 Good evening. Tonight our cavalcade play is called Break the News. It's dedicated to the thousands of men and women of a great American news-gathering organization the Associated Press. Our star is John Lund. Break the News by Arthur Aaron, starring John Lund as Thomas Riggs on the Devilcade of America. Mr. Bennett! Mr. Bennett! Yes, Mr. Riggs? We've done it. The figures just came up from the circulation department. What about them? Here they are. New York Herald, week of April 5th, 1847. Average daily-paid circulation, 30,000. 30,000! That gives us the largest circulation in the city. That's it. Mr. Riggs, how long have you been working here? Two years. Uh-huh. Think you've learned something about journalism, huh? Oh! A little. And tell me, do you consider the Herald a success? Oh, yes, sir. Everybody knows the Herald's the most successful paper in America. They do, huh? Well, I bet my competitors know better. Mr. Riggs, to get the news first, this paper uses every device known to modern civilization. Horse Express, carrier pigeons, our own vessels to meet incoming ships, even this new-fangled telegram. Now, have you any idea what all that costs? Why, no, sir. I never thought much about the expense. Spoken like a true newspaper man. Mr. Riggs, at the rate expenses of piling up this newspaper with the largest circulation in New York City will soon be bankrupt. What? The only consolation is, so will my competitors. To get the news first, we're all going broke. Hmm. Well, have you ever suggested? I was thinking, suppose... suppose we don't get the news first. Then we might as well go out of business. If any other paper beats us to it, we're through. Well, suppose all the newspapers got the news at the same time. Suppose there was some sort of cooperative arrangement. Cooperative? Mr. Riggs, there are no two publishers in this city even friendly enough to talk to each other. Take any of them. James Watson Webb, Horace Greeley, Henry Raymond, Dave Hale. Can you imagine a tight-fisted, fire-eating old battle-axe like David Hale of the Journal of Commerce ever coming in here sitting down at that table? Why not? Why not? Mr. Riggs, it would take a Supreme Court order to get that fatty gomaniac to lift himself out of his chair. Of all the pompous idiotic self-satisfied windbags, David Hale, come in. I am in. What? I'm David Hale. Good afternoon, Mr. Bennett. Good afternoon. Mr. Riggs, this is Mr. David Hale of the Journal of Commerce. You heard me speak of him. Oh, yes, sir, in the friendliest curve. Yes. How do you do, sir? I do. Bennett, I dropped in to have a quiet little chat. A quiet little chat? Yes. Where? Well, Mr. James Gordon, Bennett, do I sit down or don't I? Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Have a seat, sir. Thank you. Bennett, I don't believe in shilly-shally. Neither do I, Hale. Now, look here. I know what you're up against. I know what getting news has cost you because I know what it's costing me. Now, I've got a proposition. Uh, proposition? Yes, sir. Why shouldn't the Herald and the Journal pool their resources? We could use the same horse express, the same hop of both the same pigeons. We could share the news and split the expense. It would be a cooperative. Share the news and split the expense, huh? That's right. Cooperative, huh? That's the idea. A cooperative. A service. A service. Mr. Hale, you can count me in. That was the beginning of the idea of pooling the news. The next step came one year later in 1848, when ten men representing the six most important New York newspapers sat around the table in the office of the sun and formed a great news-gathering agency. They called it the Associated Press. It's 1848, an election year. The first major test of the new organization is the National Convention of the Whig Party at Philadelphia. In charge of getting the news first for the Associated Press is General Agent Alexander Jones. His assistant, recently transferred from the New York Herald, is Thomas Riggs. Now, Mr. Riggs, you understand the situation. The telegraph lands from Philadelphia, runs only through the Jersey side of the Hudson. They still haven't learned how to span white rivers with those wires. Yes, sir. You want me to wait here? I want you to wait right here at Corkland Street. I'll take the ferry across to Jersey. From there, I'll signal you. Let me see if I got it straight. One white flag means General Zachary Taylor has been nominated by the Whigs. One red flag means Henry Clay. Two whites means General Winfield Scott. And two reds, McLean. That's it. Now, remember, Riggs, no