Aprenent del New Urbanism

Examining the journalist-novelist phenomenon calls for a catholic approach to the kinds of talents, motivations and influences that bring a journalist to journalism and a novelist to the novel. As with other pursuits, a range of dynamics is involved. Identifying and measuring them and assessing their inter-relationships is as much art as science. For instance, to what extent does one apportion or even calculate such attributes as native ability, creativity, intelligence and temperament. Most psychologists agree IQ tests are only part of the equation. They do not take into account attributes such as determination, self-control, zeal, sensitivity and “emotional intelligence” (Goleman, 1996: iii).

In accepting the perils of such imponderables, this section focuses on journalism’s allure for those who want to practice it and its shortcomings for those who do practice it. It also canvasses attitudinal and demographic surveys of journalists and of their public image. Examining what kinds of people become journalists and how they enter the profession informs discussion about the kinds of

journalists who become novelists. Broadly speaking the contemporary journalist seems to have been attracted to the occupation for one of three reasons, or a combination of all three. First, they are idealistic. They want to change the world and see journalism as an empowerment vehicle. Second, they love writing and reading and are naturally drawn to the occupation as a practical way of doing this while making a living. Third, they want to see their name in print or their face on television. This is known as the glamour factor. Sometimes journalism is indeed glamorous, however one wishes to define the term. Journalist-novelist Danielle Wood, who worked as a reporter until she was 26, says she found the occupation “intoxicating”, allowing her to meet extraordinary people (Sorensen, 2003: 3).

These are common observations made at journalism conferences and within the literature. A fourth motivation sometimes is added. It is related to the love of reading and writing: a desire to write a novel. Condon says his journalism was intended as a means to an end: “It was purely to facilitate fiction later on. It was a deliberately orchestrated plan on my part, since I was about 15” (1998). After obtaining a journalism degree he won a cadetship at the Gold Coast Bulletin yet continued to write fiction:

I was driven to write at a very young age and … I knew in journalism I could keep a job and yet have pockets of time in which to work. I became very fast in writing features and then pretended in the afternoon I was working on it, when I was doing my own stuff … if I’d done law or something like that maybe the amount of brain drain and time might have slowed the whole thing down. (1998)

Linkages involving youthful aspirations in journalism and fiction have been made for more than a century. In 1891 it was estimated more than half of the young, scholastically inclined men in the United States considered careers in journalism or literature (Forman, 1891: 15). Fedler remarks: “The field attracted a flood of applicants because people thought that any sensible or well-educated person could become a reporter. Unlike law, medicine or the ministry, journalism, did not require a professional degree, license or certificate” (2000: 53). It seems probable many journalistic aspirants simply saw themselves as writers in waiting and selected journalism as a way to sustain them until “literature” became possible.

The glamour factor can be seen in novels and films in which journalists are depicted (Appendices V and VI) as well as in the plays, non-fiction books and novels they write (Appendices VII, X, XI). Superman, after all, was a “mild-mannered reporter” when off duty. More recently the hero of the 10-book Left Behind series in the United States, which has sold about 40 million copies, has been Buck Williams. He works for Time Magazine’s fictional competitor, Global Weekly. His modest mission: to help non-believers accept Jesus Christ in the face of the antichrist (Cloud, 2002: 49). Yet Hallock has found journalism to be widely portrayed in an antagonistic manner in six novels that he studied (1997). Former journalists wrote five of them:

The Ink Truck, The Shipping News, The Lost Honor of Katharina Blum, Contents under Pressure and The Paperboy. In the Harry Potter series non-journalist JK

Rowling created a journalist in the form of witch Rita Skeeter. According to journalism scholar Graham Williams: “It’s a libellous portrayal, there is no doubt about that. And it reflects the deep-seated suspicions of the journalistic craft (Lee, 2001: 9). At the cinema journalists have been glorified in All the President’s Men,

Foreign Correspondent and Deadline USA. In more recent films such as Natural Born Killers and To Die for, the journalistic characters “are so incorrigible that they can be

rehabilitated only with a bullet to the head and are accordingly done in” (Hanson, 1996: 45-8).

