The beginner in newspaper work usually starts as a reporter of the simplest and most unimportant kind of routine news. The city editor tells him what to do and how to do it. The start is made easy for him. The prevailing1 supposition that reporters go out into the streets and hunt for news is far from fact. They do so in the small cities but not for big newspapers.
Newsgathering has become vastly systematized. Nineteen twentieths of the news comes through established channels of information and this explains why nearly all newspapers have the same facts. The sources of information are known in all newspaper offices. If a man falls dead in the street, or a fire starts in an important building, or an automobile3 crushes a child, or anything unusual happens in any street, it is known to every city editor within a few2 minutes; for a policeman reports it to police headquarters immediately, and reporters grab it. Similarly, shipping5 news is sent to the ship-news office; cases of sudden or unexplained death must be made public by official physicians; public parades and demonstrations6 are anticipated through the permit bureau, and so on. All day and all night this kind of news pours in to the city editor. With almost instant judgment7 he decides on its news value, discards it or hustles9 a reporter for the details. The new man gets the least important of this kind of work.
The city editor keeps a future book—like milady’s engagement calendar—in which under proper date he records the events to be of that day: business meetings, conventions, adjourned10 cases, public dinners, everything and anything requiring the presence of a reporter. It is one of the important factors of the newsgetting system. Its proper keeping involves constant drudgery11 and painstaking12 care in the reading of newspapers for announcements or for clews to anything that is to happen. He reads, for instance, that an important business meeting has appointed a special committee to report at the next meeting; but no date of the next meeting is given. So he asks the new reporter, maybe, to ascertain13 and record it in the future book. The new man does many such errands, verifies many statements of fact, chases down many rumors15.
In the great blizzard16 of March, 1888, when all transportation lines in New York City were abandoned came3 the story that several funeral processions were snowed under in Greenwood cemetery17. A new reporter was sent. He toiled18 through storm and snow waist deep to the burial place and back, a task requiring something like six hours to accomplish, and ended the day’s experience by thawing19 out his frozen feet in a bucket of water. And what he wrote was: “The rumor14 that three funeral processions were snowed under in Greenwood cemetery was found on investigation21 to be untrue.”
The city editor has many sources of information similar to those just mentioned. In the big cities he is responsible for getting the news of the urban district, a task that involves almost every kind of newsgetting. This is especially true of New York City, for taken all in all nearly everything happens in New York that can happen anywhere. It is of metropolitan22 reporting that we are speaking just now.
The new reporter is asked to make news reports of the simplest of happenings. The narration23 of ordinary events is the easiest of all newspaper writing. Any intelligent high school boy can catch the knack24 of it and many a bright newspaper office boy has gone on to better things by absorbing that knack. It is easy to acquire because it may be largely imitative—that is, almost all routine news reports are written in the same groove25 of construction and in very much the same language, year in and year out, for news topics constantly repeat themselves.
By routine reports are meant accounts of public4 meetings, conventions, legislative26 proceedings27, trials in the courts, market reports, accidents, fires, suicides and petty crimes. These things are of the utmost importance to the newspapers. They constitute a large proportion of the news of the day. They are the very life of the news columns as presenting a record of the day’s events. They are easy to write because they are written in the same manner day after day for they are constantly recurring28. The puzzled young writer cannot go far astray if he turns back in the newspaper files to a similar meeting or accident or event and imitates that report. But let him be warned that if he continues to work in that way he becomes a routine writer, a hack29 reporter, and his advancement30 ceases.
It is in this deadly dull routine writing of routine news that we have our poorest and most slovenly31 newspaper results. The indifferent work done in this direction is more conspicuous32 in the London newspapers than in our own for there news reports have been reduced almost to formula.
We have said that the dates of fixed33 events to come are accumulated in the future book—meetings of all sorts, lectures, balls, sporting contests, celebrations, ceremonials, excursions and the like, of which the number and the variety are innumerable. To each of these a reporter is sent. Usually he is told before he starts about how long an article is expected of him. But he is charged to note especially anything unusual, odd, strange, or queer that may happen or be said. And always5 he must report to the desk, before he begins to write, for instructions as to the exact length of his article. Often two or three reporters are sent to a big meeting, one to write the introduction, another the first half of the speaking and a third the remaining part of the proceedings. This is to save time; and often the first half has been written and is in type before the last man has quit the meeting. Likewise in cases of big disasters, big celebrations, big sporting events, six or eight men are sent, each with a definite part to cover. Each writes his part and the copy reader dovetails them together into one continuous article. Team work of this sort is common enough in big offices.
