Power of the Press (1943) - full transcript

EDWINA'S VOICE:
"John Cleveland Carter is betraying

"the country that gave him his chance.

"This is my public announcement
that I am ashamed of John.

"I am ashamed I ever was his friend.

"His paper is abusing
the freedom of the press

"and misusing the power of the press.

"Freedom of the press means
freedom to tell the truth.

"It doesn't mean
freedom to twist the truth.

"I say John Cleveland Carter
is a traitor.

"He can sue me for saying so.
I hope he does."

"Freedom of the press means freedom
to tell the truth.



"it doesn't mean
freedom to twist the truth."

I'm going to read every line of that editorial
to those people out there. Every line of it.

And then I'm going to plead guilty
to everything that Ulysses Bradford said.

After that, the Gazette is going
to clean house, starting right at the top.

You speak in a moment, John.

I took the liberty
of revising some of your figures.

The paper will carry the speech in full,
of course, starting on the first page.

I suppose it's already in print.

Well, we'll be on the street with it
in about 12 minutes.

Get the managing editor.
Tell him to kill my speech as set.

- Hold for new copy to come.
- Yes, Mr Carter.

What's come over you, John?

A sudden attack
of journalistic honesty.

Gazette? Mr Thompson, please.



(PHONE RINGING)

Thompson talking.

Oh, you.

What?

Say, what are we doing, playing Parcheesi
or publishing a newspaper?

I've already sent the home edition away
with Carter's speech as set.

All right, then,
argue with Mr Carter yourself.

Mr Thompson, I consider it important news
when the Gazette announces

a complete change of policy.

We will print it.

I don't intend to let you do something
that we'll all regret.

The man who wrote that
told the truth.

I'm going to tell the truth
to those people out there.

The man who wrote that should be
in a concentration camp.

Have you lost your mind?

As of tonight, Mr Rankin,
you've stopped running my newspaper.

Mr Thompson? He seems to have been
cut off. Get him back, please.

I'm still principal owner
of the Gazette.

I've let you dictate policies

because I've been too busy
with other matters much too long.

Gazette? Mr Thompson again, please.

Hello, Griff?

You were right, Eddie.
You're always right. I've been a fool.

From now on,
Rankin won't have things his own way.

They're ready for you, Mr Carter.

Good luck.

(CHATTERING)

(TAPPING KNIFE AGAINST GLASS)

Ladies and gentlemen,
Mr John Cleveland Carter,

publisher of the New York Gazette.

Ladies and gentlemen,

your programmes will tell you
that I am to speak tonight on the subject

of the freedom of the press.

A free press in Axis-dominated Europe
is dead.

Thank God, in America, it is still free.
Here, we have no censorship.

Every editor is on his honour, but the editor
has no right to take advantage of that trust.

A free press is
the sole right of the people.

The editor is but the trustee
of that right, not the dictator.

Beware of those who hide
behind the front pages of America,

who use, for their own advantage,
the power of the press.

They are as dangerous as enemy planes,
guns, bombs, tanks!

I speak to you as the publisher
of a newspaper which reaches millions,

earns millions and misguides millions.

Here is a small-town weekly paper,
The Starr County World

of Hiawatha, whose editor is able to reach
less than one-tenth of one percent,

once a week, of the number of people
my paper reaches every day.

Three weeks ago, this man,
Ulysses Bradford, wrote an editorial,

telling his readers and me
that he is ashamed

that he ever called me his friend.

He called me a traitor to my country.

He said my paper was misusing the power
of the press, was betraying this country.

He told the truth.

I stand here tonight to plead guilty
of abusing that trust,

but I am not the only traitor.

I am going to name and convict,
with proof, the other traitors.

- (GUNSHOT)
- (SCREAMING)

Mr Rankin,
Mr Carter is able to talk to you now.

Don't try to talk.

I...

I've got things to say.

More light.

Paper.

- Did you bring that paper here?
- My orders.

Also my orders,

print the speech I made.

On page one.

Paper printed the speech you wrote for me.

The things you said might have
been misconstrued.

You couldn't even wait for me to die.

Get out.

John.

Oh, get out.

I think you had better go now.

Doctor,

nothing you can do.

Eddie,

give me a pen,

some paper.

Help him.

- How are you, Mr Thompson?
- Fine.

Circulation increase has been
very satisfactory.

Unfortunately, a publisher doesn't
get killed every week.

We're tearing up the contract
we have with you

and replacing it with this one.

You'll note that in the new contract,
every circulation increase of 50,000

or more means a cash bonus for you.

Better have your attorney read that.

- This is all right.
- Good, we'll get along.

You and I are going
to work more closely together

than we have in the past.

Riding on somebody else's bandwagon

and following the parade
doesn't sell papers,

but leading your own parade
will sell papers.

Circulation isn't all you're after,
is it, Mr Rankin?

You and I weren't born to march
in the rear rank.

- Who's he?
- Oh, you can speak freely.

Trent's really one of the family.

Matter of fact, he's just done
an excellent piece of work for us.

Since the police have
failed so miserably,

I had Trent
and several private investigators

go after Carter's assassin.

- Jerry Purvis?
- Yes.

He worked for me.

Yes, and was discharged
as a dangerous radical

and a constant troublemaker.

Oh, he talked too much, he...
Most kids like Jerry do.

Kind of a half-baked idealist.

Thinks he was born to die on a barricade,
so he goes looking for a barricade.

But he's not a murderer.
I know he isn't. He couldn't be.

Well, I admire your loyalty
to a former employee, but facts are facts.

