Deadline - U.S.A. (1952) - full transcript

What part did you play in the
recent local elections, Mr. Rienzi?

You got me mixed up with
somebody else, senator.

I'm in the cement and
contracting business.

What would you say your
earnings are per year?

Around 20,000 or 30,000.

Say 30,000. You've got
a $60,000 home here.

A winter place in Miami.
A summer place in Maine.

Two limousines.
A sailboat worth 50,000.

All on $30,000 a year.
How do you do it, Mr. Rienzi?

Sometimes I wonder myself, senator.

It was testified here yesterday
that you were paid...



$200,000 in cash to
influence the election.

Yeah, I read that in the papers.

Now, somebody will only tell me
where all that money is hiding.

- You deny meddling in the election?
- Does it look like it?

After all, you got elected,
didn't you, senator?

Fire swept through
upper floors of hospital...

You say this man keeps getting undressed
without pulling down the shades?

Well, what's your
complaint, madam? Boy.

Here.

Well, from the condition of the body, she'd
been soaking in the river for several days.

This fur coat she wore
was all she had on.

Maybe she was a rich society matron.

Mink isn't class conscious, Sonny. No.

No other clothes, no identification...



Mr. Hutcheson wants to
see you in his office, sir.

Boy.

What about the Rienzi story, George?

Boss wants to check it first.

One column head three line bank.

AP says the paper's being sold.

- What?
- Sold?

Who to? When?

What's that, Frank?

That's something only the Garrison heirs,
Hutcheson and the gods would know, not us.

It's a conspiracy to keep you
just as you are, nice and ignorant.

Sold. I can't believe it.

Don't believe the associated press?

- My, my.
- Maine 2000.

Better run for your lives, men.

And don't forget to trample
the women, loudmouth.

Record, give me the city desk.

Look, who's the boss?
Who says what goes in the paper?

- The managing editor, Mr. Hutcheson.
- Then he's the man I want to see.

Well, right now, he's busier than
a bird dog. Why don't you sit down?

If you don't mind.

- He's still in a makeup conference.
- Call him, call him.

Credit controls. Inflation
to be halted. Billions.

- Yes?
- Frank Allen, urgent.

Ok, billions required.

National budget. O.P.S., N.A.M., P.C.A.

What's all this mean to the reader?

- Consumption tax, eh?
- Sounds like a disease.

It'll be page one
in every paper in the country.

And The Day too, what does this tax program
mean to the average man and woman?

Not billions, that's an impossible
figure. Here, break it down.

Yes, sir.

What will it cost the housewife for groceries?
How much more for a car, a radio?

Fifty bucks, a hundred? How much?

Run the story as is, page one.
New lead for the second edition.

Right.

United press flood story in same slot?

- Pictures come in yet?
- With casualty lists.

- All right.
- Yes, Frank.

Ed...

What about the dead nude murder story?

- Is it murder?
- Looks like it.

Looks like it. Who is she?

I don't know yet.
Got some pictures of her though.

Very interesting.

Put them on postcards
and send them to Paris.

Second section, play it down. No pictures.

Yes, sir.

Story's fine, George, tie it off.

Yes?

- You're late for the dome.
- Ok.

Can you leave tonight to
handle that strike upstate?

Oh, I'd like to stay
with the Rienzi story.

- You're wasting your time, baby.
- Not if we can prove he's guilty.

It's not our job to prove he's guilty.

We're not detectives and we're
not in the crusading business.

- Give me a week.
- Forget it, State Senate couldn't prove anything.

Neither could that probe four years ago.

We've had a nice circus, that's all.

Television's had a field day, all
the papers raised their circulation,

And Rienzi's lawyers got richer.

One week, three days,
please, I got a good lead.

All right. Stay out of trouble.

Ed.

That's right, Frank.
Baby's on the auction block.

But we're the best outfit in town, in
the country maybe.

- But why, why sell?
- Money.

That's usually the reason
something is sold, isn't it?

Tell them I'm on my way up.

The heirs and the lawyers are up
in the dome right now waiting to...

explain the nature of their crime
with facts, figures and falsehoods.

One more F and they won't be drafted.

But mother, the paper belongs to us.
Why do we have to go to court to sell it?

Perhaps because we never
intended it to be sold.

Oh please mother, we've
been over that a hundred times.

The surrogates court will
decide that, Mrs. Garrison.

- Ed.
- Mrs. Garrison.

- What kept you so long?
- - How is the expectant mother?

Lousy.

- Hello, Ed.
- Alice.

- You're looking very well.
- Thank you. How's your husband?

- Oh fine, just fine.
- It's fine, isn't it?

Let's get this over with.

I suppose you know why
we're here, Mr. Hutcheson.

Practically everybody seems to know
except the people who work here.

We're sorry about that.

We thought it best to make a
general announcement discretely.

The death of a
newspaper is never discreet.

Here we go again.

The last will and testament
of the late John Garrison,

Drawn up just prior to
his death 11 years ago,

Designated as his heirs
his eldest daughter Alice,

His daughter Katherine
and his wife Margaret.

In as much as Katherine attained her majority
last week and became entitled to a full vote,

- It was decided by the three stockholders...
- Decided?

- Unanimously?
- Of course.

Any objections?

Would it make any difference?

- None.
- Then I have no objections.

- The reason it was decided...
- Must we go into detail?

I don't feel well.

My entire staff feels the same way.

Oh, Ed. What do Alice or
I know about newspapers?

Gives you an income.

We never even come down here
except twice a year for meetings.

You're invited every day.

Mrs. Courtney's husband feels the money
could be invested more wisely elsewhere.

John Garrison founded this paper,
not Mrs. Courtney's husband.

- We're taking care of you, Ed.
- What?

- We always try anyhow.
- You're to get one percent of the sale price.

Your share will
amount to slightly more than $50,000.

Thank you.

You're to notify all personnel
they will receive two weeks pay.

Wait a minute, this sounds
as if we're being closed down.

- Who's buying The Day?
- What difference can it make?

To the 1500 people who work for
you, it makes a lot of difference.

Well, who is buying it?

Or are you ashamed of it?

Lawrence White is the buyer.

White?

We've being sold to The Standard.

I think I'm going to vomit.

So do I.

Mr. White's paper is very successful, he
undoubtedly will make this more profitable too.

It won't be this paper anymore.
It'll be lost in The Standard.

As far as we're concerned,
his offer is a generous one.

He's only buying our circulation,
features and goodwill.

He's eliminating
his competition, that's all.

Mrs. Garrison, you've got to stop them.

Your husband created a new kind
of journalism and you helped him.

Take a look at the first
paper you ever printed.

Here, page one, quote.

His paper will fight
for progress and reform.

We'll never be satisfied
merely with printing the news.

We'll never be afraid to attack wrong, whether
by predatory wealth or predatory poverty.

You're not selling
The Day, you're killing it.

The hearing to approve the sale will take
place in surrogates court day after tomorrow.

- You'll be there, of course.
- I never go to funerals.

I think I like that man.

Too excitable, much.

It might be advisable to replace
him until the sale is consummated.

Oh, shut up, please.

Stop it. Stop it.

Come on, get him, Frank.

Kill him, Frank. Kill him, Frank.

Cut it out.

You're all right?

- In the pink.
- Yeah.

What happened?