The new reporter gets his fling at all of this kind of work. If he has the genuine newspaper spirit he is fascinated by his every experience. He searches the paper eagerly for the bit he has contributed. With a glow of satisfaction he contemplates34 his little record of a news event standing35 out in clear type, and he reads it again with those shivery gusts36 of emotion sometimes called “the thrill of authorship.”
After a time, from the writing of petty paragraphs, he finds himself contributing articles a third or a half a column in length. The older men begin to notice his work, speak to him in praise of a well-constructed sentence or a nicety of verbal expression, ask him to come along with them to the beanery for a taste of coffee and cakes before going home for the night. He begins to participate in that most helpful and stimulating37 thing—the comradeship of the office. He comes6 daily in contact with forty or fifty men—garrulous veterans, and middle-aged38 marvels39, and youthful geniuses who are doing all kinds of newspaper stunts40 from constructing ponderous41 editorial articles and criticisms to exploiting The Stiletto in Stanton Street or The Bludgeon on the Battery. These men are good-natured critics of each other’s work and not less ready to praise than to condemn42 or question. They take interest in a new man of promise and help him. They read the newspapers and the periodicals, and the new books—for an intimate knowledge of contemporaneous events is essential to their progress. There are few dullards among them, few without positive opinions and a vocabulary to express them. Our young man greatly enjoys their explosive comments and their ferocious43 conclusions. They are so alert, so alive to everything that is going on. Their conversation is so interesting to him. The atmosphere is surcharged with good fellowship. Nobody is taking himself very seriously yet everybody is doing something in a businesslike way. Somehow things are different in the newspaper office from what he had expected.
The business of reporting becomes more fascinating as the reporter, gaining in skill and in ability, achieves to higher grade work. To write of big and important events becomes his ambition. It gives him prestige among his fellows, for it is the management’s testimonial of confidence in him. Not until after careful consideration does the managing editor name the men who are to report a national political convention, or7 the inauguration44 of a president of the United States, or a great celebration. The very best members of the staff are summoned to write of such events and the assignment comes to be considered as an office reward of merit.
To do the big thing of the day is one of the prizes of the reportorial business. Indeed, it may be said of the newspaper man, that from his earliest beginnings always there is something higher to be attained45 until he becomes the editor in chief.
In the newspaper offices of cities of the larger size, reporters develop into desk editors, city editors, managing editors, music or dramatic or book critics, or editorial writers. Many prefer to do outside work rather than become editors or critics—prefer to write for the news columns, to mingle46 with the outside world and take part in its stirring events rather than face the routine and the monotony of desk work.
They are especially interested in taking an out of town commission for the investigation of a subject of wide importance—a rebellion in Mexico, an uprising against the government in Cuba, a crisis in Canadian politics, a conflict between labor47 and capital in Colorado, a socialistic struggle in Schenectady.
Such assignments call for thorough investigation at first hand on the spot, call for an acquaintance with the leaders of the movement that frequently becomes familiar and lasting48, call for practical intimate study of the convulsion itself. Information thus gained may, after its publication in the newspaper, be used again in8 magazines, in books of record or in fiction. The special writer, for instance, who spends a month with the striking miners in the Michigan copper49 district comes to know much about life and labor there, about the copper industry, mining methods, the relation of the price of copper to miners’ wages, the smelting50 of ore, the transportation of the raw and the finished product and a thousand other details of the business.
The newspapers do a vast amount of this kind of work. Its proper exploitation necessitates51 intelligent treatment by the writer. His information forms the basis for editorial comment, not only by the editors of his own newspaper but by those of other sheets, the periodical press, magazines and reviews; and also frequently it leads to government investigation or interference or regulation. Two or three years of this kind of work give a large fund of information to the writer. It is of immeasurable service to him as long as he lives.
Likewise the man who writes for the news columns on national politics finds himself most agreeably employed. In reality he is a specialist. All of his time is required to keep apace with the kaleidoscopic52 changes of American political life. He must be familiar with the important politics of every state and every big city, for they have immediate4 relation to the politics of the nation. To that end he makes many journeys. His most valuable asset is personal acquaintance with public men—the men who make politics and political history—and the more intimate the acquaintance the more9 interest and confidence he may be able to inspire. The political writer seeks to meet public men on every possible occasion, seeks to keep in touch with them and with the politics they represent.