Half a dozen witnesses made affidavits
that Purvis threatened to kill Carter,

used vile and threatening language,
was broke and in debt,

about to be thrown out of his apartment,
had a sick mother, bought a gun,

was seen running away
after the shooting.

What more do you want?

Well, if this doesn't hold up,
we've got a fine libel suit on our hands.

We'll risk that.

Have the police got this stuff?

Why should we give
our case to the police,

and turn our story over
on a platter to the other papers?

Okay, but you might as well
know right now

I'm not exactly crazy about building up
our own little private Gestapo.

Well, in cases like this,
I think the end justifies the means.

(KNOCKING)

Come on, open up.

- What do you want?
- Your name Jerry Purvis?

- Yeah, what if it is?
- Open up.

You don't get in here
without a warrant.

Hey, what do you think you're doing?
Let go of me! My mother's in there.

She's sick. Let her alone!
Hey, what is this?

- What are you doing?
- What do you think?

Uh-huh.

.38 calibre. One shot fired.

- Your gun?
- That wasn't there five minutes ago.

I never saw it before in my life.

Guy says you bought it from him.
Hockshop on Fourth Avenue.

You planted that. Give me that.
Now, get out of here before I...

Get out of here!

Okay, that's just what we wanted.

A nice set of fingerprints.

Hey, what are you doing? Let go!

"John Cleveland Carter is dead.

"Of the dead, speak only good,
or anyhow, speak as little bad as you can."

Yep, he had only one fault,
and it killed him.

He figured you only run
a newspaper to make money.

Duchess ready to roll?

What are you figuring to put
in that wide-open space?

Well, let me see. It'll take about
a stick and a half to fill her up, I reckon.

A short stick and that's all.
Unless we're using rubber type this week.

Hi there, ma'am.

(PHONE RINGING)

Hello, Helen, get me Gil Brown.

Sorry, ma'am, but we're awfully busy
just now. Hello, Gil?

About them two cows
you wanted to sell.

I know you ain't got money enough
to pay for an ad, but

tell you what I'll do. I'll trade you a stick
and a half on page one for...

Well, anyway, a stick for three
or four bushels of eatable potatoes

that ain't sprouted yet.

- Mr...
- I'm very sorry, ma'am,

but we're terrible busy.
The paper's just going to press.

All right, make it three, then,
seeing as how an emergency exists.

- So, you're Ulysses Bradford.
- What there is of him.

There, excuse me.

Now, this will fix up page one.
Let her roll.

If you're selling dictionaries,
we don't want some.

But... I am not trying
to sell you a dictionary.

Page three's personal columns
ain't filled yet.

All right, I'll fill her right up.
Always trying to sell me a dictionary.

Claim my paper makes
a lot of mistakes in spelling.

It wouldn't be a real newspaper
if it didn't make a mistake now and then.

But I am not selling dictionaries.

Well, whatever it is,
come around after we get our taxes paid.

If we ever do.

Mr Bradford, I came all the way
from New York to talk to you.

- Long trip.
- I was John Cleveland Carter's secretary.

(HAMMERING)

I live right upstairs.
It's quieter up there.

I call this my sanctum sanctorum,
whatever that means.

Those are famous editors.
Famous first pages.

That's Charles Dana, used to be
editor of the New York Sun.

Horace Greeley,
"Go west, young man."

Those gentlemen are supposed
to be an inspiration to me.

Well, there ain't no harm in a mouse
wishing to be an elephant, is there?

Are you hungry? I'm doing
my own cooking since my wife died.

Pretty good at it, too.

Some ham and eggs, maybe?
A Denver sandwich?

I cook with or without onions.

Mr Bradford, did you really mean
all those things you said about Mr Carter?

He's dead now.

Yes, but do you know
why he was killed?

"Murder, though it hath no tongue,
will speak." Shakespeare.

Mr Bradford, he was killed because
he wanted to plead guilty

to everything you said about him.

Ain't the way I understood it.

Mr Carter wrote and signed this
just before... just before he died.

"I, John Cleveland Carter,
being of sound mind, do hereby

"make my last will and testament,
revoking any previous testament.

"To my true friend, Ulysses Bradford
of Hiawatha, Nebraska,

"I leave my controlling interest
in the New York Gazette,

"to have and to hold."

"I hand back to him control
of the newspaper

"his great-grandfather founded.

"Make an honest newspaper
of the Gazette again, Ulysses.

"God help and guide you."
Signed, John Cleveland Carter.

Let's both sit down.

Howard Rankin's the man, not Mr Carter,
who's made the Gazette what it is,

and that's what Mr Carter was
going to tell that crowd when he was shot.

I've heard about Mr Rankin
for a long, long time.

- But surely you don't accuse him...
- I'd accuse him of anything.

He's capable of anything.

Riding to glory
on the back of a newspaper.

- Is that it?
- Yes.

Why, Howard Rankin isn't even
a real newspaperman,

not in any sense of the word.

But because he inherited 45%
of the Gazette's stock,

he can dictate
the newspaper's policies.

He can prove anything to the readers,
especially if it's a lie.

Journalistic ethics, honesty,
which is the foundation

of every decent newspaper,

means absolutely nothing to him.

He's the man who abuses
the freedom of the press

and misuses the power of the press.

And with John Carter dead,
he can go on doing it

more and more,
and there's no one to stop him.

I think he's the most dangerous man
in America.

Me trying to cope with him
would be like...

No, I'm just man enough to run
the Starr County World, and that's all I am.

I couldn't carry on
even if I was fool enough to try.

No, it's not for me.

It's much easier to tell people when they're
wrong than to do anything about it,

isn't it, Mr Bradford?

