Do, re, media: the image of the journalist in popular culture

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Content DO,
RE,
MEDIA:

THE
IMAGE
OF
THE
JOURNALIST
IN
THE
BROADWAY
MUSICAL

by

Kathleen
Annabel
Rooney

A
Thesis
Presented
to
the

FACULTY
OF
THE
USC
GRADUATE
SCHOOL

UNIVERSITY
OF
SOUTHERN
CALIFORNIA

In
Partial
Fulfillment
of
the

Requirements
for
the
Degree

MASTER
OF
ARTS

(BROADCAST
JOURNALISM)

May
2012

Copyright
2012

Kathleen
Annabel
Rooney

ii

Table
of
Contents

Abstract

iii

Introduction

1

Chapter
1:
Literature
Review

3

Chapter
2:
Methodology

7

Chapter
3:
Gloria
Thorpe,
Sportswriter

8

Chapter
4:
Mary
Sunshine,
Female
Journalist

18

Chapter
5:
Tess
Harding,
TV
Newswoman

32

Chapter
6:
JJ
Hunsecker,
Gossip
Columnist

41

Chapter
7:
Bob
Baker
and
Horace
Miller,
Lovelorn
Journalists

53

Chapter
8:
Tommy
Howatt,
Britt
Craig,
and
Sammy
Glick:

Flawed
Male
Journalists

66

Chapter
9:
Superman
and
Lois
Lane

87

Chapter
10:
The
Minor
Players

92

Chapter
11:
The
Overall
Impact
of
Broadway
Journalists

on
Public
Perception

96

Conclusion

99

Endnotes

102

Bibliography

112

iii

Abstract

Since
the
vaudevillian
era,
musicals
have
sought
to
provide
audience

members
with
a
realistic,
if
heightened,
slice
of
life.
As
the
zenith
for
any
newly

crafted
musical
play,
Broadway
has
been
home
to
characters
from
all
walks
of
life

and
many
professions,
including
journalists.

This
paper
compares
the
journalists
of
the
stage
to
those
portrayed
in
film

and
television.
Of
the
15
musicals
with
journalists
in
major
or
supporting
roles,
ten

are
analyzed
here:
Gloria
Thorpe,
the
baseball
writer
in
Damn
Yankees;
JJ
Hunsecker,

the
gossip
columnist
in
Sweet
Smell
of
Success;
Tess
Harding,
the
TV
newswoman
in

Woman
of
the
Year;
Mary
Sunshine,
the
female
journalist
in
Chicago;
Bob
Baker,
the

editor
in
Wonderful
Town;
Horace
Miller,
the
photojournalist
in
Miss
Liberty;
Sammy

Glick,
the
copy
boy
in
What
Makes
Sammy
Run?;
Tommy
Howatt,
the
tabloid

reporter
in
Tenderloin;
Britt
Craig,
the
local
newshound
in
Parade,
and
Lois
Lane

and
Clark
Kent
of
It’s
a
Bird…It’s
a
Plane…It’s
Superman
fame.
The
research

presented
here
describes
these
characters
in
individual
detail
and
compares
them
to

their
onscreen
counterparts.

Additionally,
the
paper
explores
the
public
impact
of
these
characters,
based

on
popularity,
length
of
run,
and
original
theatrical
reviews.

1

Introduction

Few
Americans
know
journalists
personally,
yet
most
have
definitive
ideas

about
exactly
what
journalists
do
and
how
they
act.
1

Their
perceived
familiarity

with
the
profession
comes
from
the
widely
seen
portrayals
of
journalists
on
screen

and
in
literature.
2

After
nearly
lifelong
exposure
to
these
images,
the
fictitious

becomes
inextricable
from
the
real
in
the
mind
of
the
viewer.
3

As
Joe
Saltzman,

director
of
the
Image
of
the
Journalist
in
Popular
Culture
Project,
writes,
“Larger-‐
than-‐life
fictional
characters
overwhelm
their
less
vivid
real-‐life
counterparts.
Real-‐
life
journalists
become
so
immersed
in
legend
and
distortion
that
their
images
are

as
surrounded
by
fiction
as
any
character
in
a
novel,
film
or
TV
program.”
4

The
Broadway
musical
also
contributes
to
this
phenomenon.
While
the
most

successful
and
critically
acclaimed
musicals
are
grounded
in
reality,
the
characters

are
always
“larger
than
life”
as
a
necessary
means
of
grabbing
and
holding
audience

attention.
The
production
of
original
Broadway
musicals
featuring
journalists
in

prominent
roles
seems
to
have
dwindled—there
have
been
two
since
1999,

compared
with
12
from
1945-‐1982
5
—but
the
content
remains
an
important
piece

of
the
study
of
journalists
in
popular
culture.

The
types
of
journalists
seen
onstage
run
the
gamut.
They
are
investigative

reporters,
critics,
seedy
tabloid
journalists,
columnists,
anonymous
packs
of

reporters,
and
more.
Without
exception,
the
writers
and
actors
create
characters

that
perpetuate
some
of
the
stereotypes
displayed
in
film
and
TV.
6

Subtle

differences
can
be
found
here
and
there,
but
many
journalists
in
Broadway
musicals

2

are
devious,
lazy
fact-‐checkers,
willing
to
do
almost
anything
for
a
story,
and
possess

questionable
journalistic
ethics.
Often,
the
only
difference
to
be
found
in
the

Broadway
characters
is
that
they
sing
and
dance
their
way
through
these
ethical

lapses.

3

Chapter
1:
Literature
Review

This
is
the
first
study
on
the
image
of
journalists
in
the
Broadway
musical.

However,
the
study
of
journalists
in
other
artistic
media,
such
as
film
and
novels,
is

exhaustive.

This
study
focuses
on
comparison
of
musical
journalists
to
those
in
film.

Several
sources
were
useful
in
establishing
the
history
of
onscreen
journalist

archetypes.

Three
works
by
Joe
Saltzman
proved
crucial
to
the
analysis.
Analyzing
the

Images
of
the
Journalist
in
Popular
Culture:
a
Unique
Method
of
Studying
the
Public’s

Perception
of
Its
Journalists
and
the
News
Media,
written
at
USC
Annenberg’s
Norman

Lear
Center
in
Los
Angeles,
explores
why
the
study
of
journalists
in
popular
culture

is
important.
Because
few
know
“real”
journalists
in
every
day
life,
Saltzman
writes,

the
general
population’s
only
exposure
to
working
media
is
through
art.
Thus,
the

perception
of
fiction’s
most
iconic
journalistic
characters
is
inherent
in
shaping
the

way
people
view
the
media.

Also
of
use
were
Saltzman’s
2002
book,
Frank
Capra
and
the
Image
of
the

Journalist
in
American
Film,
written
at
the
Norman
Lear
Center,
and
his
essay
Sob

Sisters:
The
Image
of
the
Female
Journalist
in
Popular
Culture,
also
from
Los
Angeles.

Capra
examines
the
work
of
the
iconic
director
who
was
instrumental
in
bringing

the
newsroom
to
the
movies,
shaping
the
stock
images
of
reporters
of
all
kinds
in

film.
Capra
primarily
focuses
on
the
males,
and
Sob
Sisters
is
a
comprehensive
look

at
the
way
female
reporters
were
portrayed,
starting
with
the
pejorative
sob
sister

4

at
the
early
part
of
the
20
th

century,
up
to
more
modern
representations
of

television
journalists
like
Murphy
Brown.

Another
source
for
the
study
of
the
female
journalist
in
film
was
Howard

Good’s
1998
book,
Girl
Reporter,
Gender,
Journalism,
and
the
Movies,
out
of
the

Scarecrow
Press
in
Lanham,
Maryland.
Good’s
book
focuses
on
Torchy
Blane,
an

onscreen
heroine
who
preceded
real
women
in
the
newsroom
and
was
the
subject

of
nine
feature
films
in
the
1930s.
The
Torchy
Blane
films
remain
the
only
original

feature
film
series
with
a
journalist
as
the
protagonist,
and
the
character
shaped
the

way
nearly
every
female
reporter
has
been
written
since,
including
some
of
the

strongest
females
characters
in
musical
theater.

Perhaps
the
other
most
recognizable
series
featuring
a
journalist
is

Superman.
Matthew
C.
Ehrlich
wrote
the
first
large-‐scale
study
of
Superman
as
a

journalist,
Thinking
About
Journalism
with
Superman,
at
the
University
of
Illinois.

This
essay
was
particularly
valuable
for
comparison
with
the
musical
It’s
a
Bird…It’s

a
Plane…It’s
Superman.
Because
Superman
is
passionate
about
helping
people,

Ehrlich
writes,
journalism
is
a
logical
profession
for
him.
The
key
themes
that

Ehrlich
says
make
Superman
both
a
successful
journalist
and
superhero

simultaneously-‐-‐
truth,
justice,
and
the
“American
way-‐-‐”
are
present
in
the
musical.

Another
Ehrlich
essay,
Facts,
Truth,
and
Bad
Journalists
in
the
Movies,
written

in
Thousand
Oaks,
Calif.,
deals
with
the
many
onscreen
journalists
who
abuse
the

privilege
and
position
of
their
career.
Amoral
journalists
are
as
ubiquitous
as
the

heroic
ones
in
fiction,
and
musical
theater
has
its
fair
share.
Specifically,
Bad

Journalists
explores
the
importance
of
telling
the
truth
in
journalism,
focusing
on
the

5

film
Shattered
Glass.
It’s
a
based-‐on-‐a-‐true-‐story
film
about
a
writer
who
knowingly

fabricates
stories
for
decades.
Ehrlich
compares
notorious
real-‐life
journalism

falsification
scandals
with
the
way
such
incidents
have
been
immortalized
in
film.

A
final
Ehrlich
work,
his
book
Journalism
in
the
Movies,
written
in
Illinois
in

2004,
was
also
used.
It’s
a
wider-‐reaching
study
chronicling
the
way
journalists
have

been
portrayed
in
film
since
“talkies”
hit
the
big
screen.
Ehrlich
makes
the
case
that

movies
have
a
strong
relationship
to
the
public’s
understanding
of
the
journalistic

profession,
and
that
that
they
by-‐and-‐large
present
the
media
as
devoted
truth-‐
tellers
who
serve
the
public
interest.

Lastly,
three
student
essays
from
the
IJPC
collection
were
instrumental
in

completing
this
study.
Sarah
Herman’s
Hacks,
Heels
and
Hollywood:
How
Accurately

Do
Recent
Film
Portrayals
of
Women
Journalists
Reflect
the
Working
World
of
Their

Real-Life
Counterparts?
is
a
study
in
the
evolution
of
the
female
journalist
on
screen.

Herman
argues
that
the
depiction
of
the
female
journalist
in
film,
particularly
the

balance
between
work
and
affairs
of
the
heart,
is
and
long
has
been
an
inaccurate

representation
of
the
real
women
working
the
field.

Chad
Sabadie
wrote
about
the
portrayal
of
baseball
writers
in
his
essay

America’s
Presstime:
How
Images
of
Baseball
Reporters
Have
Shaped
the
Perception
of

Our
National
Sport
and
The
Profession
of
Journalism.
Sabadie
found
that
deception,

arrogance,
alcoholism,
and
annoying
persistence
are
common
themes
among
these

fictional
sportswriters,
but
that
passion
and
building
relationships
were
also
key
to

understanding
what
drives
these
characters.

6

Finally,
Jessica
Strait’s
piece,
Popular
Portrayals
of
Journalists
and
Their

Personal
Lives:
Finding
the
Balance
Between
Love
and
the
“Scoop,”
published
in

Virginia,
was
used
a
reference
in
writing
about
lovesick
reporters.
Strait’s
piece

explains
why
fictional
works
have
so
often
failed
to
present
journalists
as
capable
of

cultivating
successful
relationships.
Even
in
those
films
that
do
let
their
journalists

find
love,
Strait
asserts
that
it
is
rarely,
if
ever,
without
a
notable
sacrifice
on
the
part

of
the
character.

7

Chapter
2:
Methodology

To
ensure
a
comprehensive
report
on
journalism
in
musical
theater,
the
first

of
its
kind,
this
study
relied
on
several
sources.
The
IJPC
Database
of
the
Image
of

the
Journalist
in
Popular
Culture
Project
and
the
Internet
Broadway
Database
were

used
to
identify
the
14
musicals
that
featured
a
journalist.

For
the
purposes
of
this
study,
a
journalist
was
defined
as
any
reporter,

editor,
photographer,
or
newsroom
employee
currently
working
or
aspiring
to
work

with
an
established
media
outlet,
who
had
a
major
or
supporting
role
in
the
musical.

The
analysis
was
based
on
multiple
thorough
readings
of
the
ten
musicals

with
scripts
made
available
commercially,
and
listening
to
the
soundtracks
of
each

musical.
A
list
of
the
musicals
with
authors
and
years
of
production
can
be
found
in

the
endnotes.

8

Chapter
3:
Gloria
Thorpe,
the
Sportswriter

“After
all
these
lean
years
we
bring
you
a
truly
great
ball
player.
A
man
for
you
all
to

be
proud
of
and
right
away
this
Gloria
Thorpe
starts
sniping
at
him.”

Team
owner
Welch
to
reporters,
Damn
Yankees
(1956)

Gloria
Thorpe
is
the
original
female
sports
journalist.
Damn
Yankees
was
first

produced
in
1956,
seven
years
before
Jane
Chastain
began
her
trailblazing
career
in

sports
journalism.
7

Aside
from
a
pejorative
description
when
she
is
first
introduced,

only
Gloria
and
one
other
character
make
mention
of
her
gender
in
relation
to
her

profession.
She
is
portrayed,
for
all
intents
and
purposes,
no
differently
than
a
male

sports
reporter
would
be.
The
other
characters
(save
the
devil,
who
goes
by
the

name
Applegate)
8

treat
her
no
differently.
An
early
conversation
between
Gloria
and

Benny
Van
Buren,
manager
of
the
Washington
Senators,
is
demonstrative
of
this.

“We
didn’t
invite
the
press
this
morning,
Gloria.”

“Benny,
you’re
very
foolish
to
have
this
prejudice
against
me
just
because
I’m

a
woman.
My
paper
gives
you
as
much
space
as
the
others
do.”

“I
only
wondered
why
you
were
here
so
early.“

It
seems
as
though
he
is
telling
the
truth.
After
this
moment,
the
question
of

Gloria’s
gender
is
dropped
from
the
play.

Gloria
is
“the
prototype
of
the
professional
woman—not
bad
looking
if
you

ignore
the
fierce
competitive
manner.”
9

Once
that
description
is
out
of
the
way,

Gloria
is
all
business.

There
is
no
further
reference
to
her
appearance
and
no

9

explanation
of
her
personal
or
professional
background.
She
exists
in
the
story

primarily
to
move
the
plot
along
in
dramatic
fashion,
and
also
serves
as
a
foil
to
the

athletes,
manager,
and
team
owner.
10

On
the
spectrum
of
fictional
sportswriters
as

merely
window
dressing
or
as
the
story’s
villain,
Gloria
falls
somewhere
in
between.

Damn
Yankees
begins
with
hapless,
aptly
named,
regular
Joe,
whose
greatest

pleasure
and
pain
in
life
is
the
baseball
team
he
roots
for.
One
summer
evening
as

Joe
watches
his
Washington
Senators
lose
to
those
damn
Yankees
yet
again,
a

“dapper”
11

man
named
Applegate
appears
on
his
doorstep.

Applegate
is
literally
the
devil
in
disguise,
and
he
offers
Joe
the
opportunity

to
be
“the
greatest
baseball
player
of
all
time”
12
—with
a
catch,
of
course.

“I
have
chosen
you,”
Applegate
says,
“the
most
dedicated
partisan
of
the

noble
Washington
Senators,
to
be
the
hero
who
leads
them
out
of
the
wilderness
to

the
championship.”
13

Applegate
goes
on
to
explain
that
he’ll
turn
Joe
into
a
22-‐year-‐
old
phenom
who
will
single-‐handedly
turn
the
season
around
for
the
Senators.
He

even
offers
Joe
an
out—if
he’s
not
happy
as
a
baseball
star
he
has
until
September

24
th

at
midnight
to
return
to
his
old
life.
After
that
time,
he’ll
be
locked
into
the
deal

and
live
as
an
eternal
assistant
to
the
devil.

Gloria
is
already
down
at
the
clubhouse
when
Applegate,
under
the
guise
of

being
Joe’s
mentor,
brings
Joe
to
try
out
for
the
Senators.
When
they
arrive,
Gloria
is

attempting
to
elicit
a
comment
about
the
Yankees
(archrival
of
the
Senators)
from

Van
Buren.

“My
boss
is
very
anxious
to
find
out
what
some
of
your
players
think
of
the

Yankees.”

10

“I’ll
tell
you
something
right
now—my
players
don’t
play
dead
for
the

Yankees
or
any
other
club.
Why
make
something
out
of
the
Yankees?
They’re
a
swell

bunch
of
fellas
and…”

“Oh
yes,
they’re
very
polite
and
then
they
beat
your
brains
out.”
14

Gloria’s
sarcasm
is
interrupted
by
the
arrival
of
Applegate
and
Joe.
Applegate

persuades
Van
Buren
to
offer
Joe
an
immediate
tryout.
When
Van
Buren
concedes,

the
group
heads
to
the
field.

“Are
you
coming,
my
attractive
friend?”
Applegate
asks
Gloria.
This
is
the
sole

reference
in
the
dialogue
to
Gloria’s
appearance.
15

“Well,
I’ll
look,
but
nothing
will
happen,”
says
the
reporter.

Naturally,
she’s
wrong.
By
the
devil’s
design,
Joe
can
hit
and
field
every
ball
to

perfection.
As
he
demonstrates
his
newfound
talents
for
Van
Buren,
Gloria

interrogates
Applegate
with
a
series
of
questions
about
Joe’s
background.
Applegate

artfully
dodges
answering
them.

Van
Buren
offers
Joe
a
spot
on
the
team.
Heading
off
the
field,
Joe
thanks

another
player
for
the
loan
of
his
shoes—Joe’s
own
cleats
wouldn’t
fit
because
the

“new”
Joe,
created
by
Applegate,
is
a
much
more
impressive
and
bulky
physical

specimen.
Always
the
intuitive
reporter,
Gloria
overhears
and
asks
Joe
what

happened
to
his
own
shoes,
which
she
saw
him
bringing
in.
He
struggles
to
ad-‐lib
a

good
cover.

“Those
were
too
small
for
me.”

“Your
own
shoes?”

11

“Yeah.
I
guess
my
feet
had
swollen.
Maybe
it
was
the
excitement
or
the
heat

or
something.”

“Come
on
Joe,
I’ll
take
you
up
to
the
office.”
(Van
Buren)

“Oh
great!
Shouldn’t
I
put
on
my
shoes?”

“I’ve
got
it—Shoeless
Joe
Hardy.”
16

She
goes
on
to
tell
the
players
hanging
around
that
she’s
going
to
use
that

hook
to
“make
Joe
famous”
and
“give
this
club
some
publicity.”
17

Gloria
and
the

players
begin
to
sing
“Shoeless
Joe
From
Hannibal,
Mo.,”
a
song
describing
Joe’s

talents
and
the
good
he
will
do
for
the
team.
It’s
clear
that
the
article
Gloria
writes

for
her
paper
will
be
in
this
vein.

In
the
next
scene,
an
unspecified
amount
of
time
has
passed
but
Joe
is
now

the
darling
of
Washington.
A
pack
of
reporters
is
at
the
ballpark
to
ask
Mr.
Welch,

the
team
owner,
about
Joe.
Welch
expresses
concern
to
another
reporter
about

Gloria’s
“shoeless”
tack
in
covering
Joe.

“After
all
these
years
we
bring
you
a
truly
great
ball
player.
A
man
for
you
to

be
proud
of
and
right
away
this
Gloria
Thorpe
starts
sniping
at
him.”

“You
know
Gloria,
Mr.
Welch,
the
eager
type,
she’s
just
curious.”

“It
doesn’t
help.”

“As
a
matter
of
fact,
I’m
curious
myself.
How
about
those
shoes?
How
come

he
couldn’t
get
into
his
own
shoes?”

“He
just
picked
up
the
wrong
shoes,
that’s
all.
What’s
the
mystery
there?

Good
grief,
this
boy
has
gone
from
pinch
hitter
to
idol
of
the
nation
in
one
month.

12

He’s
making
the
whole
team
come
to
life…And
then
you
fellows
want
to
make

trouble…”

Joe,
too,
is
troubled
by
the
reporter’s
line
of
questioning.

“The
questions
that
Gloria
Thorpe
dame
asks
are
none
of
her
business,”
he

says.
“They’re
a
bunch
of
crooks.
You
tell
them
one
thing
and
they
write
down

whatever
comes
into
their
heads.
Why
do
they
have
to
keep
after
me?
Why
can’t
I

just
play
baseball,
instead
of
sitting
around
answering
a
lot
of
questions?
Making
up

things
about
my
past.”

Unlike
Welch,
Joe’s
concerns
stem
from
the
fact
that
he
knows
there
is
no

truth
about
his
past.
Joe
Hardy
is
a
persona
created
by
the
devil,
and
the
real
Joe
is

terrified
his
secret
will
be
uncovered.
He’s
also
homesick.
Applegate
catches
Joe

visiting
his
old
neighborhood
on
a
nightly
basis
hoping
to
catch
a
glimpse
of
Meg,

the
wife
he
left
behind.

When
Joe
learns
that
the
season
ends
on
September
25
th
,
one
day
after
his

agreed
upon
exit
clause
date
with
Applegate,
he
decides
he
must
play
even
harder
so

the
team
can
have
the
win
and
he
can
go
back
to
his
wife.
He
has
quickly
realized

that
life
with
her
was
preferable
to
being
a
famous
ballplayer.
Knowing
his
wife

won’t
recognize
him
in
his
new
youthful
state,
he
visits
her
and
asks
if
he
can
rent
a

room
from
her—he
just
feels
the
need
to
be
close
to
her.
She
agrees,
telling
him
how

much
she
misses
her
husband
and
saying
she’d
be
grateful
for
the
company.

Back
at
the
ballpark,
Gloria
is
ever
more
suspicious
of
Joe’s
success.
She
asks

Applegate
why
Joe
hasn’t
been
willing
to
appear
on
television,
and
if
his
last
name

13

“back
in
Hannibal”
was
the
same.
18

“Lovely
girl,”
Applegate
snarls.
“I
know
she’ll

make
some
nice
young
man
very
unhappy.”

Meanwhile,
Applegate
senses
that
Joe’s
lust
for
the
game
is
fading.
He
enlists

the
help
of
one
of
his
servants,
Lola,
to
seduce
Joe
in
the
hope
that
he’ll
forget
about

his
wife.
Lola
performs
the
show’s
most
famous
number,
“Whatever
Lola
Wants.”

Joe,
however,
is
impervious
to
Lola’s
charms.
He
tells
her
how
wonderful
she
is,
but

that
he’s
married.

As
Lola
rethinks
her
tack
for
seduction,
Gloria
hounds
Applegate,
who

becomes
quite
irritable.

“Folderol,
what
business
is
it
of
yours
where
Joe
lives?”
he
asks.

“I’m
curious,
that’s
all.
You
see
I’ve
just
come
back
from
a
trip
to
Hannibal,

Missouri,”
19

Gloria
says.

She
goes
on
to
tell
Applegate
that
no
one
in
Joe’s
supposed
hometown
had

heard
of
him,
and
that
his
birth
isn’t
on
record
there.
To
throw
her
off
the
scent,

Applegate
says,
“If
you
are
referring
to
the
rumor
that
he
is
in
reality
Shifty
McCoy,
I

deny
it
emphatically.”
20

Gloria
begins
to
investigate
this
“Shifty
McCoy.”
Van
Buren
tells
her
he’s
a

fugitive
who
was
kicked
out
of
the
Mexican
league
for
taking
a
bribe
and
throwing
a

game.
Gloria
quickly
turns
the
story
around
and
prints
an
accusation
that
Joe
is

Shifty
McCoy.
The
commissioner
of
baseball
calls
a
hearing
that
happens
to
fall
on

the
24
th

of
September
at
10
p.m.,
leaving
Joe
little
time
to
clear
the
mistake,
win
the

pennant,
and
make
a
clear
exit
from
his
deal
with
Applegate.

14

Applegate
remains
certain
he’s
manipulated
Joe
to
the
point
that
the
man
will

stay
on
and
play
because
he
can’t
bear
to
watch
the
Senators
lose.
But
Joe
shows
up

at
the
devil’s
apartment
and
announces
he’s
made
the
decision
to
leave.

“I
found
that
there
is
something
more
important
than
being
a
hero,”
he

says.
21

Applegate
agrees
that
if
at
five
minutes
to
midnight
(during
the
hearing)
Joe

still
wants
to
be
changed
back,
he’ll
acquiesce.
Of
course,
the
devil
has
something
up

his
sleeve.