If a conspicuous political leader in a Western state goes East it will be a part of his routine to see the political writers. With them he goes over the political situation of his region, tells them just what is going on and what is contemplated53. Some of the talk is confidential54, and the writer keeps the confidence. In turn the writers interest him in what they know of the politics of the East and of other states. In this way—so briefly55 indicated—the political writer comes to comprehend the politics of the nation. He must read all obtainable political literature and must absorb political information from any source at hand.
As said elsewhere in this book, you cannot learn politics from a textbook; you must absorb the politics of the day by a study of the events of the day, and great mental ability is required to keep apace with them. Political conclusions made to-day are upset by the events of to-morrow. The issues of one election are forgotten in the burning questions of the next. The newspapers and the periodical press are great sources of information, but greater than these is association by the newspaper writer with the men who are making politics.
The writer of national politics makes frequent trips to Washington. He goes to the national political conventions and to many of the state conventions.10 He is called on to write sketches56 of important candidates and obituary57 notices of statesmen. His opinions and his information are sought by editorial writers and by public men themselves. The magazines ask him for special articles. The political managers pay him for campaign literature. The greater his experience the more his services are in demand. Not infrequently he is called into party councils or is entrusted58 with delicate political missions. Candidates and leaders seek his advice and his influence. Presidents, cabinet officers, senators, governors and mayors tempt59 him to quit newspaper writing to become their secretaries—and these places are usually stepping stones to higher public life. Several presidents of the United States have chosen newspaper writers to be their private secretaries, half of the governors of New York State, in the last thirty years, and nearly every mayor of New York City have drawn60 their secretaries from the ranks of newspaper writers.
Moreover writers on national politics frequently are called to the post of Washington correspondent, and here too, in yet greater degree, are these same requirements essential to success. Washington is the headquarters of national politics. Nearly every congressman61 is a political leader in his home district as well as in his state, and his activities and ambitions are quickened in the national capital. It is the place of all places to study political movement. The correspondent enjoys the personal acquaintance of presidents, cabinet officers, foreign diplomats62, the makers11 of party policies, the framers of administrative64 measures, and from them he comes to know what they are doing. Many state secrets are told to him in confidence; to betray that confidence is to make him persona non grata and to destroy the possibility of getting additional information. The supposition that the newspaper writer prints everything he hears is silly. Indeed, public men have come to know that a safe way to keep a political secret is to tell it to the newspaper correspondents with the injunction that it is not to be printed.
In addition to the gathering2 of political information the Washington correspondent writes of the doings of Congress. This of course involves study of public questions, the burning questions of the day. It furnishes a volume of information to the young man who is to continue his career as a journalist or who may turn to public or professional life, involving, as it does, study of engineering triumphs like the Panama canal, public improvements like the development of Western irrigation, tariff65 changes, taxation66, national banking67 systems, the problems of domestic shipping and foreign commerce. The correspondent comes to know about diplomacy68, the making of treaties, the relation of labor to capital, railway management, government regulation of traffic—and so on almost without limit.
The correspondent must know about these things if he is to write intelligently about them. He must be familiar with the business of the departments, must12 understand the army and the navy, should know the whereabouts of every regiment69 and every ship of importance. He should know the name and the politics and the post of every American diplomat63, should know government finances—indeed, should know everything the government does. These things constantly are recurring in new and unexpected ways and they must be treated as important news of the day.
Not less fascinating to the young reporter is his daily contact with men of affairs whom he meets in the course of his news collecting; not less interesting his intimacy70 with the events of the day that pulsate71 and inspire. His work becomes so varied72. It all is so new. His experiences are so interesting; and they become the more so as he gains in experience and is asked to do higher grade work. In his book on Newspaper Reporting Mr. John Pendleton of London says:
The reporter is the collector of news for the circulation of which the paper really exists. On his report of the Premier’s speech the editor bases his leading article. He records the splendor73 of the Queen’s drawing room, and the want and wretchedness of the poor. No festival is complete without him; and he turns up at every calamity74. He chronicles the deeds of the hero and the crimes of the miscreant75. He tells how the pulse of commerce beats in every market of the world. Science and art are beholden to his pen; and even religion itself has to thank him for some of its spread. He has become a necessity to newspaper production and no inconsiderable figure in national life.
The reporter is not sent out haphazard76; he is out for a purpose and that purpose is the collection at13 first hand of facts and information that are supposed to interest a multitude of readers. If they are interesting to those who read them, how much the more so to the young man who, after investigation and verification to his own satisfaction, puts his conclusions on paper!
And note, if you will, how important is the work. Since the first use of printers’ type the great events of the world, the events that have moved and influenced mankind, that have made the history of the world, have been announced first of all in the newspapers. They have been proclaimed to the world not by clergymen from the pulpit, or lecturers from the platform, or orators77 in legislative halls, not through the medium of books or magazines or pamphlets, or by the writers of editorial articles, or by critics—but in burning type by reporters.
