If P. J. Powers mulls news-media ethics these days, he unavoidably focuses on reporters who see journalism as sport, with moral compasses buried as they lie, steal, cheat and bribe the police for information.
Alas, Powers, artistic director of the TimeLine Theatre, is thinking about 1920s Chicago journalism, not phone hacking by British reporters 90 years later. But it’s a difference in degree, not kind.
“When I read what was going on with Rupert Murdoch, I thought, ‘Some things don’t change,’ ” Powers said. “If you think this has come out of the blue, you’ve been asleep at the switch.”
TimeLine recently produced a wonderful revival of “The Front Page,” the 1928 Ben Hecht-Charles MacArthur classic set in a chaotic press room in the Criminal Courts Building adjacent to Cook County Jail. Powers played the charismatic and deceitful protagonist, the reporter Hildy Johnson, six years after portraying a corrupt journalist in TimeLine’s production of “Pravda,” a David Hare-Howard Brenton satire inspired by Murdoch that starred Sir Anthony Hopkins when it opened in 1985 in London.
Hecht started out as a “picture chaser” for The Chicago Daily Journal. That meant stealing photos from people’s homes for often scandalous articles, said Martha Briggs, a curator at the Newberry Library, where Hecht’s papers reside.
“When nobody was home, you’d run in and grab something and leave,” she said.
Hecht’s experiences inspired Hildy — played by Jack Lemmon, among others, in Hollywood knockoffs — who spends the $260 meant for his wedding and honeymoon to bribe the assistant jail warden for details of a convicted criminal’s escape. When Hildy stumbles into the miscreant, he locks him inside a desk rather than call the police as he plots with his editor on how to maximize scoops.
Powers was especially attuned to Murdoch’s moral sinkhole after playing Andrew May, an initially idealistic reporter-editor in “Pravda” who morphs into an ethically wayward pawn of Lambert Le Roux, a Murdoch-inspired press baron first brought to life onstage by Hopkins.
There is a history of deception in the American news media, including prominent examples of reporters fabricating articles, stealing information, shilling for political and corporate interests, and impersonating everyone from police officers to mental patients.
In 1998, for instance, Michael Gallagher, a Cincinnati Enquirer reporter, pleaded guilty to hacking into voice mails at Chiquita Brands as part of an investigation alleging multiple company misdeeds at Central American plantations. But, as egregious as such cases are, it was not a reflection of systemic skulduggery.
For sure, deception can be justified if an overriding public interest is served and the deceit is the sole means to discern wrongdoing, said Robert Steele, a journalism ethics expert at DePauw University and the Poynter Institute who is consulting with National Public Radio as it re-examines its ethical standards in light of the recent, politically charged brouhahas there.
Historically, America’s mostly college-educated journalist class is of relatively recent vintage. More unruly and colorful working-class reporters and editors were the norm until codes of ethics, a greater sense of professionalism and journalism schools arose or flourished.
But even when I got to The Chicago Sun-Times in the late 1970s, there was at least one reporter proficient in claiming to be a police officer to get information over the phone. The same reporter, now dead, also had an exterminating business with city contracts.
His sort might really feel emboldened in a blogger-infested culture that is mostly free of editors and ethical norms. As Steele noted, new technologies and economic instability lead many organizations to work in less professional ways. Powers said he heard from reporters attending TimeLine’s revival about the pressure to have something, anything, online before competitors.
Throw in a popular culture, including cable television news, that often rewards being provocative, rather than being right, and one has an unavoidably growing risk of error and overstepping just as Hecht’s feverish, corner-cutting press room is now an unavoidable 24/7 online reality.
And a key constituency may be getting a big pass amid the hand-wringing: consumers. Their cravings link Hecht’s era to the TV- and Internet-dominated marketplace of Murdoch, the Rolls-Royce populist with a Gulfstream G550 jet.
If he had spied riches in owning The New York Review of Books or C-Span, he would have tried to buy them. He struck gold by discerning huge audiences who craved relentlessly embarrassing tales of the rich, powerful and famous — and clearly didn’t care about the tactics used.