That
night,
Gloria
takes
the
stand
to
testify
against
Joe
at
the
hearing.
As
the

clock
ticks
closer
and
closer
to
midnight
Gloria
explains
that
she
didn’t
originate
the

Shifty
McCoy
rumor,
rather
she
heard
it
from
Applegate.
As
Applegate
sputters
to

defend
himself,
the
old
Joe’s
wife
Meg
shows
up
with
two
of
her
friends.

Meg
has
grown
close
to
the
new
Joe
while
he’s
been
rooming
in
her
house,

and
she
wants
to
help
clear
his
name.
She
and
two
friends
take
the
stand,
telling
the

committee
they
knew
him
when
he
was
growing
up
in
Hannibal
and
that
he
is

indeed
who
he
says
he
is,
Joe
Hardy.

Joe’s
name
is
cleared,
but,
in
fact,
Meg
has
done
him
a
disservice.
As
she

makes
her
speech
about
his
past,
midnight
strikes
and
Joe
is
forever
locked
into
the

Devil’s
clutches.

The
next
scene
finds
Joe
and
Lola
sitting
together,
with
Lola
trying
to
comfort

him.
She
tells
him
that
they
now
have
to
stick
together—Applegate
was
planning
to

throw
Joe’s
final
game
so
that
the
team
would
lose
and
Joe
would
be
devastated.
But

Lola
explains
she’s
given
the
Devil
sleeping
pills
so
he’ll
miss
the
game,
and
though

Joe
will
never
be
with
his
wife
again
he
can
still
win
the
pennant
for
his
team.

15

But
Applegate
wakes
up
before
the
game
is
over
and
drags
Lola
to
the

stadium.
Lola
confesses
she’s
in
love
with
Joe,
and
that
she
will
do
anything
to

prevent
Applegate
from
throwing
the
game.
They
get
to
the
stadium
in
time
for
the

final
out
and
Applegate
changes
Joe
back
to
his
old
self
just
as
he
runs
back
into
the

outfield
to
make
the
play—but
Joe
makes
it
anyway
and
the
Senators
win
the

pennant.
Realizing
what’s
happened,
Joe
runs
off
before
any
celebration
can

commence
and
the
fans
or
his
teammates
can
see
him.

The
old
Joe
goes
back
to
Meg,
who
is
overcome
that
her
husband
has
at
last

returned.
Applegate
realizes
that
by
changing
Joe
back
in
desperation
to
throw
the

game,
he
has
unwittingly
broken
the
deal
and
Joe
is
free.
He
begs
Joe
to
return,

promising
him
a
fixed
World
Series
win.

But
Joe
has
already
forgotten
about
his
days
of
glory.
He
is
content
to
live
a

simple
“happily
ever
after”
with
his
wife.

Gloria’s
role
in
both
Joe’s
fall
and
his
resurrection
is
crucial.
Like
many

baseball
writers
depicted
in
film,
her
mission
is
to
protect
and
grow
the
game.

22

When
the
hearing
committee
asks
Gloria
why
she
pursued
the
Shifty
McCoy
story,

she
says,
“Because
I
value
the
good
name
of
baseball
more
than
I
do
a
victory
for
my

own
team.”
23

Like
other
fictional
baseball
writers,
Gloria
sees
herself
as
part
of
the
story.
In

the
movie
The
Natural,
baseball
writer
Max
Mercy
(played
by
Robert
Duvall)

proclaims,
“I
can
do
wonders
for
that
boy,”
referring
to
star
player
Roy
Hobbs

(Robert
Redford).
24

Gloria
is
similarly
eager
to
be
involved.

“I’ll
give
this
club
some
publicity,”
she
declares.
“Let’s
make
Joe
famous.”
25

16

Those
in
the
Washington
Senators
organization
are
impressed
by
Gloria’s

creativity
in
coining
the
“the
Shoeless
Joe
from
Hannibal
Mo.”
moniker.

“Gee,
Miss
Thorpe,
you
sure
get
some
wonderful
ideas,”
says
Smokey,
one
of

Joe’s
Senators
teammates.

“Oh,
I
got
lots
of
ideas,”
Gloria
responds.

She
does,
and
she
isn’t
afraid
to
pat
herself
on
the
back.
Her
self-‐confidence
is

a
trait
shared
with
many
other
fictitious
baseball
writers.
As
Chad
Sabadie
wrote
in

his
essay,
America’s
Presstime:
How
Images
of
Baseball
Reporters
Have
Shaped
the

Perception
of
Our
National
Sport
and
The
Profession
of
Journalism,
“A
trademark

character
trait…is
that
the
baseball
writer
is
overly
confident
in
status
and
ability.”
26

Gloria
could
certainly
be
described
as
overly
confident—it
is
her
haste
in
getting
the

Shifty
McCoy
story
printed
that
leads
to
the
hearing
and
thus
further
difficulty
for

Joe.

Still,
Gloria’s
motives
remain
mostly
pure.
She
is
committed
to
bringing
the

public
the
truth
even
if
it
disappoints
the
fans.
“I’ve
been
jeered
and
abused
since
I

wrote
that
story,”
she
says
of
the
Shifty
McCoy
piece.
27

She
knows
the
fans
want
to

believe
in
Joe
regardless
of
the
truth,
but
she
feels
nonetheless
that
it’s
her

responsibility
to
keep
them
informed.
The
same
is
true
of
many
baseball
writers
in

film—“even
though
they
know
the
public
will
be
heartbroken,
they
continue
to
seek

the
truth.”
28

It
should
be
noted
that
though
Gloria’s
gender
makes
scant
difference
in

Damn
Yankees,
women
baseball
writers
as
central
characters
are
exceedingly
rare
in

popular
culture.
In
the
original
film
version
of
Angels
in
the
Outfield,
the
leading

17

writer
is
a
woman
who
struggles
with
the
profession
and
eventually
returns
to
a
life

of
cooking
and
cleaning
for
her
family.
29

We
don’t
know
what
happens
to
Gloria

after
Damn
Yankees,
but
it
can
be
assumed
she
doesn’t
share
that
fate.
In
no
way

does
she
resemble
“the
general
run
of
girl
reporters
[who]
sooner
or
later
submitted

to
male
authority
and
control.”
30

With
her
nose
for
a
story
and
commitment
to
delivering
it
to
the
public,

Gloria
has
much
more
in
common
with
the
male
baseball
writers
of
film.

Throughout
the
musical,
her
persona
and
actions
hold
true
to
the
mold
that
has

been
set
for
depicting
these
journalists.

18

Chapter
4:
Mary
Sunshine,
the
Female
Journalist

“There’ll
be
a
whole
bunch
of
photographers
and
reporters
and
that
sob
sister
from
the

Evening
Star
is
coming.
I
don’t
figure
we’ll
have
any
trouble
with
her.
She’ll
swallow

hook,
line
and
sinker.
Because
it’s
what
she
wants.
Her
name
is
Mary
Sunshine.”

Criminal
Defense
Lawyer
Billy
Flynn
to
Roxie
Hart,
Chicago
(1976)

Chicago’s
Mary
Sunshine
is
far
from
a
typical
female
journalist.
The
female

journalist
of
film
is
characterized
as
an
“aggressive,
self-‐assured,
independent

female
reporter,”
who
“more
often
than
not
outwits,
outfoxes,
and
outreports
every

male
reporter
in
sight.”
31

These
women
work
their
hardest
in
hopes
that
they
might

earn
the
right
to
be
called
“a
newspaperman.”
32

Mary
does
not
outwardly
possess
any
of
these
traits.
On
the
contrary,
she
is

naïve,
sensitive
and
guided
primarily
by
emotion.
Billy
Flynn,
a
direct
and

aggressive
major
character
in
Chicago,
calls
her
a
“pushover.”
33

Even
Mary’s
name
pays
homage
to
a
decidedly
feminine
representation
of
the

female
journalist.
In
the
Frank
Capra
film
Forbidden,
about
a
sob
sister
named
Lulu

Smith
who
commits
murder
to
keep
a
story
out
of
print,
Smith
writes
an
advice-‐to-‐
the-‐lovelorn
column
under
the
pseudonym
“Mary
Sunshine.”
34

In
the
stage
version
of
Chicago,
we
are
introduced
to
Mary
by
sound
rather

than
sight.
As
Billy,
a
criminal
defense
lawyer,
preps
a
client
to
meet
with
the
media,

he
explains
what
to
expect
from
Mary.

19

“There’ll
be
a
whole
bunch
of
photographers
and
reporters
and
that
sob

sister
from
the
Evening
Star
is
coming.
(Off
Stage
from
behind
the
Bandstand,
we
hear

a
coloratura
trill.)
I
don’t
figure
we’ll
have
any
trouble
with
her.
(Another
trill.)
She’ll

swallow
hook,
line
and
sinker.
Because
it’s
what
she
wants.
(Another
trill.)
Her
name

is
Mary
Sunshine.
(Mary
Sunshine
appears.
She
takes
her
place
behind
the

microphone.)”

35

Mary
launches
into
the
soprano
aria,
“A
Little
Bit
of
Good.”
Her
introduction

is
one
of
several
devices
cleverly
employed
by
the
writers
to
conceal
the
fact
that

Mary
is
being
played
by
a
man
in
drag.
This
fact
isn’t
revealed
to
the
audience
until

close
to
show’s
end,
but
it’s
key
to
understanding
why
Mary
is
different
from
other

depictions
of
female
journalists.

Complex
characters
with
two
sides
to
their
personalities
abound
in
Chicago.

Set
in
the
late
1920s,
the
play
is
presented
as
a
vaudeville
act,
complete
with
a

master
of
ceremonies
narrating.

“Ladies
and
gentlemen,
you
are
about
to
see
a
story
of
murder,
greed,

corruption,
violence,
exploitation,
adultery,
and
treachery—all
those
things
we
hold

near
and
dear
to
our
hearts,”
the
emcee
says
to
open
the
show.
36

Velma
Kelly
is
the
first
character
to
appear
onstage.
She
sings
and
dances
to

“All
That
Jazz.”

While
Velma
and
the
ensemble
perform,
Roxie
Hart
and
her

boyfriend
Fred
Casely
drunkenly
stumble
into
the
scene.
Throughout
the
song,
we

watch
Roxie
and
Fred
as
they
have
sex
and
Fred
gets
ready
to
leave—a
classic

“Wham,
bam,
thank
you
ma’am”
scenario.
As
it
becomes
evident
he’s
really
taking

20

off,
Roxie’s
anger
mounts
until
she
grabs
a
gun
from
the
bureau
and
shoots
him,

twice.

In
the
next
scene,
the
police
question
Roxie
and
her
husband
Amos
about

Fred’s
death.
Amos
takes
the
blame,
telling
officers
he
came
home
from
work
to
find

a
stranger
attacking
his
wife.

Roxie
has
clearly
told
Amos
an
edited
version
of
the

story
so
he
wouldn’t
know
she
was
cheating.
But
when
the
victim’s
identity
is

revealed,
Amos
realizes
his
wife
has
been
unfaithful
and
tells
police
that
she
shot

Fred
and
asked
him
to
take
the
blame.
The
police
haul
Roxie
off
to
jail.

In
jail
we
learn
that
Velma
is
an
inmate
as
well—she’s
been
accused
of
killing

her
sister
and
husband
after
discovering
their
affair.
Velma’s
sitting
pretty
in
jail

because
she
pays
off
the
warden,
Matron
Mama
Morton,
in
exchange
for
special

favors
and
publicity.
Roxie,
an
aspiring
actress,
is
thrilled
to
meet
Velma,
whose
act

she’s
seen
in
clubs
and
whose
picture
she’s
seen
in
the
paper.
But
Velma
brushes
her

off.

Matron
takes
pity
on
Roxie,
and
tells
her
that
to
have
a
prayer
in
hell
of

getting
off
for
murder,
she
needs
to
hire
Billy
Flynn,
the
“best
criminal
lawyer
in
all

of
Chicago.”
37

Billy’s
services
cost
a
pretty
penny—five
thousand
dollars—but
Roxie

figures
she
can
weasel
the
money
out
of
Amos.

Amos
is
only
able
to
swing
two
thousand,
but
Billy’s
no
fool.
He
knows

Roxie’s
case
is
about
to
hit
the
papers
and
he’ll
do
anything
for
a
little
publicity

himself
(though
he
proclaims,
“All
I
Care
About
Is
Love”
in
his
big
song
38
).
He
agrees

to
take
on
her
case,
just
in
time
for
a
press
conference
with
several
reporters,

including
Mary
Sunshine.

21

Mary
sings
her
big
number
“A
Little
Bit
of
Good,”
about
the
importance
of

trying
to
see
only
the
best
in
people.

When
I
was
a
tiny
tot

Of
maybe
two
or
three

I
can
still
remember
what

My
mother
said
to
me...

Place
rose
colored
glasses
on
your
nose

And
you
will
see
the
robins

Not
the
crows

For
in
the
tense
and
tangled
web

Our
weary
lives
can
weave

You're
so
much
better
off

If
you
believe

That
there's
a
little
bit
of
good

In
everyone

In
everyone
you'll
ever
know

Yes,
there's
a
little
bit
of
good

In
everyone

Though
many
times,
it
doesn't
show

It
only
takes
the
taking
time

With
one
another

For
under
every
mean
veneer

Is
someone
warm
and
dear

Keep
looking

For
that
bit
of
good
in
everyone

The
ones
we
call
bad

Are
never
all
bad

So
try
to
find
that
little
bit
of
good

Is
someone
warm
and
dear

Keep
looking...

For
that
little
bit
of
good
in
everyone

Although
you
meet
rats

They're
not
complete
rats

So
try
to
find
that
little
bit
of
good!
39

22

Despite
Mary’s
demonstration
of
good
intentions,
Roxie
is
terrified
to
be
her

next
subject.
Billy
concocts
a
new
version
of
what
happened
the
night
Roxie
shot

Fred,
complete
with
a
fabricated
life
history
for
Roxie.

The
“press
conference”
he
holds
is
a
vaudeville-‐style
number
called
“We
Both

Reached
for
the
Gun,”
during
which
Roxie
sits
on
Billy’s
lap
like
a
wooden
dummy

and
moves
her
mouth
as
he
speaks
for
her.

Reporters:

Where'd
you
come
from?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

Mississippi

Reporters:

And
your
parents?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

Very
wealthy.

Reporters:

Where
are
they
now?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

Six
feet
under.

Billy:

But
she
was
granted
one
more
start

Billy
(as
Roxie):

The
convent
of
the
Sacred
Heart!

Reporters:

When'd
you
get
there?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

1920

Reporters:

How
old
were
you?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

23

Don't
remember

Reporters:

Then
what
happened?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

I
met
Amos

And
he
stole
my
heart
away

Convinced
me
to
elope
one
day

Mary
Sunshine:

A
convent
girl!
A
runaway
marriage!
Oh,
it's
too
terrible.

You
poor,
poor
dear.

Reporters:

Who's
Fred
Casely?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

My
ex-‐boyfriend.

Reporters:

Why'd
you
shoot
him.

Billy
(as
Roxie):

I
was
leavin'.

Reporters:

Was
he
angry?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

Like
a
madman!

Still
I
said,
"Fred,
move
along."

Billy:

She
knew
that
she
was
doin'
wrong

Reporters:

Then
describe
it

Billy
(as
Roxie):

He
came
toward
me.

Reporters:

With
a
pistol?

24

Billy
(as
Roxie):

From
my
bureau

Reporters:

Did
you
fight
him?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

Like
a
tiger

Billy:

He
had
strength
and
she
had
none

Billy
(as
Roxie):

And
yet
we
both
reached
for
the
gun

Oh
yes,
oh
yes,
oh
yes
we
both

Oh
yes,
we
both

Oh
yes,
we
both
reached
for

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun

Oh
yes,
we
both
reached
for
the
gun

For
the
gun.

Billy
and
Reporters:

Oh
yes,
oh
yes,
oh
yes
they
both

Oh
yes,
they
both

Oh
yes,
they
both
reached
for

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun

Oh
yes,
they
both
reached
for
the
gun

For
the
gun.

Billy:

Understandable,
understandable

Yes,
it's
perfectly
understandable

Comprehensible,
comprehensible

Not
a
bit
reprehensible

It's
so
defensible!

Reporters:

How
you're
feeling?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

Very
frightened

Reporters:

Are
you
sorry?

25

Roxie:

Are
you
kidding?

Reporters:

What's
your
statement?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

All
I'd
say
is

Though
my
choo-‐choo
jumped
my
track

I'd
give
my
life
to
bring
him
back

Reporters:

And?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

Stay
away
from

Reporters:

What?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

Jazz
and
liquor

Reporters:

And?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

And
the
men
who

Reporters:

What?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

Play
for
fun

Reporters:

And
what?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

That's
the
thought
that

Reporters:

Yeah!

26

Billy
(as
Roxie):

Came
upon
me

Reporters:

When?

Billy
(as
Roxie):

When
we
both
reached
for
the
gun!

Mary
Sunshine:

Understandable,
understandable

Billy
and
Mary
Sunshine:

Yes,
it's
perfectly
understandable

Comprehensible,
comprehensible

Not
a
bit
reprehensible

It's
so
defensible!

Billy:

Reporters:

Let
me

Oh
yes,
oh
yes,
oh
yes
they
both

Hear
it!

Oh
yes,
they
both

Oh
yes,
they
both
reached
for

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,

The
gun

Oh
yes,
they
both
reached

For
the
gun

A
little

For
the
gun.

louder!

Oh
yes,
oh
yes,
oh
yes
they
both

Oh
yes,
they
both

Oh
yes,
they
both
reached

For
the
gun,
the
gun,

Now
you

The
gun,
the
gun

got
it!

Oh
yes,
they
both
reached

For
the
gun

For
the
gun.

Billy
and
reporters:

Oh
yes,
oh
yes,
oh
yes
they
both

Oh
yes,
they
both

Oh
yes,
they
both
reached
for

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun

Oh
yes,
they
both
reached
for
the
gun.

27

Oh
yes,
oh
yes,
oh
yes
they
both

Oh
yes,
they
both

Oh
yes,
they
both
reached
for

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun.

Billy:

Both
reached
for
the...gun

Reporters:

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun

The
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun,
the
gun

Both
reached
for
the
gun.

First
Reporter:

"Stop
The
Presses!"

Second
Reporter:

"'We
Both
Reached
For
The
Gun,'
Says
Roxie!"

Third
Reporter:

"Dancing
Feet
Lead
To
Sorrow,
Says
Beautiful
Jazz
Slayer!"

Fifth
Reporter:

"Jazz
And
Liquor,
Roxie's
Downfall!"
40

Instantaneously,
Roxie
becomes
a
star
and
revels
in
it.
Velma
sees
her
star

fading,
and
thinks
she
might
ride
Roxie’s
coattails
by
offering
to
do
a
cabaret
act

with
her.
Roxie,
remembering
Velma’s
earlier
rebuff,
haughtily
declines.

No
sooner
has
she
put
Velma
in
her
place
than
a
new
young
murderess,
Go-‐
To-‐Hell
Kitty,
is
brought
kicking
and
screaming
into
the
jail
with
Billy
and
Mary
hot

on
her
heels.
Roxie
tries
to
get
the
attention
of
the
reporter
and
the
lawyer,
but

neither
gives
her
much
time.
Velma
watches,
smirking.

28

As
reporters
cluster
around
the
new
girl,
Roxie
gets
an
inspired
idea.
She

collapses
onto
the
floor
of
her
cell.
Billy,
Mary,
and
the
rest
of
the
reporters
rush

over
to
her.

Roxie:
“Don’t
worry
about
me.
It’s
just
that
I’m
going
to
have
a
baby.”

All:
“A
baby!”

Velma:
“Shit.”
41

Roxie,
of
course,
isn’t
really
pregnant.
She’s
using
it
as
a
ruse
to
keep
her

popularity
riding
high
and
secure
a
trial
date
before
all
the
other
girls.
As
Mary
tells

Billy,
“I
don’t
see
how
you
could
possibly
delay
the
trial
for
another
second.
My

readers
wouldn’t
stand
for
it.
The
poor
child!
To
have
her
baby
born
in
a
jail!”
42

Meanwhile,
Amos
has
heard
about
the
pregnancy
and
has
been
trying
to
see

Roxie,
but
can’t
get
to
her
because
of
the
media
circus.
The
best
he
can
do
is
Billy,

who
points
out
that
the
date
of
conception
doesn’t
figure
correctly
for
Amos
to
be

the
father.
Billy
convinces
Amos
to
divorce
Roxie,
knowing
that
might
earn
his
client

a
few
more
pity
points
from
the
jury.

Velma,
anxious
about
her
own
trial
date,
finds
Billy
and
describes
in
detail

her
“performance”
plans
for
when
she
testifies.
But
Billy
is
too
busy
with
Roxie’s

trial
to
care.
He
tries
to
give
Roxie
advice
for
things
to
do
on
the
stand,
but
Roxie’s

gotten
a
bit
big
for
her
britches.
She
no
longer
thinks
she
needs
Billy’s
help
and
fires

him.

Shortly
thereafter,
the
city
announces
that
one
of
the
female
inmates
at
Roxie

and
Velma’s
jail
will
be
hanged.
It’s
the
first
hanging
of
a
woman
in
the
county
in
47

29

years.
Scared
stiff,
Roxie
begs
Billy’s
forgiveness
and
pleads
with
him
to
take
on
her

case
again.
He
agrees
on
the
condition
that
they
do
the
trial
on
his
terms.

The
trial
goes
exactly
the
way
Billy
and
Roxie
have
planned,
with
Mary

providing
a
radiocast
of
the
events
in
the
courtroom.
Billy
delivers
a
sappy
closing

argument,
painting
a
picture
of
Roxie
as
a
damsel
in
distress
who
shot
Fred
in
self-‐
defense
and
feels
nothing
but
remorse
for
her
actions.
He
closes
with
this
(stage

directions
included):

“You
have
heard
my
colleague
call
her
temptress,
call
her
adultress,
call
her

murderess.
But
despite
what
the
prosecution
says,
things
are
not
always
what
they

appear
to
be.
(Billy
crosses
to
Mary
Sunshine.
Circus-ey
music
plays
as
Mary
Sunshine

sings
a
coloratura
trill.
Billy
removes
her
wig
and
dress
to
reveal
her
to
be
a
him
in
his

boxer
shorts.
They
bow
to
each
other.)
The
defense
rests!”
43

That
is
the
last
time
we
see
Mary.

In
the
next
scene,
the
jury
has
Roxie’s
verdict
ready.
Before
the
verdict
can

even
be
read,
however,
a
reporter
rushes
into
the
courtroom
and
explains
that
a

triple
murder
has
just
taken
place
outside
the
courthouse.
The
courtroom
clears,

and
Roxie
takes
no
joy
in
the
moment,
though
Billy
tells
her
she
has
been
found
not

guilty.

Already
replaced
by
a
new
murderess
and
desperate
for
attention,
Roxie

finally
joins
Velma
for
that
cabaret
act.

Could
the
star
quality
of
Roxie,
Velma,
and
their
ilk
exist
without
Mary

Sunshine?
Maybe,
but
she
certainly
helps
it
along.
Mary
paints
a
positive,
relatable

picture
of
the
female
killers
in
her
newspaper
and
they
become
society
darlings,

30

however
temporarily.
According
to
Saltzman’s
essay
Sob
Sisters:
The
Image
of
the

Female
Journalist
in
Popular
Culture,
editors
frequently
assigned
female
reporters
to

crime
stories
so
that
they
could
spin
the
story
to
tug
at
the
reader’s
heartstrings.
44
In

Chicago,
that’s
the
primary
role
Mary
plays.
Lyricist
Fred
Ebb
pokes
fun
at
that
idea

with
Mary’s
song,
“A
Little
Bit
of
Good,”
but
there
are
several
examples
in
the

dialogue
as
well.

“Oh,
it’s
too
terrible.
You
poor,
poor
dear,”
Mary
exclaims
at
the
press

conference
where
Billy
gives
a
false
account
of
Roxie’s
past.
45

When
Go-‐To-‐Hell
Kitty
is
dragged
into
the
jail
biting,
kicking
and
cursing,

Mary’s
response
is,
“Oh,
she’s
very
high
spirited,
isn’t
she?”
46

In
particular,
Mary’s
radio
broadcast
at
Roxie’s
trial
is
rife
with
positivity,
if

not
editorializing.

“Mrs.
Hart’s
behavior
throughout
this
ordeal
has
been
extraordinary…the

poor
child
has
had
no
relief.
She
looks
around
now,
bewildered,
seeming
to
want

something.
Oh,
it’s
a
glass
of
water.
The
bailiff
has
brought
her
one.
Mrs.
Hart,
her

usual
gracious
self,
thanks
the
bailiff
and
he
smiles
at
her.
She
looks
simply
radiant

in
her
stylish
blue
lace
dress
and
elegant
silver
shoes.”
47

For
an
editor
looking
for
a
human
touch
to
a
crime
story,
Mary
is
certainly
a

dream
come
true.