It seems but yesterday, that midnight hour, when a reporter burst into the working room of a morning newspaper with the exclamation78: “He’s got it—we are going to have the electric light in every part of every house and over every desk in this room.” He had hurried from Edison’s first big test of the division of the electric current: had seen a hundred electric bulbs glowing in all their fascinating brightness by electricity transmitted over wires. And the people marveled at what he wrote about it.
Within the span of my own newspaper experience, reporters have given first information to the world of the discovery and development of electric lighting79, heating, cooking and propulsion; of Roentgen rays; of the14 telephone; of the phonograph; of the automobile; the player piano; of the typesetting machine and the multiple page printing press; the shoe-making machine; of breech-loading guns, machine-made cartridges80 and diabolical81 explosives; of the airplane and the zeppelin; of wireless82 telegraphy; of steel construction in big buildings; of the marvels of construction in gigantic locomotives and steamships83, in subways, and elevated railroads, bridges, and aqueducts; of bacillus treatment in medicine and the wonders of abdominal84 surgery; and hundreds of other developments of science. We have seen the declaration of a dozen wars and the signing of a dozen peace treaties; the announcement of the death of monarchs85 and the birth of princes, the assassination86 of rulers and the inauguration of their successors.
Some reporter has announced the discovery or the fact of every one of these things. He has been compelled to study the subject enough to write about it understandingly, and that study has brought him in contact with the men who have caused or invented it.
The reporter mingles87 constantly with the men who control the affairs of the world. This not only is fascinating, but it gives him confidence in himself, gives him personal address, ease of manner and of conversation, manliness88 of presence. It sharpens his wits. It takes away that paralyzing emotion so often felt by youth when in the presence of greatness. Nothing can be more stimulating to the intellect than association with intellectual men.
The reporter who writes of an important event usually15 is asked to continue on the case as long as it is of public interest. The man who wrote the narrative89 of the murder of White by Harry90 Thaw20 wrote of Thaw’s publicities for a long time afterward91. The man who reports a big labor strike is called on to report the next strike. He gets interested in the subject, makes it a study, and becomes authority on the relations between labor and capital. In this way as time goes on the reporter comes to be a sort of specialist in several topics and the knowledge thus acquired is of great value to him when he comes to editorial writing, or magazine work, or authorship of any kind, or if he goes into the law or into the public service or any other business. There is not any other employment probably in which a young man may gather so extensive a general contemporaneous knowledge as in newspaper reporting in a big city.
The speakers at a public banquet may drone on for an hour or so without saying anything or giving utterance92 to a sentence worth reporting and then something of supreme93 importance may be said. The good reporter recognizes its worth instantly; the poor one does not.
Colonel William Rockhill Nelson, who won fame as editor of the Kansas City Star, had this to say in an address to the students of a School of Journalism94:
There is just one point I wish to emphasize to the young men who are expecting to engage in newspaper work. That is, that the reporter is the essential man on the newspaper. He is the big toad95 in the puddle96.
16 Young fellows looking forward to a newspaper career often have in mind an editorship of some sort. They want to guide and instruct public opinion. The trouble is that the public doesn’t yearn97 to have its opinion guided and instructed. It wants to get the news and be entertained.
Consider who are making the real newspapers and magazines to-day. Not the grave and learned publicist who is giving advice on the state of the Nation from the seclusion98 of some hole in the wall; not the recluse99 with a bunch of academic theories.
It is the reporter with the nose for news. He is the only fellow who has any business around newspapers or magazines. In general his job is not to produce literature, but to do reporting.
Often a good pair of legs makes a good reporter. The newspaper man must always be on the job, always hustling100, always ready to go to any inconvenience or suffer any fatigue101 to get the news. And above all, so far as routine reporting goes, he must be honest and accurate.
Charles Dickens, who was a reporter before he became a writer of novels, says of some of his experiences:
I have often transcribed102 for the printer, from shorthand notes, important public speeches in which the strictest accuracy was required, and a mistake in which would have been to a young man severely103 compromising, writing on the palm of my hand, by the light of a dark lantern in a post chaise and four, galloping104 through a wild country and through the dead of the night, at the then surprising rate of fifteen miles an hour.