Well, John Carter's dead because
what you said mattered to him.

But it doesn't seem to matter enough
to you for you to leave your nice, quiet,

safe little corner and step out and fight
the people who killed him.

You must be a very big man
with your 1,244 readers,

if there are that many.

Well, if defending the freedom of the press
and not misusing the power of the press

meant anything more
than just words to you,

you'd take Mr Carter's newspaper
with its two million readers, and you'd...

Oh, I know about Charles Dana,
Horace Greeley and your great-grandfather,

and all the rest of the
great old-time editors.

Mr Carter told me about them,
and they weren't afraid.

But a mouse can't be an elephant.
You're right, Mr Bradford. You're right.

Wait a minute.

There ain't no train out
until tomorrow morning.

I've got a room down the hall
where you can rest.

Right this way.

Oh, I just thought,
I don't know your name.

Edwina Stephens.
Mr Carter called me Eddie.

- Good night.
- Good night.

(KNOCKING)

I don't know whether
my great-granddad's ghost

just gave me
my marching orders, or what.

Maybe I'm just a victim
of an oversized conscience.

Anyhow, if you and John wished a job
on me, I guess I gotta take it

and do the best I can with it.

I hope you sleep better now.

I know I won't.

Good night, er... Eddie.

Memorandum from the publisher
to all department heads.

We want Gazette readers to say
that the Gazette leads the parade

because the Gazette crusades.

Wherever we find anything we don't like,
we're going to tell the public about it

and smash it.

Mr Ulysses Bradford,
this is Mr Howard Rankin.

I've heard of Mr Bradford.
What do you want?

I've got a kind of a letter here
from John Carter

that I think you ought to read.

That is a photostatic copy.

Well, I'm sorry
that this young woman has involved you

in all the expense and trouble
of coming here with this.

All I know is, Mr Rankin,
that John Carter kind of wanted me

to take his place
running this newspaper.

You've had a lot of experience
running a New York newspaper?

Kind of roomy here, ain't it?

You could take my little old printing office
and drop it in one corner in there

and nobody'd ever notice it.

Charles Dana once said that all there was
to publishing a paper was

to buy your newsprint
for enough less than you sell it for

so that you could pay your bills
and maybe make a little profit,

if you're lucky.

I always had an idea that New York
was just a bunch of little hometowns,

kind of crowded together on an island.

As far as I know, the same kind of people
read the papers in New York

as they do in Hiawatha.

I'm just a small-town man, Mr Rankin,
and I ain't ashamed to admit it.

But you're a big man,
and a mighty smart one, too,

but I gotta tell you that I aim to try
just as hard as I'm able

to do what John Carter wanted me to.

Well, I shouldn't like
to have to say this in court,

but Mr Carter was not competent
to make this or any other will

at the time of his death,
and this I can easily prove if I have to.

But you don't want to go to court,
do you, Mr Rankin?

You know, an awful lot of things
could be said right out in court

about the inner workings of the Gazette,
and other papers could print it

without any fear of libel.

- RECEPTIONIST: Yes?
- Have Mr Thompson come in, please.

Yes, sir.

You'd better make notes of this
in case a record is needed later.

Whatever Mr Rankin says.

The Gazette is under too much pressure
at this time for me to risk discussion

or a possible scandal which might reduce
the advertising or circulation revenues.

I have made money for this paper,
and for Mr John Carter, and for myself,

and for the minority stockholders,

and if you can do as well or better,
Mr Bradford, we'll all be quite satisfied.

Guess that kind of puts it up to me.

Well, I'll do the best I know how.

No man can do any better than that,
can they, Eddie?

Sent for me?

Yes, a very important story
has just come in.

Is this on the level?

This is Mr Bradford, new publisher.
Griff Thompson, Managing Editor.

Well, I'm glad
to meet you formally, Mr Thompson.

The first name is Ulysses.
Some folks used to call it "Useless,"

same as Ulysses S Grant.

Till he surprised them
by being kind of useful.

We've already got
a pretty important page one top line.

Well, now, that is an important story.
Yes, sir, you bet it is.

We'll change the signatures
on that page one editorial of yours

in the next run,
sign Mr Bradford's name.

Let the town wonder who
Ulysses Bradford is for the next 24 hours,

crack the story then,
we've got more space.

That'll save a lot of mix-ups,
give both stories a better play.

Okay with you?

I hadn't figured on getting my name
on the front page.

Right, I'll have the boys take
some pictures of you later.

Send in a rewrite man to talk to you.
See you around.

Well, now I know
that a cyclone can talk.

I'll be in my office.

Eddie, Mr Rankin hasn't even begun
to commence to start to fight.

He figures if he gives me enough rope,
I'll hang myself and save him the trouble,

unless I can hang him first,
which both he and I doubt if I can.

Eddie, the last man
that sat in that chair before Mr Rankin

was a better man
than either Rankin or me.

Look what happened to him.

Oh, no, this couldn't be.

Why, I know that boy.
He used to work for the paper.

I met his mother.

It's a frame-up.

Rankin had to send someone
to the electric chair to close the case,

and he picks on Jerry Purvis.

Eddie, it seems the police have
a good deal of evidence against him.

What the Gazette calls evidence.

Private investigators
from the Gazette.

Oscar Trent, a Gazette employee.
But he doesn't work for the paper,

he draws his pay directly from Rankin.
He's no reporter.

He's just a little Himmler
if there ever was one.

Chris Barker, a private detective
retained by the Gazette.

Why, he's a flat-headed strong-arm man
hired by Rankin.