The more important point is journalists tend to be where the action is and that entails high occupational visibility. Their successes and failures become public property. These outcomes are frequently misunderstood, in part, because journalists do not often talk about what they do. Whether loved or hated journalists’ perceived empowerment component is an occupational attractant. There is some justification for this. A study by corruption watchdog Transparency International found countries with the highest newspaper circulations appeared to be the least corrupt (Reuters, 1997: 9). Meanwhile “the public sees only the results of what journalists do and knows little of the obstacles they must surmount or the risks they face to get crucial information to print or to air” (Hurst, 1988: 7).

Media power can be demonstrated through magnate Rupert Murdoch. Although listed as the 54th wealthiest person in the world in 2003, Forbes magazine ranked him third in influence because of his media empire’s global reach (Associated Press, 2003: 18). An associated inference can be made individual journalists wield a

portion of that power. This is evident in journalistic achievement awards, which include recognition for non-fiction books of social concern (Patterson, 1994: 59). Such accolades, however, tend not to be seen as representative of newspaper practice but rather as of exceptional individual accomplishments to which others can aspire in addressing society’s problems and challenges. For instance more than half of the Walkley winners from their inception in 1956 to 1988 related to stories on indigenous issues (Hurst, 1988).

Perhaps journalism’s greatest appeal for its practitioners is the positive – and usually very public – reinforcement that comes from effort expended. For example,

Courier-Mail reporter Phil Dickie won a Gold Walkley Award in 1987 for

investigative stories that helped generate a change in government and sparked the Fitzgerald Inquiry into police corruption (Conley, 2002: 23). Relationships between reportage and public outcomes also could be seen in June 2001 when police launched an investigation into rape claims against Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission chairperson Geoff Clark. They later charged him with rape following reports in the Age that won the 2001 Gold Walkley Award. Previously police had declined to take action despite formal complaints – one made in 1971 – by the women involved (Gordon and Debelle, 2001: 1; Madigan, 2001: 3; Rintoul, 2001: 3; and Rule, 2002: 1). In 2002, Hedley Thomas of Brisbane’s Courier-Mail wrote a series of articles about a law firm imposing exorbitant costs on clients who had agreed to representation on a “no win, no fee” basis. When the amounts were not paid the clients were sued. This resulted in an inquiry into the Law Society’s inaction over complaints and its self-regulation of the profession. Legislative changes also were mooted (Thomas, 2002a: 1-2; Thomas, 2002b: 1; and Thomas, 2002c: 1-2). Less than a month after the first stories appeared Queensland’s Chief Justice warned the courts would be taking tougher action against lawyers who overcharged (Griffith, 2002: 1- 2).

Besides awards giving journalists public and professional recognition for their efforts, their sense of authority and identity also have been bolstered by changes in conventions on by-lines. In a random sample tracking the by-line use in The Age, the 23 January 1880 edition showed none in the news pages. A story datelined London indicated it was “from our own correspondent” but did not include the name. On 1 November 1930 by-lines on page 6 consisted of stories by: “Grotian”; “J.H.”; “J.R.”;

“CRM” and “J.D.”. On 28 February 1950 the paper’s front page carried two major front-page stories. One was from “our special correspondent” in Canberra and the other carried no by-line. On 17 March 1980 the front page carried five stories with eight by-lines. Perusal of today’s metropolitan newspapers not only will show most stories have by-lines but also the reporter’s round and, sometimes, their “mug shot” and email address.

