Picture Snatcher Page #5

- Shh. They're liable to hear you.

Pardon me, but could you tell us

which one is the city editor?

You see, we're from university

and we'd like to see the city editor.

- I guess you mean Mr. McLean.

Is that his name?

Mm-hm.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thanks.

McLEAN:

Ah.

Our future crusaders of clean American

journalism. How do you do?

- I'm Patricia Nolan, Mr. McLean.

We'd like... McLEAN: I know.

Just a minute. Danny?

Oh, Danny.

Here's Mr. Kean.

One of our star reporters.

And a man we depend on

for a number of important things.

How do you do?

How do you do?

Mr. Kean, I wish you'd show these visitors

through our plant.

Explain to them

how a great metropolitan daily is run.

I know you're a very busy man,

but do you mind?

I'm in the middle of a big murder story.

But it can wait. We run it next week.

- Oh, that will be wonderful, Mr. Kean.

Thank you.

Do you write the editorials?

No, I get all the tough assignments.

- I'm a picture snatcher.

- A what?

Millionaire's wife hides out with a chauffeur,

I slap their profiles on the front page.

I track down saps that have reason

to keep out of the papers.

Murderers, embezzlers,

crooked politicians.

People who pull down blinds

in the wrong houses.

In my opinion, modern journalism

has descended to a deplorable level.

A foreigner. And that ain't all I do.

I risk my neck grabbing photos

of plane crashes, train wrecks.

Ships breaking offshore in storms.

And other things.

- It must be thrilling.

- Aw, it's all a day's work.

Who in your opinion

was the most difficult person to approach?

- The governor.

- The governor.

And what was the subject

of the interview?

I wanted to ask his pardon.

Oh, I see. You owed him an apology.

Let it go at that.

Let's go to the paper room.

Go to the bottom and work up.

- Boy, that was close.

- I could see the whites of their eyes.

Here it is.

Enough paper for a million newspapers.

Yes, here it is. White wood pulp.

Plain white.

Why, today it's raw,

but tonight it's cooked.

With printer's ink. Photographic art.

The sweat of creative effort.

Tomorrow it goes out...

...and hundreds and thousands

of men and women...

...feed their starving, mediocre souls...

...on the indiscretions

and adventures of others.

And then, a little while later, what is it?

Don't you know?

They use it to wrap up herring.

I better go up. Dad will be home soon.

I was supposed to be in bed ages ago.

- Don't go up yet. Come on, it's early.

- Oh, I just got to.

- It's 3:
00.

- Just another minute. Come on.

- Hello, Pat.

- Oh, hello, Colleen.

So long, Mike, and thanks.

Good night, honey,

I'll see you Wednesday. Bye.

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