Yet,
the
typical
female
journalist
of
film
“is
considered
an
equal
by
doing
a

man’s
job,
a
career
woman
drinking
and
arguing
toe-‐to-‐toe
with
any
male
in
the

shop,
holding
her
own
against
everyone
and
anything,
yet
often
showing
her
soft

side
and
crying
long
and
hard
when
the
man
she
loves
treats
her
like
a
sister
instead

31

of
a
lover.”
48

Of
these
traits,
the
only
one
that
Mary
exhibits
in
Chicago
is
the
“soft

side.”
We
don’t
know
of
her
romantic
pursuits
or
drinking
habits,
but
we
know

definitively
that
she
doesn’t
argue
and
makes
no
attempt
to
“hold
her
own”
against

anyone.
Mary
is
never
seen
fact
checking
or
going
to
any
lengths
to
uncover
the

truth
in
a
story.
She
simply
allows
Billy
to
spoon-‐feed
her
whatever
information
he

wishes,
and
she
will
regurgitate
it
in
print.

The
big
“reveal”
of
Mary
as
a
man
begs
the
question,
quite
simply,
of
“Why?”

First,
it
demonstrates
an
interesting
dichotomy.
The
female
journalist
of
film

constantly
struggles
with
the
“masculine”
nature
and
responsibilities
of
her

profession
versus
her
desire
to
find
a
good
man
and
have
a
family.
“Most
sob
sisters,

no
matter
how
tough
or
independent,
would
give
up
anything
and
everything
for

marriage,
children
and
a
life
at
home.”
49
Again,
we
don’t
know
Mary’s
personal

situation,
but
throughout
the
play
she
seems
to
have
found
a
way
to
be
soft
and

feminine
but
still
a
successful
journalist.
When
it’s
revealed
she’s
a
man,
we
know

that
on
some
level,
this
perception
isn’t
reality.

Secondly,
it
shows
that
Mary
is
perhaps
the
opposite
of
a
traditional
female

journalist.
Instead
of
being
rough
around
the
edges
but
sensitive
and
emotional
on

the
inside,
Mary
displays
a
soft,
malleable
exterior
when
she
is
actually
a
tough

newspaperman.

But
mostly,
it
serves
as
a
physical
manifestation
of
Chicago’s
running
theme,

what
the
play
is
really
all
about,
“that
things
are
not
always
what
they
appear
to
be.”

In
that
sense,
Mary’s
role
is
perhaps
the
most
pivotal
in
the
production.

32

Chapter
5:
Tess
Harding,
the
TV
Newswoman

“You
don’t
need
any
husband
grinning
from
ear-to-ear
to
be
woman
of
the
year.”

TV
Broadcaster
Tess
Harding,
Woman
of
the
Year
(1981)

When
Tess
Harding
became
Woman
of
the
Year
in
the
1981
musical
of
that

name,
there
weren’t
many
real-‐life
models
to
draw
from.
Three
years
earlier

Barbara
Walters
ended
a
short
and
unsuccessful
run
as
the
co-‐anchor
on
ABC’s

evening
news,
where
she
was
the
first
woman
anchor
in
the
prime-‐time
spot
for
a

major
network.
50

Still,
there
were
already
several
existing
stereotypes
of
the
female

TV
journalist
in
popular
culture,
most
circling
around
a
career
woman’s
perceived

inability
to
be
professionally
successful
and
still
have
a
good
home
life.

As
described
in
Woman
of
the
Year,
Tess
possesses
a
winning
combination
of

“intelligence
and
wit,
skill
and
talent,
charm
and
glamour.”
51

She
is
the
country’s

most
successful
female
broadcast
journalist,
having
won
“a
Pulitzer
Prize,
two

Peabody
Awards
and
three
Emmys.”
52

More
than
once,
other
characters
are

completely
taken
aback
by
her
good
looks
after
meeting
her
in
person.
When
her

husband
to
be,
Sam,
meets
her
for
the
first
time
he
stops
short
and
says,
“You
know,

you’re
really
better
looking
than
you
are
on
television—a
lot
better.”
53

But
perhaps
her
most
defining
characteristic
is
her
overt
self-‐confidence.
In

the
play’s
second
scene,
Tess
shows
up
for
the
morning
show
she
anchors
exactly
30

seconds
before
the
show
goes
on
air.
While
everyone
around
her
runs
around
like

maniacally,
Tess
seems
blissfully
unconcerned.

33

Floor
Manager:
“Thirty
seconds-‐-‐!”

Director:
“Tess,
are
you
doing
an
editorial?
We
don’t
have
any
copy—“

Tess:
“Don’t
worry,
I
wrote
it
in
the
back
of
the
car.”
54

It’s
this
innate
belief
that
she
can
do
it
all
that
initially
prevents
Tess
from

having
a
successful
relationship,
which
is
the
conflict
at
the
crux
of
Woman
of
the

Year.
Tess
shares
this
problem
with
many
fictional
female
journalists.
“For
every

positive
image
of
a
successful
female
journalist
in
film,
TV,
novels
and
short
stories,

there
are
a
dozen
stereotypical
clichés…the
ravishing
female
doing
whatever
it
takes

to
get
the
story,
the
tough
editor
or
publisher
who
is
miserable
because
she
has

given
up
what
she
wants
most—the
love
of
a
good
man
and
children.”
55

At
times,

Tess
fits
both
these
profiles
in
Woman
of
the
Year.

The
musical
opens
at
an
awards
ceremony,
where
Tess
is
to
be
honored
as—
what
else—woman
of
the
year.
The
chairperson
lauds
her
for
“her
blissfully
happy

marriage”
and
having
“proven
beyond
all
doubt
that
today’s
woman
can
be

successful
both
in
her
career
and
her
marriage.”
56

Tess
doesn’t
inform
the
crowd
that
her
marriage,
to
cartoonist
Sam
Craig,
is

collapsing.
She
sings,
“Woman
of
the
Year,”
a
song
about
how
she
doesn’t
need
a

man,
or
even
to
be
happy,
to
be
woman
of
the
year.

“You
don’t
need
to
be
happy
or
serenity
itself,
you
don’t
need
any
photos
of

Niagara
on
the
shelf.
You
don’t
need
any
husband
grinning
from
ear
to
ear
to
be

woman
of
the
year,”
she
sings.
57

34

The
next
scene
begins
a
flashback
that
spans
most
of
the
show,
beginning

with
the
day
before
Tess
and
Sam
meet.
Tess
gives
an
editorial
on
the
morning
show

she
co-‐anchors
about
how
much
she
dislikes
“the
funnies”
from
the
newspaper

being
given
a
place
in
museums,
and
that
it’s
a
“dangerous”
trend.
58

Sam
and
his
fellow
comic-‐strip
writers
are
infuriated,
knowing
that
Tess’s

opinions
are
influential
and
reach
a
large
audience.
Sam
exacts
his
revenge
by

creating
a
mocking
character
with
her
name
in
his
own
strip.
When
Tess’s
assistant

Gerald
shows
her
the
comic
she
is
quite
upset,
particularly
since
she
can’t
even

remember
any
incident
that
would
have
provoked
Sam’s
wrath.
When
Gerald

explains
that
Sam’s
angry
because
of
her
anti-‐funnies
editorial,
Tess
is
incredulous.

She
sings
a
song
titled,
“When
You’re
Right,
You’re
Right,”
about,
quite
simply,
how

she’s
never
wrong.
Gerald
sings
with
her,
affirming
that
she
is
always
right.

Sam
decides
to
confront
Tess
at
her
office,
interrupting
the
sing-‐a-‐long.
But

when
Sam
and
Tess
first
lay
eyes
on
each
other,
the
attraction
is
instant.
He
forgets

what
he’s
come
to
say,
and
she
immediately
issues
a
mea
culpa
in
the
form
of
a

reprise
of
“When
You’re
Right.”

“I
was
wrong,
that’s
right,
I
was
totally
wrong.
And
not
to
confess
would
be

small,
that’s
right.
When
you’re
wrong,
you’re
wrong,
right?
I
know
when
I’m
wrong.

You’re
not
what
I
pictured
at
all…and
I
must
have
been
mad
but
my
bark
is
much

worse
than
my
bite,”
Tess
sings.

They
immediately
make
plans
for
dinner
that
evening.
Before
dinner,
Sam

takes
Tess
by
his
studio
in
hopes
of
persuading
her
of
the
legitimacy
of
cartoons.

They’re
having
a
very
nice
time
when
Gerald
calls
with
the
news
that
Tess
has
the

35

opportunity
for
an
exclusive
interview
with
a
dancer
named
Alexi
Petrikov,
and
she

must
follow
up
that
very
moment.
Additionally,
he
has
some
items
to
bring
by
for

her
to
sign.
With
resignation,
Sam
agrees
to
let
Gerald
crash
their
date.

After
spending
much
of
the
evening
watching
Tess
and
Gerald’s
back
and

forth
about
business
and
her
schedule,
Sam
has
had
enough.

“Tonight
got
off
on
the
wrong
foot—yours.”

“Don’t
tell
me
you’re
one
of
those
men
who
feels
threatened
if
he’s
not
in

charge—“

“No,
no,
you
can
be
in
charge.
I
just
want
to
be
included
in
the
conversation.”

“Well,
I
guess
I
did
screw
things
up,
I’m
sorry.
Sure
you
won’t
reconsider

tonight?”

“Absolutely
not.
But
I’ll
tell
you
what—I’ll
take
you
to
dinner
Monday
night,

just
the
two
of
us.”
59

Unfortunately,
Gerald
butts
in
to
say
that
Tess
is
otherwise
engaged
Monday

night.
It’s
nearly
impossible
to
settle
on
a
date
because
of
her
schedule,
but
Sam
is
so

smitten
he
doesn’t
really
mind.

A
few
days
pass,
and
Sam
tells
his
cartoonist
friends
that
he’s
bringing
his

new
girlfriend
by
to
meet
them.
He
hasn’t
told
them
who
the
girlfriend
is.
His
friends

are
shocked
and
angry
when
they
see
it’s
Tess,
but
she
quickly
charms
them
all
and

apologizes
for
the
comments
she
made
on
TV.

Later
that
evening,
Sam
and
Tess
profess
their
love
to
each
other.
A
cartoon

montage
using
characters
from
Sam’s
strip
depicts
a
quickie
wedding
and

marriage.
60

36

Right
away
Sam
moves
into
her
apartment.
That
night
they
are
reveling
in

the
joy
of
being
alone
without
any
of
Tess’s
professional
distractions
for
the
first

time.
But
minutes
later,
Gerald
lets
himself
into
the
apartment
using
his
own
key.

The
phone
starts
ringing
and
a
barrage
of
other
visitors
each
requiring
Tess’s

immediate
attention
begin
to
drop
by.
Soon
14
people
are
in
the
apartment

including
Alexi
Petrikov,
whom
Tess
needs
to
interview
immediately.
Their
wedding

night
is
as
good
as
ruined.

The
next
scene
starts
two
months
after
the
wedding.
The
ensemble
combines

for
a
musical
montage
titled
“It
Isn’t
Working,”
which
chronicles
the
marriage
of

Tess
and
Sam
through
the
first
six
months.
It’s
interspersed
with
commentary
from

the
supporting
cast
on
the
state
of
their
relationship.

Pinky,
Sam’s
cartoonist
buddy
(after
two
months):
“I’ve
never
heard
him

sound
happier.
And
you
know
what
that
means—it
isn’t
working.”
61

Chip,
Tess’s
morning
co-‐anchor
(after
three
months):
“I’m
happy
to
report

that
Tess
is
back
from
her
belated
honeymoon,
which
she
combined
with
a
special

assignment
in
North
Korea.”
62

Helga,
Tess’s
housekeeper
(after
four
months):
“All
day
long
it’s
hugging
and

kissing!
Four
months
already,
and
they
still
can’t
keep
their
hands
off
each
other!”
63

Gerald
(after
six
months):
“Miss
Harding
is
in
Barrytown
interviewing
the

Reverend
Sun
Myung
Moon.
The
marriage?
Six
months
of
bliss,
absolute
bliss!”
64

Six
months,
and
the
jury’s
apparently
still
out
on
whether
it’s
working.
In
the

next
scene
at
Tess
and
Sam’s
apartment,
Sam
becomes
upset
when
Tess
confesses

she
hasn’t
had
time
to
read
his
cartoon
that
day.
The
tension
rises
when
he
realizes

37

that
Tess
was
in
Milwaukee
for
an
assignment
while
he
was
at
a
conference
there,

and
it
didn’t
even
occur
to
her
to
call
him
and
say
she
was
in
the
same
place.
But

their
argument
is
interrupted
when
Tess
gets
a
call
from
her
ex-‐husband
Larry,

telling
her
she’s
been
named
Woman
of
the
Year.

Tess
and
Sam
arrive
at
the
award
ceremony,
but
Sam
is
already
agitated.

“I
couldn’t
be
happier
that
they
named
you
Woman
of
the
Year,
but
you
have

to
admit
this
award
business
is
getting
slightly
out
of
hand.”

“I
wonder
if
you’d
feel
the
same
way
if
they
came
up
with
a
Cartoonist
of
the

Year
award.”

“They
already
have.
And
it
just
so
happens
I
won
it.”

“You
did?
Why
didn’t
you
tell
me?”

“I
did.”

“I
didn’t
hear
you.”

“You
never
do.”

Their
argument
escalates
and
Sam
walks
out,
moments
before
Tess
is
called

up
onstage
to
receive
her
award.
We
have
reached
the
point
of
the
opening
scene
of

the
play,
and
going
forward
everything
runs
chronologically.
The
award
ceremony

ends
with
Tess
singing
a
reprise
of
“Woman
of
the
Year.”

Sam
moves
out,
and
Tess
comes
to
talk
to
him
at
a
bar
where’s
he’s
hanging

out
with
his
buddies.
Sam
agrees
to
talk
with
her,
but
Tess
isn’t
available
that

night—she
has
an
exclusive
interview
with
Alexi
Petrikov.
She
goes
to
leave,
and

they
kiss,
but
it
is
over.

38

Tess
goes
through
with
the
interview
with
Petrikov,
who
tells
her
that
he
is

leaving
his
career
to
spend
more
time
with
his
wife.
Tess
is
stunned,
but
suddenly

inspired.
She
goes
to
visit
her
ex-‐husband
and
his
new
wife
in
Colorado,
where
they

revel
in
a
traditional,
suburban
life.
Tess
expresses
her
jealousy
to
Jan,
the
new
wife.

Back
in
New
York,
Tess
sets
up
a
cooking
segment
on
her
morning
show.
She

announces
she
is
leaving
TV
to
salvage
her
marriage,
all
the
while
baking
a
cake
to

demonstrate
how
serious
she
is
about
a
life
of
domesticity.
Sam
sees
the
broadcast,

and
tells
Tess
he
doesn’t
want
her
to
quit
her
job—he
loves
that
she’s
a
career

woman—but
he
does
want
to
her
to
strike
a
better
balance.
They
kiss,
and
sing
a

reprise
of
“Woman
of
Year.”
This
time,
the
lyrics
say,
“couple
of
the
year.”
65

Tess
ends
Woman
of
The
Year
with
both
a
first-‐rate
career
and
a
loving

husband,
luxuries
few
fictional
female
journalists
are
permitted.
As
Sarah
Herman

wrote
in
her
dissertation
Hacks,
Heels,
and
Hollywood,
there
exist
many
film

characters
who
“serve
the
dominant
argument
that
although
women
can
achieve
as

journalists,
their
success
comes
at
a
sacrificial
price.”

66

Tess,
unlike
so
many
of
her

counterparts,
finds
a
man
who
understands
that
the
domestic
life
isn’t
enough
for

her.

Still,
it
isn’t
exactly
a
ringing
endorsement
for
the
ability
of
newswomen
to

have
a
blissful
relationship.
Herman
wrote,
“There
appears
to
be
a
silent
agreement,

that
those
women
who
chose
a
successful
career,
will
not
be
able
to
sustain
success

in
their
personal
life.
The
most
common
way
this
is
illustrated
is
through
failed

relationships,
or
an
inability
to
control
a
relationship
formed
during
the
film.”
67

In

39

the
end,
to
make
the
marriage
work,
Sam
has
to
accept
that
he
won’t
be
her
first

priority.
The
road
to
this
decision
is
paved
with
many
difficult
battles.

The
most
telling
example
of
her
unwillingness
to
sacrifice
any
part
of
her

career
for
the
good
of
their
relationship
takes
place
after
the
award
ceremony
as

they
are
attempting
to
patch
things
up.
Tess
asks
Sam
to
go
to
dinner
with
her
that

night
and
he
declines,
saying
he’s
got
an
important
cartoonist
meeting.
Tess
asks

him
to
“duck
it
or
call
in
sick,”
but
he
won’t,
so
she
begs
him
to
at
least
talk
with
her

and
he
agrees.

“You
want
to
talk?
All
right.
Let’s
talk.”

“Good.
How
about
tonight?
You
can
get
out
of
your
meeting—“

“What’s
wrong
with
right
now?”

“Now?
Well,
I
can’t
right
now,
Sam—I’m
on
a
story.
A
big
one.”

“Don’t
suppose
you
could
duck
it—call
in
sick
or
something—“

“You
know
I
can’t,
Sam—it’s
an
exclusive.”
68

It’s
after
this
point
that
Tess
reassesses
her
life
and
realizes
she
would
be

willing
to
make
some
sacrifices
to
have
Sam
around.
But
the
overall
point
of
view

expressed
throughout
the
play,
that
her
career
trumps
all,
remains
even
after
things

have
been
resolved.

The
fact
that
Tess
lives
happily
ever
after
doesn’t
change
the
fact
that
at
her

core
she
is
a
tough,
go-‐getting
career
woman.
She
shares
these
traits
with
one
of
the

most
recognizable
fictional
female
journalists
of
all
time,
the
title
character
in
the
TV

series
Murphy
Brown
(as
played
by
Candice
Bergen).

40

Like
Tess,
Murphy
is
“sharp-‐tongued”
69

and
“doesn’t
give
an
inch
in
her
fight

to
control
the
TV
newsmagazine
environment
in
which
she
works.”
70

Like
Tess,
too,

Murphy
is
able
to
weather
a
variety
of
challenges
to
her
personal
life
to
remain
at

the
top
of
her
game.
71

Neither
makes
any
bones
about
attempting
to
cover
up
the

bullish
woman
she
is.
The
first
time
Tess
and
Sam
meet,
she
calls
him
a
“shit.”
72

As

myriad
phone
calls
and
work
assignments
interrupt
their
conversation,
she
tells

him,
“My
life
isn’t
really
like
this
all
the
time—usually
it’s
much
more.”
73

Tess
is
a
modern
day
Torchy
Blane,
the
protagonist
of
a
series
of
films
from

the
1930s.
Both
characters
buck
the
trend
in
which
“movies
portrayed
women

reporters
as
gushy,
homely
old
maids
or
sour,
masculine
looking
feminists.”
74

Torchy,
too,
had
her
share
of
struggles
in
love.

All
told,
Tess
is
a
rare
dichotomy
as
far
as
the
picture
of
female
journalists
is

painted.
She
possesses
almost
all
of
the
stereotypical
traits
that
usually
prevent
such

characters
from
having
successful
personal
lives,
and
still
manages
to
have
it
all.

41

Chapter
6:
JJ
Hunsecker,
Gossip
Columnist

“People
check
in
with
me
every
day
to
find
out
what
makes
the
world
go
‘round.”

Gossip
columnist
JJ
Hunsecker,
Sweet
Smell
of
Success
(2006)

Today’s
gossip
columns
aren’t
what
they
used
to
be.
In
the
New
York
Post,

readers
famously
flip
all
the
way
to
Page
Six
for
the
goods.
In
most
publications,

gossip
is
relegated
to
the
entertainment
section,
and
the
back
of
it
at
that.

But
in
JJ
Hunsecker’s
New
York
City
in
1952,
the
Sweet
Smell
of
Success
gossip

columnist
was
the
self-‐professed
and
universally
accepted
“heartbeat
of
America.”
75

JJ’s
character
is
based
on
real-‐life
gossip
columnist
Walter
Winchell,
who

wrote
a
syndicated
Broadway
column
for
the
now-‐defunct
Daily
Mirror
for
nearly
40

years.
Winchell
wielded
a
large
amount
of
power—“a
mention
in
his
column
could

doom
or
make
a
Broadway
show
or
personality.”
76

JJ’s
column
isn’t
limited
to

Broadway,
but
his
perceived
power
equals
Winchell’s.
The
refrain
of
the
show’s

opening
number
is,
“Gotta
get
in
the
column,
gotta
get
into
JJ.”
77

JJ
himself
is
an
imposing
figure.
He
lives
in
a
“penthouse
over
Times

Square.”
78

Style
is
so
important
to
JJ
that
when
he
befriends
a
young,
poor
press

agent
named
Sidney,
he
immediately
buys
him
a
suit.
79

Throughout
the
show,
the

stage
directions
describe
him
appearing
from
shadows
or
darkness.
80

But
for
all
his
showiness,
and
despite
being
worshiped
by
60
million

readers
81
,
JJ
is
alone.
He’s
a
confirmed
bachelor,
and
the
only
human
he
cares
for
in

42

the
world
is
his
sister
Susan,
whom
he
treats
as
a
cross
between
a
daughter
and
a

girlfriend.

Everyone
but
Susan
is
all
at
once
in
awe
of
and
terrified
by
JJ.
Tim
Dirks’s

review
of
the
film
version
of
Sweet
Smell
of
Success
characterizes
him
as
“stern,
cold-‐
blooded,
morally
corrupt,
monomaniacal,
and
treacherous.”
82

Broadway’s
JJ

possesses
all
these
characteristics.
As
a
man,
his
actions
render
him
almost

inhuman.
As
a
journalist,
he
is
equally
devoid
of
ethics.

Sweet
Smell
of
Success
opens
with
JJ
dictating
a
column
to
his
secretary.
As

ensemble
members
sing
about
how
they’ve
“gotta
get
in
the
column,”
83

the
secretary

fields
phone
calls
from
press
agents
desperate
to
get
their
clients
a
mention.
Sidney

Falcone
represents
a
not-‐very-‐popular
nightclub
called
the
Voodoo
Lounge,
and
if
he

doesn’t
get
a
mention
today,
he
is
“out
of
a
job.”
84

Sidney
calls
repeatedly,
but
the

secretary
won’t
put
him
through.

Dejected,
he
heads
down
to
the
Voodoo,
where
the
owner
interrogates
him

about
the
column.
Sidney
doesn’t
have
anything
to
offer
other
than
his
chutzpah.

“You
couldn’t
get
an
item
in
JJ
Hunsecker
if
you
were
JJ
Hunsecker,”
Voodoo

owner
Tony
tells
him.

“I’ll
tell
you
a
secret.
I
am
JJ
Hunsecker.
It’s
who
I’m
going
to
be.
Only
bigger,”

Sidney
responds.

85

For
the
time
being,
though,
Sidney
is
still
a
two-‐bit
press
agent.
He
sidles
up

to
Dallas,
a
musician
playing
at
the
club,
and
says,
“I
could
get
you
in
JJ.”
86

But
Dallas

wants
no
part
of
JJ.
He’s
dating
JJ’s
sister,
Susan—secretly,
because
Susan
knows
JJ

won’t
approve.
Sidney
doesn’t
know
any
of
this
yet,
but
he’s
not
willing
to
give
up.

43

He
gives
Susan
his
speech
about
getting
her
into
the
column,
but
she
is
similarly

impervious.
They’re
just
watching
Dallas
play
when
JJ
himself
walks
into
the
club.

Sidney
and
Susan
are
both
shocked.
To
cover,
Susan
tells
JJ
that
she
came
by

after
her
acting
class
with
Sidney,
her
class
partner,
for
a
drink.
Though
they’ve

never
met
before,
Sidney
plays
along
with
Susan
but
can’t
resist
telling
JJ
that’s
he
a

press
agent
and
would
love
to
have
a
column
like
JJ’s.
The
columnist
takes
a
liking
to

Sidney,
and
invites
him
out
for
a
night
on
the
town.
As
a
bonus,
he
also
tells
Tony

that
he’ll
put
an
item
about
the
Voodoo
in
his
column
the
next
day.

JJ
takes
Sidney
to
all
the
hottest
clubs
in
town.
Wherever
they
go,
people

fawn
over
JJ.
Club
managers
whisk
him
to
the
best
tables
and
press
agents
follow

him,
begging
for
a
mention.
The
evening
is
like
a
training
session
for
Sidney—JJ

introduces
him
to
his
cronies,
buys
him
a
new
suit,
tells
him
to
change
his
last
name

from
“Falcone”
to
“Falco”
and
teaches
him
how
to
look
for
stories.
Sidney
becomes

drunk
on
the
thrill
of
it
all.
The
scene
closes
with
the
ensemble
singing,
“Welcome
to

the
night,
Sidney.”
87

After
four
weeks
of
showing
Sidney
the
ropes,
JJ
asks
the
younger
man
for
a

favor.
He
wants
Sidney
to
follow
Susan,
take
note
of
her
every
move,
and
report

back
to
him.
Sidney,
ever
eager
to
impress
the
boss,
agrees.