In fiction, some publishers trade on names to the extent they hire “co-authors” to produce more titles each year for best-selling authors such as Robert Ludlum, Tom Clancy and James Patterson (Chester, 2003: 7). These co-authors are named in small print on the cover while the best-selling author’s name is often larger than the book’s title. Gelder and Salzman say that, in the 1980s, the tremendous increase in the production of fiction meant book publishers were thinking increasingly about packaging, promotion and circulation that would affect readers’ response before they read the text (1989: 1). Authors were “asked to become a ‘personality’ as much on display as his or her text”. During the 1990s in Australia thousands were attending literary festivals to hear novelists and non-fiction authors and even high-profile journalists. At the Adelaide Festival in 1996 crowds were of “New Testament proportions” (Slattery, 1996: 1). About 2500 attended a talk by The Shipping News author E. Annie Proulx and 1600 were attracted to Sophie’s World author Jostein Gaarder. Festival attendee David Malouf expressed uneasiness about the “cult of celebrity” surrounding authors: “Once upon a time you could just write your book in that private place and out of that private place you write from. That was enough. It’s no longer like that.” Another guest, Canadian writer Susan Swan, said writers were asked to “perform” like celebrities: “You’ve got to be able to sell yourself”.

It was also said at the Adelaide Festival that Sophie’s World had earned more than $21 million (Slattery, 1996: 1). For those with novelistic ambition such rewards, however unlikely, may represent an inducement to pursue journalism as a logical route to fame and fortune. The occupation’s monetary rewards can hardly be seen as persuasive in and of themselves. During 2002 third-year Fairfax and News Limited cadets were being paid about $640 per week, not counting shift allowances (MEAA 2002). That is about $33,000 per year. It does not compare favourably with a first- year Queensland police constable’s salary of about $40,000. However, it was on par with graduates in law, social work and veterinary science (Noonan, 2000: 5). A News

Limited metropolitan journalist with a grading of 5, representing someone with several years of experience, was earning $992 per week in 2002. A top-level grade-10 journalists was earning $1605 per week, or $83,460 per year in 2002. High-profile broadcast journalists and columnists were earning much more. When he quit 60

Minutes in 2000 reporter Jeff McMullen was being paid $350,000 annually (Charlton,

2000: 31). When Sydney Morning Herald columnist Paddy McGuinness was recruited from the Australian he was paid around $250,000 per year (James 1994-95: 8).

But these are rarities. Those new to the occupation soon learn it can be unpleasant and confronting. This is especially so in dealing with people under enormous stress while having to fashion complex material into something intelligible in the face of unforgiving deadlines. American sports writer Red Smith perhaps best captures the profession’s essence when he describes a journalist struggling over a story until “little beads of blood” formed on his forehead: There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at the typewriter and open a vein” (noted in Fedler, 1993: ix). Condon recalls being asked to do “death knocks” after being assigned to police rounds while a Gold Coast Bulletin cadet:

In some ways it was good but in other ways it was the death knell for my journalism. It’s one of the most savage and cynical and heartless areas of journalism. And the things I was asked to do, I can say that a lot of them I never did. I just made an excuse when I got back to the office. I simply couldn’t do it. I look now at horror that I was even asked. But I guess that’s part of the job. There are plenty of other people who are willing to do it. (1998)

Also, journalists must work late and early shifts, weekends and public holidays. Veteran Courier-Mail journalist Des Partridge remembers his rude awakening when reporting for duty in 1957 as a “six pounds seven and six weekly” cadet at the Townsville Bulletin (2002: 19). He had been due to report the previous day, but that was Anzac Day. On arrival the editor bellowed: “Public holiday! You can forget all about them lad.”

Hudson says the Australian cadetship process came under scrutiny during the 1950s (1963: 104). Although it offered grounding in reporting and sub-editing fundamentals it did little for intellectual development. He cites a senior journalist’s comment that “any talented young person under our practical training system can

become a capable craftsman”. But the journalist had wondered whether this was enough, given life’s increasing complexity. A 1963 survey showed just one in 20 metropolitan journalists had any kind of degree (Ricketson, 2001c: 14). Since then the proportion of journalists with degrees has increased eight-fold. By the mid-1990s more than one in three – 39 per cent – had degrees (Henningham, 1996: 209). This compares to 89 per cent in the United States, up from 70 per cent in 1983 and 58 per cent in 1973 (Leiter et al, 2000: 11). In the United Kingdom journalism education and media studies were seen as the “sociology of the 1990s” (Millar, 1996: 23).