One punch, six pushes, two kicks,
lots of hollering, no decision.

Henry?

Well, I was setting there,
minding my own business...

He's been asking for it.

Heard the rumor, quit without notice.
Took a job at The Rack.

The rumor? How about it, Mr. Hutcheson?

Is it a rumor?

We have a right to
protect ourselves, haven't we?

Well, go ahead.

Tell us we got nothing to worry about.

The day after tomorrow
in surrogates court...

You get two weeks pay coming
to you, the paper is closing.

Quit now and look for another job or...

wait for the probate
judge's decision, it's up to you.

It was nothing personal, Mr. Hutcheson.
I have my family to think about.

That's right, Henry. Nothing personal.

- Oh, Mr. Hutcheson, the mayor wants...
- I'm busy.

- What are you going to do?
- I got an assignment.

- Harry?
- There's still a sports page to get out.

- Fighting, a man your age.
- Did me good.

- He was right to quit, they all ought to quit.
- Maybe.

Anyway, I got it out of my system.

You were with the
New York World, weren't you?

Under Pulitzer, Cobb and Barrett.

- What you do when it folded?
- Let's see now.

I think I got myself a drink,
yeap, I'm sure of it.

Then what you do?

Came over here and went
to work for old man Garrison.

He was a great newspaperman.

Yeah, but no
good as a father, terrible.

Daughters...

one of them married
to a high-Class broker

who knows how to
invest their money more wisely.

They hate the paper, same
as they hated the old man.

Couldn't get at him when he was alive, so
now they're kicking him when he's dead.

Yes?

- Five minutes to press time.
- Ok, come in.

Everybody in this racket gets kicked
sooner or later, dead or alive.

- Get that in the fudge box.
- Yes, sir.

- The mayor...
- Darn the mayor.

Yes, sir.

The mayor.

All he cares about is who'll support
him for reelection if we fold.

By now, the boys will be having a nice
lively wake in O'Brien's, ever been to one?

Before you know it lad, you won't be
feeling a thing, not a blessed thing.

That's what a wake is for.

That's right.

Brothers and sisters,
hush up for a minute.

- Friends and now unemployed...
- Hear, hear. Lend me your ears.

- We're gathered here to bury Caesar.
- No.

Brothers and sisters, we came
to praise The Day, not bury it.

- I got the urge, brother. I got the urge.
- Repent and rejoice.

Brother Cleary, a sinner
of 14 years standing,

Sitting or lying down,
will let out the misery.

Hallelujah.

Maestro, B flat, if you please.

Flash. Scoop-Scoop. Da-Dee-Deep,
Dee-Dee, Dee-Dee, Dee-Dee-Deep. *

I came over the river Jordan
from a weekly scandal sheet...

and asked old John Garrison for a job.

Are you a journalist
or a reporter? He said.

What's the difference? I said.

A journalist makes himself the hero of the
story, a reporter is only the witness.

Sister Barn-dollar.

Sister Barn-dollar, has the spirit
moved the research department?

The spirits moved her, all right.

Hallelujah and pass the collection box.

- Sister Willebrandt.
- Cheers.

Coming through the rye,
present and half accounted for.

Hey.

Give us a soul talk.

It's a lovely corpse.

Alas, poor dear, I knew it well.

And, why not? I gave it the
best 14 years of my life.

And what have I got to show for it, eh?

Eighty-One dollars in the bank
and two dead husbands and...

and two or three kids I
always wanted but never had.

I've covered everything
from electrocutions to love nest brawls.

I've got fallen arches, unfixed teeth,
and you want to know something, I...

I never saw Paris, but...

But I wouldn't change those years.

Not for anything in this world.

- I see the light, brother.
- Hallelujah.

Purify your soul, sinner.

Save your tears.
This is what the readers want.

- No.
- Throw the atheist out.

Don't sell it short. It's
got twice our circulation and...

three times our advertising lineage.

It's wild and yellow, but
it's not exactly a newspaper.

- It keeps its people working.
- Hallelujah.

Well, maybe if I'd given you this
kind of paper, you'd still have jobs.

- There's a place for this kind of sheet.
- Where, daddy?

All right, so it's not your kind of paper.

Who would putting out papers for? You?

You, you?

It's not enough anymore
to give them just news.

They want comics, contests, puzzles.

They want to know how to bake a cake,
win friends and influence the future.

Ergo, horoscopes, tips on the horses,

Interpretation of dreams so they
can win on the numbers lotteries.

And, if they accidentally
stumble on the first page...

News.

♪ Old man Garrison lies
a moldering in the grave ♪

♪ Old man Garrison lies
a moldering in the grave ♪

♪ Old man Garrison lies
a moldering in the grave ♪

You know, I never got to Paris either.

Have some anesthetic, brother.

♪ Glory, Glory, hallelujah ♪

♪ Glory, Glory, hallelujah ♪

♪ Glory, Glory, hallelujah ♪

♪ His day is done and gone ♪

Feeling any pain, Ed?

- Ah, it was a nice wake.
- Good night.

Mr. Hutcheson?

I've been trying
to see you all day, sir.

They said I'd find you here and...

This will introduce me, sir. It's from
my journalism professor at the university.

Oh, so you want to be a newspaperman.

Yes, sir. One student a
semester is recommended.

- And you're it.
- Yes, sir.

Newspaperman is the best
profession in the world.

You know what a profession is?

- It's a skilled job.
- Yeah, so is repairing watches. No.

A profession is a
performance for public good.

That's why newspaper
work is a profession.

- Yes, sir.
- Yes, sir.

I, I suppose you want to be a columnist.

Foreign correspondent, to Egypt.

- Do you speak Arabic?
- No, sir, but...

But you do know the customs, habits,
religion, superstitions of the people.

Well, I took a course
in near eastern relations...

You know the psychology of Egyptian
politics and Muslim diplomacy?

No, sir.

Expert on economy,
topography and geography of Egypt?

I speak a little french,
maybe I could get a job in the...

Yeah, so do I, but I couldn't hold
down a job in my own Paris office.

I see.

Hey, Joe.

Say, you want to be a reporter?

Here's some advice about this racket.

Don't ever change your mind, it may not
be the oldest profession but it's the best.

Yes, sir.

Hi.

- Why don't you go home, Ed?
- Yes, ma'am.

- Guess what?
- Scotch.

I have decided to
dedicate my life to you.

- Yes, dear.
- Yes, dear.

That's why I'm going to give
you the best years of my life.

Do you know what's the matter with you,
you're a spektic, a skeptic.

Yes, dear.

- White beer?
- Homogenized.

Couldn't we spike it
with a little scotch?

Drink that, as is.

Nora, I love you.

Let's get married again, tonight.

This could bring on my second childhood.

It already has, coming
here this time of night.

Nora, I'm free.

Fired, canned.

No more paper, nothing
to keep us apart anymore.

- The paper has been sold.
- I know.

Divorce is a very evil thing, Nora.

Down from my Olympian
heights, I come humbly.

I'm going to make a decent
woman of you again, Nora.

- Yes, dear.
- Yes, dear.

We'll go on a second honeymoon.

We never had a first.

No, I'm leveling baby,
there's no more paper.

Travel, that's what we'll do.
Europe, south America, everywhere.

No worry about expense.

- I am loaded.
- So I noticed.