The very last time I was at Exeter, I strolled into the castle yard there to identify, for the amusement of a friend, the spot on which we “took” as we used to call it, an election speech of Lord John Russell at the Devon contest, in the midst of a lively fight maintained by all the vagabonds17 in that division of the country and under such a pelting105 rain that I remember two good-natured colleagues, who chanced to be at leisure, held a pocket handkerchief over my notebook after the fashion of a State canopy106 in an ecclesiastical procession.
I have worn my knees by writing on them on the old back row of the old House of Commons; and I have worn my feet by standing to write in a preposterous107 pen in the old House of Lords, where we used to be huddled108 together like so many sheep—kept in waiting, say, until the Woolsack might want restuffing.
Returning home from political meetings in the country to the waiting press in London, I do believe I have been upset in almost every description of vehicle known in this country. I have been in my time belated in miry by-roads, toward the small hours, forty or fifty miles from London, in a wheel-less carriage, with exhausted109 horses and drunken post boys, and have got back in time for publication, to be received with never-forgotten compliments by the late Mr. Black, coming in the broadest Scotch110 from the broadest of hearts I ever knew.
Of the reporter’s familiarity with limitless phases of life it has been said:
The reporter of to-day has to be courageous111, sharp as a hawk112, mentally untiring, physically113 enduring. He comes in contact with everybody from monarchs to beggars, from noblemen to nobodies. He sees the tragedy and the comedy of human life, its cynicism and toadyism114, its patient struggling and feverish115 ambition, its sham116 and subterfuge117, its lavish118 wealth and deepest poverty, its good deeds and most hideous119 crime.
Mr. H. G. Wells says of writers that “they meet philosophers, scientific men, soldiers, artists, professional18 men, politicians of all sorts, the rich, and the great.”
As illustrating120 the high place a man may make for himself while writing for the news department of a newspaper, let us quote from an editorial article in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
Of Saxon stock though of Irish birth, a Royal scholarship graduate of Trinity College, Dublin, William Crooke, for forty years of the New York Sun’s staff as a news writer and nearly all that period in charge of the Sun’s Brooklyn news, came to be known to every police and fire department official, to most of the clergymen and all the big politicians of either party in old Brooklyn as “Billy Crooke”; always respectfully and often affectionately regarded, trusted by every one because he never betrayed a confidence and never misrepresented any communication or interview.
Mr. Crooke, qualified121 by high education for the writing that analyzes122 and illuminates123 the world’s happenings, and a keen incisive124 stylist in his reporting work, was satisfied to be a reporter. He felt to the full the dignity of what he was doing; he realized that it is news that makes a newspaper, not features and not comment. He was a newspaper-maker in the best sense. Kindliness125, dry humor, accurate observation, integrity, and dignity made “Billy” what he was.
In most of the college publications one may find under the heading of Alumni Notes, an item such as this:
“’18, John F. Jenkins has accepted a position on the editorial staff of the New York Star.”
This means that Jenkins has got a job as a reporter. But Jenkins did not have the easy time getting it that19 the paragraph in the college paper would lead one to suppose. Nor did he “accept” the post: the Star accepted him. Before Jenkins landed on the Star he visited five newspaper offices, reached the assistant city editor of two, the city editor of one. He did not get beyond the office boy guarding the portals of the others.
Jenkins left four of the offices with a definite feeling that New York was none too cordial to a budding newspaper man. But he failed to consider, because he did not know, that two or three young men visit the city room of a metropolitan newspaper every day on an errand similar to his. And he failed to realize, because he did not know, that in normal times a conservative newspaper hires about one new reporter a month.
The city editor of the Star happened to need a man when Jenkins called. Jenkins was a college man; that was in his favor. His manner of approach was pleasing to the man who was thinking of hiring him. If the impression was good to the city editor it would also be good to the men to whom Jenkins might be sent as a reporter. His conversation was direct and to the point. He didn’t make extravagant126 talk about his ability; he was frank in saying that he didn’t know anything about the newspaper business, but wanted to learn and was willing to work hard to make good. He would be glad to take twenty dollars a week at the start and asked only for a trial.
“All right, report to-morrow at one o’clock,” said the city editor and Jenkins left the office in a daze20 with a job. He had been trying for three days to get one and the interview that landed it had consumed not more than three minutes.
Jenkins got the job because he was clean, intelligent and looked like good material. He had not made the mistake of thinking that impertinent aggressiveness would impress the man who was to hire him. He had not made the mistake of failing to remove his hat when he sat down beside the city desk to make his appeal. Several men had made that mistake with the city editor of the Star. A man who did not know enough to remove his hat even in an office, did not have manners enough to approach many of the men to whom the Star would send him. Jenkins did not waste the time of the city editor on nonessentials, and it was to be presumed that he would be as businesslike with those with whom he came in contact later as a reporter. Jenkins also had personality. He acted as though he meant business and realized that newspaper work was pleasant but not play. He had no letters of recommendation and the city editor didn’t ask for any. Letters are easy to get and as a rule do not count for much. Personality, such as Jenkins’s, counts a lot.