In Germany, he'd be a stormtrooper.
Don't you see?

The Gazette? Oh, no,
it's Rankin's own private little Gestapo.

Now, Eddie, Griff Thompson's
an honest newspaperman if ever I saw one.

He wouldn't print fake news.

He would print whatever came
across his desk, as long as it sold copies.

Accuse today, retract tomorrow,
and if you can make the fake hold up,

so much the better.

- RECEPTIONIST: Yes, Mr Rankin?
- This is Miss Stephens,

Mr Bradford's private secretary,
and from now on,

this is Mr Bradford's office.

Get me Griff Thompson.

Mr Thompson's in the composing room.
Can't take any calls.

Well, he'll take this call.
Get him on the line.

BRADFORD: Eddie, you're not
going to bother a man

when he's putting
the paper to bed, are you?

He's going to take Rankin's name
off that editorial and sign yours.

- THOMPSON: Hello? Hello?
- Well, Griff, what's in the editorial?

Publisher's statement
about the arrest of Jerry Purvis,

and it's already locked up
in the form. Why?

Well, it's not to run unless
Mr Bradford sees it and okays it,

and that's publisher's orders.

Well, Eddie,
since you've taken charge,

perhaps you'll tell me
what we're going to do next?

Hello, Jerry.

I'm sorry about your mother.

- This is Mr Bradford.
- John Carter was an old friend of mine.

You know how I'd feel
about the man that killed him.

- Eddie don't think you did. Did you?
- I wish I had.

You oughtn't say that, son.
Now, look here. I've been at your age.

Of course, I never had
as much bad luck as you had,

but there were times when I thought
the cards were all stacked against me.

So I think I know just how you feel.

Jerry, if there's anything you know,
anything at all that will help you...

You were a reporter once.
You know how it is.

According to the Gazette,
you're guilty.

So, to a million other people, you are.
The answer is to prove who is guilty.

You can trust us.

How did he get into this?

- Mr Carter left him the paper.
- Oh, that Carter.

It says here
you made threats against him.

Well, maybe I did, but Carter was
printing phony news, fake pictures

and lying editorials, like,
"Why are we fighting England's battles?

"Everything's wrong in Washington."

And he said those things
even after Pearl Harbor.

And I called him an un-American heel,
and he was.

I said it was rats like him that were
crucifying this country, so he had me fired.

Okay, I'm a good reporter, but I couldn't
get another job in this whole town.

Carter had me blacklisted and...

What's the use?

Killed my mother, and they'll burn me.

I'm riding the railroad
straight to the electric chair,

and there's nothing you can do about it.
There's nothing nobody can do about it.

Eddie, that boy ain't guilty.

He's no murderer.

BRADFORD: I guess
you've all read this morning's paper,

so I guess you all know who I am,

where I'm from and how I happen
to be here talking to you.

You all know that I'm just pinch-hitting
for a better man,

a man that should still be at bat.

Well, here I am, and I hope you'll all help me
do the job that John Carter left for me to do.

Which reminds me of a story.

A story about a shipwrecked sailor
who was just about to give up the ghost,

then he landed on the
beautiful shore of a paradise island.

He met a friendly native.
The first thing this sailor says is,

"What's the government
of this country? I'm agin it."

(SPORADIC CHUCKLING)

Now, folks, I think there's a point
to that story that affects you and me,

and this paper,

and the whole country.

The more I read our newspaper,
the more it seems to me

that we're agin everything.

And I swear I can't see
where we're for much of anything.

Now, folks, I think that's wrong.

For example,

a boy named Purvis
is on trial for his life.

Now, this paper put him where he is.

Now, I don't know
why we're against this boy, but we are,

or at least we have been up to now.

I don't think a newspaper has the right
to decide the guilt or innocence of anybody.

Now, I've talked to this fellow, Jerry Purvis,
and personally I don't think he's a murderer.

Of course, that's only one man's opinion,
and that's all it is.

This newspaper seems to have been doing
the same thing to Jerry Purvis

that it's been doing to a lot of other people,
probably more important people,

and to this whole country,
which happens to be at war.

Now, folks, I want to see if we can't
do things a little different from today on.

I don't see why we can't get and print
both sides of the story

about who killed John Carter.

Who really killed him.

I don't see why we can't get and print
both sides of every story

and editorial and column and article
that goes into the Gazette.

Folks, all I know is that freedom of speech
does not mean freedom to aid the enemy,

an enemy that has stopped
every kind of freedom in every country

that he has touched so far.

Freedom is dynamite
and has to be handled with care.

Stop freedom of speech in this,
our free nation?

Limit the freedom
of the American press?

No, but I don't think we want anybody
on this paper

who fears democracy
more than he or she fears Hitler.

Mr Bradford, are you putting a ban
on constructive criticism?

Constructive, no. Destructive, yes.

Just how do you define the difference?

I'll ask you.
Is this constructive criticism?

"Churchill schemed and stalled
till he dragged us into England's war."

Who bombed Pearl Harbor?

Who bayonetted the Filipinos?

Who bombed the American hospitals
on Bataan Peninsula?

Here's another one.

"What were American troops doing
on the Dutch islands, anyhow?"

I'm surprised some one of you
hasn't asked, in his column,

"What business did the Hawaiian islands
have being in the Pacific?

"What business did Jimmy Doolittle have
flying over Tokyo?"

Now, folks,
I don't call that constructive criticism.

I call it poison.
I call it aiding the enemy.

I call it treason!

Well, folks, that's about all I've got to say.
Thanks for listening so patiently.