I mean money. More money than
we've ever had in our lives.

I was paid off for being a good boy.

Ed...

Listen,

You shouldn't have come here.

It won't work out.

Yeah.

Not bad copy. Not bad at all.

How is the advertising business?

You know, you were right
to quit the newspaper.

Now, you've got something
you can depend on.

Something legitimate.

I went to a wake tonight.
Saw the light, sister. Hallelujah.

Why should I fight? For what?

The publishers don't care about the paper.
The paper doesn't care about me.

I don't care about anybody except you.

Haven't I met him somewhere before?

Just now, in the living room.

Oh yeah, fight, what with?

I'm an employee, not a stockholder.

Maybe I should have
taken it to the readers.

Ah.

What do they care? You
got to have an issue for that.

Red-hot story.

Nora?

- Right here, darling.
- Right here, darling.

I don't have to think
about anybody but us.

Yes, dear.

You know, we'll have some great
times together like we used to.

Remember that time in Saranac when
everybody thought we weren't married,

- So we went out and got married?
- The second time.

And the fishing trips we never went on,
and the hunting trips I promised you.

- We'll make them all this time.
- Yes, dear.

Now I went up to Reno to
try to stop the divorce.

- What was that you charged me with?
- Incompatibility.

Incompatibility, that was a lie.

They know where to reach you?

- Oh, I don't have to account to anybody.
- Yes, dear.

I don't like him.

I'll think of a reason later.

Good night, dear.

City desk, what?

Oh. Hold it.

Ok, go ahead.

When did this happen?

What time is it now?

Six what? 6:20.

Where it happen?

Did you call the hospital?

Are they sending an ambulance?

Ok.

- Good morning, darling.
- Ed.

I thought no one knew you were here.

Where else would I go
when I'm in trouble?

- Ed.
- Who slept here?

- But it's time we had a talk, Ed.
- Oh, no, not now baby, I'm in a hurry.

- That call was urgent.
- Dinner tonight?

- Why not every night?
- Alberto's place Ok?

8:00. I thought you were in a hurry.

Did I have a pleasant time last night?

- Yes, dear.
- I did?

Well, what do you know.

I was making my rounds, sir.
First, I didn't notice anything.

Then I heard a kind of low moaning
coming from the road down there.

Well, good morning.

- Automobile accident, eh?
- Get him to the hospital.

- Name?
- I said, get him to the hospital.

- Wait a minute...
- My name is Burrows, I work for The Day.

He runs it.

Oh, Ben.

They started banging me around
when they got me in the car.

How many were there?

- Three, maybe four.
- Well, what was it? Three or four?

I don't know.

All right, they gave you
a going-over, what with?

Fists.

One of them hit me in the face with
something hard, a sap, I guess.

- What'd they say?
- Nothing, not after they got me in the car.

Before?

Yes, outside the
hall of records I told you.

Tell me again.

- Please, sir. He's...
- Shut up.

The hall of records.

You went there to check on Rienzi.

George.

This man I talked to
must've tipped Rienzi.

Yeah, how do you know?

He left the office for
a few minutes, probably phoned.

- Probably? But you're not positive.
- No.

Won't stand up in court.

How else were they
waiting for me when I came out?

- Who was waiting?
- Rienzi's men.

- Can you identify them?
- One maybe, a former boxer, Torpedo.

- Know his name?
- Whitey, Not sure, Whitey something.

If I brought him in,
could you identify him?

He asked me if I was Burrows.
He asked me if I worked for The Day.

- What make car was it?
- I don't know.

- Sedan, Blue, Black, What?
- What are you trying to do, protect Rienzi?

I want facts that won't bounce.

Facts that stand up against
Rienzi's lawyers and libel suits.

Facts that will tear Rienzi's
syndicate wide open.

There just can't be any mistake.
We can't have any retractions.

George.

- How is it look?
- I'm afraid he may lose that eye.

Mrs. Burrows.

Go away, Mr. Hutcheson. Let us alone.

Are you blaming me?

Who sent him out? And for what?

The great big, fat glory
of a newspaper?

A paper you haven't even got anymore.

The Day, good morning.

Put every man you can
spare on the Rienzi story.

Picture layout?

The works, where he gets his money, his
tie-ups, data, facts, facts and more facts.

- The tough thing is to prove them, Ed.
- Prove them later.

- Charlie.
- Boy.

City morgue, this is Willebrandt of The Day.

Any identification yet on
that nude in the fur coat?

Miss Barndollar. Relax.

Ever heard of Rienzi?

- Ok, now.
- Rienzi, Tomas. Fifty-One.

Born, Palermo, Sicily.
Emigrated here, 1914.

Attended public school number 47.
Has two children by legal wife Gertrude.

No, we're not proposing him
for the chamber of commerce.

We want to convict him of
every known crime in the books,

All of which he's committed and some
even you even I never heard of.

- I want everything.
- Yes, sir.

I must've taken 20 shots of her as
they were dragging her out of the river.

- That fur coat's worth 5000 or 6000 dollars.
- Tim, get your camera.

- Cover Burrows in the city hospital.
- George, our George?

That's right, you take Rienzi,
his wife, home, cars, everything.

What if he smashes the
camera? He's done it before.

Let him, you get
pictures of him doing it.

Go ahead.

Bill, Bill, I want a cartoon on Rienzi.

It's got to be hard,
tough, below the belt.

A vulture sucking the life
out of a city, you got it?

But a vulture only preys
on the dead or the dying.

Preys.

Here your caption, let us prey.

- P - R - E - Y.
- The paper. Why should I stick my neck out?

I want it for the first edition.

I don't like the idea. I get in a jam with
Rienzi and tomorrow the paper folds anyway.

- Where does that leave me?
- You're fired.

- Wait a minute.
- Pay him off and get him out of here.

Why the excitement?
Everybody knows we're washed up.

- That's your mistake.
- But I worked here four years.

That's my mistake.

Boy.

- City desk.
- Get your voucher.

Miss Bentley, get your
stenotype in there.

Get Dr. Emmanuel on the phone.

Draw $500 out of my bank and
get it over to Burrows's wife.

Mr. Bellamy here is been waiting.

Oh, yeah.

- Rewrite desk, lobster shift.
- What's the lobster shift?

After midnight we serve lobsters.

Thermidor, naturally.

Page one editorial.
Ten point type, double column.

Byline,

Set off in boldface will be:

John Garrison.

Quote:

I am dead.

I've been dead for 11 years.

By tomorrow, this newspaper
may also be dead.

But as long as it lives, The Day
will continue to report the facts...

and the meaning of
those facts without fear...

without distortion, without
hope of personal gain...

as it always has done.

- Yes?
- Dr. Emmanuel on two.

Hello, doctor. No, no, no. I'm fine.

Yeah, I want to ask you a favor.

A personal friend of mine needs
your help at the city hospital.

Name is Burrows, George Burrows. What?

What is more important doctor, your delivering
a lecture in London or saving a man's eyesight?

Well, cancel it.

Well, then delay it.

We weren't too busy to
raise funds for your clinic.

Well, certainly I'm putting it on a personal
basis, what's a friend for if not for a favor?

Thank you.

A real humanitarian.

Where was I?

Will continue to report the facts
and the meaning of those facts.

Oh, that sentence is too long.

Break it down, change the word distortion.
Somebody mightn't know what it means. Ok?