The reporter must be prepared to meet the active men of the world: the men who are doing the constructive127 work of the world. He must have presence and address to attract their attention. Usually he is a stranger to them. His presence is unwelcome to them. Experience has attested128 that the college boy is better fitted for this task than any other kind of beginner.21 He is familiar with the ways of society and has some notion of the public questions of the day and the vital problems of life. The green young man of uncouth129 appearance, of clumsy presence, of faltering130, stammering131 speech makes a mighty132 poor reporter.
Many newspaper office boys become good reporters. In constant contact with the editorial force they absorb knowledge of the business. Noneducated or partly educated youths may and do become excellent reporters of routine news, but they rarely get beyond the imitative stage. In the race for higher journalistic honors the college boys easily outstrip133 them.
A welcome addition to the staff is the man who comes from a country newspaper. Many of the ablest of American journalists began their careers in rural offices. The country boy usually knows something of the technical side of the business. Likely enough he has learned to set type or run a typesetting machine, has lent a hand in the mailing room or the delivery department, has mastered many details that, though not essential, have given a comprehensive notion of how newspapers are made.
Nor should the young man from the country, ambitious for city experience, stay away from the city through fear of competition or through timidity. Do not be afraid. The newspaper men of the city are not smarter than those in the country. I recall the youngster from a small up-state daily who with fear and trembling accepted a chance to work a few days on trial, in a big city office, as reporter. He went22 smashing around town for routine news and found the work not difficult. In a week confidence had conquered timidity. He observed the other reporters and workers and said to himself, “I can compete with these men”—and he did compete with them to his gratifying success.
Fascinating as the reporter’s life may be, it nevertheless has its unpleasant moments, its many hardships. The hours of work are irregular and unlimited134. Men on the big metropolitan morning newspapers report for duty at noon, one or two o’clock; those of the evening staffs at seven or eight, A.M.; and all are supposed to work as long as their services are required—not infrequently for fifteen hours. Newspaper-making is a continuous performance, especially for reporters. Frequently those employed in it suffer great discomforts135 through physical fatigue, lack of food and sleep, and exposure to weather conditions.
One of the court reporters of a morning newspaper in New York was finishing his work in the late evening. He had been on duty some ten hours and his work had been hard. Suddenly came the big explosion of the great munitions136 plant at Morgan, New Jersey137, and the weary young writer was told to hustle8 out there. At Perth Amboy he encountered the military guard thrown out to prevent approach to the burning buildings. In his attempts to get along he was arrested six times and detained. He phoned his facts to the office and was told to stay on. He could find no place to sleep—couldn’t have slept if he had—could hardly find a place to sit down even, could get nothing to eat23 or drink. Explosion after explosion followed hour after hour. And when at length he reached the office he was too exhausted to write a word. So they sent him to bed for six hours and then he wrote his report.
Very many other men had a similar experience that day and night. They were in constant danger of their lives, badly fed and without rest. They were driven from place to place by the military guard, and most of them were arrested over and over again. It was one of the most trying disasters to report of which we have record.
Several reporters nearly lost their lives while crossing Great South Bay in a tempest to the scene of a shipwreck138 on the beach. They capsized in a sail boat and the life-saving guard barely gave rescue.
Men sent to the Johnstown flood found the town wrecked139, scantily140 provisioned, and with no sleeping accommodations. They were compelled to stay there a week under most distressing141 conditions while the search for the dead continued.
The reporting of the great national political conventions requires unceasing effort for a week or more, the utmost vigil through night and day. Important committees are reaching decisions, new pacts142 and combinations are being formed, and the entire situation may be changing from hour to hour. There is no sleep for the unfortunate correspondent; he must be awake to the instant. The reporting of what is done in the public sessions of the convention is the least of his labors143.
24 When a man of importance falls mortally ill a reporter is detailed144 to watch him—to obtain the earliest announcement of his death. The vigil is constant. In scores of instances reporters have sat on the man’s doorstep waiting for him to die. This sort of work involves all the monotony of sentry145 duty. It is disagreeable in the extreme.