mistakes. Oh, no, sir, you can rely on me. Have a messenger standing by. As soon as you see the signal, have him rush it to our office. Then give it to the telegraph company to send out to New England. Yes, sir. It's all in your hands now, boy. A mistake would be fatal. Don't worry, I got it all written down. Two reds, McLean, one red clay, one white Taylor. That's it. Just make sure you see the signal. And when you see it, go to work. Can you see anything, Mr. Riggs? Not yet, Eddie. Can I look through the spike glass? Sure, here you are. Thanks, Mr. Riggs. Gee, everything looks big, doesn't it? What are we supposed to be looking for, anyhow? A flag, Eddie. Maybe two of them. Flags, huh? Well, what color? Red or white? White. Well, I see a white flag. Someone's waving like the signal or something. What are you talking about? He hardly had time to cross the river yet. But I can see it, I tell you. Here, take a look. Give it here. Holy smoke. Somebody is waving. See? I can't see his face. It's one flag. One white flag. That means Zachary Taylor. Oh, Zach, holy smoke. Eddie, rush over to the office. Tell them the convention has nominated General Zachary Taylor. Then give it to the New England Telegraph Survey. That pass. New Haven. General. Taylor. Nominated. Hey, everybody. The Associated Press and General Taylor's been nominated. Zachary. A.P. says Taylor nominated. The lawyer rushes to Boston friends to download a bipartisan. Here it comes. Quigs. Nominate. Zachary Taylor. Hey, you can shoot off that cannon. Oh, it's Taylor. Here comes another message. Disregard A.P. message. Correspondent. In error. A.P. pulled up on her. Yes, sir. The Associated Press fell down in its first job. But, Mr. Jones, I tell you, I saw a white flag and it looked like you waving it. How could I be waving it? I hardly had time to get over there. But I tell you. I'll tell you what it was. Mr. Riggs, what you saw through that telescope. It was a white flag, I tell you. Was a white flag some stockbroker's representative? Was waving to his lookout on the merchant's exchange building in New York. It was wig-wagging the latest Philadelphia stock quotation. Oh. Yes, oh. You've ruined it, Mr. Riggs. That's what you've done. You've made the Associated Press a laughing stock of the entire country. What's that? It's a cannon. That's what it is. Fired by a man I left on the Jersey Shore for the purpose. This is the real news we've been waiting for. Hand me that telescope. Sure. Here you are. There he is. He's waving a flag. Just one? What color is it? I can't tell yet. It looks like it's... It's white. That means Taylor. We were right, Mr. Jones, and we got the news first. Yes, Mr. Riggs. We even got it before it took place. Now, Mr. Riggs, as long as you're working for the Associated Press, don't ever let that happen again. A few years went by, and the Associated Press hired its first foreign correspondent, a hard-bitten Yankee named Daniel Craig. He was stationed at Halifax Nova Scotia. It was his assignment to meet all ships from abroad, pick up the news, and send it by telegraph to New York. To access his assistant and troubleshooter, the New York office sent up young Thomas Briggs. Mr. Riggs, we're in trouble. Trouble? That's nothing new to me, Mr. Craig. I haven't been in trouble ever since I joined this organization. Did I ever tell you about the time Zachary Taylor was now... Yes, Mr. Riggs, I heard all about that. Oh, you did. Ever meet a fellow named Timothy Drummond? Oh, yes, sir. He's got some connection with the telegraph office here in Halifax, has he? It's a connection, all right. That's just where the trouble lies. I don't understand. What's Drummond got to do with us? Mr. Drummond is in the same business as we are. He's a one-man news bureau. Oh, opposition, eh? Yes. And since the opposition has the inside track with the local telegraph office, his stuff goes off first. I have to wait till he gets through. What? You mean the Associated Press has to take a back seat to some broken-down one-horse competitor? I do. Well, Mr. Riggs, they sent you up from New York to help me out of trouble. Any ideas? I don't know, at the moment, no. I'll give you five minutes. Start thinking. Well, Mr. Riggs? Mr. Craig, where's the next telegraph station? North or south? South, towards New York. It's Amherst, Nova Scotia, why? Mr. Craig, I'm going to Amherst to spend the next couple of weeks. Now, here's what I want you to do. As soon as you sight an incoming ship, before you go out to meet her, telegraph me at Amherst. Just say something