Paragraph. Quote:

What are the facts?

Rienzi stuffs your ballot boxes.

If anything will save the paper,
this is it.

See the paper yet?

- Who's responsible?
- Obviously Hutcheson.

- Hutcheson?
- Afraid so.

Well, talk to him.

Why can't you?

I want to meet him personally.

Why not?

Everybody can be reached.
Remember, judge?

Evening, Mr. White.

Evening, Mr. White. Mr. White.

Give me a three column lead
with two line bank on that raid.

Evening, Mr. White.

Did you see this
spread on Rienzi in The Day?

- Yes, sir.
- What have you done about it for our paper?

Done, sir? A reporter
gets into a barroom brawl.

- They say it was Rienzi.
- But can they prove it?

- Prove it?
- Front page editorials, flashy cartoons...

Why, it's old-Fashioned, Mr. White.

And what's so ultra-modern
about this horse in our paper?

Then give me some old-Fashioned
journalism in The Standard.

Yes, sir.

Get me the city hospital.

Sorry I'm late.

- You like it?
- It's the best looking front page in town.

As usual.

- The makeup...
- Thank you.

Cartoon, the editorial
under the name of Garrison, yours?

- Wonderful.
- As usual.

And how are we? Are we as usual?

Maybe the heirs will
sit up and take notice.

Of us?

They won't sell the paper. Not now.
Not in the middle of a fight like this.

- It would be like endorsing Rienzi.
- It's a wonderful dress for dinner.

You look much better
than you did last night.

- How you feel?
- Amorous.

- Good evening, Mrs. Hutcheson.
- Evening.

Mr. Hutcheson, your table's ready, sir.
Will you order now?

- An appetizer first perhaps?
- Oh, no, thank you. I have mine.

- Oh, just steak for me.
- Telephone, Mr. Hutcheson.

- Tell them I'm feeding.
- They said it's important.

Urgent dear, as usual.

- Keep calling her Mrs. Hutcheson.
- Yes, sir.

Mrs. Hutcheson.

Yes?

This is Willebrandt, I'm at the city morgue.

This the place where little girls
check their fur coats.

The dead nude? What about her?

Oh, her mother showed up to identify
her this afternoon, is a Mrs. Schmidt.

That's the girl's name, Bessie Schmidt.

But she also used
the name Sally Gardiner.

Why bother me? Write it.

Well, what I wanted to know is this.

Now, Allen thought I ought to
check with you first, but...

This Mrs. Schmidt knows a
lot more than she's telling.

No.

No, but I thought maybe if you
talked to her, you could get...

Let's not be dramatic, Mrs. Willebrandt.

Her name's Fifi. She made a
pass at me in the cloakroom.

It's a way I have with women.

I'm getting married again, Ed.

That's right, giving
it to you straight and fast.

You don't know the man. He's
my boss at the advertising agency.

First me, now another boss.

It's getting to be
a habit with you, isn't it?

- I'd like you to meet him.
- Compare notes, you mean?

Thanks, I know enough people already.

- His name is Lewis Shafer.
- I don't want to know anything about him.

- I told him all about you.
- Everything?

Sit down.

I'm not one of your modern husbands, chin up,
stiff upper lip and all that sort of stuff.

Always ready to discuss things sensibly.

There isn't anything to discuss.
I don't need your consent.

- We're divorced, have been for two years.
- I don't recognize the divorce.

- You agreed to it.
- I was wrong.

You're my wife.

Not only because somebody
said a few words over us,

But because of all we meant
to each other for eight years.

You can't change all that with
more words, legal or otherwise.

They want you
on the telephone, Mr. Hutcheson.

Go away.

You want me to quit the paper, Ok.

- I'll get another job, something...
- I don't want you to quit.

I had to go back today.
Tomorrow, it's over.

It's right that you should go
back. It's where you belong.

You're the best
newspaperman in the world.

I don't want to change
that. I never did.

It's your whole life,
and for you, it's right.

But I've got a right to a life too,
and you can't give it to me.

- Can he?
- Maybe.

Can you be the same with him as
you were with me? Is it that easy?

You love him?

No, you don't. Not the same way.

Maybe love isn't enough
to make a marriage work.

Please, Mr. Hutcheson.

I'm sorry to bother
you again but it's your office.

Mr. Allen, he said if you won't come to
the phone then to come back to the paper.

I'm sorry, sir.

Yes?

What?

- Yanked what story?
- Willebrandt's story on Sally Gardiner.

Well, it was pulled by our
advertising department.

It seems Mr. Andrew Wharton,

president of Wharton's department
Store was Sally's caviar ticket.

Right. Right.

Composing room. One column head
one bank on this weather report.

- Yes?
- Jake?

On Willebrandt's story, Sally Gardiner?

Yeah. Hold it, but don't kill it.

Do you worry about every story
in our paper, Mr. Fenway?

It just seemed to me
this was libelous material.

We got a hundred stories in this issue.

- Check them all for libel?
- No, sir.

- Or any of them?
- No, sir.

I see.

You're a self-appointed censor
only on stories involving big advertisers.

- I was trying to protect us.
- Us or you or Mr. Wharton and for how much?

- He denies this story.
- Willebrandt included his denial.

From there on, it's up to the police.

- I thought as a matter of policy...
- Policy?

Since when has the advertising department
of this paper dictated its policy on news?

I didn't act on my own.

No, you haven't got
the guts, so you went to Wharton.

- Run the story.
- I talked to Alice Garrison.

Mr. Wharton came here. We phoned
her. It was on her authority.

She hasn't got the authority,
not until I'm out of here.

- Or have you arranged for that too?
- No, sir.

You're slipping.

Will you talk to Mr. Wharton,
he's waiting right in here.

Mr. Wharton.

- This is Mr. Hutcheson.
- How do you do, sir?

- May I give you my side of it?
- I'll take care of this.

- Please don't publish that story.
- Why, isn't it true?

It can't do you much good and
it'll ruin me and hurt my family.

I've been doing business
with your paper for 20 years.

You're a big advertiser Mr. Wharton, we
need your business, but not on those terms.

All right, I made a mistake with Sally.

But that was 10 years ago and I've
paid for it in blackmail every month.

I'm sorry, Mr. Wharton.
This is a matter for the police.

You are interested in facts, aren't you?

One day, Sally phoned.
She was quitting her job at the store.

She was letting me off the hook.

- She said there was another man.
- Another man? There always is.

In this case, the man was Tomas Rienzi.

Sally said she loved him,
would never bother me again.

She even sent back some
damaging photographs of us.

She said she was set for life.

- What did she mean by that?
- She didn't say.

Surely you don't think I killed Sally.
I haven't seen her in over two years.

Mrs. Wharton knew about Sally.
She suggested that I talk to you.

Your paper forced me to come
here, but now that I'm here I don't know.

Wharton...

you can tell your
wife I'm holding the story.

Thank you, sir.

But if that yarn
about Rienzi doesn't jell.

It will.

It better, for both our sakes.

- Jim?
- Later, dear.

What have you got on Sally Gardiner?

The furry blonde?

- She was a broad.
- Yes, but whose?

- Since when do you go in for gossip?
- Since now.

Jim...

was Rienzi playing around with Sally?

- What do you want?
- Proof. I want to be sure.

