They don’t call it “a newspaper of record,” but instead a paper of “wreckage,” and it has lived up to the name. Paper of Wreckage: An oral history of the New York Post, tells how the tabloid, one of Rupert Murdock’s early American purchases, disregarded journalistic standards but along the way covered some unforgettable stories.
Susan Mulcahy and Frank DiGiacomo, themselves Post alums, conducted 240 interviews spanning 50 years of no-holds-barred journalism, celebrity scandals, serial killers, labor disputes, New York City, Rupert Murdoch and the rise of Donald Trump. The book is unputdownable.
The present-day saga begins in the waning days of Dolly Schiff’s ownership of the afternoon paper that skewed to the left of The New York Times, and then a mannerly publication but a money-losing one. In 1976, Murdoch bought the Post for $31 million, bringing with him a cast of Aussies and a whole new approach, including a gossip column with pithy takes contributed by staffers. The only question was what to call the column. Finally, because it anchored pages behind breaking news, they decided on Page Six.
Anna Quindlen (later a Pulitzer-prize-winning New York Times columnist) said, “The first day the Australians were in the newsroom, Neal Travis came to me and said, ‘Have we got an assignment for you.’ He gave me four or five items, one about Liza Minnelli. Two days later, he came to me and said, ‘Sweetheart, where’s the Liza item?’ I said I haven’t been able to nail it down. He said, ‘You don’t have to report it. You just have to write it.’ I thought, I am screwed. I hadn’t seen my future as a gossip columnist who didn’t confirm anything.”
James Brady, who created Page Six, describes then 45-year-old Murdoch as “always in his shirtsleeves. Always trying to help you make up a page or scale a picture. He knew type sizes. He knew everything. When I went to work, he said, ‘I only have a couple of suggestions. Wherever you go drinking, don’t go where your reporters are drinking. That’s only trouble.’”
Murdoch was quick to plunge the paper into politics, endorsing Ed Koch, closest to a conservative, for mayor and giving him huge headlines while using pictures of one rival, Bella Abzug, that made her look like a big fat, dumpy broad. In the final it was Koch versus Mario Cuomo and the Post coverage was Koch, Koch, Koch.
The most sinister of Murdoch’s new hires was Australian-born Edwin “Ted” Bolwell, described by film critic Frank Rich as “this truculent, arrogant, surly Australian.” When Bolwell took sick and was carted off to the hospital, the Post staffers hoped it was a finale. It wasn’t. Unfortunately I later got to know Bolwell’s insolence when Rupert unloaded him on the Seattle Post-Intelligencer publisher as a remake artist.
Another Aussie who arrived with Rupert was metro editor Steve Dunleavy who assembled his Murderers’ Row of reporters, instilling them with his by-any-means-necessary approach to getting the story. Dunleavy had immense energy and could work all the time and drink all the time. Night editor Kelvin MacKenzie remembered the time they hunted New York bars trying to find him, only to discover him fast asleep under a desk in the far corner of the newsroom.
In keeping with his insistence on getting the story, Dunleavy once impersonated a grief counselor to approach the mother of the final victim of serial killer David Berkowitz (“Son of Sam”). Steve got the story all right, but may also have slept with the woman.
Newsrooms depicted in serious films about journalism like All the President’s Men portray reporters and editors as earnest men and women arguing about getting the facts straight. The Post was more like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. One editor wore devil horns and sent panties to female staffers through the interoffice mail. An inspired headline writer strode atop newsroom desks barefoot and muttering, “I’m surrounded by idiots.” Alcohol flowed openly and cocaine dealing almost resulted in a police raid.
Among the Page Six sources was none other than Joe McCarthy’s henchman Roy Cohn. Film critic Frank Rich reports, “The chicken-and-egg question between Trump, Murdoch, and Cohn was fascinating. Cohn had spotted Trump, this hustler from Queens who had a chip on his shoulder and who also had money – at least was purported to have money.”
Roy Cohn and his protégé Donald Trump were frequent tipsters often dismissed as “an unreliable source.” Trump became intent on seeing his name in boldface and — when reported less than flatteringly — responded by threatening to sue Murdoch and The Post. Koch’s budget director commented, “I wouldn’t believe Trump if his tongue was notarized.”
Among the paper’s low points was its coverage of the Central Park joggers’ case, now called the Exonerated Five case. Activist lawyer William Kunstler and Attorney Ronald Kuby were two of the few whites who raised questions and defended the youths. In 2002 when the five were completely exonerated, The Post not only didn’t apologize but continued to cast doubts.
The case was a miserable, heart-breaking episode for American journalism. It signaled the craft was being seduced into the Newsmax world that The Post helped to create along with the model for Fox News.
Despite its unbridled chaos, The Post did serve as a waystation for many good journalists, including Pete Hamill, Jimmy Breslin, Murray Kempton, Nora Ephron, Anna Quindlen, Frank Rich, Maggie Haberman, and Frank Bruni. Most of them had fond memories, showing they somehow relished the turmoil.
One local connection was Speight Jenkins, who, before he took over as the consequential longtime general director of Seattle Opera, served as music critic for the Post.
The Post broke political stories as well as assorted scandals: Woody Allen’s affair with Mia Farow’s adopted daughter, Soon-Yi Previn; Donald and Ivana’s marriage split; and Sydney Biddle Barrows’ operating as “the Mayflower Madam.” Splashy headlines always topped the story of the day. Among them: “Headless Body in Topless Bar;” “The Hunk Flunks” when JFK Jr. failed the New York Bar exam; “Here We Ho Again!” after Gov. Eliot Spitzer was exposed patronizing a prostitution ring; and “Best Sex I Ever Had” opposite Trump’s grinning photo and rumors about an affair with Marla Maples.
The book provides a helpful introduction and a glossary that defines such newspaper terms as “lobster shift,” referring to overnight work hours; “slug,” a story’s short identifying title; “spike,” a metal spear on the copy desk where stories were impaled and killed; and “wood,” a tabloid front-page headline that required the use of larger wooden typeface.
It concludes with “Post Mortem” thoughts. If The Post doesn’t survive (a possibility with Rupert reaching his 94th birthday) what will be the paper’s legacy? There are valedictory comments like Daily News music critic Jim Farber who said, “The paper is iconic; it’s a piece of conceptual art. But you can’t take it at face value.” Then there is copy editor Ramona Garnes’ tart remark: “I look at what Fox News has done to this country, and I say, it’s the Brits getting the U.S. back for having a revolution and declaring independence. They’re gonna make us sorry we kicked King George to the curb.”
Discover more from Post Alley
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