(CHATTERING)

BRADFORD: Oh, Mr Thompson,
just a minute, please.

I congratulate you, Mr Bradford.

I'm anxious to see
the result of your policy.

Thank you, Mr Rankin. I appreciate that
coming from you. I do indeed.

Now,

where was that?

Oh, thank you, Eddie. I don't know
what we'd do here without Eddie.

I want us to print this
on the front page of every edition today.

You know the thing that
bothers me most about Mr Rankin?

He's sincere.

Someone said, I don't know who it was,
that all the great traitors of history

were sincere men,

and that they believed in their own hearts
that they were patriots.

I thought you and Rankin had
buried the hatchet?

Oh, we did, we did.

Crackpots and cranks won't help
Jerry Purvis. That's all this'll get you.

"To Whom It May Concern."
That's a terrific headline.

Thousands of happy little newsboys
running up and down, yelling,

"Extra! Read all about it!
'To Whom It May Concern.""

"if any person has information which may
add to the reasonable doubt

"that already exists as to the actual guilt
of Gerald Purvis, contact the..."

You told us just a minute ago it's none
of our business to say guilty or not guilty.

So far, son, we've said nothing but guilty.
Now, this Jerry Purvis is a little fellow.

No money, nobody on his side.

He's entitled to protection,
the same as all of the other little people

that make up 99% of our country.

The common people that Lincoln said,

"God must have loved them
because he made so many of them."

Justice, that's what the Constitution
guarantees every American,

and that's what I'm trying
to get for Jerry Purvis.

- Justice.
- Anything else?

No, I guess that's all, right now.

(DOOR CLOSING)

You know, Eddie,
if he'd just be himself a minute

and stop being a managing editor,

he'd be on Jerry Purvis's team,
same as we are.

He has nothing personal against the boy,
not a thing.

Oh, he hasn't anything personal
against anybody.

He's just a circulation-chasing
Little Caesar, that's all he is.

Love and newspapers don't mix
very well together, do they, Eddie?

(INTERCOM BUZZING)

- Yes?
- Thompson talking.

Let me speak to Mr Bradford.

Yes, son?

The name Lambert Davidson mean
anything to you?

A dollar-a-year man
in Washington, ain't he?

We've got a hot tip that this Davidson
has got enough tyres, gas and sugar,

and other rationed stuff hoarded away
in a warehouse he owns downtown,

to feed and transport an army,
which is not so good when you consider

they're cracking down right and left
on little guys that buy a hot retread

for their jalopy and on housewives that are
hiding away a couple of cups of sweetening.

Well, that's pretty scandalous,
even if true, ain't it, son?

If you ask me, it's news.

What does Mr Davidson say
in his own defence?

Have we talked to him yet?

If we go around asking a lot of questions,
it'll tip off all the rest of the papers.

This is exclusive up till now.

If we can't print both sides of the story,
we don't want to print any.

Work on it some more, son,
talk to me later.

This is too hot to hold, so we've got to go
with this before the other papers get it.

Mr Davidson beat Mr Rankin for governor.
Of course, that was years ago.

That was before Mr Rankin discovered
that you can be a dictator

without having votes.

Mr Davidson isn't afraid to say
what he thinks,

and he didn't agree with Mr Rankin.

So he got in Mr Rankin's way,
and so...

I gotta get out of here
for a while, Eddie.

Sometimes I can think better when I walk,
if I walk far enough.

You stay here
and kind of hold down the fort.

- Say, mister, I want to see the publisher.
- Yeah?

- "To Whom It May Concern," that's me.
- Yeah, why?

I got a big scoop for the paper.
Scoop!

- I don't know. This Jerry Purvis...
- Just a minute.

- He don't kill Mr Carter.
- Just a minute.

- No, sir!
- How do you know he didn't?

I'm his alibis.

Where I find Mr Ulysses Bradford?
So I tell him.

TRENT:
Just a... Mr Rankin?

Mr Rankin, could you
come here a minute?

This gentleman wants to see Mr Bradford.
He's got an alibi for Jerry Purvis.

That's right, that's right.

I don't know who killed Mr Carter,
but Jerry Purvis don't. No, sir.

How do you know he didn't?

See, I got a cigar store, sell newspapers,
sell the Gazette many years.

This Jerry Purvis, he's come to my store
two, three times.

He say he used to be a reporter
for the Gazette, so we talk.

Only the last time he was there,
he talk very bad about Mr John Carter,

so I throw him out. But he's in my store
right when Mr Carter got killed,

so he don't kill Mr Carter.
So he's got to have justice.

Yeah. Yeah, that's right.

Mr Trent will
take you to the publisher.

Oh, thanks, mister. Thank you.

Say, maybe I get my picture
in the paper, you think?

Yeah, if you're lucky.

Say, I'm always lucky
since I've been an American citizen.

Yeah, we'll take a little elevator ride.
The publisher's upstairs.

Oh, yes, all right.

(AGITATED CHATTERING)

He fell clear from the top. Make way now.
Come on, get back. Get back, please.

- Go ahead, get back, please.
- What's happening, please?

- A man fell down the elevator shaft.
- Dead?

He never knew when he hit the bottom.

I'm Ulysses Bradford,
editor and publisher of this paper.

Have you any idea who the man was?

Name was Tony Angelo,
had his naturalisation papers on him,

registered in the last draft.
Ran a cigar store over at Avenue B,

according to stuff in his wallet.

Followed the races, from the look of this.
Had to pry that out of his hand.

Funny. Falls a city block,
but won't let go of the racing tips.

Do you mind if I take charge of these?

Maybe I can do something
for the poor fellow's family, if he had one.