From this a fella could
catch a hole in the head.

- Yeah, he could. That bother you?
- Oh, no. No, no, no.

Harry?

Ever hear of Herman Schmidt?

Small time stuff, had some kind of a political
job at the arena, boxing judge, I think.

- Oh, yeah. I got him now.
- Brother of Sally Gardiner.

Sally may have been tied in with Rienzi.

I know one thing, Rienzi is tied
in with the boxing commission.

Yeah. Get a hold of Schmidt. Sweat him.

- About his job?
- About Sally.

- Boy.
- Here's Willebrandt's copy.

All we've got on Sally is
she was once a bathing beauty.

One thing you're short on is time.

Sally and her brother were born here.

Her mother came
from Germany, father dead.

No known criminal record for Sally.
No recorded marriages.

- Yes.
- A Mr. Lewis Shafer to see you.

Ok.

Barndollar?

- Yes, sir?
- Relax.

If Luggerman's closed the
financial page, ask him to come in.

- Happy to meet you, Mr...
- Yeah.

- Got those pictures?
- Right here.

Put them up here, chronologically.

- Sit down, Mr. Shafer.
- Thank you, but what I...

Leave a space for the missing
period between Wharton and Rienzi.

Yes, sir.

- Coffee, Mr. Shafer, sandwich?
- No, thanks.

I didn't mean to interrupt your work.

- How is my wife?
- That's what I came to see you about.

Shoot.

- Well...
- Nora ask you to come?

Of course not.

I thought that we could...

Well, this is
rather personal, Mr. Hutcheson.

In as much as it concerns
my wife I hope it's not too personal.

- You're making her very unhappy...
- Want me?

Oh, Luggerman. I want a report on all
Rienzi's investments, legit and otherwise...

Dummy corporations, everything. Real
estate, manufacturing, investments...

- Whatever you can dig up.
- You got a starting point?

Try the tax reports, Charlie in the
governor's office might give you a hand.

- Right.
- Make it thorough.

So I'm making her unhappy, Mr. Shafer?

Let her alone.

You're confusing her, making her feel
guilty. Her responsibility to you is over.

- Well then, why are you here?
- I'm only trying to do what's best for Nora.

Well, that's not only ridiculous but
insulting. You're not that much of a prize.

Ed, here's the, Oh, excuse me.

Whatever you got?

- Sally bought some government bonds.
- When?

- Five months ago.
- Sally or Rienzi?

In her name, 40,000 worth. And
it took some doing at this hour,

but we've got a checkup working
in every bank for saving accounts.

- Safety deposit boxes?
- That too.

- That's all we've got.
- Ok.

Look here, Frank.

Sally as a high school girl,

model for Wharton's department store,
showgirl, kept girl, missing portion...

the river.

Now if we can plug up this hole between
Wharton's department store and the river...

fill it up with Rienzi...

Goodbye, Mr. Shafer. I can't
wish you good luck, you know how it is.

There's something you
ought to know, Mr. Hutcheson.

- Yes?
- Jim Cleary on one.

Yes, Jim?

Nora and I are
getting married tomorrow night.

Ed? Ed.

I thought it best not to delay any longer.
You know how it is.

- Ed?
- Yes, yes. Go ahead.

Here it is, just what
you've been looking for.

Yeah, Rienzi is your boy, all right.

Showgirl in a musical
produced by Al Murray.

Show was backed by Rienzi
over three years ago.

Frank.

Was the only show Rienzi backed,
insisted Sally be in it.

I'm with Al Murray now.

He says that Rienzi used to send a car
around for her every night after the show.

- Hold it.
- Yeap.

Switch this call to rewrite.
You hear that, Cleary?

- Yep, yep.
- - Ok.

Oh, Frank.

On the Willebrandt story,
kill the part about Wharton.

Use Cleary's story for a lead-all.

Throw in Sally's face. No nudity.

- Miss Barndollar?
- Yes, sir?

I want a complete check on Lewis Shafer,
runs the United Advertising Agency.

- Shafer.
- Yes, sir.

Yes, sir?

- Anything from Thompson yet?
- No, sir.

Mr. Schmidt?

Mr. Schmidt?

Don't move.

- I just want...
- Shut up.

Take your hat off.

Sit down. No, over there.

Put your hands on the table.

Relax, Herman. I'm here to help you.

- Who's with you?
- Nobody.

What's the pitch?

My name is Thompson. Reporter, sports,

- for The Day...
- Don't do that.

Sports, eh?

What you write today?

The question of televising
next season's baseball games...

was discussed at a heated session
of the hot stove league yesterday.

What do you want?

Do you mind putting that thing away?

How you find me?

You know a lot of people in the fight game.
They owe me favors. I collected a few.

Well all right, get to it.

Why did Rienzi kill your sister?

Did he?

Then who you afraid of, Herman?

Why the hideout?

That won't get you anywhere.

I phoned your address in to
the paper. They know I'm here.

By the next edition, Rienzi
will know where you are.

We're your only chance, Herman.

Let me take you to
the paper and you'll be safe.

Sooner or later Rienzi will get to you and
you'll wind up in the morgue beside Sally.

As long as Rienzi is
free, you're a dead pigeon.

Take your time.

Rienzi won't get his copy of The
Day with your address until morning.

I have carefully read the last will and
testament of the deceased, John Garrison.

I find nothing therein to prevent the sale of
the publication enterprises known as The Day.

Your honor...

Mrs. Garrison, wife of the deceased and one
of the heirs would like to address the court.

Mrs. Garrison.

Sir, I object to the sale
of this paper to Mr. White.

Your honor, Mrs. Garrison has agreed...

But this request for sale was
signed by you, Mrs. Garrison.

I've changed my mind.

Mrs. Garrison's daughters have
not and they constitute a majority.

My husband would not have wished for
this paper to be sold to Mr. White.

How do you know?

Your honor, I object to cross examination
until the witness has completed her statement.

You knew the paper was
being sold to Mr. White.

But I did not know it was going
to be rubbed out of existence,

Which it will be if
this contract is approved.

What happens to this newspaper after it has
been sold is of absolutely no concern here.

Is Mr. Crane the lawyer and the judge?

This is a cheap display of
sensationalism and conspiracy.

- Would the other heirs care to reconsider?
- No, sir.

Would it be all right, Mr. Crane,
if they answered for themselves?

Mrs. Alice Garrison Courtney.

- Do you still wish to sell?
- Yes, sir.

Mrs. Katherine Garrison Geary.

Yes, sir.

In that case, the paper may be sold.

- Then I'll buy it.
- A contract already exists.

But your honor, Mrs. Garrison
has priority of purchase.

I'll raise Mr. White's offer.

Your honor, I cannot
see that my client's interests...

I don't see why you should object
to my daughters receiving more money.

That's what they're selling
out for, isn't it? Money?

Will the counsel kindly step up here?

- You can't do this.
- I can, I want to, and I'm going to.

What good will it do?

You'll be happy to know that
stupidity is not hereditary.

- You've acquired it all by yourselves.
- You're making us sound like fools.

- Well...
- What changed your mind?

Have you seen today's paper,
and yesterday's?

Loyalty changed my mind, a principle
evidently lacking in the present generation.

You haven't got the money
to buy the paper.

- I'll get it.
- You're crazy.

