The Kingdom and the Power

Zusatztext Beautifully documented . . . no less than a landmark in the field of writing and journalism. The Nation Fascinating . . . Seldom has anyone been so successful in making a newspaper come alive as a human institution. The New York Times I know of no book about a great institution which is so detailed! so intensely personalized! or so dramatized as this volume about The New York Times. The Christian Science Monitor A serious and important account of one of the few genuinely powerful institutions in our society. The New Leader A superb study of people and power. Women's Wear Daily Informationen zum Autor Gay Talese Klappentext "Beautifully documented . . . no less than a landmark in the field of writing and journalism."-The Nation "Fascinating . . . Seldom has anyone been so successful in making a newspaper come alive as a human institution."-The New York Times In this century and the last, most of history's important news stories have been broken to a waiting nation by The New York Times. In The Kingdom and the Power, former Times correspondent and bestselling author Gay Talese lays bare the secret internal intrigues at the daily, revealing the stories behind the personalities, rivalries, and scopes at the most influential paper in the world. In gripping detail, Talese examines the private and public lives of the famed Ochs family, along with their direct descendants, the Sulzbergers, and their hobnobbing with presidents, kings, ambassadors, and cabinet members; the vicious struggles for power and control at the paper; and the amazing story of how a bankrupt newspaper turned itself around and grew to Olympian heights. Regarded as a classic piece of journalism, The Kingdom and the Power is as gripping as a work of fiction and as relevant as today's headlines. Praise for The Kingdom and the Power "I know of no book about a great institution which is so detailed, so intensely personalized, or so dramatized as this volume about The New York Times."-The Christian Science Monitor "A serious and important account of one of the few genuinely powerful institutions in our society."-The New Leader "A superb study of people and power."-Women's Wear DailyMost journalists are restless voyeurs who see the warts on the world, the imperfections in people and places. The sane scene that is much of life, the great portion of the planet unmarked by madness, does not lure them like riots and raids, crumbling countries and sinking ships, bankers banished to Rio and burning Buddhist nunsgloom is their game, the spectacle their passion, normality their nemesis. Journalists travel in packs with transferable tension and they can only guess to what extent their presence in large numbers ignites an incident, turns people on. For press conferences and cameras and microphones have become such an integral part of the happenings of our time that nobody today knows whether people make news or news makes peopleGeneral Ky in Vietnam, feeling no doubt more potent after his sixth magazine-cover story, challenges Red China; after police in New York raided the headquarters of young hoodlums, it was discovered that some gang leaders keep scrapbooks; in Baltimore, a day after the Huntley-Brinkley Report mentioned that the city had survived the summer without a race riot, there was a race riot. When the press is absent, politicans have been known to cancel their speeches, civil rights marchers to postpone their parades, alarmists to withhold their dire predictions. The troops at the Berlin Wall, largely ignored since Vietnam stole the headlines, coexist casually, watching the girls go by. News, if unreported, has no impact. It might as well have not happened at all. Thus the journalist is the important ally of the ambitious, he is ...

Autorentext
Gay Talese

Leseprobe
Most journalists are restless voyeurs who see the warts on the world, the imperfections in people and places. The sane scene that is much of life, the great portion of the planet unmarked by madness, does not lure them like riots and raids, crumbling countries and sinking ships, bankers banished to Rio and burning Buddhist nuns—gloom is their game, the spectacle their passion, normality their nemesis.
 
Journalists travel in packs with transferable tension and they can only guess to what extent their presence in large numbers ignites an incident, turns people on. For press conferences and cameras and microphones have become such an integral part of the happenings of our time that nobody today knows whether people make news or news makes people—General Ky in Vietnam, feeling no doubt more potent after his sixth magazine-cover story, challenges Red China; after police in New York raided the headquarters of young hoodlums, it was discovered that some gang leaders keep scrapbooks; in Baltimore, a day after the Huntley-Brinkley Report mentioned that the city had survived the summer without a race riot, there was a race riot. When the press is absent, politicans have been known to cancel their speeches, civil rights marchers to postpone their parades, alarmists to withhold their dire predictions. The troops at the Berlin Wall, largely ignored since Vietnam stole the headlines, coexist casually, watching the girls go by.
 
News, if unreported, has no impact. It might as well have not happened at all. Thus the journalist is the important ally of the ambitious, he is a lamplighter for stars. He is invited to parties, is courted and complimented, has easy access to unlisted telephone numbers and to many levels of life. He may send to America a provocative story of poverty in Africa, of tribal threats and turmoil—and then he may go for a swim in the ambassador’s pool. A journalist will sometimes mistakenly assume that it is his charm, not his usefulness, that gains such privilege; but most journalists are realistic men not fooled by the game. They use as well as they are used. Still they are restless. Their work, instantly published, is almost instantly forgotten, and they must endlessly search for something new, must stay alive with by-lines and not be scooped, must nurture the insatiable appetites of newspapers and networks, the commercial cravings for new faces, fashions, fads, feuds; they must not worry when news seems to be happening because they are there, nor must they ponder the possibility that everything they have witnessed and written in their lifetime may someday occupy only a few lines in the plastic textbooks of the twenty-first century.
 
And so each day, unhaunted by history, plugged into the instant, journalists of every creed, quality, and quirk report the news of the world as they see it, hear it, believe it, understand it. Then much of it is relayed through America, millions of words a minute, some thousands of which penetrate a large fourteen-floor fact factory on Forty-third Street off Broadway, the New York Times building, where each weekday afternoon at four o’clock—before it is fit to print, before it can influence the State Department and perplex the President and irritate David Merrick and get the ball rolling on Wall Street and heads rolling in the Congo—it is presented by Times editors seated around a conference table to one man, the managing editor, Clifton Daniel.
 
He is a most interesting-looking man but difficult to describe because the words that quickly catch him best, initially, seem entirely inappropriate for any man who is a man. But the impression persists. Clifton Daniel is almost lovely. It is his face, which is long and pale and soft and dominated by large dark eyes and very long lashes, and his exquisitely groomed, wavy gray hair that makes him seem almost lovely. His suits are very Savile Row, his hands and nails immaculate, his voice a soft, smooth blend of North Carolina, where he was born in a tiny tobacco town, and England, where he came of a…

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