- No, I can't do that, Mr Bradford.
- Well, maybe I could go along with you.

- I'd be glad to help if I could.
- Why, sure.

- Mr Bradford.
- Hello, Eddie.

- I've been looking everywhere for you.
- I went over to the police station.

A man named Tony Angelo fell down
one of the elevator shafts

here in the building and was killed.

I was just trying to check up on him
and his family, and so on.

Didn't find out much, though.
Got to do some more investigating later.

I tried to locate you last night.

I called your hotel room
till way past midnight.

I didn't get in till three or four,
something like that.

Did you see last night's special extra,
or any extras today?

No.

I told Thompson not to do that.

- Yes?
- Tell Mr Thompson

Mr Bradford wants him
in here right away.

He's in the composing room.

I don't care if he's in Timbuktu.
Tell him to come in here.

Look at the story, Mr Bradford,
not just the headlines.

"Statements continued to pour
into the Gazette office today

"following the Gazette's exclusive expos?
last night, as aroused citizens demanded

"Davidson's removal
from his post in Washington."

But we don't say who accuses him.
We don't quote him at all.

Who accused Jerry Purvis?

- You sent for me?
- RECEPTIONIST: Yes.

Thompson talking. I'll take my calls in here
for the next few minutes.

We'd broken every street-sale record
in history after ten this morning.

That's page one for the next edition.
We're running 300,000 extra.

Feel proud of yourself, don't you?

"Riot Threatened as Citizens Rise
in Hoarding Scandal."

Is there likely to be trouble?

Well, there will be as soon as that hits
the street, which is exactly the idea.

- We print what happens.
- You mean we make it happen.

Now, son, seems to me there's a law
against inciting a riot,

and that's what
I'd call that headline.

Look, Mr Bradford, you edit and publish
to your heart's content,

but I run the news pages.
Is that clear?

But we're not printing
both sides of the story.

(INTERCOM BUZZER)

- RECEPTIONIST: Mr Thompson.
- Yes?

City desk has a flash.

Rush call to police headquarters
from Davidson's warehouse.

Call Circulation.
Special crew to handle street sales.

Tell Make-up to set up for action pictures
to follow. I'll be in my office.

(DOOR CLOSING)

- See what I mean?
- I see a lot of things.

- Come on, Eddie.
- Where?

I want to see that riot.
Hurry up, now. Come on.

Pringle talking.
Get me Griff Thompson, quick.

(PHONE RINGING)

Thompson talking.
Yeah, where have you been?

All right, calm down
and tell me about it.

Quit yelling.
I can't understand you.

I never saw a crowd gather so quick.
The street's full of them,

hundreds of them, thousands.
Make it thousands.

Lots of them have copies
of the Gazette with them. Yeah.

Guys making speeches.
Well, what else would they say?

They had to give up gas, tyres
and all that sort of thing,

and Lambert Davidson's got
a warehouse full of them.

Hold it, Pringle.

Tear out everything on page one.
Tell Circulation we're going to bat

with a special in ten minutes.

Go ahead, Pringle. Yeah.
Yes, yes, yes. I got it.

What?

He went down there?

Yeah, old "Useless" Ulysses,
and the girl's with him, too.

Yeah, he tried
to give the crowd an argument.

Then Lambert Davidson showed up.

I don't know what he said to the crowd.
Couldn't hear him.

They were yelling too loud,
and all of a sudden, he collapsed.

- Heart attack, I guess.
- (PHONE RINGING)

Thompson talking.
Oh, yes, Mr Rankin. Yes, I know.

I've got a man on the phone right now,
giving me all the details.

Yes, of course,
we're hitting it with everything we've got.

Yes, sir, see you later.

Hey, Griff,
the warehouse is on fire. Yeah.

Hold it, Pringle. Get over there quick.
The warehouse is on fire.

You, follow through on Lambert Davidson.
Supposed to be sick, and he ought to be.

That'll do for the final run. Clear page two
for a photo layout for the final home.

(PHONE RINGING)

Thompson talking. Go ahead.

Washington Bureau calling.

Yeah? Now, wait a minute.

What is this? A good old coveroo?

Yeah.

All right,
file 2,000 words for tomorrow.

Goodbye.

The stuff in Davidson's warehouse
was government property.

Secret stores for a special Army task force
that was to sail under sealed orders,

the end of this week.

Davidson was acting
under War Department orders.

We've just wrecked
an Army division, that's all,

and handed some vital military secrets
to the Axis.

- Well, what?
- I just thought you might be interested.

I didn't have a chance to tell you
while the hullabaloo was on,

but the guy who organised that riot
was our pal Oscar Trent.

- You must be mistaken.
- Mister, I was there.

Well, Mr Thompson, Washington
would naturally deny these charges.

(PHONE RINGING)

Thompson talking. Oh, you.

Lambert Davidson just died.
Heart failure.

First Mrs Purvis,
and now Lambert Davidson.

How does it feel to kill an old woman
and a great man?

Davidson just died. Heart failure.

Mr Thompson,
I very seldom dictate headlines.

I want this to run
in all the remaining editions.

- We'll follow this angle tomorrow.
- Publisher's orders?

Yes.

Better put your okay on it
in case Old Man Ulysses still thinks

he's running things.

Good night.

It was Oscar Trent who put the finger
on Jerry Purvis.

- I liked Jerry.
- Get yourself a drink and forget it.

The same Mr Oscar Trent gave us
that tip on Davidson.

I know that now.

He framed that riot
and murdered Lambert Davidson

just as sure as if he'd
shot him in the back.