No, just ashamed. Ashamed for
me, for you and for your father.

I'm not going to let this paper die.

If that makes me crazy,
I'm good and crazy.

All right?

I should have required time to
consider Mrs. Garrison's request.

Counsel will be notified
when this court will reconvene.

- Sir?
- Mr. White?

Any delay, even 24 hours,
will wreck the value of The Day.

People will not buy a dying
paper nor advertise in it.

Now the staff of The Day
will become demoralized.

No newspaper can function
under this handicap.

Thank you, Mr. White.

However, I must preserve decision.

But, if the current high standard
of journalism in The Day slackens,

Or any act of neglect threatens
the well-Being of this newspaper,

I shall be forced to make an
immediate decision...

based upon the current contract.

- Mr. Hutcheson, my name is Hansen.
- Yes?

I'm Mr. Rienzi's lawyer.
He's waiting to see you in his car.

- Why?
- It's personal business.

- A ride?
- No, sir. A drive.

How do you do, Mr. Hutcheson?

- I give you a lift someplace?
- Why?

- I'm a sociable type.
- They're expecting me at my office.

- Ok, lippy.
- Ok, what?

Just Ok.

I wondered when and
how you'd get around to this.

Yeah?

Yeah, I expected
something a little more poetic.

Drink?

- Now that's rather poetic.
- What will it be?

- Nothing.
- Not a drinking man?

No, not in an armored car.

- I think I like you.
- Why?

Imagination. I like a man
with imagination.

- You're a good newspaperman, they say.
- You're not bad at your trade either.

You got two Pulitzer prizes,
they say. Are they worth much?

In cash, about $500 a piece.

- Your kind of imagination is worth more.
- I agree.

- But you're a hothead, they say.
- Who's they?

Friends. I got friends everywhere.

I'd like for you to be my friend.

- I got a friend.
- Not like me.

Is that a proposal or a proposition?

- What do you got against me?
- You're not my type.

You ever meet me before,
do business with me?

Well, maybe you got
the wrong impression of me.

What kind of an impression
would you like me to have?

My family reads the paper.

It's not nice, what you print.

I got a nice family. Sometime
I'd like for you to meet them.

No point in that, unless they're
the ones that almost killed Burrows.

- Burrows?
- Never beat up a reporter, they say.

It's like killing a cop on duty, they say.

Never drop girls in the river,
clothed or unclothed, they say.

What have I got to do
with reporters or girls?

- I'm in the cement and contracting business.
- Capone was in insurance business.

- You got a sense of humor, friend.
- Why don't you laugh?

- Very funny.
- Tomorrow's newspaper will be even funnier.

That's the Rienzi I like to see.

This where you start shooting?

What are you supposed to be,
a little tin god?

You going to save the world?
A hero or something?

There's only one kind of
martyr friend, dead ones.

Show me a martyr, I'll lay you
4 to 1 he winds up out of the money.

My lawyer says
I could sue you for this.

Well...

What you're trying to
do has been tried before.

Nobody could ever make it stick.

In that case, you got
nothing to worry about.

Thanks for the lift.
I can't say I enjoyed it.

Cops, tax collectors, politicians,
citizens committees...

They all got an angle.
What's yours? Name it.

What do you want? My prizes
are worth more than Pulitzers.

I know. I got a look at Sally's fur coat.

Wasn't that
Herman Schmidt just went in?

Yeah.

- Ok, from the beginning.
- First, let's see the money.

He said you'd pay for the story.

Five grand.

- $1,000.
- How far would that get me?

Out of the country, after you
testify against Rienzi. Yes or no?

Well, he said you'd protect me.

These days, accommodations in jail are
hard to get, however I'll use my influence.

- Well?
- All right.

Get some sleep, and on your way
out have them send him $1,000.

- In cash.
- In cash.

Ok, you got the floor.

- Where do you want me to start?
- Sally and Rienzi.

- Well, they liked each other.
- Liked?

- Well...
- Rienzi paid her bills?

What else?

- For everything?
- She was worth it.

- That's what I like, family pride.
- Larry Hansen kicked in for the apartment,

Her fur coat, some cheap
jewelry, maybe her car too.

But Sally bought $40,000 worth
of government bonds in her name.

Rienzi pay for that?

- I guess so.
- You're a liar.

Sally used the $200,000
Rienzi gave her to hold for him.

What 200,000 dollars?

Why would a guy
part with that kind of scratch?

Hot money.

The City Bank says your
sister rented a safety deposit box.

She gave it up a month ago.

On the same day she
moved out of her apartment.

Why?

All right, it's true. He gave
her the money to keep for him.

When he wanted it back, she
was scared he'd make a break.

She said as long as she
kept the cash...

he'd stick.

Didn't work out that way.

I don't feel so good.

Have this type, more coming.

Yes, Mrs. Garrison
wants to see you in the dome.

- Well, stall her.
- Here's that $1,000 you want.

- Al, this camera in there.
- Yes, sir.

- What did you say?
- Are you married, honey?

- Cleary...
- Later, baby.

Get hold of the governor.

Ask him if he'll appoint a special Grand
Jury to investigate the last election.

Some of the names will come up.

We supported a few for office.

A newspaper has no political party, we
support men for office, some good, some bad.

Mr. Hutcheson, Mrs. Willebrandt's on here.

If the governor won't act, get the
chairman of the State Senate committee.

Yes? Hutcheson.

Oh, hold it.

Now, go ahead, Willebrandt.

Sally? What about her?

Where she move to? What hotel?

When did you find out Sally was dead?

Well, I, I read about it in the paper.

She was dead three days
before the papers got it.

Your mother says you left the house
last Saturday and didn't come back.

Sally was killed that same night.

So what? I leave the house
lots of times, for weeks sometimes.

But not to hide out.

You were afraid of Rienzi. Why?

You knew he was going
to Sally's place last Saturday.

- I didn't even know where she lived.
- Hold it. Shoot.

Sally was moved from
her apartment on Maple Avenue...

by the Intercity Storage Company
four weeks ago...

to the Leroy Hotel, registered under
the name of Bessie Schmidt.

Never left her room. She had only
two visitors, your mother and you.

You were there Saturday night.

- I don't remember, maybe I was.
- Why did you go there?

Well, I...

She phoned me. Yeah,
that's right. She phoned me.

The desk clerk says you
phoned her from the desk, 1:30 A. M.

He could be wrong.

Yeah. That's right.

Somewhere out there,
Rienzi is waiting for you.

Either you tell the truth or I'll turn
you loose, no money no protection.

Ok.

- Throw him out.
- Wait.

Rienzi wanted his money.

They couldn't find out
where she was living.

- So you showed them.
- Why you do it?

- What Rienzi promise?
- Well, he got me my job.

I owed him some money.
I couldn't pay him.

He said the favor would square us.

All you had to do was put
the finger on your own sister.

I didn't know what they
were going to do. I swear it.

- Who went with you, Rienzi?
- I went alone.

- So she wouldn't be afraid to let you in.
- They came later.

All you did was open
the door for them. That's all.

Who's they?

- Lefty Smith, Whitey Franks and Kid Jones.
- They belong to Rienzi?

- Except Whitey. He hires out.
- You let them in, then what?

Well, they asked her for the money.

She wouldn't give, so Whitey, he hit her.

Then Lefty, she began to scream.

