March 2, 2025

By Arthur H. Gunther III

thecolumnrule.com

Newspaper stiffs, of which I am one, share an affinity for the irreverent. Politicians, bigwigs of any sort are suspect. Press releases are exaggerated, even BS. We don’t kiss no one without our eyes open. And we gather with the tribe, whether it be at the local watering hole just steps from the office or in the press room at police headquarters. We are in competition with scribes from other sheets, but getting the who, what, where, when, why and how pushes the hunter instinct.

Recently, Sarah Tisch, the enlightened New York City police commissioner, acted to restore “the Shack,” the press room at police headquarters. Reporters had been relegated to outside space, therefore away from contacts, an obvious move to thwart investigation. It’s been done before at 1 Police Plaza.

This was the second New York Police Department blow to freedom of the press, to getting information to the people, after encrypting radio frequencies to throw off the scent when action was under way.

Hooray for the Shack’s return. Think the 1928 play “The Front Page” by former reporters Charles MacArthur and Ben Hecht. The setting for the comedy/crime melodrama is the press room at the Chicago Criminal Courts Building. Reporters from the city’s newspapers are there to watch the imminent hanging of Earl Williams, a white man and revolutionary convicted of killing a black policeman though he was actually railroaded in a political scheme. Reporters pass time playing poker and wise-cracking, staples of the old police/court beat.

“The Front Page” involves crooked politicians, common to the police/court gig, and has a secondary theme of reporter interplay. There is rapid-fire, streetwise dialogue that pushes the image of American journalists as fast-talking, wisecracking, hard-boiled fellows and gals who fight tooth and nail to get an exclusive or first report to lead, yes, the front page.

Coincidentally, I live in the Nyacks, 20 miles north of Gotham, smack between the homes of the late Hecht and MacArthur. In fact, “The Front Page” was first staged in South Nyack before stage try-outs. Those in the know, particularly anyone in media, can almost smell the cigarette smoke in the 1928 press room as we walk today past Charlie’s “Pretty Penny” home that he shared with his wife, actress Helen Hayes. For years, MacArthur hosted poker/drinking/smoking sessions in that house. It was a press room.

Now all this description of old press rooms and the newer “Shack” are nostalgic and entertaining because we all love characters. And we admire the irreverent too. But to be serious, press rooms at police headquarters and court buildings are vital to watching authority in the name of the people. Newspapering, digging out the facts, so necessary in informing the citizenry, is best done on the beat, not in the news room. A reporter has to develop and mine contacts, people they build trust with and who can offer inside information. It is difficult to do that in the city room. Gotta be streetwise. Personal contact, say in the press room actually located in police headquarters, makes all the difference. There are always people in law enforcement or other government willing to talk, whether out of concern about wrong-doing, or they have an axe to grind with the job. Reporters, especially those with thick skin, do the dirty work that the reader cannot. They use their wiles to get information that should be shared in the first place but is not because of turf and ego.

My old newspaper is dead after 109 years, victim of lost readership and advertising, particularly classified that now appears on the Internet. Once, we had skeptical reporters at every government meeting – town hall, school board. Sitting through long-winded sessions while politicos bragged and promised everything numbed the senses – until one remark, one smile between councilmen, poked the scribe. He or she knew something wasn’t right and began digging.

Then the routine became a chase, and the reporter called on contacts, the kind you get only on the beat, in a bar or in some other non-official place. Fruitful investigations always begin with suspicion and skepticism. Things then add up on the beat with digging and contacts. Soon the mayor gets indicted for bribes.

Officialdom always has secrets, temptation to take influence money, moves to boost power and ego. When it is not watched, when there are no reporters to sniff, to not take no for an answer, as is increasingly the situation with newspapers in decline and big media bought by hedge hunters and those worshipping powerful leaders, then democracy loses its revealing search light.

The move by the NYPD to throw scribes out of the Shack and separate them from police sources was a way to hide department operations from the people it is supposed to “protect and serve.” While removing reporters from headquarters could not end their sniffing, it had to make it more difficult. Back in the Shack, they will get closer to what’s seen, and more important, what’s not seen in Gotham’s policing.

Not sure if press room scribes play poker anymore, but whether they do or just stare at the smart phone, you better believe they have one eye on the brass walking by and one ear open to the wrong sounds at I Police Plaza. Reporters don’t let the police intimidate them, and that is good for both sides, and for the citizenry.

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The writer is a retired newspaperman.