Mr Trent works for Mr Rankin.
I don't like Trent.

- I don't like Rankin.
- You're talking too much.

But I thought I was working
for a newspaperman.

Which Rankin ain't,
and Trent ain't, either.

But just now I saw Rankin give you your
orders, so you're just the same as Trent.

- Now, listen!
- No.

Because I just quit liking you.

Lambert Davidson's only crime was
that he was too decent

to fight back at the slander and lies.

I'll be with you in just a minute, Mr Rankin.
I'm dictating an editorial.

Now, you all know that he was
one of our finest...

- Mr Ulysses Bradford?
- Yes, sir.

I have an injunction order
to serve upon you.

Pending the judgment of the court,
Mr Bradford,

I am resuming control of the Gazette.

All right, Mr Rankin.

And, of course, you'll postpone the trial
for weeks or months,

knowing that Mr Bradford doesn't have
the money to fight you.

Well, it looks like I'm licked, eh, Eddie?
Anyway, I'll finish that editorial.

It won't be printed.

Well, I didn't last long,
did I, Eddie?

We can fight back, Mr Bradford.

You can do something.

You remember when you came
to see me in Hiawatha?

I told you then I wasn't man enough
for this job.

I should have stayed home.

I should go home now,
where at least I have a chance of fooling

some of the people some of the time.

I haven't fooled anybody here.
Not even myself.

Are you going back on Mr Carter?
And Jerry Purvis? And Lambert Davidson?

And the people,
the common people, the little people

who read this paper and believe it?
Are you, Mr Bradford?

Like when a smart lawyer asks you
that trick question,

"Do you still beat your wife?
Answer yes or no."

What can I do? What can I say?

I got up to bat, all right,
but I've struck out with the bases loaded.

Now, I don't know.

Hello, son. If it's about the paper,
don't ask me. Ask Mr Rankin.

For your information,
I just told Rankin to get a new boy.

In other words, I quit.

I just came in to say "so long"
to you, Mr Bradford.

Oh, yes, and you.

(EDDIE CHUCKLING)

What's funny?

You are. You came in here
expecting us to pep you up.

Well, frankly, I think the newspaper's
much better off without you.

I think some other papers
will hire me.

Why? Because you're such
a wonderful newspaperman?

Yeah. Good, too.

Well, there may have been a time
when you were an honest newspaperman,

when free press really meant something
to you, but that was a long time ago.

That was a long, long time ago.

Maybe I'm just
getting around to it again.

It's been the Gazette's policy
to play its readers for suckers.

Well, every day,
you've been Rankin's sucker,

but you don't know about that.
You're too smart.

I'll tell you something funny.
You're right.

You bet I am.
Why, you aren't even a managing editor.

You're just a high-priced mouthpiece.
Rankin pulls the strings and you jump.

You sit on his knee, and he does
the talking for you, and the thinking for you.

You like to call your readers
saps and suckers.

Well, you've been Sap Number 1.

Playing on the prejudices
of stupid people,

trying to make them lose
their faith in democracy,

trying to make them hold up
their hands for chains.

The only difference is, you get paid
to be a sap. Rankin's mouthpiece.

Shut up. If anybody's going to
call me a sap, I'll do it.

Do you hear me? I'll do it.

You're not telling me anything
about Rankin or myself

I don't already know better than you do.
Why do you think I quit?

Because I finally got my eyes open.

Because I want to get Rankin,
and get him good and quick.

We think it's too late
for the worm to turn.

We guess we're not even interested.

Why not?

Your hands aren't tied.

Well, I'll be...

The good old freezeroo, huh?

Kind of puts us all in the same boat.

I'm out of a job. You're out of a job.

It leaves us with
nothing to fight with.

Yes, we're out of a job, but the biggest job
of all is right in front of us.

We know that Rankin is trying to destroy
the unity of this country,

but we can't let that happen.

We've got to fight him.
We've got to get him.

Why not?

Edwina, with Griff on our side,
we're sure to get Rankin.

But how?

- This man says it's important, Mr Bradford.
- I want to see Ulysses Bradford.

- What about?
- You him?

I'm Ulysses Bradford,
what there is left of him.

- My name is Gibbons. Mack Gibbons.
- Well, I'm glad to know you, Mr Gibbons.

Where did you get that?

I knew there was something phony.
That poor little crazy guy,

he had to come and see the publisher.

Perhaps you'd better tell us
what you're talking about.

About Tony Angelo.

Well, those are his things.
He fell down an elevator shaft.

- I was aiming to try to find his folks.
- His folks?

His wife is dead,
and his son is with MacArthur in Australia.

Why did you have to kill him?

I never saw him alive in my life.

- You a friend of his?
- Yeah.

Perhaps you'd better take charge
of these things.

What's this?

It looks like Tony used to bet
on the horse races.

Tony never bet on a horse in his life,
and this ain't Tony's writing.

Relax.

Why did he want to see me?

He was gonna give you a scoop
for your paper.

This guy, Jerry Purvis, was in Tony's
cigar store when Mr Carter was shot,

so Tony was gonna give him an alibi.

But you're trying to put Purvis
in the electric chair.

So maybe somebody killed Tony
to keep him from crabbing the frame-up.

Trent bets every race.

Every day,
and he always picks the long shots.

Tony Angelo had Trent's paper
in his pocket when he fell,

and you took that paper away from Trent
right before the riot.

Eddie, don't forget to remind me
to raise your pay

if I ever get back where I'm able to.

What do you think, son?

If we can find out who last saw Tony
in the building alive,

who he was seen talking to...

And how and where
he ran into Oscar Trent...