She hollered for me to help her.

Then Whitey, he shut her up.

I got scared. I couldn't watch what
they were doing I ran into the bathroom.

I beat it out of there.

That's all I know, honest.

Yes?

Mrs. Garrison's still
waiting, What do I tell her?

I'll be right up.

The word was out Rienzi wanted me.

They was afraid I was going to sing.

If I stay for the trial,
they'll get to me.

You don't know them.

- In jail, no matter where...
- Soon as that's type, have him sign it.

We won't have time
to get this all in the bulldog.

We'll get the text of the
statement in the second edition.

Count it. Count it.

And have this office fumigated.

- Mr. Hutcheson? About Lewis Shafer.
- Oh, yeah.

That information you requested.

Lewis Shafer, age 42,
born in Baltimore,

Only child of John and Harriet
Shafer of the chemical fortune.

- Was he ever married before?
- No, sir.

- Ever get pinched? Was he ever arrested?
- No record, if he was.

Alcoholic, swindler?

Maybe he's a fiend.
You know, he looked like one.

Check his army record?
Maybe he's a spy.

Got the Silver Star
and the Purple Heart.

- That's a rotten report.
- Yes, sir.

Eddie, two things.

Rienzi's started his libel suit.

We were served with
the papers half an hour ago.

Second?

Judge McKay is going to
hand down a decision tonight at 9:00.

Because of the libel suit?
We'll be ready for him.

And another thing,

That one percent you were
promised when we sold the paper...

- Well, Alice and Kitty have withdrawn it.
- What took them so long?

You were wonderful today, baby.

Oh. Mr. Blake and Mr. Green,
this is Mr. Hutcheson.

- How do you do?
- How do you do?

How do you do, sir?

Their banking firm has offered to lend us
the extra money to meet Mr. White's offer.

- Pending a few facts, of course.
- Of course.

Try to remember Rienzi's exact
words when he asked you...

to bring the three hoods
to Sally's hotel room.

We can get that...

Got a warrant here for Herman Schmidt.

We're not finished yet. We want him to sign
the statement, it'll only take a few minutes.

Come along, Schmidt.
You got no right to take statements.

As long as it's
not a police state, we have.

Sorry.

- Whitey.
- Shut up.

- Take him out the back way.
- I didn't tell him anythi...

Whitey, I didn't tell them anything.

And that doesn't include
the higher cost of newsprint.

How's that?

It keeps going up, right now it's $110
a ton, in 1942 it was $50 a ton.

Takes talent to get the news, think it
through, write it and back it up with research.

Without good reporting,
you haven't got a paper.

- That extra four percent...
- Might make it dangerous venture.

A free press sir, like a
free life, is always in danger.

That's why I hid out, because
I knew somebody would get me.

- Listen. You got to believe me.
- Ah, shut up.

You do believe me, don't you?

I like the proposition.

- Barring unforeseen complications I think...
- Ed, it's for you.

Yeah?

Give him a description of what
that so-called police look like.

Yes, Captain.

When's the press going to grow up
and stop playing detective?

Can't you tell the difference
between a hoodlum and a cop?

In this town? Yes, sir.

Captain.

Got the address?

Now see that Mrs. Garrison
gets home all right.

What about Schmidt's
confession? We run anyway?

Without his signature? That
judge would surely close us down.

You made a mess of it.

I told you I don't want no violence.

Not yet, anyway.

There's a time and place for this
kind of thing, this is stupid.

No. No. Run away from what?

I'll talk to them myself, personally.

Get them down here
to my office, all of them.

Sure, now. Right now. You too.

And find Sally's old lady, Mrs. Schmidt.
Bring her in. I want to talk to her.

And this time, don't foul it up.

No paper ever did a better,
faster, a more thorough job.

All we needed was that one
bit of evidence, and we had it.

Why do you think we hung the
whole thing on Rienzi's case?

Because we were sentimental about
a dead girl and a mink coat? No.

No, we had something big,
big enough to save our necks.

Rienzi in the liquor business,
the financial department dug that one up.

Distributed for two of the
biggest name brands.

Rienzi's brother runs
a wire service for race results,

Transportation, a loan agency for
bookies, real estate, hotels, nightclubs.

Slot machines, etcetera, etcetera.

Years ago, my husband tried to do a
story like this on a man just like Rienzi.

No, I figured with a story like this
to tell, they'd never close us down.

Well...

We showed them how a real
newspaper can function.

And now, we're licked, baby.

Put a head on this, will you?

My husband always said if it was a
worthwhile fight, didn't matter who won.

Some good was sure to come out of it.

That Rienzi's wine?

- Pretty good.
- The best.

- Well, you're quite a girl.
- Yeah.

Guess they made them
different in your day, more durable.

Yeah.

- More durable.
- More playable.

Girls these days have stuff, but
they're brittle, break more easily,

Don't roll with the punches.

Plenty of gall and no guts.

- Meaning Nora?
- Meaning Nora.

For now there's a respectful
silence while we feel sorry for ourselves.

- Well, she had no right to walk out on me.
- Why not?

- Well, because...
- Because it inconvenienced you.

Because she's my wife.

You wouldn't have had a wife
if that newspaper had beautiful legs.

Sure, sure.

- You never walked out on John.
- Who said so? Twice.

- You must've had a pretty good reason.
- The best.

The bride always likes
to think she's indispensable,

Even in the morning.

I woke up, and he was gone.

Gone back to the paper,
to do the Lusitania story.

- I walked out.
- Ah, but you came back.

Two days later. He didn't
even know I'd been gone.

- But he loved you.
- Passionately, between editions.

He had time to change the face
of journalism, fight for reform,

And crusade for a thousand lost causes,
but he had no time for his family.

So I took my two daughters and
left this big, beautiful mausoleum.

- Why did you come back?
- Well, we needed each other.

Well, it was I who did the adjusting, though.
It wasn't Alice or Kitty or John.

He needed a son to carry on the paper.

And they needed a father
to love, not a bulldog edition.

- Enter me.
- Spitting image.

- And what did you want?
- To be useful.

Well...

To newspapers.

To editors like you,
a publisher's delight.

Don't blame Nora.

Unless she wants to come back,
it won't work, if she stays away...

I can look for a
newspaper with nice legs.

Court convenes in about half an hour.
Are you going to be there?

Maybe.

- Will you marry me?
- You're too old.

- You go through old lady Schmidt's house?
- Top to bottom.

- Well?
- Nothing.

- Mrs. Schmidt, you find her?
- Not yet.

- Got anybody at the house waiting for her?
- Inside and out.

Don't bring her here.

I don't want none of
your boys around here.

- Now or anytime. You understand?
- I understand.

And don't phone me,
here or at home, any of you.

Would it be better
if we left town for a while?

No. We stay put.

- Suppose the grand jury indicts?
- Leave them indict.

- Larry will take care of things.
- I'll try.

That's right. You'll try.
I don't want no panic...

if there's an
investigation or even a trial.

We been through this kind of thing
before. We're still in business.

Our story is printed
in the paper. So what?

Tomorrow, it's old news.
Next week, people forget.

- But if they keep printing?
- They won't.

But if they keep us in the news until
the trial, if they heat up the public...

You take care of your end.
I'll handle the paper.

- Hutcheson won't handle easily.
- He's got nothing.

