In general—and this cannot be stressed too much—remember that the reporter has power to do irreparable harm by a careless or malicious statement. An unwarranted aspersion may work an injury that no subsequent correction can wholly undo. A statement in print is final; it cannot be amended or softened as can the spoken word. It is part of the news writer’s plain duty—to himself, his newspaper and the public—to choose his words carefully, in order that no misconstruction may be placed upon them. More important still, he should never forget the obligation that rests upon him to say no thing, directly or by implication, that can harm an innocent person.
SECOND-DAY STORIES
The second-day story, as the name suggests, relates a development in a story printed the preceding day, of which it is assumed the reader has some knowledge. For example, the story of a death, if deemed of sufficient importance, may be “followed” (as the newspaper vernacular has it) by an evening contemporary. But while the account first published begins by telling the fact of the death, the second-day, or the “follow,” story is brought up to date in the lead with some newer facts, probably about the funeral arrangements. News ages quickly in these days of hourly editions, when beats are measured not by days or hours but by minutes. The news writer aims to give the latest possible information about his story, and to give it in such a way that the reader will be impressed with the fact of its newness. An experienced reporter will never write “yesterday” into the lead of his story when there is a chance of making “to-day” prominent.
The morning newspaper, which sends its city edition to press at 2 to 3 o’clock in the morning, tells of the events of yesterday. It is the breakfast-table paper, setting forth the history of the preceding day. Necessarily the word “yesterday” recurs frequently in its local columns. The reporter must write his story to conform to the date of the paper’s issue. Hence, writing for next morning’s paper of a fire which occurred at 8 P. M., he fixes the time as “8 o’clock last night”—this form being preferred to “yesterday evening.” “Last night,” however, is avoided in reference to anything that happens after midnight, on the day of publication. In such a case, the reporter, with the conscious purpose of making his news seem as timely as possible, writes “early this morning” or gives the definite time.
An even greater effort to get “to-day” rather than “yesterday” into news stories is made by the evening paper, because its special field is the news of the day on which it is published. Yesterday is dead; its news has passed into history. Taking up the chronicle where the morning paper has dropped it, the evening paper, in successive editions, records the events of the day. First-page stories in early editions may be ruthlessly cut down or thrown out as more important news develops. It is not enough to tell what has happened already; the newspaper must tell what is happening and what is going to happen. News that appears stale is not wanted. There are so many things of vital interest happening all the time that the newspaper is not concerned with dead events, except as they may have a bearing on the present.
The second-day story, then, if it is worth publishing at all, must have some new feature to bring it up to date. At least it must have the appearance of newness. It is in giving a story this gloss that the tricks of the news writer’s trade are called into play. Nowhere does experience count for more than in writing of a day-old event in a manner to convey the impression that the news is being told for the first time. The novice may write vividly of something he has just seen, but the trained news writer excels in the artifice of what the newspaper man calls rewriting.
REWRITING
On some evening newspapers a squad of men begin work soon after the city editions of the morning papers are off the press. Before dawn these men are on duty, busily preparing copy for the first edition of the paper, which goes to press before news begins to pour in through the regular channels. This work is in charge of an assistant city editor, who paves the way for the city editor. Copies of the morning papers and a pair of shears are his equipment. Stories that promise further development during the day he lays aside for the consideration of the city editor; others that may safely be rewritten and made to appear as new he deals out to the squad of writers; still others, those that are dead after one telling, he throws away. Stories that hold the possibility of a libel suit—or, as the newspaper man says, contain dynamite—are mentally labeled dangerous and held for investigation—or the wastebasket.
Now assume that to the rewrite man is handed a clipping telling of the arrest of a leading citizen for exceeding the speed limit in his automobile the night before. The citizen gave bond to assure his appearance in police court the following day. The story fills, say, half a column in the morning paper. “Cut it to a stick” is the order. The novice probably would begin by saying that “John Jones, cashier of the First National Bank, was arrested last night for speeding,” that being the substance of the lead in the original story. Not so the rewrite man. His story begins somewhat like this:
On the docket of the First District Police Court this morning appeared the name of John Jones, cashier of the First National Bank, charged with exceeding the speed limit in his automobile. Mr. Jones was arrested last night, etc.