cryptic, like, oh, grandfather lost his front tooth. Grandfather lost his front tooth. Right, and get your news and send it to me at Amherst by Horst Express. I'll be waiting at the telegraph office. What are you going to do? I've got an idea, and I hope it'll work. If it does, the Associated Press will get the news out first. You are listening to Break the News, the story of the Associated Press on the cavalcade of America. Now, the conclusion of Break the News, starring John Lund. The Associated Press finds itself on the spot. Up in Nova Scotia, its correspondent cannot file his news stories on time because the local telegraph wire is controlled by a competitor. But Thomas Riggs, an AP troubleshooter, gets an idea and heads south to the next telegraph station, Amherst, Nova Scotia. There, a week later. Hello again, Mr. Kelby. Anything for me today? Mr. Riggs, you've been coming to this office every day for a week, asking if, no, no, there's no messages for you. You sure? I'm positive. Wouldn't I know if there was... Wait a minute. Something's coming in now. Maybe that's... Yeah, it's for you. Looks like grandfather lost his front tooth. What's a tooth? Say, does that make sense? It does, to me. Mr. Kelby, I want to send a message to the Associated Press, New York City. Gonna be a long one? I'm afraid so. Wait, let me get my pencil. Oh, you won't need any. The copy's all written out. Printed, in fact. Here you are. Yeah. Great jumping G-hosp... That's a Bible your hand in me. I mean, it's a Bible. You have any objection to transmitting holy scripture by telegraph, Mr. Kelby? Oh, I know, but I... You mean you're an unbeliever, is that it? Who said so? I go to church every Sunday with my wife and kids and my mother-in-law. When it's necessary, how much of this do you want me to send? Oh, indefinitely. But that'll block the wire from here to New York. I'll have to hold everything that comes in from Halifax until you're through. Will you? Suppose a ship comes in and Drummond or somebody wants to send his news in. Mr. Kelby, is this wire in use now? No, it ain't. Then I'm using it. And Drummond or somebody will have to wait until I'm through. Well, here we are, Mr. Kelby. Here's the Bible, according to King James, page one. Look, Mr. Riggs, can't you just give me an idea how long you're going to be using this wire? How long is it to take a pouch full of news reports to get here from Halifax by Horse Express? About five hours. Why? That's just how long this Bible lesson is going to last. No. After that, we'll send my news report and after that, Mr. Drummond. All right, page one. Start sending. Do I have to? Yes. All right. But I ain't got my glasses. You'll have to read it. Huh? You want me to read for five hours? You don't read. I don't send. All right. All right. In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And all the years that Adam lived were 930 years. What happened to him finally? And he died. About ready to, Michelle. And he died. Let's give over the new testament. Solomon baguette, ruboam and ruboam baguette, abaya and abaya baguette, and aza baguette, jossaphat and jossaphat. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Not so fast with all that baguette. All right. I'm getting pretty... Mr. Riggs. Mr. Riggs. Oh, thank goodness. You got the news? Here, fresh off the boat. Mr. Riggs has the... That's Halifax sending. That's Mr. Drummond. He's sending his news. Now, what do I do? Mr. Drummond, we're waiting for you ready for him. The Associated Press comes first. Are you ready? I'm ready. Start sending. Associated Press, New York. Important European news follows. London, England. The announcement that Queen Victoria has banned the waltz from all court functions has immoral. Immoral. The infant Prince of Wales has just recovered from the attack of the measles. He is, is that it? Benjamin Disraeli has just been appointed Chancellor of the United States. The years move along. And new member papers from all parts of the country are taken into the Associated Press. Its news gathers are now stationed in all large cities. It was on April 12, 1861 that the AP agent at Charleston, South Carolina watched a signal rocket arch out over the harbor toward Port Sumter. A second later, he saw the first Confederate shell go screaming across the water. The opening gun of the Civil War. With no precedent for handling military news, he laid down the credo that has been followed by AP men ever since. My business is to communicate facts. My instructions do not allow me to make any comment upon the facts which I