Meanwhile,
Dallas
and
Susan
have
fallen
deeper
in
love.
Dallas
begs
Susan
to

tell
JJ
about
them,
but
she
continually
puts
it
off.

Susan
suggests
to
Sidney
that
they
secretly
work
to
get
Dallas
in
JJ’s
column.

They’ll
tell
JJ
he’s
the
hottest
act
around
and
needs
publicity
and
let
Dallas
think
JJ

44

“discovered”
him
on
his
own.
Once
Dallas
has
society
on
his
side
and
a
name
for

himself,
Susan
believes
JJ
will
no
longer
disapprove
of
the
relationship.

Sidney
knows
he’s
treading
dangerous
waters,
but
he
has
a
soft
spot
for

Susan
and
agrees
to
the
plan.
While
they’re
all
at
JJ’s
apartment,
Sidney
feeds
JJ

items
for
his
column.
One
of
them
is
Dallas.
Sidney
tells
JJ
that
Dallas
is
his
buddy

and
he’d
be
doing
him
a
favor.
JJ
agrees.

“That’s
the
sweet
part
of
this
racket—helping
your
pals,”
he
says.
88

After
JJ
raves
about
Dallas
in
his
column
he
decides
to
go
see
the
man
play,

taking
Susan
as
his
date.
Sidney
is
there
as
well
and
they
all
play
dumb.
JJ
likes

Dallas
right
away
and
offers
him
a
spot
on
a
telethon
he’s
hosting,
which
Dallas

accepts.
Sidney
stages
a
phony
introduction
between
Susan
and
Dallas.

In
their
excitement,
Susan
and
Dallas
become
overly
confident.
Dallas
sings
a

romantic
ballad
all
the
while
staring
at
Susan,
who
gazes
adoringly
back.
JJ
becomes

suspicious.
Tony,
the
Voodoo
Lounge
owner,
tells
JJ
the
truth—that
Susan
and
Dallas

already
knew
each
other.
Moreover,
JJ
is
smart
enough
to
see
that
Sidney
was

already
privy
to
this
information.

JJ
is
outraged,
and
Sidney
desperately
tries
to
talk
himself
out
of
the
situation.

He
confesses
that
he
had
never
met
Susan
before
that
first
night
at
the
Voodoo,
but

insists
(untruthfully)
that
he
didn’t
know
about
her
and
Dallas.
JJ,
still
angry,
orders

Sidney
to
break
up
the
relationship.

First,
Sidney
turns
to
Dallas.
He
tries
to
convince
him
that
dating
Susan
is
bad

for
his
image;
that
people
will
say
he’s
just
using
her
to
get
ahead.
Dallas
can
see

through
Sidney’s
manipulation
and
tells
him
to
get
lost.

45

So
Sidney
goes
to
Susan.
He
tells
her
some
information
about
Dallas
he
thinks

will
seal
the
deal—that
Dallas
was
already
married
and
has
a
child.
Susan
brushes

him
off;
she
already
knew.
She
tells
Sidney
she’s
ready
to
bring
Dallas
“home”
and

come
out
to
JJ
as
a
couple.

Sidney
rushes
over
to
warn
JJ,
who
is
livid,
but
when
the
couple
arrive
he

puts
on
a
happy
face.
He
can’t
be
seen
as
the
bad
guy
in
front
of
Susan,
even
when

Susan
and
Dallas
tell
him
they
plan
to
marry.

Once
the
couple
leave,
JJ
lashes
out
at
out
Sidney.

“Tick
tick
tick.
Time’s
up,”
he
says.
“Find
yourself
a
cemetery.
You
can’t
miss

the
tombstone.
It
says
Here
Lies
Sidney
Falcone
Who
Was
Not
Up
to
the
Job.”
89

But
Sidney
isn’t
ready
to
give
up.
“He’s
crazy
if
he
thinks
I’d
even
think
of

rollin’
over,”
he
sings.
“I’ve
been
waitin’
too
long
to
arrive,
not
about
to
be
takin’
a

dive…gotta
find
a
way
to
break
it
up.”
90

Desperate,
Sidney
goes
to
one
of
JJ’s
enemies,
a
lesser
columnist
named
Otis

Elwell.
Sidney
feeds
Otis
a
false
scandal
about
Dallas
and
asks
him
to
print
it.
Otis
is

skeptical,
calling
Sidney
“JJ’s
little
mascot.”
91
To
sweeten
the
deal,
Sidney
offers
Otis
a

night
of
passion
with
his
own
girlfriend,
a
waitress
named
Rita.

Sidney
tricks
Rita
into
thinking
he’s
got
a
romantic
evening
planned
for
the

two
of
them.
When
she
shows
up
at
his
place,
he’s
got
Otis
with
him.
He
explains
that

Otis
can
get
the
aspiring
actress
into
his
column,
and
he
figured
they
could
do
an

interview
while
Sidney’s
out
attending
to
some
business.
Rita
sees
what
he’s
up
to,

but
he
reminds
her
that
she
has
a
child
to
put
through
college
and
could
use
the

46

money
the
publicity
might
bring
her.
For
the
first
time,
we
see
that
Sidney
might
just

be
as
manipulative
and
heartless
as
his
mentor.

Otis
makes
good
on
the
deal.
When
the
papers
hit
the
stands
the
next
day,
his

column
says
that
Dallas
has
a
history
with
marijuana.

When
JJ
sees
what
Sidney’s
done,
he’s
thrilled
and
lets
the
press
agent
back
in

his
good
graces.
But
their
joy
is
short-‐lived.
Susan
shows
up,
and
demands
that
JJ

help
to
clear
Dallas’s
name.
JJ’s
not
happy,
but
Sidney
persaudes
him
that
he’ll
be
a

hero
in
Susan’s
eyes,
and
that
Sidney
still
has
a
plan
to
break
them
up.
One
phone

call
from
JJ
later,
Dallas’s
reputation
has
been
restored.

Sidney’s
next
move
is
to
tell
Dallas
that
Susan
conspired
to
put
him
in
the

column.
He
knows
the
musician
will
be
angry,
because
he’s
too
proud
to
accept

anyone’s
help
in
his
career.

This
time,
it
works.
Dallas
takes
the
news
to
mean
that
Susan
didn’t
believe

he
could
do
it
on
his
own.
He
tells
JJ
how
he
really
feels
about
the
column.

“You
and
your
goddamn
column,”
he
says.
“You
think
of
yourself
as
some

national
glory
but
to
me
and
thousands
of
others
like
me,
you
and
your
slimy

scandal,
your
phony
patriotics—to
me,
Mr.
Hunsecker,
you’re
a
national
disgrace.”

With
that,
Dallas
leaves.
To
comfort
Susan,
JJ
tells
her
he’ll
take
her
on
a
trip

to
Europe,
leaving
that
very
evening.

But
just
the
end
of
the
relationship
isn’t
enough
for
JJ.
He
instructs
Sidney
to

“take
him
apart,”
a
thinly
veiled
way
of
telling
Sidney
to
hurt
Dallas
physically.
He

tells
Sidney
to
call
Kello,
a
corrupt
policeman
who
owes
JJ
a
favor,
and
get
the
job

done.

47

Sidney
is
aghast.
He
knows
he’s
done
some
shady
things
for
JJ,
but
this
is

where
he
draws
the
line
and
he’s
not
afraid
to
tell
JJ.

“I
don’t
work
with
people
like
Kello.
Not
for
a
lifetime
pass
to
the
Polo

Grounds.
Not
if
you
gave
me
your
column,
I
wouldn’t’
do
a
thing
like
call—“

“My
column?
Is
that
what
you
said?
And
who
do
you
think
writes
the
column

while
Susie
and
I
are
in
away
for
three
months?”
92

JJ
offering
up
his
column
is
beyond
Sidney’s
wildest
expectations.
He
makes

the
call.
Kello
tells
him
it
will
all
go
better
if
Dallas
is
found
with
drugs
on
him,
so

Sidney
heads
down
to
the
Voodoo
lounge
and
slips
drugs
into
Dallas’s
jacket.
He

tells
the
musician
that
Susan
wants
to
talk
to
him
and
is
waiting
down
at
the
docks.

Dallas
runs
off
and
moments
later,
the
audience
sees
Kello
and
two
other
men
beat

him
brutally.

Later
that
night,
Susan
is
supposed
to
meet
JJ
at
the
harbor
for
their
trip
to

Europe.
But
first,
she
confronts
Sidney
about
what
happened
to
Dallas.

“Sidney,
was
it
you?”

“Did
you
hear
the
word?
I
got
the
column!
JJ
gave
me
the
column!

“What
did
Dallas
ever
do
to
you?”

“What
are
you
talking
about?”

“They
found
him
in
the
gutter.”

Instead
of
responding,
Sidney
drags
Susan
down
to
the
docks
to
meet
JJ,

knowing
the
columnist
will
be
furious
if
she
doesn’t
show
up.
But
when
they
meet,

Rita
is
waiting
by
the
boat.
She
tells
JJ
and
Susan
she
saw
Sidney
put
something
in

48

Dallas’s
coat,
and
that
she
followed
them
down
to
the
harbor
where
she
saw
Sidney

give
Kello
the
signal
to
begin
the
beating.

JJ
plays
dumb
in
front
of
Susan,
asking
Sidney
if
he
had
anything
to
do
with
it.

Sidney
swears
he’s
clean,
but
JJ
isn’t
finished
putting
on
his
show
for
Susan.
He
grabs

Sidney
and
starts
pummeling
him,
and
tells
him
that
he’s
taking
the
column
away.

Sidney
can’t
help
himself.
“Didn’t
you
tell
me
to
call
Kello,
you
big
liar?”
he

screams.
93

JJ
tries
to
defend
himself,
but
Susan
is
on
to
him
and
wants
nothing
more

to
do
with
her
brother.

“Take
a
good
look.
This
is
last
time
you’ll
ever
see
me.”

“No—I’ll
find
you.”

“If
you
do,
I’ll
call
every
columnist
in
town.
They’d
love
my
story.”

“You
wouldn’t—“

“I
always
wondered
which
of
your
enemies
would
bring
you
down.
I
never

dreamed
it
could
be
me.
Goodbye,
JJ.”
94

Susan
leaves,
and
JJ
is
silent.
Sidney,
worried
that
JJ
will
go
back
on
his

promise
about
the
column,
urges
him
to
get
on
the
boat
anyway.
But
JJ
must
make

someone
pay
for
the
anguish
he
feels
about
losing
Susan.
He
tells
Sidney
to
make

another
phone
call—this
time
the
victim
will
be
Rita.
“She
knows
too
much,”
JJ
tells

Sidney.
95

This
is
the
one
thing
Sidney
truly
cannot
do.
He
tells
JJ
to
go
to
hell;
that
he’s

going
to
find
Rita
and
get
out
of
town.
JJ
laughs
in
his
face.

“There’s
no
such
place.
Do
it,
Sidney,
and
the
column’s
yours.”

“When
a
dog
collar
becomes
a
noose,
I
bow
out.
Bye
bye,
JJ.”

49

“Big
mistake,
Sidney.
You
don’t
want
me
for
your
enemy.”

“I
don’t
want
you
for
nothing.”
96

Sidney
waits
for
the
light
of
dawn
and
tries
to
get
out
of
town.
But
JJ
has

already
made
a
call.
Kello
catches
up
with
Sidney.
We
see
Kello
and
his
boys
raise

their
clubs,
then
the
ensemble
dances
around
them,
obscuring
the
beating
we
know

is
taking
place.

The
play
closes
as
it
opens,
with
JJ
dictating
a
column
to
his
secretary.
Instead

of
gossipy
celebrity
news,
this
one
is
a
little
different.

“The
column
begins:
‘Broadway
mourns
the
loss
of
one
of
its
brightest

comets,
Sidney
Falcone,
who
was
found
dead
early
this
morning,
the
victim
of
a

vicious
robbery.
A
moment
of
silence
for
a
classy
guy,’”
JJ
reads.

“Sidney?”
his
secretary
asks,
stunned.

“Sidney
would
be
happy.
He
made
today’s
column,”
says
JJ.

As
far
as
fictional
journalists
go,
JJ
is
about
as
evil
as
they
come.
Saltzman

writes,
“in
the
movies,
gossip
columnists
stop
at
nothing
and
hurt
anyone
to
get
that

must
read
item.
They
are
cocky
and
power
mad,
ready
to
sacrifice
anyone
and

everyone
to
get
ahead
and
then
stay
on
top.”
97

Though
we
meet
JJ
after
he’s
already

ascended
the
throne
of
his
profession,
the
rest
of
the
description
fits
him
to
a
“T,”
so

it’s
logical
to
imagine
he
stepped
on
more
than
a
few
people
on
his
way
up.

At
the
end
of
films,
however,
gossip
columnists
“usually
redeem
themselves

by
acting
a
bit
human
and
doing
the
right
thing.”
98

JJ
does
just
the
opposite,
ending

the
play
with
his
hit
on
Sidney.
It’s
evident
from
the
beginning
of
the
play
that
JJ’s
a

shady
character,
but
instead
of
becoming
more
likable
he
becomes
increasingly

50

despicable.
Like
other
journalistic
villains
in
film,
“He
is
in
it
only
for
himself,

exploiting
innocent
others
just
to
get
a
scoop
or
make
a
buck.”
99

The
one
bit
of
humanity
JJ
possesses
is
reserved
for
Susan.
She
is
the
only

thing
he
truly
values
in
life.
It’s
clear
from
the
beginning
that
he
adores
her,
but
the

feeling
is
left
unquestioned
when
he
sings,
“For
Susan.”
100

Bogie
sends
“Buckets
of
Love
From
Lucerne”

For
Susan

Here’s
a
lucky
star

Signed
by
F.D.R.

Groucho’s
three
dollar
bill

Paw
prints
from
Lassie
and
stills
from
DeMille

For
Susan

Round
and
around
in
a
dress
like
Snow
White

Goes
Susan

Waltzing
with
me
on
an
opening
night

Is
Susan

I
have
watched
her
bloom

In
this
very
room

All
her
nights,
all
her
days

Ev’ry
report
card
a
column
of
A’s

For
Susan

Floating
like
some
little
angel

Bringing
cocktails
on
her
tray

She’d
appear,
then
float
away

“Happy
16”
from
the
chief
of
police

For
Susan

Scrawled
on
a
napkin,
the
work
of
Matisse

For
Susan

This
one’s
Fred
Astaire

“For
my
lady
fair

And
my
best
little
chum”

Here
is
our
haven
the
whole
world
has
come
to
Susan.

Spoken:

When
she
went
off
to
college
I
thought
I’d
suffocate.
But
now
she’s
home.
Life
is

back.
101

51

This
song
is
the
first
time
in
the
play
JJ
is
recognizable
as
anything
but
a

power-‐hungry
social
climber.

Later,
as
Sidney
tries
to
explain
to
JJ
how
to
take
down
Dallas,
JJ
further

articulates
his
love
for
Susan.

“You
don’t
understand
love,
Sidney,”
he
says.
“Love
means
she
must
never

see
certain
professional
sides
of
JJ.
Never.
To
her,
I’m
her
brother.
Her
father.
Her

pal.
Her
life.”
102

We
finally
understand
that
it
isn’t
just
Dallas
JJ
has
a
problem
with,
it’s
that

he’s
terrified
of
being
replaced
by
any
other
man
in
her
life.
Susan
is
his
one

vulnerable
spot.

Throughout
the
play,
JJ
is
assigned
just
one
stage
direction
indicating
genuine

human
emotion:
rage
(or
other
expressions
of
anger).
The
only
exception
is
at
the

end
of
the
play,
when
Susan
tells
him,
“This
is
the
last
time
you’ll
ever
see
me.”
103

The
stage
direction
for
JJ
reads,
“True
anguish.”
104

But
JJ
responds
to
weakness
with

aggression,
even
where
Susan
is
concerned.
His
next
direction
reads,
“His
anguish

becomes
threat.”

“I’ll
find
you,”
he
tells
Susan.
105

It’s
this
JJ,
the
angry
JJ,
that
lingers
in
memory
after
the
play,
and
why
not?

There
are
myriad
instances
of
his
contemptible
behavior
throughout
the
show.

Some
are
blatant-‐-‐ordering
multiple
hits
on
people-‐-‐and
some
less
obvious.
During

JJ
and
Sidney’s
first
night
out
on
the
town,
they
pass
a
girl
lying
in
a
puddle
of
blood

on
the
sidewalk.
A
man
runs
up
to
JJ
and
tries
to
attack
him.

52

“Why
did
you
keep
writing
about
her?”
the
man
asks.
“You
hounded
her
and

hounded
her
and
hounded
her
until
there’s
nothing
left!”
106

JJ,
says
the
stage
direction,
bursts
into
laughter.

JJ
is
perhaps
the
worst
of
all
the
gossip
columnists,
a
category
that
serves
to

represent
the
worst
of
all
journalists
in
its
fictional
portrayals.
Without
a
doubt,
he

is
one
of
the
most
despicable
characters
ever
to
cross
a
Broadway
stage.

53

Chapter
7:
Bob
Baker
and
Horace
Miller,
Lovelorn
Journalists

“Much
more
could
be
said
if
I
thought
with
my
head,
but
I
only
can
think
with
my

heart.”

Aspiring
photojournalist
Horace
Miller,
Miss
Liberty
(1949)

The
journalist
in
love
provides
a
fascinating
dichotomy
that
has
wooed

filmmakers
time
and
again.
As
Jessica
Strait
wrote
in
her
essay,
Popular
Portrayals
of

Journalists
and
Their
Personal
Lives:
Finding
the
Balance
Between
Love
and
the

“Scoop,”
“when
[these
journalists]
do
find
love,
[they]
experience
a
tension
between

the
relationship
and
the
job—having
both
is
usually
presented
as
out
of
the

question.”
107

Wonderful
Town’s
Bob
Baker
is
one
of
the
rare
male
journalists
who
suddenly

find
themselves
in
this
predicament.
A
New
York
City
editor
who
has
seen
it
all,
he’s

a
self-‐described
“natural
writer,
published
at
seven—genius
type.”
108

Like
typical

editors
of
film,
he’s
“gruff
and
sharp-‐tongued”
but
“soft
under
[his]
bluster.”
109

Hardened
from
years
of
watching
bright-‐eyed
transplants
hawk
their
writing
ability

only
to
be
eaten
up
by
the
city,
he’s
skeptical
when
he
meets
would-‐be
writer
Ruth

Sherwood.

Ruth
is
a
native
of
Ohio
who
has
just
moved
to
New
York
with
her
sister

Eileen,
in
hopes
of
finding
artistic
fame
and
fortune.
They
secure
a
run-‐down
room

in
a
Greenwich
Village
slum,
and
set
about
starting
their
careers—Ruth
as
a
writer,

Eileen
an
actress.

54

Ruth
has
already
sent
her
work
out
all
over
town
and
gotten
nothing
but
a

bunch
of
“no’s”
when
she
gets
a
meeting
with
Bob
in
his
office.

“So
you
see,
Mr.
Baker,
I
worked
on
the
Columbus
Globe
a
couple
of
years—
society
pages,
sports,
everything—and
did
a
lot
of
writing
on
the
side—but
I’m

afraid
my
stuff
was
a
little
too
sophisticated
for
Columbus—so
I
took
the
plunge
and

came
to
New
York—“

“Yes,
I
know—I
did
it
myself
but
this
is
a
mighty
tough
town.
Maybe
you

should
have
come
here
gradually—by
way
of
Cleveland
first—“

“Yes,
they’re
awfully
short
of
writers
in
Cleveland—“

“Well,
at
least
a
few
people
in
Ohio
know
you—“

“That’s
why
I
left—“

“Look,
Miss
Sherwood,
I’d
like
to
help
you,
but
I’m
so
swamped
now—if
you

just
leave
your
stories
here,
somebody
will
read
them.”
110

Bob
doesn’t
have
time
for
yet
another
wannabe
writer,
but
Ruth
has

intrigued
him
so
he
picks
up
her
stories.
Though
the
short
stories
she’s
submitted

are
outlandish,
he
finds
he
can’t
get
Ruth
out
of
his
mind
and
goes
down
to
see
her
at

her
apartment.

He
arrives
to
a
chaotic
scene—Ruth
and
Eileen
are
hosting
a
dinner
in
their

tiny
one-‐room
domicile
for
two
of
the
beautiful
Eileen’s
suitors,
and
various

neighbors
keep
dropping
in
unexpectedly.
Ruth
is
delighted
to
see
Bob
has
had
a

change
of
heart
about
her
work.
But
by
the
time
they
get
a
moment
to
talk
alone,

she’s
thoroughly
agitated
from
all
the
commotion,
and
neither
of
them
is
adept
at

55

maneuvering
the
opposite
sex.
Bob
tells
her
that
her
writing
is
good,
but
she
should

write
about
something
she
can
relate
to
more
personally.
Ruth
is
indignant.

“What
are
you,
an
editor
or
a
psychoanalyst?”

“I
should’ve
known
better.
You
can’t
take
it.
You’ll
never
get
anywhere
till
you

learn
humility.”

“When
did
you
learn
yours?”

With
that,
Ruth
runs
off
and
Bob
is
left
admonishing
himself
for
his
choice
in

women.

“All
right!
Good-‐bye!
You’ve
taught
me
my
lesson!
Get
mixed
up
with
a
genius

from
Ohio!
It
happens
over
and
over—I
pick
the
sharp
intellectual
kind.
Why

couldn’t
this
time
be
different,
why
couldn’t
she—only
be
another
kind—a
different

kind
of
girl.”
111

Bob
leaves,
and
Ruth
secretly
watches
him
go,
wishing
she
had
played
their

conversation
differently.
But
she
doesn’t
have
much
time
to
think
about
it.
One
of

Eileen’s
suitors
is
a
devious
reporter
named
Chick
Clark,
who
has
called
pretending

to
be
an
editor
with
an
assignment
for
Ruth
so
that
he
can
be
alone
with
her
sister.

Ruth
dashes
off
to
Brooklyn
for
the
assignment,
which
is
to
greet
a
ship
of

Brazilian
sailors
and
find
out
what
they
think
of
America.
Unfortunately,
the
sailors

speak
just
one
word
of
English—“Conga!”
They
form
a
conga
line
and
follow
Ruth
all

the
way
back
to
the
apartment,
where
she
enlists
Eileen
to
distract
them.
But
the

sailors
only
become
more
excited
upon
seeing
Eileen,
and
soon
everyone
in
the

neighborhood
is
caught
up
in
the
melee.
The
scene
quickly
turns
chaotic,
with
police

breaking
up
the
dance
and
Eileen
being
dragged
off
in
handcuffs.

56

The
next
day,
Bob
and
Ruth
find
themselves
both
visiting
Eileen
in
jail
at
the

same
time.
Ruth
was
up
all
night
writing
a
story
about
the
sailors,
and
is
distraught

that
Chick’s
(nonexistent)
editor
didn’t
print
it.
She
rushes
off
to
her
new
job,

wearing
a
light-‐up
sign
on
the
street
corner
to
advertise
a
local
club.
Meanwhile,

Eileen
tells
Bob
the
truth—Chick
confessed
to
her
that
there
never
was
an
editor,

and
she
doesn’t
know
how
to
tell
Ruth.
Bob
vows
to
help
both
the
sisters.

An
hour
or
two
later,
he
runs
into
Ruth
on
the
corner
where
she’s
working.

Embarrassed,
Ruth
tries
to
cover
the
electric
sign
she’s
wearing
and
tells
Bob
she’s

on
her
way
to
the
opera.
Nonplussed,
Bob
explains
that
he
read
her
piece,
loved
it,

and
has
submitted
it
to
his
own
boss
for
publishing.

Later
that
day,
Ruth’s
landlord
tells
her
he’s
evicting
the
sisters
and
that
they

have
to
leave
that
very
evening.
As
she’s
beginning
to
pack
up
their
things,
Bob

knocks
on
the
door.

“All
I
can
say
is,
he
wouldn’t
know
a
good
story
if
he
read
one!”

“Who?”

“His
highness—king
of
the
editors—pompous
ass…I’m
sorry
Ruth,
he
just

didn’t
like
it.”

“Well,
maybe
it
wasn’t
any
good.”

“I
still
think
it’s
a
hell
of
a
good
story
and
I’m
going
to
tell
him
so!”

“Please,
Bob,
don’t
get
into
any
trouble
on
my
account.”

“This
has
nothing
to
do
with
you.
It’s
a
matter
of
principle.”
112

Ruth
is
saddened
to
hear
that
it’s
a
matter
of
business
only.
Before
she
has

time
to
dwell
on
it
Eileen,
who
has
been
bailed
out
by
Bob,
returns
to
the
apartment.

