The Fourth Estate

When Townsend finally settled with the unions, the Star had been off the streets for over two months, and had lost several million dollars. It took him a great deal of his time to rebuild the circulation. The Tribune’s figures, however, weren’t helped by a series of banner headlines telling New Yorkers that “Dick Bites the Big Apple,” “Dick Pitches for Yankees” and “Magic Dick Shoots a Basket for the Knicks.” But these appeared humble when the troops came back from the Gulf and the city gave the returning heroes a tickertape parade all the way down Fifth Avenue. The front page of the Tribune was given over to a picture of Armstrong standing on the podium between General Schwarzkopf and Mayor Dinkins; the inside story, covering the event in detail, mentioned Captain Armstrong’s MC on four different pages.

But as the weeks went by, Townsend was unable to find any mention of Armstrong reaching a settlement with the print unions, search as he might through the columns of the Tribune. When Barbara Walters did invite him back on the program six weeks later, Armstrong’s press secretary told her that there was nothing he would have enjoyed more, but that he had to be in London to attend a board meeting of the parent company.

That at least was true—but only because Peter Wakeham had called to warn him that Sir Paul was on the warpath, and demanding to know how much longer he intended to keep the New York Tribune on the streets while it was still losing over a million dollars a week.

“Who does he imagine allowed him to stay on as chairman in the first place?” asked Armstrong.

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Peter. “But I thought I ought to let you know what he’s been telling everyone.”

“Then I’ll just have to come back and explain a few home truths to Sir Paul, won’t I?”

* * *

The limousine drew up outside the district court in Lower Manhattan a few minutes before 10:30 that morning. Townsend, accompanied by his lawyer, stepped out of the car and walked swiftly up the courthouse steps.

Tom Spencer had visited the building the previous day to deal with all the legal formalities, so he knew exactly where his client needed to go, and guided him through the maze of corridors. Once they had entered the courtroom, the two of them squeezed onto one of the overcrowded benches near the back and waited patiently. The room was packed with people chattering away in different languages. They sat in silence between two Cubans, and Townsend wondered if he had made the right decision. Tom had kept pointing out that it was the only way left open for him if he wished to expand his empire, but he knew that his countrymen, not to mention the British Establishment, would be scathing about his reasons. What he couldn’t tell them was that there was no form of words which would ever make him feel he was anything other than an Australian.

Twenty minutes later, a judge in a long black gown entered the court and everyone rose. Once he had taken his seat on the bench, an immigration officer stepped forward and said, “Your Honor, I ask permission to present one hundred and seventy-two immigrants for your consideration as American citizens.”

“Have they all carried out the correct procedure as demanded by the law?” the judge asked solemnly.

“They have, Your Honor,” replied the court officer.

“Then you may proceed with the Oath of Allegiance.”

Townsend and 171 other would-be Americans recited in unison the words he had read for the first time in the car on the way to the court.

“I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen; that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by law; that I will perform noncombatant service in the armed forces of the United States when required to do so by the law; that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation of purpose or evasion: So help me God.”

The judge smiled down at the joyful faces. “Let me be the first to welcome you as full citizens of the United States,” he said.

* * *

As eleven o’clock struck, Sir Paul Maitland coughed

slightly and suggested that perhaps the time had come to bring the meeting to order. “I would like to begin by welcoming our chief executive back from New York,” he said, glancing to his right. There were murmurs of assent from around the table. “But it would be remiss of me not to admit to a little anxiety caused by some of the reports coming out of that city.” The murmurs were repeated, and if anything were slightly louder.

“The board backed you, Dick, when without seeking its approval you purchased the New York Tribune for twenty-five cents,” continued Sir Paul. “However, we now feel you should let us know for how much longer you are willing to tolerate losses in the region of nearly one and a half million dollars a week. Because the present situation,” he said, referring to a row of figures in front of him, “is that the group’s profits in London are only just covering the losses we are sustaining in New York. In a few weeks’ time we will have to face our shareholders at the annual general meeting—” he looked up at his colleagues seated round the table “—and I am not convinced that they will approve our stewardship if this state of affairs continues for much longer. As you are all aware, our share price has fallen from £3.10 to £2.70 in the last month.” Sir Paul leaned back in his chair and turned to Armstrong, indicating that he was ready to listen to his explanation.

Armstrong looked slowly around the boardroom table, aware that almost everyone present was there because of his patronage.

“I am able to tell the board, Mr. Chairman,” he began, “that my negotiations with the New York unions, which I must admit have been keeping me up most nights, are finally reaching their conclusion.” He paused as one or two smiles appeared on the faces around the table.

“Seven hundred and twenty members of the print union have already agreed to take early retirement, or to accept a redundancy package. I shall be announcing this officially as soon as I return to New York.”

“But the Wall Street Journal has estimated,” said Sir Paul, referring to an article he had extracted from his briefcase, “that we need to reduce the workforce by between fifteen hundred and two thousand.”

“What do that lot know, sitting in their cozy air-conditioned offices downtown?” said Armstrong. “I am the person who has to deal with these men face to face.”

“Nevertheless…”

“The second tranche of sackings and redundancies will take place in the next few weeks,” continued Armstrong. “I remain confident that I will have concluded those negotiations by the time of the next board meeting.”

“And how many weeks do you imagine it will be before we see the benefits of these negotiations?”

Armstrong hesitated. “Six weeks. Eight weeks at the most, Chairman. But naturally I will be doing everything in my power to speed the process up.”

“How much is this latest package going to cost the company?” asked Sir Paul, returning to a typewritten sheet of paper in front of him. Armstrong could see he had been ticking off a list of questions one by one.