The guild-based tradition of four-year cadetships in Australia began to crumble during the 1980s. Granato contends journalism became the last profession to rely on tertiary education as the primary method in preparing its beginners (1991: 2). Today many Australian editors consider a journalism degree essential. Peter Owen, editor of Queensland’s Sunshine Coast Daily, says: “A journalism degree is now close to being required, like in architecture or law” (2000). Seven of eight cadets hired by the Age in 2000 had journalism degrees (Ricketson, 2001c: 14). In a sense universities have become a clearinghouse or proving ground for newspapers and broadcasters seeking journalism’s best and brightest. In a not entirely dissimilar vein, newspapers can be viewed as producing writers from which some of the finest authors of fiction and non-fiction books emerge.

The growth in journalism education means intense competition for places. In 1996 five universities had 2760 applicants seeking 650 places to study journalism (Williams, G., 1996: 5). In the same year ABC television received about 800 applications for four reporting and two production cadetships (Conley, 2002: 9). In 1983 more than 2000 school leavers and university graduates were applying for cadetships in Sydney’s media (Thinley, 1983: 3). In 2000 John Fairfax Holdings received about 2800 applications for up to 42 cadetships for its four metropolitan newspapers in Sydney and Melbourne (Hippocrates 2000). News Limited’s Sydney office receives about 450 applications for 17 positions (Hill 2000). Lismore’s

Northern Star considered about 100 applications for one cadetship in 2001 (Gould

2001). Typically applicants are expected to take a current affairs examination, be interviewed by a panel and write a time-limited, impromptu essay. The 2000 54- question quiz for Toowoomba Chronicle cadets included the questions: is sorghum a summer or winter crop? And: name five Australian Prime Ministers. In 2002 the Age

test included 50 questions, 10 in each of five sections: national, foreign affairs, business, the arts and sport. Among the questions were: name the former Australian Prime Minister who died earlier this year; who is the Japanese Prime Minister; which stock market index is known as the FOOTSIE; who won the 2002 Archibald Prize and how many gold medals has Australia ever won in Winter Olympic Games? Also, in no more than 500 words, they were asked to answer the question: what is a journalist?

In many cases graduates already have portfolios of work from internships. Editors and news directors consider these together with communication skills – verbal, listening and writing – and adaptability, problem solving and an ability to cope with pressure (Conley, 2002: 6-7). Employers often say most or many applicants are unsuitable. They either have no degree or published work, fragile temperaments or unrealistic expectations. Fairfax editorial training manager Cratis Hippocrates (2000) says too often when asked where they see themselves in five years applicants indicate they want to be foreign correspondents: “If one of them says they want to be a police or industrial reporter the editor almost jumps up and hugs them”. Others say they are surprised intending journalists read few books or newspapers (Waterford 2000; Hawke 2000).

These comments may be relevant to the glamour factor cited earlier. It can be argued some people want to become journalists despite having little interest in public affairs or understanding of what the occupation entails. However, New Limited editorial staff manager Hill and Hippocrates believe most cadet applicants have altruistic motives (Day, 2002b: 3). Hill says they want to “make a difference” and see journalism as a way of achieving this: “It’s not a bad thing to see them with starry eyes. I don’t try to talk them out of it. Journalism will do that soon enough when they hit the wall of cynicism. Others apply because they have a totally false notion that it’s a glamour career”. According to Hippocrates: “They love the idea of the autonomy of the journalist. They love the idea of being able to inquire about something, to get the evidence, to get both sides of the story; to ‘uncover the truth’. It’s quite idealistic.”

Canberra Times editor-in-chief Jack Waterford says he too became a journalist

because he wanted to “make a difference” (Gigliotti, 2002: 19).

These are germane points if one accepts any resulting disillusionment with the occupation over its presumed facility for “making a difference” contributes to journalists seeking writing forums. As discussed in the last chapter economic,

industrial, technological and legal pressures and changes have made it more difficult for journalists to engage in “truth telling”. A Melbourne Press Club conference in October 2002 heard journalism continues to face staff hiring freezes, government and judicial secrecy and greater inroads by the public relations industry (Crawford, 2002: 3). The NSW Government had “stripped the press gallery” for policy advisers and judges had become free-speech enemies, with 328 suppression orders issued in South