He never paid the fine, resulting in a warrant against him.

Mr. Stanfield and his sister say he has been a cocaine addict for at least 10 years and has spent time in treatment centers. A little more than a year ago, he tested positive for the virus that causes acquired immune deficiency syndrome. He has lived in various Baltimore shelters, with siblings and, until her death last year, with his mother in Randallstown.

On Tuesday, March 15, the producers flew Mr. Stanfield to New York, paying for his airfare and his hotel room. The next day, the two shows were taped. Mr. Stanfield cried as he confessed his addiction to crack, his "rage" when he couldn't get cocaine and his rape of 90 prostitutes. Mr. Williams did not ask for dates, locations or names.

Mr. Williams asserted on the program that there was no evidence of the rapes because no one is interested in prostitutes and prostitutes don't report crimes against them (an assertion disputed by police).

"When I am faced with a situation like this, where a person admits to a heinous crime, I've got to at least do something," the talk show host told his audience. "And I think right now there will be people on the streets of Baltimore and people all over this country that may be a little safer."

The climax of the first day's show came when Ms. Kane, wearing a wig and identified by the pseudonym "Sarah," was ushered onto the stage, where the camera showed her shock over her brother's rape claims. A title was superimposed on the screen under Ms. Kane's face: " 'Sarah,' Just Found Out That Her Brother Has Raped Over 90 Prostitutes."

"What I felt like doing was strangling [Jerome] and Montel, too," she later said. "I've been victimized."

The second show ended like a prime time police drama with detectives and TV reporters meeting Mr. Stanfield outside the studio.

But if Mr. Williams had let the tape run 10 seconds longer, viewers would have seen how the scoop had started to unravel before the cameras had been turned off.

Alicia Taylor, a reporter for WMAR, Channel 2, thrust a microphone toward Mr. Stanfield's face and asked, "How many women did you rape in Baltimore?"

"I didn't rape anyone," he responded.

In the face of possible arrest, a retraction might have been expected. But after Mr. Stanfield was questioned by New York and Baltimore police detectives, none of the authorities believed anything he had said on the program. They let him go. Baltimore authorities even refused to serve the warrant on Mr. Stanfield for his probation violation. They didn't think it was worth picking up the tab for his trip home.

After the shows were aired, Mr. Ringgold said, police received more than 30 calls from viewers wondering why Mr. Stanfield was free. They received no information corroborating Mr. Stanfield's claim.

Back in Baltimore March 19, Mr. Stanfield repeated that he had lied on the program, although he said he does have fantasies of "forcibly taking someone to an isolated area and raping them." With Dr. Berlin's help, he was admitted to Johns Hopkins Hospital that day and later transferred to the Walter P. Carter Center, a state psychiatric hospital on West Fayette Street. While there, he was served with the warrant for his probation violation.

Ratings bonanza

As for Mr. Williams, he got the desired response. "Confessions" earned Mr. Williams a ratings boost of about 10,000 additional Baltimore-area homes, according to Nielsen overnight figures. (National figures are not yet available.)

His producers say the shows generated more calls from viewers -- about 300 a day last week -- than any previous programs. They also say that four women say they may have been victims of Mr. Stanfield. The producers declined to provide any details, however, and did not refer the women to Baltimore police.

"I think Montel did a phenomenal interview," Ms. Duffy said. "He used his instincts. He used his gut."

That is an opinion not shared by Ms. Kane, who says she berated her brother after the show.

"Do you think Montel really cared about you?" she recalls asking her brother. "He did it for the ratings."

"Now, I know," he answered.