57

Ruth
tells
her
they’re
being
evicted,
and
the
sisters
decide
their
only
option
is
to

return
to
Ohio.
But
that’s
too
much
for
Bob.

“It’s
ridiculous.
You
can’t
go
home
now.”

“But,
Bob—“

“I
haven’t
time
to
argue
about
it.
I’ve
got
to
get
up
to
the
office
before
His

Highness
leaves.
He
wants
to
see
me—and
I
want
to
see
him
a
damn
sight
more.

Now
I
want
you
to
promise
me
you’ll
wait
right
here
until
I
get
back.”
113

But
before
Bob
can
return,
a
local
club
owner
appears
brandishing
a

newspaper.
He’s
seen
Eileen’s
picture
in
it
and
offers
her
a
job
in
a
show,
starting

that
very
minute.
The
girls
rush
off
to
the
club,
leaving
a
note
for
Bob
as
to
their

whereabouts.

When
Bob
shows
up
at
the
club,
he
finds
only
Eileen
and
is
delighted
to
hear

about
her
job.

“Now,
no
more
of
this
nonsense
about
going
home…and
I’ll
get
something
for

Ruth—just
as
soon
as
I
land
a
job
myself.”

“Job!
What
happened?”

“Well,
I
left
the
Manhatter—uh—a
Difference
of
opinion.”

“Oh,
Bob—I’m
awfully
sorry,
but
I
think
it’s
wonderful
you
feel
that
way

about
Ruth!”

“Well,
I’m
very
fond
of
her—“

“Fond?
It
must
be
more
than
that
if
you
got
fired
on
her
account.”

“I
left
on
a
matter
of
principle!”

58

“I
suppose
you
don’t
know
why
you
fought
with
your
editor
about
Ruth’s

story—or
why
you’re
picking
a
fight
with
me
right
now!
Poor
Bob—you’re
in
love

with
Ruth
and
you
don’t
even
know
it!”
114

It
takes
a
bit
more
convincing,
but
Bob
finally
realizes
what
he’s
been

hesitant
to
admit
to
himself
all
along—despite
his
best
efforts
to
ignore
his
feelings,

he
is
in
love
with
Ruth.

Eileen
takes
the
stage
at
the
club,
and
Bob
joins
Ruth
in
the
audience.
She

immediately
senses
the
change
in
his
emotion,
and
while
Eileen
sings
“It’s
Love,”

they
kiss
and
embrace.

Though
a
journalist
leaving
his
or
her
job
for
love
is
no
new
plotline,
it’s

unusual
for
a
male
to
be
forced
into
this
fate.
Howard
Good
cites
a
study
115

by
Joan

Mellen
that
explains,
“Only
weak
men
allow
themselves
to
become
entangled
with

women…heterosexual
interaction
feminizes,
as
if
women
and
their
ways
were
like
a

virus.”
116

In
film,
it’s
most
often
the
women
who,
“no
matter
how
tough
or

independent,
would
give
up
anything
and
everything
for
marriage,
children,
and
a

life
at
home.”
117

They
give
it
up
simply
because
they
cannot
face
the
demands
of
the

newsroom
alongside
the
responsibilities
of
being
a
wife
and
mother,
nor
would
they

care
to.

Bob’s
predicament
is
based
in
much
more
masculine
sentiment.
He’s

struggling
with
his
own
feelings
of
love,
and
not
knowing
how
to
face
them,

convinces
himself
that
he’s
fighting
a
battle
of
work-‐related
principle.
But
his

decision,
however
subconscious,
to
stand
up
for
the
woman
he
loves
in
the

workplace
is
rooted
in
that
same
old
classic
theme—love
and
journalism
are

59

mutually
exclusive.
Good’s
example
is
the
“chronic
postponement”
118

of
the
wedding

of
Torchy
Blane
and
her
fiancée,
who
never
actually
marry.

Miss
Liberty’s
Horace
Miller,
however,
somehow
finds
a
way
to
combine
the

two
against
all
odds.
In
some
ways,
Horace
is
like
the
typical
cub
reporters
of
film.

Like
the
cubs,
“with
whom
everyone
in
the
audience
can
identify,”
119
he
knows
next

to
nothing
about
the
way
journalism
works
and
assumes
his
own
enthusiasm
and

resourcefulness
will
carry
him
through.
Horace,
a
would-‐be
photojournalist,
is

relatable
because
of
his
idealism
about
the
profession.
He
has
none
of
Bob’s

cynicism
nor
any
desire
to
trample
others
on
the
way
to
the
top.

Horace
seeks
his
first
job
in
journalism
on
the
day
the
Statue
of
Liberty
is
to

be
erected
just
off
Manhattan.
James
Gordon
Bennett’s
The
Herald
is
at
war
with

Joseph
Pulitzer’s
The
World.
Though
popular
among
businessmen,
The
Herald
has

failed
to
capture
the
loyal
readership
of
the
masses,
and
Bennett
hopes
that

excellent
coverage
of
the
acquisition
of
Lady
Liberty
will
help
push
his
paper
over

the
edge.
He
enlists
Horace
to
photograph
the
moment
that
the
mayor
will
accept
a

check
to
fund
the
pedestal
on
which
the
statue
will
stand.

Helplessly
creative,
Horace
decides
he’ll
get
a
“scoop”
of
a
photo.
Instead
of

photographing
the
ceremony
he
sneaks
down
to
the
docks
where
the
statue
waits

disassembled
in
packing
crates
and
snaps
those,
thinking
Bennett
will
be
thrilled
by

his
ingenuity.
Instead,
Bennett
is
livid
that
Horace
missed
the
ceremony,
and
fires

him
on
the
spot.

60

Horace
is
ready
to
turn
around
and
go
home
when
a
spunky
female
reporter

named
Maisie
insists
he
still
has
a
shot
at
impressing
Bennett.
Horace
should
go
to

Paris,
she
says,
and
photograph
the
woman
who
posed
for
the
statue.

“You
said
you
wanted
something
warm
and
human
for
a
picture!
Well,
there

it
is…then
you’ll
have
something
the
people
will
really
want
to
see
and
Bennett
will

give
his
eye
teeth
to
get
it.”
120

Horace
is
unconvinced—he’s
just
a
“little
fish
in
a
big
pond,”
121

he
says,
and

plans
to
turn
right
around
and
go
to
back
to
Prender’s
Falls,
Indiana,
from
whence

he
came.
But
Maisie
convinces
him
he
belongs
in
a
bigger
pond,
so
he
takes
off
for

Paris.

When
he
arrives,
he
goes
straight
to
the
studio
of
Bartholdi,
who
sculpted
the

statue.
Bartholdi
often
has
beautiful
young
women
milling
about
his
studio
hoping

to
be
used
as
models
and
he
tells
one
of
these,
Monique
Dupont,
to
strike
the
same

pose
as
Lady
Liberty.
Horace
walks
in
at
that
moment
and
believes
he’s
struck

gold—without
even
trying,
he’s
stumbled
upon
the
very
woman
he
came
to

photograph.

He
tells
Bartholdi
and
Monique
that
his
employer,
the
New
York
Herald,
will

pay
them
for
the
photograph
as
soon
as
he
gets
word
back
to
the
States.
When
he

leaves
the
studio
he
cables
Maisie,
who
convinces
Bennett
to
wire
a
thousand

dollars
to
Paris
so
Horace
can
bring
Monique
back
to
New
York
where
she
will
be

greeted
with
fanfare—all
exclusive
to
the
Herald,
of
course.

Overcome
with
excitement,
Horace
rushes
to
find
Monique.
She’s
been
living

under
a
bridge
for
some
years
with
her
grandmother,
a
disgraced
countess.
The

61

Countess
is
immediately
won
over
when
Horace
flashes
francs
in
front
of
them.
He

professes
his
love
to
Monique,
and
woos
the
Countess
with
a
description
of
the

luxury
accommodations
they’ll
find
in
New
York.
But
as
they
talk
more,
the
truth

comes
out.

“We’ll
get
out
of
New
York
fast.
New
York
is
not
America.
We’ll
go
to

Prender’s
Falls,
Indiana.
Then
you’ll
understand
why
you
posed
for
that
statue.”

“What
statue?”

“Liberty!
That’s
what
America’s
the
land
of.”

“I
never
posed
for
any
statue.”

“Why—I
saw
you
there—in
Bartholdi’s
studio—holding
up
the
lamp…”

“Oh,
that!
Bartholdi
thought
it
was
a
great
joke!”

“He
thought…a
joke?”

“He
told
me
it
was
his
mother
who
posed
for
the
statue.”
122

Faced
with
the
possibility
of
losing
both
the
girl
he’s
come
to
love
and

Bennett’s
favor,
Horace
decides
the
best
thing
to
do
is
go
through
with
the
plan
and

deal
with
the
consequences
later.
Still,
he’s
unprepared
for
the
circus
that
greets

them
in
New
York.
The
Army,
Navy,
and
NYFD
are
there
to
welcome
Monique,
with

parties
every
night
of
the
week
and
a
nationwide
tour
already
planned.

While
Bennett
chauffeurs
Monique
about,
Horace
comes
clean
to
Maisie.
He

tells
her
that
though
he
could
have
canceled
the
trip
upon
learning
the
truth,
he

loved
Monique
too
much
to
leave
her
behind.
Maisie
agrees
to
help
perpetuate
the

lie,
but
their
conversation
is
interrupted
by
Bennett’s
archrival
Pulitzer.

62

“An
effective
performance.
Very
well
staged.
I
had
hoped
to
meet
the
young

lady
but
my
friend
Bennett
is
understandably
possessive…surprisingly
young,
isn’t

she?”

“What’s
so
surprising
about
it?”

“It
just
occurred
to
me
that
Bartholdi
designed
the
statue
many
years
ago-‐-‐
and
this
girl
seems
a
mere
child.”
123

Maisie
and
Horace
are
horrified
that
Pulitzer
is
onto
the
scheme,
all
the
more

so
when
the
publisher
tells
them
he
plans
to
drop
a
note
of
congratulations
to
his

“old
friend
Bartholdi.”
124

Meanwhile,
Monique
has
embarked
on
her
cross-‐country
tour,
where
she’s

received
with
adoration
in
every
city.
Weeks
pass,
and
when
she
and
the
Countess

finally
return
to
their
palatial
hotel
suite
in
New
York,
Monique’s
first
order
of

business
is
to
see
Horace.
Bennett
is
afraid
that
their
romance
will
detract
from
the

story
of
“Miss
Liberty”
and
says
that
any
lovers’
reunion
will
have
to
wait
until

they’ve
had
the
final
celebratory
party.
As
soon
as
Bennett
leaves
the
room,
Monique

tells
her
grandmother
she’s
planning
to
come
clean.

While
they
argue,
Maisie
knocks
on
the
door
and
tells
Monique
that
Pulitzer

is
on
the
prowl
and
that
coming
clean
won’t
help
Horace.
She
convinces
Monique
to

stick
close
to
Bennett
until
the
statue
is
unveiled
and
they
can
fade
into
obscurity.

Maisie
leaves,
but
before
Monique
has
time
to
digest
the
idea,
Horace
appears
in
the

room—he’s
snuck
in
pretending
to
be
a
window
washer.
He
explains
that

Bartholdi’s
arrived
in
New
York,
and
their
only
hope
of
not
being
arrested
is
to
skip

63

town.
They
take
off
down
the
fire
escape
and
the
Countess
is
left
to
fend
off

Bennett’s
questions.

The
next
scene
finds
Maisie,
Horace,
and
Monique
at
a
policeman’s
ball,

which
Maisie
is
covering
for
her
newspaper.
They
mingle
with
the
officers
for
a
bit,

pleased
that
their
imminent
escape
seems
to
be
going
smoothly.
No
sooner
do
they

start
to
relax,
though,
than
the
Countess
comes
rushing
in,
explaining
that
Pulitzer
is

planning
a
huge
expose
and
Bennett
has
learned
the
whole
story.
Nonetheless,
they

decide
to
go
through
with
their
plan
to
flee.

Moments
later,
Bartholdi
and
Pulitzer
walk
into
the
party.
Bartholdi
greets

the
Countess
and
Monique
affectionately,
and
Pulitzer
is
so
impressed
with
Horace’s

enterprising
scheme
that
he
offers
him
a
job
working
for
The
World.

“I
think
we
could
use
you!
Of
course,
we’d
always
send
a
reliable
man
along

with
you
merely
to
check
on
the
facts.
Facts
are
such
dull
things,
aren’t
they?”
125

Horace
tells
Pulitzer
that
he
and
Monique
are
eloping,
and
that
he’ll
consider

the
job
offer
when
he
returns
from
their
honeymoon.
He
and
Monique
leave
to
catch

the
train
to
Indiana.

Scarcely
a
minute
has
passed
when
Bennett
saunters
into
the
ball
to
arrest

the
Countess,
and
inform
her
that
Horace
and
Monique
were
apprehended
on
their

way
to
the
train
station.
The
Countess
and
bride-‐to-‐be
are
to
be
deported,
while

Horace
will
head
to
the
slammer.

The
next
day,
as
the
two
women
go
through
immigration
on
their
way
back

to
Paris,
Horace
bursts
into
room.
He’s
been
freed
on
bail,
and
Monique
and
the

64

Countess
will
be
allowed
to
remain
in
the
country—all
because
of
backlash
toward

Bennett
and
the
Herald.

Bennett:
“I’ve
been
forced
to
yield.
My
paper
has
been
picketed—my

morning
milk
has
been
delivered
wrapped
in
petitions
from
the
people—I
was

pursued
into
a
Turkish
bath
yesterday
by
a
delegation
of
hoodlums
demanding
your

release.
Even
the
newsboys
have
taken
sides.”

Pulitzer
(slyly):
“And
the
circulation
of
the
Herald
has
gone
to
hell!”
126

Bartholdi
escorts
the
Countess
to
the
ceremony
for
the
unveiling
of
the

Statue
of
Liberty.
Monique
and
Horace,
it
is
presumed,
live
happily
ever
after.

If
Bob
Baker
represents
the
journalist
who
is
forced
to
choose
between
love

and
his
profession,
then
Horace
embodies
the
other
stereotype
of
film.
He
ends
up

“succeeding
both
at
the
job
and
in
love,
but
not
without
a
struggle
and
some
self-‐
searching
along
the
way.”
127

What
both
Bob
and
Horace
learn
along
the
way,
and
what
the
audience
in

turn
learns,
is
that
journalism
is
not
nearly
as
important
to
them
as
finding
and

keeping
love.
Bob
quits
a
good
job
for
what
he
thinks
is
“principle”
but
is
really

undiscovered
feelings
of
love.
Horace
decides
early
on
that
he’s
willing
to
risk
his

journalistic
career,
and
even
his
freedom,
for
love.

“I’d
do
anything
for
you,
Monique,”
he
says,
upon
finding
out
she
didn’t
pose

for
the
statue.
“I’d
commit
crimes
for
you.”
128
The
promise
of
Bennett’s
money
and
a

full
time
a
job
at
the
Herald
drove
Horace
to
Paris,
but
once
he
meets
Monique,
the

job
is
just
an
afterthought.

65

In
fact,
neither
plot
is
driven
by
journalistic
pursuits.
Love
is
the
order
of
the

day
in
both
stories,
and
whether
Bob
or
Horace
possesses
journalistic
ethics
isn’t

called
into
question.
Bob
doesn’t
do
anything
to
compromise
his
journalistic

integrity,
but
Horace
does
and
suffers
little
to
no
consequence.
Rather,
his
deception

earns
him
favor
in
the
eyes
of
Pulitzer,
one
of
the
most
influential
newspaper

publishers
of
the
time.

While
Bob
shows
flashes
of
the
typical
editor
and
typical
journalist
lover,

Horace
is
an
amalgam
of
multiple
stereotypes.
His
innocence
and
lack
of
experience

mark
him
as
a
cub
reporter.
But
when
Miss
Liberty
starts,
Horace,
like
the

stereotypical
photojournalist
of
film,
is
willing
to
“do
anything
to
get
an
exclusive

picture
of
a
hot
news
story.”
129

Usually
in
film,
male
journalists
with
flaws
are

“forgiven
their
trespasses
[if]
the
end
result
favors
the
public
rather
than

themselves.”
130

Horace’s
interests
are
purely
self-‐serving
and
the
public
will
be
left

with
the
disappointment
of
learning
Monique
wasn’t
Bartholdi’s
muse,
but
he
can

get
away
with
it
because
the
audience
has
already
come
to
think
of
him
as
an

innocent
cub
reporter.

Horace
and
Bob
are
different
types,
but
each
serves
as
a
unique
example
of

the
way
Broadway
interpreted
journalists
in
love.

66

Chapter
8:
Britt
Craig,
Tommy
Howatt,
and
Sammy
Glick:
Flawed
Male

Journalists

“You
might
never
be
sure
if
your
motives
are
pure,
but
your
profits
are
clear.”

Reporter
Britt
Craig,
Parade
(1999)

Perhaps
the
most
ubiquitous
representation
of
a
newsperson
in
film
is
that
of

the
flawed
male
journalist.
That
stock
character
has
also
been
employed
in
a

number
of
Broadway
musicals.
These
characters,
as
Matthew
Ehrlich
wrote
in
Facts,

Truth,
and
Bad
Journalists
in
the
Movies,
“contradict
the
image
of
upstanding,
ethical

professionalism
that
the
press
tries
to
promote.”
131

Britt
Craig
of
Parade,
Tommy
Howatt
of
Tenderloin,
and
Sammy
Glick
of
What

Makes
Sammy
Run?
all
embody
this
stereotype.
But
they
are
very
different
men,
with

different
motives
and
different
ends
to
their
stories.

Of
the
three,
Sammy
Glick
is
least
invested
in
his
career
as
a
journalist.
As
a

copy
boy
at
the
New
York
Record,
he
tried
his
damndest
to
get
out
as
quickly
as

possible.

Sammy
works
with
longtime
drama
columnist
and
aspiring
playwright
Al

Manheim,
who
is
all
at
once
intrigued
and
irritated
by
the
feisty
copy
boy
as
soon
as

the
two
meet.
Right
away,
Sammy
tries
to
rise
above
his
position.

“I
ain’t
gonna
be
a
copy
boy
for
long.”

“Kid,
if
you
keep
saying
ain’t,
you’ll
be
a
copy
boy
forever.”

67

“Thanks,
Mr.
Manheim.
That’s
why
I
took
this
job—so
I
could
hang
around

writers
and
learn
how
to
talk
good.”

“Then
you
like
your
job,
huh,
Sammy?”

“Yeah,
it’s
a
good
job—this
year.”

“What
do
you
mean,
this
year?”

“If
I
still
have
it
next
year,
it’ll
stink.”
132

Mr.
Manheim
quickly
becomes
“Al”
to
Sammy,
who
becomes
a
columnist
in

his
own
right
within
six
months.
His
first
piece,
however,
is
entirely
plagiarized
from

an
author
Manheim
happens
to
be
familiar
with.
Manheim
admonishes
Sammy,
but

the
boy
doesn’t
seem
to
mind.
As
far
as
he’s
concerned,
anything
is
fair
game
in
his

rise
to
the
top.

Once
Sammy
realizes
that
Manheim
has
a
Hollywood
agent
for
his
plays,
life

in
the
newsroom
isn’t
enough.
Without
Manheim’s
permission,
he
immediately

places
a
call
to
the
agent-‐-‐using
Manheim’s
name-‐-‐and
explains
that
he
has
a

screenplay
ready
to
be
turned
into
a
film.
Sammy
fails
to
mention
that
another
man,

his
colleague
Julian
Blumberg,
actually
wrote
the
script.
Julian,
for
his
part,
is
too

nervous
to
speak
up
for
himself.
In
no
time
at
all,
Sammy
has
a
meeting
lined
up

with
the
agent
in
Hollywood.

When
Sammy
gets
out
to
California,
he
uses
the
same
techniques
to
get
ahead

in
the
film
business.
He
insists
on
meeting
with
Hollywood
hotshots
and
drops

names
of
people
who
don’t
know
him.
He
passes
off
several
of
Julian’s
scripts
as
his

own.
When
they
become
hits,
he
refuses
to
share
anything
but
a
tiny
portion
of
the

68

profits
or
use
Julian’s
name
in
the
credits.
When
Julian
finally
approaches
him,

Sammy
has
no
sympathy.

“You’re
getting
paid,
ain’tcha?”

“I’m
getting
fifty
dollars
a
week
and
you’re
getting
five
hundred.
You

promised
we’d
split.”

“Sure
I
said
we’d
split—but
I
didn’t
say
how.
Look,
here’s
a
hundred-‐buck

bonus…and
don’t
worry,
kid,
a
couple
more
pictures
and
I’ll
have
you
inside
the

studio.”

“A
couple
more
pictures?
Sammy,
I
can’t
wait
much
longer.”

“Julie,
you
louse
me
up
here
and
you’re
back
in
the
Bronx.”
133

Julian
acquiesces,
and
before
long
Sidney
Fineman,
the
biggest
producer
in

Hollywood,
has
taken
Sammy
under
his
wing.
When
Manheim
comes
out
to
Los

Angeles
to
hawk
his
own
scripts
a
few
months
later,
Sammy
announces
that

Fineman
has
officially
made
him
a
producer.
Manheim,
who
knows
all
the
tricks

Sammy
has
pulled,
is
aghast.
He
confronts
Sammy
about
Julian.

“Doesn’t
he
write
your
lousy
pictures?
They
turn
out
to
be
hits—but
he
gets

no
credit,
no
money,
no—“

“Well,
that’s
Hollywood.”

“The
hell
it
is.
That’s
Sammy
Glick.”

“You
know,
I
gotta
feeling
you
ain’t
gonna
make
it
out
here.
You’re
intelligent,

but
you
ain’t
smart.”

“Just
the
opposite
of
you.
Julian’s
got
to
be
accepted
as
a
legitimate
writer.
It’s

only
fair!”

69

“Fair?
What
kind
of
a
sissy
word
is
‘fair’?
This
isn’t
a
kindergarten—this
is
the

world!”

“Your
world!”

“With
me,
it’s
simple.
Whatever
is
good
for
Sammy
Glick
is
right—whatever

is
bad
is
immoral,
unethical,
unconstitutional—in
other
words,
it
stinks.”
134

Despite
their
differences,
Sammy
convinces
Manheim
to
write
a
picture
for

him.
It’s
to
be
set
in
a
newsroom,
so
Manheim
gives
in
against
his
better
judgment.

Before
long
he’s
written
several
pictures
for
Sammy,
but
soon
Sammy
has
bigger

problems.

H.L.
Harrington,
the
checkbook
behind
Fineman’s
production
company,
is

unhappy
with
slipping
profits.
He
tells
Sammy
that
the
studio
needs
new
blood
at

the
helm,
and
he’s
planning
to
get
rid
of
Fineman.
Sammy
mildly
protests
that

Fineman
has
been
“like
a
father”
to
him,
but
manages
to
drop
some
references
to

“old-‐time
producers”
and
“nickelodeons.”
135

When
Harrington
offers
to
make
him

the
head
of
the
studio,
all
Sammy
can
say
is,
“Wow.”
136

Before
the
news
has
been
made
public,
Fineman
comes
by
Sammy’s
office.
He

knows
he’s
out,
but
can’t
believe
his
prodigy
has
really
betrayed
him.
Face
to
face

with
Fineman,
there’s
nothing
Sammy
can
say.

“Listen,
I’ve
got
nothing
to
apologize
for,”
he
tells
Manheim.
“I
love
the
man,
I

kept
my
word.
I
told
Harrington
I’d
go
on
working
under
Fineman.
What
more
could

I
do?
It
wouldn’t
have
done
Fineman
any
good
if
I
turned
the
job
down.
He
was

through,
anyway.
He
was
out!
So
why
not
salvage
something.
Me,
for
instance!
Now

70

it’s
mine.
Everybody’s
always
saying
you
can’t
get
everything—but
I’m
the
guy
who

swung
it.”
137

Soon,
he
also
swings
a
marriage
with
Harrington’s
daughter,
effectively

sealing
his
fate
as
the
most
powerful
man
in
Hollywood.
But
on
their
wedding
day,

Sammy
gets
a
piece
of
disturbing
news—Fineman
has
killed
himself.
Concerned

with
the
poor
publicity
the
news
could
bring
to
his
studio,
Sammy
runs
upstairs
to

tell
his
new
bride
their
honeymoon
must
be
postponed,
only
to
find
her
in
the

embrace
of
another
man.