communicate. Since my dispatches are sent to papers of all manner of politics, I therefore can find myself to what I consider legitimate news. My dispatches are, and always shall be, truthful and impartial. Records of facts and details. Oh, Chief, you look busy. Busy. I should have listened to my mother and become a dentist instead of a newspaper publisher. Anything new come in? Here you are. Dedication of the new National Cemetery at Gettysburg. Edward Everett made an oration lasting two hours. Ah, let's see. Hey, this is something. That man knows how to make a speech. A boy, tell the printer to hold the front page for a replay. Ralph, these words of Everett's will go down in history. A hundred years from now that... What's that you're looking at? A follow-up just came in from the Associated Press. Let's see. Speech by Mr. Lincoln after Everett got through, huh? Yeah, our own reporter didn't mention it. Nobody mentioned it. Only the AP man. They send everything. Yeah, you know how it is. A fellow like the show is earning his salary. Let's see now. Four scores seven years ago, our fathers brought forth in this continent a new nation conceived in liberty and dedicated the... Oh, well, forget it. Just say, the president also spoke. There's the Associated Press covered everything. From Lincoln's Gettysburg address, which most papers ignored, there's the Chuster's Last Stand, where an AP man named Mark Kellogg was killed when the Seventh Cavalry was wiped out. It was a few years after this event on the 31st of May, 1889, that a message reached Colonel William Connolly, AP man in Pittsburgh. Griggs, what do you make of this? Listen, something has happened at Johnstown. Find out what it is. I don't know, Colonel, but I'm game. Let's get on a train to Johnstown and find out. What was the train stop running? We can't walk. When we can't walk anymore, we'll get a wagon. And when the wagon will work, we'll swim. Come on, Colonel. How high did you say that damn was? 75 feet. Johnstown's in the valley, you know. Can't bust it and push right down on it. Yes, sir, 18 million tons of water. Well, it's as far as I can take you. What you gonna do now? Walk. Come on, Connolly. Now, it can't be far now, Colonel. Just another couple of miles. I've been here all the time. Up to my belt now. How much further do you think we can... Oh, Colonel, what happened? My leg. I tripped over something. Oh, I can't go on, Thomas. Let me give you a hand. I can make for that chicken house. Roof isn't submerged yet. You go ahead. I'll follow later. Colonel, I can't leave you. Me? I'm all right. There are thousands of people being drowned here. Get help, get medical supplies, get the news out. These people need help. You linemen, I've got a telegraph for you. What are you doing? Cutting in to send a message. Railroad business. Will you send one for me? Yes. Wires will be down any minute. You've got to send it. It's a matter of life and death. Who are you? I'm from the Associated Press. Huh? The Associated Press. Okay, tie it onto that stick there. Now, hand it up. Here you are. You got it? Can you read it? Sure. To the people of the United States. Over 2,000 dead here. Devastated Johnstown appeals to the nation for food and shelter for other thousands who are homeless and starving. Okay, fellas, standing. To cover that story, the AP men worked without food or sleep for 72 hours. When the first relief train arrived, they sent out further details to a waiting world. Details that were written by Conley himself, a man with a broken leg. He had finally arrived in Johnstown on a wagon and set up headquarters in the only house left standing, the local marge. In the years that followed, the Associated Press has grown into one of the largest news-gathering agencies in the world. 1848. Total membership? Six newspapers. 1948. 4,000 newspapers, radio chains, and subscribers. 1848. Annual budget? $20,000. 1948. Almost $20 million. 1848. Daily report? Less than 1,000 words. 1948. Over one million words every 24 hours. More than any single newspaper can print. And again today, as it was 100 years ago, the guiding principle is still the same as it always has been. The old words as laid down almost a century ago. Your business is to communicate facts. You're not permitted to express your personal opinion. Since your dispatches are teletyped to members and subscribers of every viewpoint, you will confine yourself to what you consider legitimate news. The fact. All the facts. Toothful and impartial. Write them down, and you'll be living up to the credo of the Associated Press.