The newspaper boys are asked to do many unpleasant things. They are compelled to invade private homes and to ask agonized146 parents why a son or a daughter has committed suicide or has done a disgraceful act; to ask a husband whether it is true that his wife has run away with a neighbor, or ask a wife whether her husband is a fugitive147 from justice. The assignments that take a writer into a family that has been disgraced by one of its members are the most unpleasant, probably, of any that fall to him.
Indeed there is little of joyousness148 in any search for information that some one wishes to conceal149. Yet every editor knows that in very many important cases to be chronicled some one is interested in concealing150 the real facts. The people who want their affairs screened from public gaze constitute a multitude. Diplomats are reticent151. Government officers are evasive. Political plans are kept in the shadow, for publicity152 has ruined many a political plot. Bank officials seek to conceal defalcations. Insurance companies try to hush153 great losses. Society leaders wish to minimize society scandals. Usually in these cases the inquirer is lied to deliberately154 and calmly, or the door is slammed in his25 face, or the person sought refuses to be seen, or the reporter is sent on a fool’s errand elsewhere—anything to be rid of him. Some one has said that the newspaper man is asked to lie about people almost as often as he is asked to tell the truth.
To obtain exact truth always has been surrounded by difficulties. Almost every historian complains of the task of establishing the truth of history. He finds the literature of the time at variance155 with the facts; public documents and records absolutely contradicting one another; while the recollections and reminiscences of the oldest inhabitants are fanciful dreams. It was Talleyrand who said of a treaty that if it contained no ambiguities156 some should be inserted.
The young newspaper writer finds his task of telling the truth quite as difficult, not only because so many persons seek to conceal the truth but also from the well-known fact—recognized and constantly commented on in our courts of law—that two persons rarely see or hear or comprehend alike. Honest witnesses give different versions.
But the newspaper manager expects the reporter to get the exact facts, and frequently the unfortunate writer finds himself compelled to resort to trickery and all kinds of subterfuge to do so. If he fails to get the facts his advancement in the office is checked. Inquiry157 is made into the cause of his failure and if good reason for it appears it may be forgotten. If it is through carelessness or indolence he is discharged, and the reason for dropping him is known within26 twenty-four hours in every other newspaper office in the city. It is all very unpleasant.
If the new reporter be so unfortunate as to begin his career on a dishonest or an extremely sensational158 sheet he may suffer an experience yet more disagreeable, for he may be asked to distort the truth deliberately. Fortunately this is not a frequent request: Very few newspapers seek to print falsehoods or ask their men to pen untruths. Much less of that sort of thing prevails than disgraced the press of twenty-five years ago; yet a few editors remain who seem to think that exaggeration and falsification attract more readers than does the truth, and they demand that all news reports be colored with spectacular embellishment. This is unpleasant as well as unprofessional. It is demoralizing to a young writer. It is disastrous159 to his reputation for serious, trustworthy work. Yet more serious as well as more repulsive160 is the necessity occasionally imposed by dishonest editors on the reporter of blackening a man’s reputation or exalting161 the deeds of a scoundrel. But this does not happen often.
The confusion and noise of the office often annoy the young writer and lessen162 his ability to do himself justice. The news is usually written and handled in one large room. Twenty or thirty reporters, subeditors and office boys are doing rush work. A noisy reporter blows in, as though carried on a whirlwind, talks all the time, shouts for an office boy, calls for reference books and newspaper files and drinking water all in one breath, and keeps it going. Hurry-up telephone bells27 are jingling163 and men are bawling164 through the transmitters. Typewriters resound165 their staccato clicking. Call bells are striking and reporters are tapping their desk tops for office boys, and the boys are tumbling over one another in response, and are darting166 from desk to desk with copy. Persons are coming and going all the time, talking and laughing and shuffling167. The old hands are used to it; but the young man accustomed to the silence of the study room sometimes develops symptoms of insanity168.
Of serious consideration, also, is the fact that morning newspaper work sadly interferes169 with social and home life and with a host of amusements and entertainments and pleasures enjoyed by day workers. In the big cities members of news staffs seldom dine at home. The news writers go on duty early in the afternoon if not before; the news editorial staff at six o’clock or thereabouts, all to remain until well after midnight. Dinner parties, theater parties, dancing parties—all evening social life may be enjoyed on the one day only of the seven, known as the day off. The newspaper man toils170 while others play—and his night’s work ends somewhat dismally171 by his dragging home at two o’clock in the morning, maybe through storm or sleet172 or tempest, to a cold, cheerless, silent, dark home—a home unattractive under these conditions despite every effort to make it otherwise.