For
the
first
time
in
his
life,
Sammy
is
humbled.
But
it
doesn’t
last
long.
He

pulls
himself
together
to
call
Harrington,
and
tell
him
that
he’s
gotten
the
ball
in

motion
to
deal
with
the
news
about
Fineman.
The
musical
ends
with
this
stage

direction:
“With
his
legs
apart
to
brace
himself
against
the
next
attack,
his
fist

clenched,
his
ferret
jaw
set,
he
physically
dominates
this
great
empty
hall
that
has

become
his
castle
and
his
fortress.
So
Sammy
runs
on,
his
pride
wounded,
but
his
drive

unchecked.”
138

Sammy
rivals
only
gossip
columnist
JJ
Hunsecker
in
lack
of
moral
grounding

among
Broadway’s
leading
men.
But
unlike
JJ,
Sammy
does
not
wish
to
ascend
the

ranks
in
journalism
nor
impact
the
industry.
Journalism
is
merely
a
stepping
stone,
a

means
to
an
end,
an
afterthought
in
his
race
to
the
top
of
the
Hollywood
totem
pole.

Of
the
133
pages
in
the
script
of
What
Makes
Sammy
Run?,
the
title
character
is
in

the
journalistic
profession
for
22.
After
that,
he’s
on
to
bigger
and
better
things.
But

it’s
still
plenty
of
time
to
reinforce
the
image
of
the
worst
kind
of
journalists
who

“lie,
cheat,
distort,
bribe,
betray,
or
violate
any
ethical
code.”
139

Like
JJ,
though,
and

71

unlike
his
flawed
onscreen
counterparts,
Sammy
does
nothing
redemptive
or

reformative
by
the
end
of
script.

A
stark
contrast
can
be
provided
in
Tenderloin’s
Tommy
Howatt.
Tommy
is
a

young
reporter
who
works
for
a
tawdry
New
York
tabloid
called
the
Tatler.
Raised

on
the
just
the
wrong
side
of
the
class
divide,
Tommy
is
an
uneducated
but

ambitious
young
man,
who
dresses
in
“cheap
and
flashy”
suits.
140

Like
Sammy,
he

considers
the
journalistic
profession
a
means
to
an
end.

“You
heard
of
Horatio
Alger?
That’s
gonna
be
me.
Right
to
the
top,
and
I
don’t

care
how.
Nuttin’
can
stop
me—I
mean
nothing.
See?
I’m
improvin’
already.
Listen!
I

got
a
crummy
job
as
a
reporter
on
the
Tatler
magazine;
and
down
in
that
joint
in
the

Tenderloin,
what
am
I?
Just
a
four-‐bit
singer.
But
you
watch
where
I
go.
Cause
this
is

the
land
of
opportunity.”
141

The
simple
fact
that
Tommy,
a
rough-‐and-‐tumble
kid
with
no
experience,
was

able
to
land
any
job
in
journalism
suggests
a
dismissal
of
the
profession,
or
at
least

the
publication
that
employs
him.

Indeed,
when
Tenderloin
starts,
Tommy
is
unconcerned
with
maintaining
any

sort
of
journalistic
integrity.
His
first
assignment
for
the
Tatler
is
to
secure
an

interview
with
Dr.
Brock.
Brock’s
a
preacher
who
has
recently
been
lecturing
on
the

need
to
clean
up
the
Tenderloin,
a
New
York
neighborhood
known
for
a
thriving

red-‐light
district
and
policemen
who
turn
a
blind
eye.
Tommy
asks
one
of
the
young

women
who
volunteers
at
Brock’s
church
whether
he
can
be
granted
a
private

interview
with
the
reverend.

72

“I
don’t
stand
a
chance
with
those
other
reporters
from
the
dailies.
I
gotta
get

there
first.”

“But
is
that
ethical?”

“I
don’t
want
to
be
ethical.
I
want
to
get
a
scoop.”
142

As
Tommy
waits
for
her
response,
he
sees
a
beautiful
young
woman
named

Laura,
one
of
the
parishioner’s
nieces,
and
is
immediately
enthralled.
He
overhears

her
talking
about
church
choir
practice
and
decides
to
change
his
tack.

“I
was
just
joking
with
you,
miss,
about
that
interview.
I
couldn’t
get
up
the

courage
to
tell
you
what
I
really
want.”

“Yes?”

“I’d
like
to
join
the
choir.”
143

The
choir
director
is
unimpressed
by
the
chip
on
Tommy’s
shoulder
and
tells

him
he
can’t
join.
Undeterred,
Tommy
cracks
the
door
to
Brock’s
office
and
begins
to

sing.
Brock
in
impressed,
and
insists
that
Tommy
join
the
choir.
Once
in
the

reverend’s
good
graces,
Tommy
reveals
his
real
mission.

“My
position
as
one
of
the
ace
reporters
on
the
Tatler
gives
me
a
lot
of
info
on

the
Tenderloin.
And
if
I
could
be
of
any
help—in
fact,
if
you’d
like
me
to
do
a
little

personal
interview
with
you
right
now—I
think
I
could
most
likely
get
something
in

print
that
will
be
a
lot
of
assistance
to
you
in
your
cause.”
144

The
reverend
sees
through
Tommy
at
first,
but
with
persistence
Tommy

wears
him
down
and
Brock
agrees
that
if
Tommy
will
give
him
inside
information

on
the
Tenderloin,
he
will
grant
him
interviews
exclusive
to
the
Tatler.
Pleased
with

himself,
Tommy
pays
one
of
the
deacons
to
snap
a
picture
of
Brock,
which
Tommy

73

admits
he
won’t
give
to
his
own
magazine—he’ll
sell
it
to
the
daily
newspapers
at
a

profit.

Realizing
he
has
the
power
to
play
both
sides
of
the
coin,
Tommy
heads
down

to
the
Tenderloin
police
precinct
to
inform
them
that
Brock
will
be
coming
with
an

ultimatum—shut
down
the
brothels
or
receive
public
ridicule
and
scrutiny.
He

strikes
a
deal
with
the
lieutenant
to
play
informant
about
Brock’s
intentions
for
the

neighborhood.

When
Brock
arrives,
the
police
play
dumb
about
the
brothels
in
the

neighborhood,
but
finally
agree
to
raid
a
popular
one,
Spanish
Anna’s.
Brock
is

satisfied,
convinced
the
raid
will
lead
to
the
eventual
shutdown
of
all
the
houses
of

ill
repute
in
the
neighborhood.
The
police,
of
course,
intend
to
shut
it
down
for
a

week
for
so
just
to
keep
him
happy,
then
go
back
to
business
as
usual—several
of

the
officers
receive
a
percentage
from
the
girls
in
exchange
for
leaving
them
alone.

Meanwhile,
Tommy
is
still
in
the
choir
and
growing
closer
to
both
Brock
and

Laura
by
the
day.
He’s
gradually
winning
Laura
over
romantically
and
has
Brock

believing
the
Tenderloin
is
under
control.
Soon,
though,
a
regular
parishioner
of

Brock’s
named
Joe
confesses
to
the
reverend
that
he’s
visited
one
of
the
brothels
just

the
night
before.
Brock
is
outraged.
He
confronts
Tommy,
who
admits
that
the

Tenderloin
is
still
“wide
open.”
145

Not
realizing
Tommy
is
playing
both
sides,
Brock
decides
to
perform
his
own

personal
undercover
raid
of
the
neighborhood,
and
enlists
Tommy’s
help.
Tommy

has
no
choice
but
to
comply
and
agrees
to
lead
Brock
and
some
of
his
loyal

churchmen
to
Clark’s,
one
of
the
most
popular
haunts
in
the
Tenderloin,
that
night.

74

Horrified
at
what
he
sees,
Brock
gives
a
much-‐publicized
sermon
about
the

state
of
the
neighborhood,
that
includes
the
names
and
addresses
of
some
brothels,

and
makes
it
into
the
hands
of
the
governor.
The
governor
orders
a
full-‐scale

shutdown
of
the
Tenderloin,
with
jobs
to
be
lost
in
the
case
of
failure.
Realistically

worrying
that
the
task
of
closing
all
the
brothels
may
be
near
impossible,
since
they

will
just
move
elsewhere,
the
lieutenant
approaches
Brock
with
a
bribe—an
all-‐
expenses-‐paid
trip
if
he’ll
get
out
of
town
and
stop
sermonizing
about
the

Tenderloin
for
a
year.

Brock
is
indignant
and
refuses,
so
the
lieutenant
concocts
a
plan.
He
has

heard
that
Tommy
has
a
snapshot
of
Brock,
and
decides
to
test
Tommy’s
loyalty.
He

calls
him
down
to
the
station
and
asks
to
take
a
look
at
the
picture.
Tommy,
who
has

grown
quite
fond
of
Brock,
is
suspicious
but
hands
it
over.
The
lieutenant
refuses
to

tell
Tommy
what
he
plans
to
do
with
the
picture.

But
Tommy
doesn’t
have
to
wait
long
to
find
out.
The
next
day’s
edition
of
the

Tatler
has
a
front-‐page
article
featuring
the
photo
of
Brock,
doctored
to
look
as

though
he’s
in
the
arms
of
a
woman
from
a
brothel.
Tommy
is
horrified,
and
seeks

Brock
immediately.

“You’ve
got
to
deny
it.
They’ll
believe
you.
Dr.
Brock,
you’re
the
best
man
that

ever
lived.”

“No,
I’m
not.
But
I
thank
you
for
your
faith
in
me.
I’m
glad
to
know
that
you’re

still
my
friend.”

“It
was
a
lousy
thing
to
do.”

“Yes
it
was…contemptible,
but
people
will
do
many
things
for
money.”

75

“People
are
rotten.”

“No,
Tom,
people
are
good,
fundamentally
good.
You
must
believe
that.

“No,
I
don’t
believe
it.
I
don’t
believe
in
anything.
People
are
rotten,
everyone

[sic]
of
us.
We’re
all
rotten.
It
isn’t
fair.
A
person
wants
to
get
somewheres,
he
wants

to
get
something
out
of
life…It
just
ain’t
fair.”
146

The
next
day
a
city
hearing
is
scheduled
to
challenge
Brock
about
the
picture.

The
lieutenant
leads
the
call
for
him
to
step
down.
But
that’s
too
much
for
Tommy.

He
tells
the
panel
that
he
knows
the
picture
is
a
fake,
because
he
took
the
original

and
can
produce
the
negative.
Brock
is
vindicated
and
the
lieutenant
disgraced.
Still,

Brock’s
parishioners
are
concerned
about
all
the
negative
publicity
and
ask
the

preacher
to
step
down.

Tommy
goes
by
the
church
to
tell
Brock
that
the
police
in
the
Tenderloin
are

after
him
for
double-‐crossing
them,
so
he’s
decided
to
take
off
for
Denver.
He’s

shocked
to
hear
that
Brock,
too,
will
be
leaving
the
Tenderloin.

“They
kicked
you
out?
After
all
you
did?”

“After
all
we
did.
You
share
the
credit.
In
fact,
I
have
been
thinking
of
making

you
the
subject
of
my
initial
sermon.”

“Yeah.
‘How
to
Go
to
Hell
in
One
Easy
Lesson.’”

“Not
Hell.
If
anything,
you’ve
moved
in
the
opposite
direction.”

“Go
easy—don’t
make
me
out
to
be
a
saint.”

“A
saint?
Hardly.
No
power
on
earth
could
do
that.”
147

Tommy
may
not
be
a
saint,
but
he’s
a
good
sight
closer
to
one
than
Sammy

Glick.
Tommy’s
initial
drive
to
get
to
the
top,
regardless
of
casualties
along
the
way,

76

is
halted
by
the
relationships
he
makes
with
good
people
like
Brock
and
Laura.
He

can
be
forgiven
his
earlier
indiscretions
because
he
performs
the
dramatic

absolution
of
the
flawed
male
journalist
who
“exposes
corruption,
solves
a
murder,

catches
a
thief,
or
saves
an
innocent.”
148

Reporter
Britt
Craig
of
the
more
recent
musical
Parade,
on
the
other
hand,

thinks
he
is
solving
a
murder
but
does
just
the
opposite.
Parade
tells
the
true
story

of
Leo
Frank,
a
Jewish
Brooklynite
living
in
Atlanta
who
is
wrongly
convicted
of
the

murder
of
a
young
girl,
then
has
his
sentence
commuted
by
the
governor
only
to
be

hanged
by
a
lynch
mob
within
days.

When
the
audience
first
meets
Craig,
a
reporter
at
the
Atlanta
Georgian
in
his

mid-‐twenties,
he
is
“inebriated,
disheveled
and
still
good-‐looking
and
absolutely

charming.”
149

Unlike
Sammy
and
Tommy,
Craig
is
a
serious
journalist
who
hungers

for
real
news
and
wants
to
make
something
of
himself
as
a
reporter.
In
1913

Atlanta,
where
Parade
is
set,
there
isn’t
enough
hard
news
for
Craig’s
liking.
He’s

tired
of
covering
administrative
city
news
and
weather
and
replaces
the
real

investigative
work
he
feels
he’s
lacking
with
drink.
Craig’s
big
flaw
is
not
a
flagrant

intent
to
disregard
the
ethical
structure
of
the
journalistic
profession,
but
a
fatal

failure
to
exaggerate
and
avoid
checking
facts.

Parade
begins
on
Confederate
Memorial
Day
in
1913
Atlanta.
Leo
and
Lucille

Frank
are
a
rather
unhappily
married
couple
in
town.
He’s
a
Yankee
who
came
to

Atlanta
to
take
a
well-‐paying
job
at
a
pencil
factory
and
feels
terribly
out
of
place.

She’s
a
traditional
but
sensible
Southern
belle
who
tries
to
make
an
effort
with
Leo,

but
generally
gets
nowhere—he
can’t
think
of
anything
but
the
business
and
how

77

much
he
misses
New
York.
Despite
the
holiday,
Leo
goes
into
the
factory
to
take
care

of
some
bookkeeping.

Mary
Phagan,
a
fourteen-‐year-‐old
girl
who
works
at
the
factory,
heads

downtown
before
the
Memorial
Day
parade
to
collect
her
pay
from
Leo.
She
runs

into
a
friend
and
admirer
of
hers,
Frankie,
who
asks
if
he
can
escort
her,
but
she

declines.
When
Mary
arrives
at
the
factory,
a
distracted
Leo
gives
Mary
her
money,

and
she
wishes
him
a
“Happy
Memorial
Day.”

The
next
scene
takes
place
early
the
following
morning
at
Leo
and
Lucille’s

house.
Policemen
have
come
to
the
house
to
take
Leo
down
to
the
factory.

Meanwhile,
other
officers
question
his
night
watchman,
Newt,
who
tells
them
he

found
Mary’s
body
while
making
his
quarterly
rounds.
Newt
says
he
tried
to
call
Leo

multiple
times
before
calling
the
police,
but
got
no
answer.
As
the
police
show
Leo

the
crime
scene
and
ask
him
questions,
it
becomes
apparent
that
he
is
considered
a

suspect.

That’s
when
the
audience
meets
Craig,
who
is
staggering
out
of
a
bar
in
the

wee
hours
of
the
morning.
He
sings
“Big
News,”
about
how
frustrated
he
is
with
the

lack
of
legitimate
stories
in
Atlanta.

Big
news!

Another
week
goes
by
in
Atlanta!

Another
fascinating,
scintillating,
stimulating,
spirit-‐stirring
week!

Big
news!

Another
Sunday
comes
to
Atlanta!

Another
week
of
news
so
thrilling

That
your
average
city
newshound

Wants
to
take
a
flying
jump
into
the
creek!

You
got
a
kitten
up
a
tree?

Well
come
to
me!
And
I'll
see

It
makes
it
on
the
front
page!

78

The
mayor’s
mother
broke
her
toe?

They
gotta
know!

Stop
the
press!
It's
a
mess

It's
the
scandal
of
the
age!

Hell,
it's
Big
News

Another
shock
to
rock
in
Atlanta!

Another
information
feast

From
the
gateway
to
the
whole
Southeast!

Look!
In
the
mines
and
the
mills

And
the
Mexican
hills,
they
got
stories
to
tell

Look!
Now
Ohio's
afloat

Soon
the
women
will
vote,
and
we'll
all
go
to
Hell

Look!
Now
that
Wilson
is
in

And
old
Taft
didn't
win,
Hell,
they're
comin'
to
blows!

Look!
The
Titanic
went
down

But
I'm
stuck
in
this
town
with
my
thumb
up
my
nose

And
that's
Big
New!

Another
stir-‐crazy
freak
in
Atlanta

The
board
of
Estimates's
approved
a
new
street!
(Yippee!)

They're
building
churches
out
of
high-‐grade
concrete!
(Looka
that!)

They
say
the
rain'll
give
a
break
from
the
heat!

It's
a
scoop!
It's
a
twist!

It's
a
reason
to
exist!

Pray
to
Heaven!
Pray
to
Zeus!

There's
a
genius
on
the
loose!

And
that's
really
really
really
Big
News!

You
never
saw
such
things
in
Atlanta!

Another
brilliant
mind
deceased

In
the
gateway
to
the
whole
Southeast!

What
a
town!
150

Two
police
officers
come
upon
Craig
as
he’s
finishing
his
lament,
and
tell
him

they
have
a
tip
for
him.
In
the
next
scene,
Craig
is
down
at
the
courthouse
with
a

group
of
other
reporters
quizzing
Dorsey,
the
district
attorney,
on
Mary’s
murder.

Dorsey
is
evasive,
but
mentions
that
both
Newt
and
Leo
have
been
questioned.

79

Leo,
though
being
held
in
a
cell,
is
positive
the
mistake
will
be
rectified
any

minute.
Lucille
comes
to
visit
him
with
a
change
of
clothes
and
he
dismisses
her.

Meanwhile,
Georgia
Governor
Jack
Slaton
tells
Dorsey
that
bringing
the
case
to
trial

rapidly
is
of
the
utmost
importance.

“They’ll
blame
me.
And
you.
And
ev’rybody
else
holdin’
public
office.
We

gotta
get
to
the
bottom
of
this
one
fast.”

“Well,
they’re
holdin’
two
suspects
over
yonder
at
the
Fulton
Tower.”

“Good
for
them.
It’s
up
to
you
to
convict
one
of
‘em.”

“Done.”

“Done
my
ass!
You
got
a
lousy
conviction
record…how
long
you
think
they’re

gonna
keep
you
in
office
if
you
let
this
one
wriggle
off
the
hook?”
151

Mary’s
funeral
is
held
shortly
thereafter.
Craig
has
fully
embraced
his
role
as

storyteller
in
the
case,
and
leaves
no
dramatic
detail
untold
in
his
description.

“The
simple
white
coffin
was
carried
by
Mary’s
cousins
and
two
of
her
young

friends.
Several
more
friends
volunteered
to
serve
as
pallbearers,
but
they
were

deemed
too
young
to
shoulder
the
burden,
light
as
it
was.
Recent
heavy
rains
made

the
north
Georgia
red
clay
soil
glow
with
the
burnished
brilliance
of
a
spring

campfire,
as
Mary
Phagan,
two
months
shy
of
fourteen,
was
laid
to
her
final
rest.”
152

Craig
finds
Frankie
for
an
interview,
who
tells
the
reporter
that
he
won’t
rest

until
the
killer
is
“burning
in
the
ragin’
fires
of
Hell
forevermore.”
153

It’s
clear
that

Craig
is
so
overcome
with
excitement
about
the
case
that’s
fallen
into
his
lap,
he’s

forgotten
his
journalistic
obligation
requires
some
balance
in
the
telling
of
a
story.

He
sings
a
reprise
to
“Big
News,”
and
is
joined
by
much
of
the
rest
of
the
cast,

80

explaining
how
Leo
has
rapidly
gone
from
nobody
to
monster
in
the
eyes
of
the

Atlanta
townspeople.

Big
news!
My
saviour
has
arrived!

My
intuition's
never
been
so
strong!

Big
News!
My
career
has
been
revived

All
I
needed
was
a
snippy,
pissy
Yankee
all
along!

Take
this
superstitious
city,
add
one
little
Jew
from
Brooklyn

Plus
a
college
education
and
a
mousy
little
wife,

And
big
news!
Real
big
news!

That
poor
sucker
saved
my
life!

So
give
him
fangs,
give
him
horns,

Give
him
scaly,
hairy
palms!

Have
him
droolin'
out
the
corner
of
his
mouth!

He's
a
master
of
disguise!

Check
those
bug-‐out
creepy
eyes!

Sure,
that
fella's
here
to
rape
the
whole
damned
South!

They'll
be
bangin'
down
my
door,

Yellin'
"More,
Craig,
more!"

"Call
for
justice!
We
need
justice!

Beat
the
bastard!
Kill
the
bum!"

Big
news!
Real
big
news!

My
saviour
has
finally
come!

According
to
reports
obtained
exclusively
by
this
reporter,

Prosecutor
Dorsey
has
the
villain
in
his
sights.

A
highly
ranking
unnamed
source
in
this
investigation
tells
me

Leo
Frank's
the
only
likely
culprit
in
this
case.

Anyone
with
any
information
on
the
suspect,
Leo
Frank,

Should
contact
this
reporter
care
of
the
Atlanta
Georgian.

MAN

I
saw
this
little
kid-‐-‐-‐

Said,
"Look
what
Leo
did!"

And
then
she
run
and
hid:

CRAIG

Go
on,
go
on,
go
on,
go
on
now!

PRETTY
GIRL

He
sat
down
next
to
me-‐-‐-‐

His
hand
went
on
my
knee-‐-‐-‐

I
had
to
shake
it
free!

81

REPORTERS

Go
on,
go
on,
go
on,
go
on
now!

KID

I
say
it
isn't
fair!|I
saw
his
books,
I
swear

That
man's
a
millionaire!

A
WOMAN

He
likes
'em
young
and
small!

Got
nekkid
pictures
all

Pinned
to
his
office
wall!

REPORTERS

Go
on,
go
on,
go
on,
go
on
now!

(Oo,
oo,
oo)

A
MAN

He
has
a
kid,
you
know

Knocked
up
some
student
so

He
paid
to
make
her
go|I
know
it,
yes,
I
seen
it,
yes!

A
MAN

My
brother
says
he
knows

Wherever
Leo
goes|

He
carries
Mary's
clothes!

I
know
it,
yes,
I
seen
it,
yes!

A
PSYCHIATRIST

I've
watched
him
for
a
while

Behind
that
creepy
smile

The
classic
pedophile!

I
know
it,
yes,
I
seen
it,
yes!

ENSEMBLE

I
know
it,
yes,
I
seen
it,
yes!

I
know
it,
yes,
I
seen
it,
yes!

REPORTERS

Go
on,
go
on,
go
on,
go
on
now!

Go
on,
go
on,
go
on,
go
on
now!

CRAIG

Look!
You
just
scribble
it
down
and
it
covers
the
town
like
molasses
or
mud!

Look!
For
us
drunken
ol'
bums,
opportunity
comes
in
a
magical
flood!

Look!
You
might
never
be
sure
if
your
motives
are
pure,
but
your
profits
are
clear!

82

Look!
You
were
down
and
depressed,
now
you're
ridin'
the
crest
of
the
scoop
of
the

year!

DORSEY

Jim
Conley.
I
got
a
piece
of
paper
here
says
you
spent
a
little
time
on
the
chain
gang.

CONLEY

That
right?

DORSEY

Twice,
according
to
this.

And
the
second
time
it
says
here
you
were
out
with
the
road
gang

and
you
just
up
and
disappeared.

CONLEY

Well,
you
know,
my
time
was
about
up.

DORSEY

Really?
I
think
you
had
a
few
more
months
to
serve.

You
know
what
that
makes
you,
don't
you?

CONLEY

Lucky?

DORSEY

I
was
going
to
say
an
escaped
convict.
Now,
what
should
we
do
about
that?

CONLEY

What
was
that
you
was
askin'
me
about
Mr
Frank?

REPORTERS
AND
CRAIG

Accordin'
to
reports
obtained
ex

Clusively
by
this
reporter,

My
Leo
Frank
has
been
in

Dicted
on
the
charge
of
murder!

Prosecutor
Dorsey
states
the

Trial
will
begin
in
the

Atlanta
County
Courthouse

Only
one
month
from
today!

Mrs.
Frank,
the
Suspect's
wife,

Has
still
not
spoken
to
reporters!

What's
the
word
from
Mrs.
Frank?

What's
the
word
from
Mrs.
Frank?

Mrs.
Frank!
Mrs.
Frank!

83

ENSEMBLE

Extra!
Extra!
Leo
Frank
indicted!

Trial
set
for
a
month
from
now!

Prosecutor
Dorsey
will

Try
the
case
himself,
he
says!

Luther
Rosser
will
represent

Mr.
Frank
in
the
fight
of
his
life!

Dorsey
promises
surprise
witnesses

And
a
quick
finish!

Mrs.
Frank,
the
Suspect's
wife,

Has
still
not
spoken
to
reporters!

What's
the
word
from
Mrs.
Frank?

What's
the
word
from
Mrs.
Frank?

Mrs.
Frank!
Mrs.
Frank!