Hildy Johnson, who left his fiancée stranded at a train station, would feel so much at home.
by JAMES WARREN | Jul 25, 2011
If P. J. Powers mulls news-media ethics these days, he unavoidably focuses on reporters who see journalism as sport, with moral compasses buried as they lie, steal, cheat and bribe the police for information.
Alas, Powers, artistic director of the TimeLine Theatre, is thinking about 1920s Chicago journalism, not phone hacking by British reporters 90 years later. But it’s a difference in degree, not kind.
“When I read what was going on with Rupert Murdoch, I thought, ‘Some things don’t change,’ ” Powers said. “If you think this has come out of the blue, you’ve been asleep at the switch.”
TimeLine recently produced a wonderful revival of “The Front Page,” the 1928 Ben Hecht-Charles MacArthur classic set in a chaotic press room in the Criminal Courts Building adjacent to Cook County Jail. Powers played the charismatic and deceitful protagonist, the reporter Hildy Johnson, six years after portraying a corrupt journalist in TimeLine’s production of “Pravda,” a David Hare-Howard Brenton satire inspired by Murdoch that starred Sir Anthony Hopkins when it opened in 1985 in London.
Hecht started out as a “picture chaser” for The Chicago Daily Journal. That meant stealing photos from people’s homes for often scandalous articles, said Martha Briggs, a curator at the Newberry Library, where Hecht’s papers reside.
“When nobody was home, you’d run in and grab something and leave,” she said.
Hecht’s experiences inspired Hildy — played by Jack Lemmon, among others, in Hollywood knockoffs — who spends the $260 meant for his wedding and honeymoon to bribe the assistant jail warden for details of a convicted criminal’s escape. When Hildy stumbles into the miscreant, he locks him inside a desk rather than call the police as he plots with his editor on how to maximize scoops.
Powers was especially attuned to Murdoch’s moral sinkhole after playing Andrew May, an initially idealistic reporter-editor in “Pravda” who morphs into an ethically wayward pawn of Lambert Le Roux, a Murdoch-inspired press baron first brought to life onstage by Hopkins.
There is a history of deception in the American news media, including prominent examples of reporters fabricating articles, stealing information, shilling for political and corporate interests, and impersonating everyone from police officers to mental patients.
In 1998, for instance, Michael Gallagher, a Cincinnati Enquirer reporter, pleaded guilty to hacking into voice mails at Chiquita Brands as part of an investigation alleging multiple company misdeeds at Central American plantations. But, as egregious as such cases are, it was not a reflection of systemic skulduggery.
For sure, deception can be justified if an overriding public interest is served and the deceit is the sole means to discern wrongdoing, said Robert Steele, a journalism ethics expert at DePauw University and the Poynter Institute who is consulting with National Public Radio as it re-examines its ethical standards in light of the recent, politically charged brouhahas there.
Historically, America’s mostly college-educated journalist class is of relatively recent vintage. More unruly and colorful working-class reporters and editors were the norm until codes of ethics, a greater sense of professionalism and journalism schools arose or flourished.
But even when I got to The Chicago Sun-Times in the late 1970s, there was at least one reporter proficient in claiming to be a police officer to get information over the phone. The same reporter, now dead, also had an exterminating business with city contracts.
His sort might really feel emboldened in a blogger-infested culture that is mostly free of editors and ethical norms. As Steele noted, new technologies and economic instability lead many organizations to work in less professional ways. Powers said he heard from reporters attending TimeLine’s revival about the pressure to have something, anything, online before competitors.
Throw in a popular culture, including cable television news, that often rewards being provocative, rather than being right, and one has an unavoidably growing risk of error and overstepping just as Hecht’s feverish, corner-cutting press room is now an unavoidable 24/7 online reality.
And a key constituency may be getting a big pass amid the hand-wringing: consumers. Their cravings link Hecht’s era to the TV- and Internet-dominated marketplace of Murdoch, the Rolls-Royce populist with a Gulfstream G550 jet.
If he had spied riches in owning The New York Review of Books or C-Span, he would have tried to buy them. He struck gold by discerning huge audiences who craved relentlessly embarrassing tales of the rich, powerful and famous — and clearly didn’t care about the tactics used.
Hildy Johnson, who left his fiancée stranded at a train station, would feel so much at home.