To the hard-working man of ordinary occupation there comes a certain sense of enjoyment173 in the relaxation174 following business effort. He does not want to go28 immediately and stealthily to bed. The morning-newspaper man is compelled to do so. The day worker enjoys his homecoming, his leisurely175 evening repast, the diversions of the few hours preceding sleep. It is the bright spot in the day. The newspaper man rolls off the editorial bench into bed.
This demoralization of home and social life constitutes a very great objection to entering the newspaper business. It affects nine-tenths of the morning-newspaper staff. If the young journalist chances to marry it imposes hardships on the young wife. Usually she begins her married life by loyally and cheerfully trying to sit up until long after midnight to greet him on his return—but not for long. The coming of children and the establishing of a home compel normal rest and other attentions, and she reluctantly ceases her long waiting vigil. Instead of greeting him with a daintily prepared bit of warm food she now puts out a plate of cold stuff left over from the day before, which he mechanically masticates176 or not as his mood suggests; and a little later on it is decided177 that he might stop at a night restaurant for a bite, if he is hungry. As she cannot go out in the evening with him she misses many of the social pleasures to which presumedly she had been accustomed and which she had expected in her new life. But most of all she misses his presence and his attentions.
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1
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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hustles
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| 忙碌，奔忙( hustle的名词复数 ) | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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12
painstaking
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| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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16
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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18
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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19
thawing
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| n.熔化，融化v.（气候）解冻( thaw的现在分词 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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24
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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25
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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legislative
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| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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29
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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30
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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31
slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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32
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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33
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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34
contemplates
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的第三人称单数 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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38
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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39
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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40
stunts
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| n.惊人的表演( stunt的名词复数 )；（广告中）引人注目的花招；愚蠢行为；危险举动v.阻碍…发育[生长]，抑制，妨碍( stunt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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41
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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inauguration
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| n.开幕、就职典礼 | |
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45
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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46
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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47
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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48
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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49
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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50
smelting
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| n.熔炼v.熔炼，提炼（矿石）( smelt的现在分词 ) | |
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51
necessitates
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52
kaleidoscopic
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| adj.千变万化的 | |
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53
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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54
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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55
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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56
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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57
obituary
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| n.讣告，死亡公告；adj.死亡的 | |
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58
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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60
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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61
Congressman
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| n.（美）国会议员 | |
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62
diplomats
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| n.外交官( diplomat的名词复数 )；有手腕的人，善于交际的人 | |
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diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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64
administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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65
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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66
taxation
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| n.征税，税收，税金 | |
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67
banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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69
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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71
pulsate
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| v.有规律的跳动 | |
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72
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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73
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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74
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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76
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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77
orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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78
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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79
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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80
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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81
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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82
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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83
steamships
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| n.汽船，大轮船( steamship的名词复数 ) | |
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84
abdominal
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| adj.腹（部）的，下腹的；n.腹肌 | |
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85
monarchs
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| 君主，帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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86
assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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87
mingles
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| 混合，混入( mingle的第三人称单数 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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88
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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89
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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96
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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101
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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102
transcribed
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| （用不同的录音手段）转录( transcribe的过去式和过去分词 )； 改编（乐曲）（以适应他种乐器或声部）； 抄写； 用音标标出（声音） | |
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103
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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104
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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105
pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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106
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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107
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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108
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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109
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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110
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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111
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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112
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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113
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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114
toadyism
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| n.谄媚，奉承 | |
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115
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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116
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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117
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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118
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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119
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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120
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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121
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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122
analyzes
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| v.分析( analyze的第三人称单数 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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123
illuminates
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| v.使明亮( illuminate的第三人称单数 )；照亮；装饰；说明 | |
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124
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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125
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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126
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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127
constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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128
attested
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| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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129
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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outstrip
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| v.超过，跑过 | |
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134
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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136
munitions
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| n.军火，弹药；v.供应…军需品 | |
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137
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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138
shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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142
pacts
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| 条约( pact的名词复数 )； 协定； 公约 | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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joyousness
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| 快乐，使人喜悦 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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153
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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154
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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155
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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156
ambiguities
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| n.歧义( ambiguity的名词复数 )；意义不明确；模棱两可的意思；模棱两可的话 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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158
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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160
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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161
exalting
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| a.令人激动的，令人喜悦的 | |
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162
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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163
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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164
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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resound
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| v.回响 | |
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166
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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167
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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168
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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169
interferes
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| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
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170
toils
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| 网 | |
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171
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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172
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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173
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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174
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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176
masticates
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| v.咀嚼( masticate的第三人称单数 )；粉碎，磨烂 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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