Come on, we're going places.

RANKIN: Let me tell you, those brass
hats in Washington who got us into

this disastrous war are not leading
this great nation nearer to victory...

That's Rankin's voice.

Yeah, he's on the radio tonight.
You know, one of those roundtable things.

"Should we or should we not aid Russia?"

- I'll bet he's on the negative.
- They send out pitiful cries of unity...

Have you got a gun?

Yeah, but I don't know
what to do with it.

- ...like so many blind mice.
- I do.

They say that we, the people, shall be
allowed only three gallons

of gasoline every week.

(KNOCKING)

- Two pounds of bacon a week.
- Trent! Open up!

Rationing of every sort!

Where is the freedom upon which...

- Lean on it, Mack.
- ...this land of ours is built?

Why, the way things are going,

- soon there'll be no difference between...
- (SCREAMING)

- Steady now, steady.
- ...whether we should be under

the domination of Germany,

or under the iron heel
of those bureaucrats in Wash...

(ABRUPTLY CUT OFF)

No powder burns.
Would be if Trent actually shot himself.

Somebody came up the fire escape,
stood out there, let Trent have it.

They tossed a gun in.

Wouldn't be any fingerprints on it,
of course.

A professional job.

The only man that could have told
us the truth, they shut him up, too.

It don't look like much
of a story, does it, son?

No, the best he rates is
a stick and a half of type on page 9,

and we've got plenty of space.

Hello. Hello?
This is Room 310.

Get me the Gazette on the phone.
Yeah, and stay off the line while I'm talking.

That radio shindig goes on about eight
to nine, on the stage in front of an audience.

It's now 8:32. Trent couldn't have
been shot much before 8:10.

That means that Rankin's torpedo hasn't had
a chance to report to the boss yet.

So, Rankin can't be sure that Trent is dead.
You get... Hello, Gazette?

Well, what's the matter?
Are you sleeping or writing your memoirs?

Yes, this is Mr Thompson.
Get me Photographic.

Try and stay awake from now on.

Joey, this is Griff.

Come over to the Blake Hotel.
Room 310.

Hop on it.
Bring plenty of flashbulbs. Right.

- Tony have a lot of cop friends?
- Plenty.

Can you rustle up two or three
that might be off duty tonight?

The meaner-looking, the better.

Get them over here in uniform.
Come on, fast. Step on it.

This isn't going to be very pretty.
Better wait outside.

The whole story's right there in the paper,
Mr Rankin. Trent talked his head off.

- Trent is dead.
- Is he?

- When did he die?
- Who told you he was dead?

You see, the cops got there
before Trent died. We were there, too.

He had a swell audience, then I came back
and took charge of the news department.

Read what he said, Mr Rankin.
Why don't you read what he said?

A hundred and thirty million people
will know before this day is over.

Patient people, Mr Rankin.
They'll stand a lot.

They seem mighty dumb
and easy to fool, up to a point.

Lincoln said it,
"You can't fool all the people all the time."

Not the American people.
It's the greatness and glory of this country

that, when the little people are hurt
too much or too long, you pay for it.

These people are not going to lay a hand
on you, Mr Rankin. They don't need to.

Don't you think you'd better talk
while you have a chance, Mr Rankin?

Well, I was...
Listen, John Carter was dangerous.

He might have ruined this paper.

I had plans for this country.
Great plans.

Yes, Mr Rankin, you had plans,

but you forgot that,
if it wasn't for the people,

you wouldn't have been anything.
You couldn't have had anything.

Once you found out that,
so long as democracy lives,

you couldn't grab the power
you wanted for yourself,

you grew to scorn the people
and hate democracy.

You were going to be the man
on horseback, riding this paper

for your own personal glory.

But, oh, no. Not now, Mr Rankin.
Not since your man Trent has at last told us

the truth about you.

- What about Tony Angelo?
- Trent. Trent did it.

Do you confess
you had John Cleveland Carter killed?

You confess you had Tony Angelo killed?
You confess you had Trent killed?

- Oh, yes, yes! Yes.
- Copy desk, hello. Hello?

- Harry, get set for a special run.
- Are you back on the paper?

Yes, yes, I'm back on the paper.
Got a new contract.

Get me a three-line streamer.
Biggest, blackest type we've got. Take it.

"Rankin Confesses Three Murders
in Plot to Rule Nation."

This is only a phony, Mr Rankin,
printed only for your benefit.

Trent never confessed.
He was dead when that picture was taken.

"He that taketh the sword
shall perish by the sword."

So, I guess that he that fakes the news
is entitled to perish by fake news.

Page one for all editions:
the case of Howard Rankin is closed.

He goes to prison as he should,
and his hired killer, Chris Barker,

goes with him.

What follows?

These men will pay
the penalty for murder.

They were brave men
until their crimes were revealed.

Now they are snivelling cowards,
begging for the justice

they sought to destroy.

That is as it should be.

What did Howard Rankin want?

What lesson can we, all of us,
learn from him and about him?

This lesson,
that the truly dangerous fifth columnists,

the really frightening traitors in our
midst, are not men who speak

in strange foreign accents
and draw their pay from Hitler.

No, any man who lets himself get
into a group that makes it a business

of hating any other group,
or race, or creed

within this nation,
is a fifth columnist.

Any man who practises discrimination
in this, of all times,

who stirs up
dissatisfaction and unrest,

who blocks our road
to victory and peace

for his own vicious purposes,
is a traitor.

When the people, the common people,
divide, the dictators will conquer them,

not before.

Let us pray that the people may triumph,
and may God defend the right.

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