With Schmidt
out of the way, what's he got?

- That won't stop him.
- And he won't stop us.

Tomorrow, he won't even have a paper.

Court will take it away from him.

And if they don't, we'll
take him away from the paper.

Maybe they all need an example.

Yeah, that's what they need.

- You better find Hutcheson.
- You want to see him?

No.

Mrs. Garrison, how are you?

Please rise.

- His honor, the surrogate.
- Please be seated.

I'm a little bit worried about him.

Regarding the sale and purchase
of the publishing company

herein referred to as The Day.

I've made a careful study of

the existing contract between
the heirs of the late John Garrison...

and Lawrence White publishing enterprises.

I can see no reason why this
contract should not be enforced.

Therefore, unless further evidence or
argument is presented to alter my judgment...

The court is prepared
to render its decision.

Mrs. Garrison,
do you have anything to add?

Would you say anything?

No statement, your honor.

Your honor...

before you decide, may I say something?

If your honor please, I don't think
this gentleman is one of the heirs.

He's not here as amicus curiae, and...

I'm positive he's not here
in the interests of Mr. White.

Whom does he presume to represent?

Well sir...

- I'm trying to save a newspaper.
- Which is not yours in the first place.

That is true.

The day consists of
a big building. I don't own that.

It also consists of typewriters, teletypes,
presses, newsprint, ink and desks.

I don't own those either. But
this newspaper is more than that.

We're all aware
of what a newspaper consists.

I'm not so sure about that.

The Day is more
than a building. It's people.

It's 1500 men and women whose skill,
heart, brains and experience...

make a great newspaper possible.

We don't own one stick
of furniture in this company.

But we, along with the 290,000
people who read this paper,

Have a vital interest
in whether it lives or dies.

This is highly irregular procedure.

So is the murder of a newspaper.

Aren't you carrying this a bit too far?

The death of a newspaper
sometimes has far reaching effects.

- Meaning your own pocketbook in this case.
- In this case,

Meaning some unfinished business called Rienzi.
If you read The Day, you'd know what I mean.

- I don't care to discuss Mr. Rienzi.
- This newspaper does.

This doesn't concern us here today.

It concerns the public every day.

A newspaper, as Mr. White will agree,
is published first, last and always...

in the public interest.

Yours is not
the only newspaper in town.

Right now, it's the only
newspaper willing to expose Rienzi.

- Your honor.
- An honest, fearless press...

is the public's first protection against
gangsterism, local or international.

Mr. Hutcheson...

though a surrogates court is informal,
there are certain rules and procedure.

May we have your decision now, sir?

As one of your
290,000 readers, Mr. Hutcheson,

I rule that...

you may proceed with your statement.

Thank you, sir.

But let's try to keep this from
becoming a personal matter, please.

Well, a newspaper is a very
personal matter, sir.

Ask the people
who let us in their homes.

I've read The Day
for more than 35 years.

Before that I sold it in the streets.

However...

here we're only concerned with the legal
aspect of the sale and purchase of property.

What happens after
Mr. White takes possession...

Is outside of the
jurisdiction of this court.

Well, in whose jurisdiction is it?

Just a moment.

Since when is it immoral for
someone to legally purchase a newspaper?

I don't care if Mr. White buys and runs
two papers or 20 papers or 100 papers.

Some of the best newspapers in
this country are part of a chain.

But I do care when he buys a
newspaper to put it out of business.

Because without competition, there
can be no freedom of the press.

And I'm talking about
free enterprise, your honor,

The right of the public to a
marketplace of ideas, news and opinions.

Not of one man's or one leader's
or even one government's.

I...

Well, I guess that's all I have to say.

The existing contract is valid...

made in good faith.

As of tomorrow, November 14th,

The Lawrence White publications
will assume control of The Day.

Court adjourned.

Well, thanks for trying.

- There'll be another day. Goodbye, Ed.
- Goodbye.

Here Mr. Hutcheson.
I have the city desk.

Frank? Here it is.

Lead-off for the morning edition.

The day, after 47 years of daily
publication, was sold last night.

Ed, get back here as quick as you can.

Yeah, well give
it to me over the phone.

I'll be right there. Five minutes.

Would you care to state who
killed your daughter, Mrs. Schmidt?

- Was it Rienzi?
- Some of his men?

I come to see boss.

Did you know your son
was working for Rienzi?

Was that Hutch?

You think we ought to call the police?

I'm worried about her.

Paper's been sold. Write a new lead.

Coffee.

Have you been to
your home yet, Mrs. Schmidt?

- Where have you been?
- I speak to boss.

Mrs. Schmidt wandered in,
on her own, looking for you.

Don't talk to anyone else.

Mrs. Schmidt, the boss.

How do you do, Mrs. Schmidt?

- Your name, please?
- Hutcheson.

I am mother to Bessie.

Oh, about your son, I'm very sorry.

I do not come for that.

Sit down, please.

Here.

My Bessie, she
comes to me and she says,

Here, mama. You keep this.

Something happens to me,
you do not have to worry.

This is Bessie's diary?

She says what happens
to her and this Mr. Rienzi.

- Yes, sir?
- Get Captain Finlay over here right away.

And tell Allen we're getting
out the final edition as usual.

Yes, sir.

Why didn't you go
to the police, Mrs. Schmidt?

Police? I do not know police.

I know newspaper. This newspaper.

For 31 years, I know this paper.

I come to America.
I wish to be good citizen.

How to do this? From newspaper.

It shows me how to read and write.

My Bessie dies, you
do not say bad things of her.

You do not show bad pictures of her.

You try to find... who hurt my Bessie.

Good, I help.

I think what to do. I go on subway.

I ride all day. I think. I come.

By doing this, you may be
in danger, like your son.

You are not afraid.

Your paper is not afraid.

I am not afraid.

Hello, Mrs. Hutcheson.
Or is it Mrs. Shafer now?

- Where is he?
- In the press room.

- Has he lost the paper yet?
- Yes.

What's he going to do?

Get out the last edition, and
it ought to be quite a paper.

- But then what?
- Look for another job, I guess.

Is it Mrs. Shafer?

No.

Hello, Alex.

- This is it, eh?
- Yeah.

Looks like the last one.

Phone, Mr. Hutcheson.

Yes? Who?

Put the call through.

- Hutcheson?
- Hello, baby.

How am I feeling? I hear Mrs.
Schmidt come in to see you.

That's right. That's right.

There's some loose cash here
belongs to you, $200,000 worth.

And there's something else too.

What diary?

Who's going to believe what a
little tramp writes to herself?

Wait a minute. Don't hang up.

Here's some advice for you, friend.

Don't press your luck. Lay off of me.

Don't print that story.

What's that supposed to be, an order?

If not tonight, then tomorrow.
Maybe next week. Maybe next year.

But sooner or later, you'll catch it.

Listen to me. Print that
story, you're a dead man.

It's not just me anymore.

You'd have to stop every
newspaper in the country now,

And you're not big enough for that job.

People like you have tried it before,
with bullets, prison, censorship,

But as long as even one newspaper
will print the truth, you're finished.

Don't give me that fancy
double-talk. I want an answer.

Yes or no?

Yes or no?

Hey.

Hutcheson, that noise,
what's that racket?

That's the press baby, the press.

And there's nothing
you can do about it. Nothing.