LUCILLE

Let
me
alone!
Please!
Let
me
alone!
154

The
reporters
have
followed
Lucille
to
her
doorstep
during
the
song.
Craig

shouts
to
the
crowd
that
they
should
leave
her
alone.
But
after
the
other
reporters

disperse,
he
returns
under
the
guise
of
helping
Lucille
pick
up
some
things
she’s

dropped.
He
tries
to
get
her
to
open
up,
but
she’s
unwilling.
She
sings
“You
Don’t

Know
This
Man,”
about
how
the
reporters
can
never
hope
to
know
or
understand

the
real
Leo
Frank,
with
the
way
they’ve
been
vilifying
him.

At
Leo’s
trial
a
couple
days
later,
Dorsey
amasses
a
parade
of
witnesses
who,

though
lacking
evidence,
are
willing
to
testify
that
Leo
is
creepy
and
fits
the
profile

of
a
pedophile
and
murderer.
Among
the
witnesses
are
Newt,
who
seems
to
have
to

more
to
say
but
gets
cut
off;
Frankie;
Mary’s
mother,
and
a
man
named
Jim
Conley,

who
was
released
from
the
chain
gang
in
exchange
for
his
testimony.
He’s
a
janitor

at
the
factory
and
testifies
that
Leo
paid
him
to
move
the
body
and
keep
quiet.
Leo

testifies
himself,
but
it
does
no
good.
He’s
found
guilty
and
sentenced
to
death.

84

A
year
passes,
and
Craig
begins
to
report
on
Leo’s
appeal
process.
“Look—not

a
cloud
in
the
sky!
Look
at
the
time
rushin’
by!
Hell!
Why
complain
anymore?
I’ve

been
blessed
with
a
story
that
just
doesn’t
die,”
155

he
sings.

In
the
meantime,
the
pain
of
the
situation
and
the
process
of
the
trial
bring

Leo
and
Lucille
together.
For
the
first
time,
they
are
working
together,
as
a
unit.

Lucille
attends
a
party
thrown
by
Slaton,
and
when
she
gets
the
chance
to
dance

with
him
pleads
with
the
governor
to
reopen
the
case.
Slaton
is
uncomfortable,
but

unwilling
to
budge.

A
week
later,
he
receives
a
letter
from
the
elderly
judge
who
presided
over

Leo’s
trial.
The
judge
is
about
to
die,
and
writes
that
he
can’t
in
good
conscience
pass

on
without
speaking
his
mind.
He
believes
several
parties,
including
himself,

mishandled
the
Frank
case.

Slaton
decides
to
reopen
it.
He
personally
re-‐interviews
all
the
witnesses,
and

finds
that
Dorsey
coached
all
of
them
on
what
to
say
on
the
stand.
Newt
complains

he
never
got
to
finish
his
testimony,
which
is
that
Leo
seemed
to
be
a
good
man
who

would
be
incapable
of
such
a
thing.
Slaton
commutes
Leo’s
sentence
to

imprisonment
for
life.

Many
in
the
community
are
angry.
Tom
Watson,
the
publisher
of
an

evangelical
newspaper,
leads
the
cry
of
“someone’s
gonna
pay.”
156

Leo
is
transferred

to
a
lower-‐security
prison
with
a
kind
guard,
where
he
can
have
some
privacy
with

Lucille.
Joyously,
they
sing
a
duet
about
lucky
they
are
to
have
each
other,
despite

the
atrocity
that’s
brought
them
together.

85

Later
that
night,
a
group
of
masked
men
break
into
Leo’s
cell
as
he
sleeps.

They
take
him,
half-‐naked,
to
a
field
with
a
large
tree.
Leo
knows
what’s
coming.

They
string
him
up
and
offer
him
last
words.
Composed,
Leo
simply
sings
a
Jewish

prayer.
The
faces
of
the
masked
men
are
exposed,
and
Frankie
kicks
out
a
table

under
Leo’s
legs.

Months
later,
the
doorbell
rings
at
Lucille’s
house.
It’s
Craig.

“The
story
is
over,
Mr.
Craig.”

“I
know.
I’m
back
to
covering
the
police
beat.”

“Why
have
you
come?”

“Man
brought
this
to
the
office.
Said
to
get
it
to
you.”

Craig
hands
Lucille
a
package,
which
contains
Leo’s
wedding
ring.

“If
I
can
ever
be
of
service
at
all,
please
let
me
know.
Just
leave
word
at
the

paper—or
at
MacDaniel’s
saloon…I’m
sorry
ma’am.
Sorry
for
your
loss.”

“Sorry?
That
won’t
do,
Mr.
Craig.”

“What?”

“It’s
Memorial
Day.
Don’t
you
have
a
parade
to
cover?”
157

With
these
words,
the
tableau
flashes
back
to
Mary
and
Leo
at
the
factory,

when
she
went
to
collect
her
pay
a
year
ago.
The
scene
switches
to
the
day’s
parade,

with
Dorsey
and
Watson
waving
from
a
float,
as
Lucille
watches.

Of
the
three—Sammy,
Tommy,
and
Craig—Craig
best
represents
the
typical

flawed
male
journalist
of
film.
He
is
“not
all
good
and
not
all
bad
but
simply
trying
to

get
the
story
at
all
costs.”
158
Though
Craig’s
contribution
to
the
hysteria
and
circus

surrounding
Leo’s
trial
is
significant,
it
comes
from
a
place
we
can
all
relate
to—the

86

desire
to
excel
at
one’s
craft
and
do
something
meaningful.
In
the
process,
he

unfortunately
falls
victim
to
the
same
stereotypes
that
have
been
perpetuated
in

film
for
years,
and
contributed
to
an
overall
public
distrust
of
the
media.
He

sensationalizes,
avoids
checking
facts,
and
in
shooing
off
the
other
reporters
so
he

can
have
Lucille
all
to
himself,
resorts
to
trickery.

But
in
the
end,
Craig
is
somewhat
redeemed.
Most
journalists
of
film
who

have
committed
egregious
acts
can
be
forgiven
“if
the
end
result
was
in
the
public

interest.”
159

That
doesn’t
exactly
apply
in
this
case—many
Atlantans
wanted
Leo

hanged,
but
the
murder
of
one
can’t
be
seen
as
a
benefit
for
the
greater
good.
No,
the

reason
Craig
becomes
sympathetic
is
more
basic.
His
final
act
in
the
closing
scene
of

the
show,
to
bring
Lucille
her
wedding
ring,
is
deeply
human.
The
audience
can

relate,
though
she
can’t
forgive
him.
When
Craig
says,
“Just
leave
word
with
me
at

the
paper—or
MacDaniel’s
saloon,”
160

it’s
an
acknowledgement
that
what
he’s
done

has
been
for
naught.
In
no
time,
he’ll
be
back
drinking
at
the
bar
and
reporting
on

local
news.
This
revelation
is
his
apology
both
to
the
audience
and
to
Lucille.

Sammy,
Craig,
and
Tommy,
each
have
their
unique
place
in
the
image
of
the

flawed
male
journalist
on
Broadway.

Sammy
is
as
heartless
as
they
come,
Tommy

sees
the
error
of
his
ways
and
does
the
right
thing,
and
Craig
falls
somewhere
in

between.
Because
Craig’s
profession
is
of
direct
importance
to
the
plot,
Parade
can

perhaps
be
seen
as
the
most
influential
to
the
public
perception—the
audience
is

apt
to
forget
that
Sammy
and
Tommy
were
even
journalists
in
the
first
place.
But

together,
they
exemplify
the
wide
range
in
which
a
basic
prototype
of
the
journalist

has
been
portrayed
on
the
Great
White
Way.

87

Chapter
9:
Superman
and
Lois
Lane

“Every
man
has
his
job
to
do,
and
my
job
is
doing
good.”

Clark
Kent,
It’s
a
Bird…It’s
a
Plane…It’s
Superman
(1966)

The
most
recognizable
journalist
in
popular
culture
also
happens
to
be
a

superhero.
Superman,
who
first
appeared
in
1938,
has
spawned
comic
books,

popular
music,
several
movies
and
television
shows,
and
in
1966,
a
Broadway

musical
called
It’s
a
Bird…It’s
a
Plane…It’s
Superman.
161

The
Broadway
incarnations
of
Superman
and
Lois
Lane
remain
true
to
the

classic
representation
that
has
become
standard
for
them
over
the
years.
Clark
is
the

mild-‐mannered
reporter-‐slash-‐superhero
who
always
chooses
saving
the
world

over
love.
Lois
is
recognizable
as
the
tough-‐as-‐nails
journalist
whose
only

perceptible
weakness
is
Superman.

Journalism
is
a
natural
career
for
a
superhero.
As
Matthew
Ehrlich
writes
in

his
essay
Thinking
about
Journalism
with
Superman,
“Superman
becomes
a
reporter

in
the
guise
of
Clark
Kent
specifically
to
help
him
further
the
cause
of
truth
in
the

public
interest:
‘If
I
get
news
dispatches
promptly,
I’ll
be
in
a
better
position
to
help

people.’”
162

Help
people
he
does,
and
the
Broadway
version
is
no
exception.
As
is
true
of

every
Superman
story,
the
action
is
set
in
fictional
Metropolis,
where
Lois
and
Clark

work
for
the
main
newspaper,
the
Daily
Planet.

88

Lois
has
her
share
of
workplace
suitors;
namely
Max
Mencken,
a
theater

columnist,
and
Jim
Morgan,
a
lab
assistant.
But
there’s
never
any
doubt
as
to
where

her
affections
lie.
Lois’
love
for
the
caped
one
is
made
clear
early
on
when
she
sings

that
her
“heart
is
bound
to
Superman.”

163

Max
is
scornful
of
Lois’
desire,
and
makes
no
bones
about
telling
her
so.
He

professes
his
love
to
Lois,
but
she’s
dismissive.

“You
killed
vaudeville,
Max;
can’t
you
leave
journalism
alone?”
she
asks.

Meanwhile,
of
course,
a
villain
is
plotting
a
heinous
crime.
Dr.
Abner

Sedgwick
is
a
professor
at
M.I.T
(Metropolis
Institute
of
Technology)
and
“a
ten-‐time

Nobel
Prize
loser,”
who
has
become
so
disillusioned
with
his
failure
to
wow
the

science
world
that
he
wants
to
somehow
take
revenge.
He
decides
the
perfect
target

for
his
attack
is
Superman,
because
the
hero
stands
for
all
that
is
right
and
good
in

the
world.

Sedgwick
invites
Superman
to
an
opening
celebration
for
a
new
physics
wing

at
M.I.T.
During
the
ceremony,
the
stage
begins
to
collapse
with
several
people
on
it,

and
Superman
rushes
to
hold
up
the
stage
until
the
people
can
be
helped.
Knowing

that
Superman
is
occupied
with
the
M.I.T.
disaster,
Sedgwick
seizes
the
opportunity

to
blow
up
Metropolis
City
Hall.
Since
Superman
can’t
be
in
two
places
at
once,
City

hall
is
destroyed.

Max,
who
has
become
increasingly
irritated
by
Lois’
feelings
for
Superman

and
her
resultant
rejection,
rips
the
hero
in
his
column
the
next
day.
He
hopes
his

readers
will
join
in
denigrating
Superman,
thereby
destroying
the
trust
and
support

Superman
has
built
in
Metropolis.

89

But
that’s
not
enough.
Unsatisfied
with
his
own
powers
of
persuasion,
Max

teams
up
with
Sedgwick.
Sedgwick
has
decided
that
merely
unseating
Superman

from
the
power
and
celebrity
he
enjoys
in
Metropolis
isn’t
enough—the
hero
must

die.
Max
and
Sedgwick
arrange
to
set
Superman
up
by
having
Lois
kidnapped
and

taken
to
a
local
power
plant,
where
they’ll
apprehend
and
kill
the
Man
of
Steel.

Everything
seems
to
play
into
their
hands.
The
abduction
goes
off
without
a

hitch,
and
Superman
arrives
right
on
time
to
save
her.
But
the
two
bad
guys
didn’t

account
for
Superman’s
ability
at
hand-‐to-‐hand
combat.
He
bests
the
traitors
and

rescues
Lois.

Once
they’re
safely
away
from
the
power
plant,
Lois
plans
to
profess
her
love

to
Superman.
But
she
can
scarcely
utter
a
word
before
he
hears
that
a
missile
is

heading
for
Metropolis,
and
rushes
off
to
stop
it.
As
always,
Lois
is
left
without
the

man
she
loves
and
Superman
is
off
to
do
what
he
loves
best—save
the
world.

Everyone
likes
a
good
love
story,
but
in
the
end,
Superman’s
desire
to
put
the

greater
good
of
mankind
ahead
of
personal
needs
is
a
large
part
of
what
makes
his

popularity
so
enduring.

This
carries
over
into
his
chosen
career.
As
Matthew
Ehrlich
writes
of

“official”
journalists
in
his
book
Journalism
in
the
Movies,
the
most
favorable

portrayal
of
the
journalist
is
of
a
“dedicated
public
servant
comparable
to
the

dedicated
teachers
and
lawyers
in
other
popular
texts.
He
(or
she—but
again,
this

applies
more
to
men)
believes
that
journalism
can
facilitate
constructive
change

through
careful
investigation
and
reporting
of
the
truth.
He
is
a
respectable,
upright

member
of
society
who
works
for
the
common
good.”
164

90

This
is
the
version
of
both
Clark
Kent
and
Superman
that
we
see
in
It’s
a

Bird…It’s
a
Plane…It’s
Superman,
and
the
show
is
rife
with
other
stock
journalism

characters,
including
those
seen
in
musicals.
Max
Mencken’s
evil,
plotting
theater

columnist
evokes
JJ
Hunsecker
of
Sweet
Smell
of
Success,
and
with
his
innocent
crush

on
Lois,
Jim
Morgan
is
reminiscent
of
cub
reporter/photographer
Horace
Miller
in

Miss
Liberty.

But
after
Clark
Kent,
the
most
important
journalist
in
any
Superman

story
is,
unquestionably,
Lois.

Lois
is
often
portrayed
as
having
“courage,
independence,
and
ambition”
in

spades.
165

This
Lois
possesses
some
of
those
characteristics,
but
has
more
in

common
with
those
versions
of
the
character
who
seem
“more
concerned
with

satisfying
her
amorous
curiosity
regarding
the
truth
behind
Superman’s
secret

identity,”
166

or
whose
“newsgathering
zeal
collides
with
her
unrequited
crush.”
167

This
emphasis
on
romantic
endeavors
is
acknowledged
early
in
the
first
act,
when

Lois
sings
“It’s
Superman.”

Lois:
“Oh
how
I
wish
I
weren’t
in
love

With
Superman.

A
wasted
life
is
all
I’ve
got

With
Superman.

To
hope
that
it
could
ever
be
is
just
a
schoolgirl
fantasy.

Oh,
is
there
no
one
else
for
me

But
Superman?”

Lois
doesn’t
seem
to
care
who
knows
about
her
affection
for
the
Man
of
Steel,

or
whether
it
makes
her
seem
weak.
This
is
in
stark
contrast
to
the
character
after

91

whom
Superman
creators
Jerry
Siegel
and
Joe
Shuster
modeled
the
original
Lois,

Torchy
Blane.
168

Torchy,
the
central
character
in
four
1930s
films,
routinely
puts
her
career

before
her
romantic
relationship.
Though
Torchy
has
a
fiancée,
they
never
seal
the

deal,
and
“the
chronic
postponement
of
their
marriage
suggests
a
certain

ambivalence
about
marriage
itself.”
169

Marriage
isn’t
so
much
the
issue
for
this
Lois
as
love
is,
but
we
get
the
sense

that
she
would
drop
everything
for
Superman.
In
that
sense,
she
is
every
inch
the

original
quintessential
depiction
of
the
female
reporter:
“women
first,
and

journalists
second.”
170

In
every
Superman
story,
journalism
is
secondary
to
the
recurring
themes
of

power,
romance,
and
justice,
while
remaining
inextricably
linked.
The
instance
of

Max
Mencken
character’s
using
his
column
is
deride
Superman
is
an
example
of
this

in
It’s
a
Bird…It’s
a
Plane…It’s
Superman.
As
in
other
Superman
stories,
we
are
left

with
the
notion
that
“Superman’s
greatest
power
is
to
recognize
that
although
he

himself
cannot
do
it
all,
he
can
help
inspire
others
to
recognize
the
power
within

themselves
to
live
up
to
America’s
noblest
values.”
171

Not
coincidentally,
that’s
the
mission
statement
of
most
idealistic
real-‐life

journalists,
as
well.

92

Chapter
10:
The
Minor
Players

In
addition
to
those
already
described,
there
are
five
other
Broadway

musicals
in
which
journalists
play
major
supporting
roles.

172

Up
In
Central
Park
173

John
Matthews
is
a
New
York
Times
cub
reporter
assigned
to
investigate
Boss

William
Marcy
Tweed,
a
high
roller
who
is
suspected
of
financial
corruption
in
the

building
of
Central
Park.

While
working
on
the
story,
John
meets
and
falls
in
love
with
Rosie
Moore,

the
daughter
of
one
of
Tweed’s
cronies
and
an
aspiring
singer.
They
have
a
brief
love

affair,
but
one
of
Tweed’s
minions
eventually
lures
Rosie
away,
promising
a
life
of

luxury
(bought
with
illegally
obtained
money)
and
help
in
furthering
her
singing

career.
They
wed,
and
John
continues
work
on
his
story.

When
his
work
is
complete
and
the
story
is
printed,
Rosie
realizes
he
was

right
all
along.
Her
husband
is
killed
in
a
plane
accident,
and
Rosie
leaves
the
glitz

and
glamour
of
city
life
to
return
to
studying
vocal
music.

Much
later
she
returns
to
Central
Park
for
old
time
sake,
and
comes
upon

John.
They
re-‐kindle
their
romance
and
live
happily
ever
after
knowing
that
the

political
corruption
has
been
exposed.

Subways
Are
for
Sleeping
174

Angie
McKay
is
a
staff
writer
for
Madame
Magazine
in
New
York.
She’s

assigned
to
report
on
a
subset
of
the
New
York
community:
homeless
people
who

93

dress
well
and
pass
for
upper
crust,
but
live
in
Grand
Central
Station
and
sleep
on

the
subways.

Her
first
interview
subject
is
Tom
Bailey,
the
leader
of
the
pack.
She
poses
as

an
out-‐of-‐towner
who
needs
a
place
to
sleep
in
order
to
get
the
access
she
needs,
all

the
while
filing
reports
back
to
the
magazine
on
a
pay-‐phone.

As
Angie
spends
more
and
more
time
undercover,
she
and
Tom
begin
to
fall

in
love.
One
day
they
are
panhandling
when
a
magazine
reader
recognizes
Angie
and

compliments
her
work.
Tom
is
horrified
when
Angie
is
forced
to
confess
she
has

been
lying
to
him
in
order
to
get
inside
access
for
her
story.

Tom
leaves,
and
Angie,
inconsolable,
decides
not
to
submit
her
story
or

return
to
her
job.
After
a
suitable
period
of
time,
Tom
realizes
he
misses
her
and

goes
looking
for
her.
They
get
back
together,
and
join
forces
to
write
a
book
about

his
experiences
as
a
subway
sleeper.

The
Nervous
Set
175

In
this
based-‐on-‐a-‐true-‐story
musical,
Brad
is
an
editor
at
a
literary
magazine

called
Nerves,
and
also
a
true
Washington
Square
beatnik.
He
meets
a
young
rich
girl

named
Jan,
and
though
he
warns
her
about
some
negative
aspects
of
becoming
a

beatnik,
they
marry.

Brad
and
Jan
quickly
begin
to
find
the
underground,
self-‐involved,
pseudo-‐
intellectual
world
of
the
beatniks
tiresome.
The
grind
of
trying
so
hard
to
fit
into
a

niche
of
New
York
society
proves
wearing
on
them
individually
and
on
their

marriage.

94

Meanwhile,
a
scheming
beatnik
friend
persuades
Brad
to
let
him
oversee

publication
of
Nerves.
The
“friend,”
Yogi,
does
a
terrible
job
running
the
magazine,

and
Brad
and
Jan’s
disagreements
about
him
damage
their
marriage
further.
But

before
the
damage
becomes
irreversible,
Brad
kicks
Yogi
out
of
the
magazine
and

out
of
their
lives.
Brad
and
Jan
manage
to
salvage
their
marriage,
and
leave
New

York
for
a
quieter,
suburban
life.

Merrily
We
Roll
Along
176

Mary
Flynn
is
a
theater
critic
upset
with
her
best
friend
Frank
Shepherd,
a

former
writer
of
musicals
who
has
become
a
successful
Hollywood
film
producer.
At

a
party
with
Frank’s
Hollywood
friends,
Mary
gets
drunk
and
causes
a
scene
when

she
accuses
Frank
of
being
a
sellout.

Merrily
We
Roll
Along
moves
backward
in
time.
After
the
party
scene,
we
see

Frank
and
his
former
writing
partner
Charley
being
interviewed
for
a
TV
program.

At
the
time,
they
are
very
successful
in
the
musical
theater
world,
and
Frank
is

starting
to
have
delusions
of
grandeur.
Charley
accuses
him
of
being
out
for
himself,

and
their
friendship
ends.

The
next
scene
finds
Frank
and
Charley
arguing
over
whether
to
turn
one
of

their
musicals
into
a
movie.
Charley
doesn’t
want
to
sell
out,
but
Frank
wants
the

money.
Mary
acts
as
the
mediator.

Eventually,
the
clock
turns
farther
back
on
Mary,
Charley,
and
Frank
as
young

kids,
freshly
moved
to
New
York
and
working
their
way
up
the
career
ladder.

The

contrast
of
their
youthful
ideals
to
the
hardened
people
they
have
become
is
stark.

95

The
musical
ends
with
a
song
about
the
big
things
they
believe
are
coming
their

way.

Newsies
177

Jack
Kelly
is
a
turn-‐of-‐the-‐century
newsboy
in
New
York
City,
selling
papers

for
Joseph
Pulitzer.
When
the
publisher
announces
he’s
going
to
raise
newspaper

prices
by
10
cents
apiece,
Jack
and
the
other
newsboys
worry
they
won’t
be
able
to

sell
as
many
papers—and
most
of
the
boys
are
already
painfully
poor.

Jack
rallies
the
other
“newsies”
to
protest,
and
they
stage
a
massive
strike.

That’s
when
Jack
meets
Katherine,
an
enterprising
young
reporter
who
is
tired
of

writing
for
the
women’s
pages.
She
wants
to
get
in
the
middle
of
the
strike,
and

make
a
name
for
herself
as
a
hard
news
reporter.

Jack
and
Katherine
fall
in
love.

Meanwhile,
another
reporter
decides
he
will

help
the
newsboys
by
alerting
governor
Theodore
Roosevelt
of
the
strike.
With

Roosevelt’s
support,
Jack
and
Pulitzer
are
able
to
come
to
an
agreement,
and
the

strike
ends.

In
addition
to
the
journalists
depicted
in
leading
and
supporting
roles,

dozens
of
musicals
like
Of
Thee
I
Sing,
Mr.
President,
and
Bye,
Bye,
Birdie
feature

packs
of
anonymous
reporters
out
for
press
conferences
or
to
scoop
the
hottest

story.
They
generally
provide
only
set
dressing
or
help
make
up
a
dance
ensemble.

96

Chapter
11:
The
Overall
Impact
of
Broadway
Journalists
on
Public
Perception

Quantifying
the
impact
of
Broadway
musicals
on
the
general
public
is
difficult

since
Broadway
shows,
limited
to
New
York
production
and
tours
to
major
cities,

don’t
reach
the
same
large-‐scale
audience
as
TV,
film,
or
literature.

But
there
is
insight
to
be
gained
from
the
length
of
each
show’s
run
(the

longer
run,
the
more
people
reached)
and
the
response
of
theatrical
critics.

The
original
production
of
Damn
Yankees
in
1955
ran
for
1,019

performances.
178

A
subsequent
revival
in
1994
ran
for
533.
The
1995
New
York

Times
review
of
the
revival,
by
Vincent
Canby,
made
no
mention
of
Gloria’s

character
or
the
role
of
journalism
in
the
musical.
However,
he
praised
the

production
as
a
whole.
Most
of
his
review
is
spent
raving
about
Jerry
Lewis,
who

took
on
the
character
of
Applegate.
179

Chicago
originally
opened
in
1975,
and
ran
for
two
years
and
936

performances.
A
revival
opened
in
1996
and
is
still
on
the
boards,
with
5,955

performances
to
date.
A
1996
New
York
Times
review
written
by
Ben
Brantley
180

did

not
mention
the
character
of
Mary
Sunshine.
He
gave
the
production
a
glowing

review.

Woman
of
the
Year
opened
in
1981,
running
for
just
under
two
years
and
770

performances.
In
1981,
Frank
Rich
wrote
a
very
positive
review
in
the
New
York

Times.
181
Rich
praises
the
decision
to
make
Tess
a
TV
journalist
(versus
the
film

version
in
which
she’s
a
newspaper
columnist)
and
lauds
Lauren
Bacall’s

97

performance
of
the
role,
but
gives
no
specific
mention
of
her
portrayal
of
Tess
from

a
journalistic
perspective.

Arguably
the
most
in
depth
and
personal
look
at
the
life
of
a
journalist,
Sweet

Smell
of
Success
had
a
short
life
on
the
Great
White
Way.
It
opened
in
2002
and

closed
just
three
months
later
after
a
total
of
109
performances.
Perhaps
Brantley’s

disparaging
New
York
Times
review
182

that
same
year
contributed
to
the
show’s
lack

of
commercial
success.
Brantley
complained
that
John
Lithgow,
an
actor
known
for

his
comedic
roles,
seemed
uncomfortable
in
the
role
of
someone
as
“evil”
183
as
JJ.
As

a
result,
much
of
the
show
read
as
campy
and
corny,
rather
than
darkly
nuanced

(the
mood,
says
Brantley,
that
was
captured
in
the
1957
movie
version).

Wonderful
Town
enjoyed
two
long
runs,
both
when
it
premiered
in
1953
and

for
a
subsequent
revival
in
2003.
The
original
production
lasted
559
shows
and

sixteen
months.
The
second
also
lasted
for
more
than
a
year,
with
497.
Brantley

praised
the
revival,
noting
that
“Richard
Muenz
[brought]
an
easygoing
dignity
to

Robert
Baker,
the
editor
whose
role
is
a
male
variation
on
the
unwitting

troublemaker
usually
known
as
the
Girl
in
other
vintage
musicals.”
184

Miss
Liberty
hasn’t
been
revived
on
Broadway.
The
first
and
only
production

in
1949
ran
for
10
months
and
308
performances.
Times
reviewer
Brooks
Atkinson

wasn’t
a
fan,
calling
it
“a
disappointing
musical
comedy
put
together
without
sparkle

or
originality.”
The
book
for
the
show,
he
said,
was
“a
pedestrial
tale,”
and
he
called

the
score,
“not
one
of
Mr.
Berlin’s
most
memorable.”
185

What
Makes
Sammy
Run?
was
something
of
a
hit
in
1964,
with
a
run
of
nearly

a
year
and
a
half
and
540
performances.
But
the
critics
weren’t
kind.
Howard

98

Taubman
of
the
New
York
Times
said
the
only
truth
emerged
in
the
second
act,
when

the
show
“confronts
its
sleazy
little
hero
with
difficulties.”
186

His
analysis

strengthens
the
conclusion
that
Sammy’s
career
in
the
newsroom
was
of
little

importance
either
to
the
plot
or
audience.

Tenderloin
opened
in
1961,
running
for
six
months
and
216
performances.
It

ran
again
in
New
York
briefly
in
2000,
as
part
of
the
Encores!
revival
series
at

Lincoln
Center.
Brantley
enjoyed
the
Encores!
production,
including
Patrick

Wilson’s
“sexy”
portrayal
of
Tommy
,
“a
young
man
equally
attracted
by
virtue
and

vice.”
187

Brantley
makes
no
mention
of
Tommy’s
profession,
but
notes
the
theme
of

reform
in
the
musical.

Parade
had
the
shortest
run
of
any
of
these
musicals.
It
opened
in
December

1998
and
closed
two
months
later,
running
for
just
85
performances.
Brantley

complained
in
the
Times
that
the
production
was
“often
more
podium-‐thumping

screed
than
compelling
story.”
188

Audiences,
evidently,
agreed.
Either
way,
Brantley

made
no
mention
of
Craig
in
his
review.

It’s
a
Bird…It’s
a
Plane…It’s
Superman
was
also
something
of
a
flop,
opening
in

March
of
1996
and
closing
four
months
later,
after
129
performances.
Since
then,

there
have
been
a
few
unsuccessful
attempts
at
a
revival,
the
most
recent
with
a

revised
script
and
score
in
2010
Dallas
regional
production.
Lawson
Taitte
of
the

Dallas
Morning
News
called
that
production
“super—almost.”
189

He
noted
that

Superman’s
“complex
relationship
with
Lois
is
the
heart
of
the
show,”
but
said
that

unfortunately
“the
first
act
goes
on
too
long,
while
the
disjunctive
second
lacks

focus.”
He
made
no
mention
of
the
characters’
roles
at
journalists.

99

Conclusion

Whether
reaching
tens
of
thousands
of
people
like
Chicago
or
scarcely
more

than
several
hundred,
like
Parade,
Broadway
has
made
its
own
unique
contribution

to
the
study
of
journalists
in
popular
culture.

On
the
whole,
the
characters
portrayed
onstage
share
many
traits
and

stereotypes
with
their
counterparts
in
film,
TV,
and
literature.
None
of
the

Broadway
characters
presents
a
truly
stark
contrast
from
comparable
incarnations

in
other
media,
but
one
significant
difference
is
present
in
almost
every
portrayal.

Gloria
defies
the
odds
by
being
a
female
sports
reporter
whose
gender
is
of

no
consequence.
Still,
she
shares
many
traits
with
other
fictional
sportswriters—
aggression
and
persistence,
a
strong
desire
to
get
the
scoop
no
matter
the
cost,

passion,
and
an
emphasis
on
cultivating
relationships
with
people
to
reach
her

goals.

Mary
displays
none
of
the
tough
exterior
of
other
fictional
female
journalists.

But
the
revelation
of
her
true
gender
can
be
seen
as
a
commentary
on
women
in

journalism,
to
be
viewed
a
couple
ways.
Either,
even
those
female
reporters
who

seem
feminine
and
docile
may
possess
underlying
male
characteristics
like

aggression
and
arrogance,
or
journalism
is
still
a
man’s
world
that
doesn’t
fully

welcome
women,
especially
in
a
difficult
beat
like
crime.

Tess,
unlike
so
many
of
her
fictional
counterparts
in
TV
journalism,
is

ultimately
able
to
balance
work
and
marriage.
But
the
road
there
is
rocky,
and
along

the
way
Tess
is
very
much
robbed
of
feminine
sentiment
and
actions.
Like
the

100

female
journalists
of
film
who
find
love,
her
final
balancing
act
is
not
to
be
had

without
a
certain
amount
of
sacrifice.

JJ
is
the
only
fictional
gossip
columnist
who
still
has
not
a
shred
of
common

decency
when
his
story
comes
to
an
end.
But
the
stark
look
at
such
a
relentless

villain
shows
by
way
of
contrast
what
journalism
is
supposed
to
be:
an
industry
of

moral
integrity,
truth
telling,
and
the
pursuit
of
justice
in
the
public
interest.

Bob
and
Horace
are
the
rare
males
who
sacrifice
journalism
for
love.
But

despite
their
sex,
they,
like
Tess,
perpetuate
the
stereotype
that
having
a
successful

career
and
successful
romantic
relationship
is
impossible
for
journalists.

Sammy,
Tommy,
and
Craig
are
all
deeply
flawed,
without
a
grand
redemption

in
the
form
of
serving
the
public.
But
watching
their
deception
or
flagrant
disregard

for
responsible
journalism
feels
so
uncomfortable,
that,
like
JJ,
they
help
reinforce

the
true
purpose
of
journalism—protecting
the
public
interest.

Of
the
journalists
on
Broadway,
Superman’s
characters
remain
the
most
true

what
might
be
expected
of
them
based
on
previous
or
more
widely
known

portrayals.
Though
different
Loises
and
Clarks
are
scattered
throughout
popular

culture,
this
version
strips
the
characters
to
their
most
basic,
classic

representations.

The
stock
characters
of
journalism,
from
bumbling
novice
reporters,
to
self-‐
serving
power
players,
to
strong
but
confused
women,
all
have
their
place
in
the

Broadway
catalogue.
In
many
cases,
the
use
of
song
allows
more
intimate
access
to

the
characters’
though
processes,
and
more
in-‐your-‐face,
less
nuanced
portrayals
of

personality.
The
audience
can
see
both
flaws
and
positive
attributes
more
readily

101

and
more
clearly
than
in
film
or
fiction.
It’s
this
device
that
helps
make
the

Broadway
characters
just
a
little
different
from
their
counterparts
in
other
artistic

mediums.

Still,
these
changes
to
the
mold
are
part
of
what
make
them
the
most

intriguing
characters
in
each
of
their
productions,
and,
it
could
be
said,
some
of
the

most
fascinating
to
come
along
in
all
of
musical
theater.

Future
studies
of
this
subject
may
wish
to
consider
a
more
focused
and

specific
analysis
on
one
aspect
of
musical
theater
journalists,
such
as
all
the
female

journalists
or
all
the
journalists
in
love.
Also
interesting
would
be
an
examination
of

the
musicals
about
journalists
that
have
been
made
into
films
(or
vice
versa,
in
cases

like
Sweet
Smell
of
Success
and
Woman
of
the
Year),
and
how
the
film
and
stage

versions
differ.

102

Endnotes

1

Joe
Saltzman,
Analyzing
the
Images
of
the
Journalist
In
Popular
Culture:
a
Unique

Method
of
Studying
the
Public’s
Perception
of
Its
Journalists
and
the
News
Media

(Essay,
Los
Angeles)
2005,
p.
1

2

Ibid.

3

Ibid.

4

Ibid.

5

Sweet
Smell
of
Success
opened
on
Broadway
in
2002.
Parade
opened
in
1998.
Up
In

Central
Park
opened
in
1945.
Miss
Liberty
opened
in
1949.
Wonderful
Town
opened

in
1953.
Damn
Yankees
opened
in
1955.
The
Nervous
Set
opened
in
1959.
Tenderloin

and
Subways
Are
for
Sleeping
opened
in
1961.
What
Makes
Sammy
Run?
opened
in

1964.
It’s
a
Bird…It’s
a
Plane…It’s
Superman
opened
in
1966.
Chicago
opened
in

1975.
Merrily
We
Roll
Along
and
Woman
of
the
year
opened
in
1981.

6

There
are
myriad
stereotypes
for
each
different
sort
of
journalist.

But
as
Joe

Saltzman
wrote
in
Analyzing
the
Images
of
the
Journalist
In
Popular
Culture:
a
Unique

Method
of
Studying
the
Public’s
Perception
of
Its
Journalists
and
the
News
Media,
“the

most
indelible
image
may
be
that
of
the
journalist
as
scoundrel,
as
evil,
as
the
worst

of
villains
because
these
journalists
use
the
precious
commodity
of
public

confidence
in
the
press
for
their
own
selfish
ends.”
(p.
29)

7

According
to
the
American
Sportscasters
Association,
there
is
no
official
record
of

just
who
the
first
female
sports
journalist
is.
In
a
1999
essay
about
women
in
the

field,
then-‐ASA
president
Lou
Schwartz
cited
Jane
Chastain
as
the
most
widely

accepted
pioneer.

8

None
of
the
players,
managers,
owners,
or
other
reporters
reference
Gloria’s

gender
as
it
relates
to
her
profession.
The
character
of
Applegate,
who
is
the
Devil

marauding
as
a
man,
tosses
in
a
few
disparaging
comments
about
her
being
a

woman.

9

George
Abbott
and
Douglass
Wallop,
Damn
Yankees
(Random
House,
New
York,

1956),
p.
28.
This
description
of
Gloria
is
listed
in
the
writers’
stage
notes.
No

further
description
is
provided
as
to
what
is
meant
by
“prototype
of
the
professional

woman.”

103

10

The
relationship
between
sports
journalists
and
the
teams
they
cover
is

complicated
and
varied
both
in
reality
and
fiction.
“Most
often,
they
are
used
as

realistic
dressing
for
biographies
of
sports
personalities.”—Saltzman,
Analyzing
the

Images
of
the
Journalist
In
Popular
Culture:
a
Unique
Method
of
Studying
the
Public’s

Perception
of
Its
Journalists
and
the
News
Media,
p.
40.
But
the
relationship
can
be
of

a
darker
nature
according
to
Chad
Sabadie
in
America’s
Presstime:
How
Images
of

Baseball
Reporters
Have
Shaped
the
Perception
of
Our
National
Sport
and
The

Profession
of
Journalism,
who
wrote
that
in
some
films,
“The
writer
serves
as
the

villain
to
the
heroic
ballplayer.
In
some
cases,
the
player
or
manager
feels
that
the

writer
is
actually
out
to
get
them.”

11

Abbott/Wallop,
p.
11

12

Op.
cit.,
p.
12

13

Op.
cit.,
p.
16

14

Op.
cit.,
p.
30-‐1

15

Op.
cit.,
p.
34

16

Op.
cit.,
p.
44-‐5

17

Ibid.

18

Op.
cit.,
p.
80

19

Op.
cit.,
p.
104

20

Ibid.

21

Op.
cit.,
p.
130

22

Chad
Sabadie,
America’s
Presstime:
How
Images
of
Baseball
Reporters
Have
Shaped

the
Perception
of
Our
National
Sport
and
The
Profession
of
Journalism
(2004),
p.
15

23

Abbott/Wallop,
p.
134

24

Ibid.

25

Op.
cit.,
p.
45

26

Sabadie,
p.
7

27

Abbott/Wallop,
p.
137

104

28

Sabadie,
p.
9

29

Op.
cit.,
p.
14

30

Howard
Good,
Girl
Reporter,
Gender,
Journalism,
and
the
Movies,
(The
Scarecrow

Press,
Lanham,
MD),
1998,
p.
7

31

Joe
Saltzman,
Frank
Capra
and
the
Image
of
the
Journalist
in
American
Film

(Norman
Lear
Center,
Los
Angeles),
2002,
p.
54-‐5

32

Ibid.

33

Fred
Ebb
and
Bob
Fosse,
Chicago:
A
Musical
Vaudeville
(Samuel
French,
Inc.,
New

York),
1976,
p.37

34

Saltzman,
Capra,
p.
62

35

Ebb/Fosse,
p.
35-‐6

36

Op.
cit.,
p.
9

37

Op.
cit.,
p.
29

38

Op.
cit.,
p.
31-‐3

39

Op.
cit.,
p.
36-‐7

40

Op.
cit.,
p.
38-‐43

41

Op.
cit.,
p.
56-‐7

42

Op.
cit.,
p.
61

43

Op.
cit.,
p.
87

44

Saltzman,
Sob
Sisters:
The
Image
of
the
Female
Journalist
in
Popular
Culture,
Essay,

2003,
p.
2

45

Ebb/Fosse,
p.
39

46

Op.
cit.,
p.
53

47

Op.
cit.,
p.
83-‐84

48

Saltzman,
Analyzing
the
Images
of
the
Journalist
In
Popular
Culture,
p.
39-‐40

105

49

Ibid.

50

Judith
Marlane,
Women
in
Television
News
Revisited
(University
of
Texas
Press),

1999

51

Peter
Stone,
Woman
of
the
Year
(Samuel
French,
Inc.,
New
York),
1981,
p.
11

52

Op.
cit.,
p.
12

53

Op.
cit.,
p.
29

54

Op.
cit.,
p.
17-‐18

55

Saltzman,
Sob
Sisters,
p.
5

56

Stone,
p.
11

57

Op.
cit.,
p.
13
All
song
lyrics
in
Woman
of
the
Year
were
written
by
Fred
Ebb.

58

Op.
cit.,
p.
20

59

Op.
cit.,
p.
36

60

Op.
cit.,
p.
52

61

Op.
cit.,
p.
62

62

Op.
cit.,
p.
64

63

Op.
cit.,
p.
65

64

Op.
cit.,
p.
67

65

Op.
cit.,
p.103

66
Sarah
Herman, Hacks,
Heels
and
Hollywood:
How
Accurately
Do
Recent
Film

Portrayals
of
Women
Journalists
Reflect
the
Working
World
of
Their
Real-Life

Counterparts?,
(Bournemouth
University,
England,
UK)
2004,
p.
4

67

Op.
cit.,
p.
28

68

Stone,
p.
81

69

Saltzman,
Sob
Sisters,
p.
6

106

70

Ibid.

71

Ibid.

72

Stone,
p.33

73

Op.
cit.,
p.
34

74

David
Zinman,
Torchy
Blane
and
Glenda
Farrell,
1973,
p.
38-‐9

75

John
Guare,
Sweet
Smell
of
Success
(Samuel
French,
Inc.,
New
York),
2006,
p.
94

76

Find
A
Grave,
http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-‐bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=1116

77

Guare,
p.
7-‐15

78

Op.
cit.,
p.
52

79

Op.
cit.,
p.
29

80

Op.
cit.,
p.
38

81

Op.
cit.,
p.
11

82

Tim
Dirks,
Filmsite,
www.filmsite.org/sweet.html,
2010

83

Guare.,
p.
7

84

Op.
cit.,
p.
9

85

Op.
cit.,
p.
16

86

Op.
cit.,
p.
18

87

Op.
cit.,
p.
38

88

Op.
cit.,
p.
56

89

Op.
cit.,
p.
76

90

Ibid.

91

Op.
cit.,
p.
79

92

Op.
cit.,
p.
98

107

93

Op.
cit.,
p.
106

94

Op.
cit.,
p.
107

95

Op.
cit.,
p.
108

96

Op.
cit.,
p.
109

97

Saltzman,
Analyzing
the
Images
of
the
Journalist
In
Popular
Culture,
p.
33

98

Ibid.,
p.
34

99

Matthew
Ehrlich,
Journalism
in
the
Movies,
(University
of
Illinois
Press),
2004,
p.
9

100

Guare,
p.
54
(all
song
lyrics
in
Sweet
Smell
of
Success
were
written
by
Craig

Carnelia)

101

Ibid.

102

Op.
cit.,
p.
69

103

Op.
cit.,
p.
107

104

Ibid.

105

Ibid.

106

Op.
cit.,
p.
33

107

Jessica
Strait,
Popular
Portrayals
of
Journalists
and
their
Personal
Lives:
Finding

the
Balance
between
Love
and
the
“Scoop,”
2011,
p.
1

108

Joseph
Fields
and
Jerome
Chodorov,
Wonderful
Town
(Random
House,
New

York),
1953,
p.
43

109

Saltzman,
Analyzing
the
Images
of
the
Journalist
in
Popular
culture,
p.
35

110

Op.
cit.,
p.
40-‐1

111

Op.
cit.,
p.
94-‐5

112

Op.
cit.,
p.
148-‐9

113

Op.
cit.,
p.
152-‐3

108

114

Op.
cit.,
p.
161-‐2

115

Good,
Girl
Reporter,
p.
82

116

Joan
Mellen,
Big
Bad
Wolves:
Masculinity
in
the
American
Film
(New
York:

Pantheon,
1977)
p.
312

117

Saltzman,
Analyzing
the
Images
of
the
Journalist
in
Popular
Culture,
p.
39

118

Good,
Girl
Reporter,
p.
78

119

Op.
cit.,
p.
34

120

Robert
E.
Sherwood,
Miss
Liberty
(Samuel
French,
Inc.,
New
York),
1949,
p.
24

121

Op.
cit.,
p.
25

122

Op.
cit.,
p.
47-‐8

123

Op.
cit.,
p.
58

124

Ibid.

125

Op.
cit.,
p.
75

126

Op.
cit.,
p.
81

127

Strait,
Popular
Portrayals
of
Journalists
and
their
Personal
Lives,
p.
14

128

Sherwood,
Miss
Liberty,
1949,
p.
49

129

Saltzman,
Analyzing
the
Images
of
the
Journalist
in
Popular
Culture,
p.
38

130

Op.
cit.,
p.
36

131

Matthew
Ehrlich,
Facts,
Truth,
and
Bad
Journalists
in
the
Movies
(2006),
p.
2

132

Budd
Schulberg
and
Stuart
Schulberg,
What
Makes
Sammy
Run?
(Random
House,

New
York),
1965,
p.
4

133

Op.
cit.,
p.
51

134

Op.
cit.,
p.
65

135

Op.
cit.,
p
118

109

136

Ibid.

137

Op.
cit.,
p.
124

138

Op.
cit.,
p.
133

139

Saltzman,
Frank
Capra
and
the
Image
of
the
Journalist
in
American
Film,
p.
146

140

Jerome
Weidman
and
George
Abbot,
Tenderloin
(Random
House,
New
York),

1961,
p.
3

141

Ibid.

142

Op.
cit.,
p.
11

143

Op.
cit.,
p.
13

144

Op.
cit.,
p.
23

145

Op.
cit.,
p
69

146

Op.
cit.,
p.
127

147

Op.
cit.,
p.
141-‐2

148

Saltzman,
Frank
Capra
and
the
Image
of
the
Journalist
in
American
Film,
p.
146

149

Alfred
Uhry,
Parade;
The
New
American
Musical
(Theatre
Communications

Group,
New
York),
2003,
p.
257

150

Op.
cit.,
p.
257-‐8

151

Op,
cit.,
p.
262

152

Op.
cit.,
p.
263

153

Op.
cit.,
p.
265

154

Op.
cit.,
p.
269-‐75

155

Op.
cit.,
p.
306

156

Op.
cit.,
p.
330-‐1

157

Op.
cit.,
p.
340-‐1

110

158

Saltzman,
Analyzing
the
Images
of
the
Journalist
in
Popular
Culture,
p.
36

159

Op.
cit.,
p.
29

160

Uhry,
Parade;
The
New
American
Musical,
p.
340

161

The
musical
was
written
by
Charles
Strouse
and
Lee
Adams,
with
a
book
by

David
Newman
and
Robert
Benton,
but
was
never
published
commercially.

162

Matthew
Ehrlich,
Thinking
about
Journalism
with
Superman,
(University
of

Illinois
at
Urbana-‐Champaign,
Urbana,
IL),
p.
5

163

Since
the
book
was
never
published,
the
sources
for
this
synopsis
are
the
liner

notes
of
the
Original
Broadway
Cast
Recording
and
two
websites,

http://users.bestweb.net/~foosie/superman.htm
and

http://www.masterworksbroadway.com/music/its-‐a-‐bird-‐its-‐a-‐plane-‐its-‐superman

164

Ehrlich,
Journalism
in
the
Movies,
p.
8

165

Ehrlich,
Journalism
with
Superman,
p.
9

166

Ibid.

167

Op.
cit.,
p.
10

168

Op.
cit.,
p.
9

169

Good,
Girl
Reporter,
p.
78

170

Op.
cit.,
p.
51

171

Ehrlich,
Journalism
with
Superman,
p.
19

172

None
of
the
books
for
the
musicals
in
this
section
was
ever
published

commercially.

173

Sigmund
Romberg
and
Dorothy
Fields,
1945

174

Betty
Comden
and
Adolph
Green,
1961

175

Jay
Landesman
and
Theodore
J.
Flicker,
1959

176

George
Furth,
1981

177

Harvey
Fierstein,
2011

111

178

All
figures
on
performance
runs
were
culled
from
the
Internet
Broadway

Database.
www.ibdb.com

179

Vincent
Canby,
New
York
Times,
1995

http://theater.nytimes.com/mem/theater/treview.html?res=990CE0D9103FF930A
25750C0A963958260

180

Ben
Brantley,
New
York
Times,
1996

http://theater.nytimes.com/mem/theater/treview.html?res=9C01E7DE1439F937A
35756C0A960958260

181

Frank
Rich,
New
York
Times,
1981

http://theater.nytimes.com/mem/theater/treview.html?res=9D0CE2DD1039F933
A05750C0A967948260

182

Ben
Brantley,
New
York
Times,
2002

http://theater.nytimes.com/mem/theater/treview.html?html_title=&tols_title=SWE
ET%20SMELL%20OF%20SUCCESS%20%28PLAY%29&pdate=20020315&byline=
By%20BEN%20BRANTLEY&id=1077011431626&scp=6&sq=sweet%20smell%20o
f%20success&st=cse

183

Ibid.

184

http://theater.nytimes.com/mem/theater/treview.html?_r=1&res=9E06EEDE1438
F935A35756C0A9669C8B63&oref=slogin

185

William
A.
Everett
and
Paul
R.
Laird,
The
A
to
Z
of
the
Broadway
Musical,

(Scarecrow
Press),
2009,
p.
222

186

http://www.whatmakessammyrun.net/index1.htm

187

http://theater.nytimes.com/mem/theater/treview.html?_r=1&html_title=&tols_title
=TENDERLOIN%20(PLAY)&pdate=20000325&byline=By%20BRUCE%20WEBER&i
d=1077011431682

188

http://theater.nytimes.com/mem/theater/treview.html?html_title=&tols_title=PAR
ADE%20(PLAY)&pdate=19981218&byline=By%20BEN%20BRANTLEY&id=10770
11431090

192

http://www.dallasnews.com/entertainment/columnists/lawson-‐taitte/20100626-‐
Theater-‐review-‐Dallas-‐Theater-‐Center-‐1200.ece

112

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2003)

Abstract (if available)

Abstract Since the vaudevillian era, musicals have sought to provide audience members with a realistic, if heightened, slice of life. As the zenith for any newly crafted musical play, Broadway has been home to characters from all walks of life and many professions, including journalists. ❧ This paper compares the journalists of the stage to those portrayed in film and television. Of the 15 musicals with journalists in major or supporting roles, ten are analyzed here: Gloria Thorpe, the baseball writer in Damn Yankees

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