<%BANNER%>

A Real Bastard

Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UFE0021381/00001

Material Information

Title: A Real Bastard Would the True Father of the New Journalism Please Stand Up?
Physical Description: 1 online resource (52 p.)
Language: english
Creator: Orlando, Stephen F
Publisher: University of Florida
Place of Publication: Gainesville, Fla.
Publication Date: 2007

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords: esquire, felker, journalism, literary, magazine, mailer, newspaper, southern, talese, wolfe
Journalism and Communications -- Dissertations, Academic -- UF
Genre: Mass Communication thesis, M.A.M.C.
bibliography   ( marcgt )
theses   ( marcgt )
government publication (state, provincial, terriorial, dependent)   ( marcgt )
born-digital   ( sobekcm )
Electronic Thesis or Dissertation

Notes

Abstract: This thesis examines the origins of the journalistic style born during the early 1960s known as the New Journalism. Many notable newspaper and magazine writers of the era were practitioners--indeed, pioneers--of the new style: Tom Wolfe, Gay Talese, Terry Southern, Jimmy Breslin and Norman Mailer, to name just a few. However, for more than a generation there has been much confusion and discussion over who rightfully deserves credit for giving it life. Literary Journalism, one broad moniker for the overall genre, has many founders, the earliest of whom include the likes of Daniel Defoe and Charles Dickens in the 18th and 19th centuries, respectively. Even the term 'new journalism' is anything but new: Its first use dates back to the 1880s. But the New Journalism as it is most commonly used today--the style made popular by Wolfe, Talese and their compadres--belongs to a relatively small historic time frame because it was born of the unique events of its era. Through analysis and interviews, this thesis offers an argument for who can really claim the title of father of the New Journalism and makes the case that the real father is not a writer at all but rather an editor: magazine legend Clay Felker.
General Note: In the series University of Florida Digital Collections.
General Note: Includes vita.
Bibliography: Includes bibliographical references.
Source of Description: Description based on online resource; title from PDF title page.
Source of Description: This bibliographic record is available under the Creative Commons CC0 public domain dedication. The University of Florida Libraries, as creator of this bibliographic record, has waived all rights to it worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law.
Statement of Responsibility: by Stephen F Orlando.
Thesis: Thesis (M.A.M.C.)--University of Florida, 2007.
Local: Adviser: McKeen, William L.

Record Information

Source Institution: UFRGP
Rights Management: Applicable rights reserved.
Classification: lcc - LD1780 2007
System ID: UFE0021381:00001

Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UFE0021381/00001

Material Information

Title: A Real Bastard Would the True Father of the New Journalism Please Stand Up?
Physical Description: 1 online resource (52 p.)
Language: english
Creator: Orlando, Stephen F
Publisher: University of Florida
Place of Publication: Gainesville, Fla.
Publication Date: 2007

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords: esquire, felker, journalism, literary, magazine, mailer, newspaper, southern, talese, wolfe
Journalism and Communications -- Dissertations, Academic -- UF
Genre: Mass Communication thesis, M.A.M.C.
bibliography   ( marcgt )
theses   ( marcgt )
government publication (state, provincial, terriorial, dependent)   ( marcgt )
born-digital   ( sobekcm )
Electronic Thesis or Dissertation

Notes

Abstract: This thesis examines the origins of the journalistic style born during the early 1960s known as the New Journalism. Many notable newspaper and magazine writers of the era were practitioners--indeed, pioneers--of the new style: Tom Wolfe, Gay Talese, Terry Southern, Jimmy Breslin and Norman Mailer, to name just a few. However, for more than a generation there has been much confusion and discussion over who rightfully deserves credit for giving it life. Literary Journalism, one broad moniker for the overall genre, has many founders, the earliest of whom include the likes of Daniel Defoe and Charles Dickens in the 18th and 19th centuries, respectively. Even the term 'new journalism' is anything but new: Its first use dates back to the 1880s. But the New Journalism as it is most commonly used today--the style made popular by Wolfe, Talese and their compadres--belongs to a relatively small historic time frame because it was born of the unique events of its era. Through analysis and interviews, this thesis offers an argument for who can really claim the title of father of the New Journalism and makes the case that the real father is not a writer at all but rather an editor: magazine legend Clay Felker.
General Note: In the series University of Florida Digital Collections.
General Note: Includes vita.
Bibliography: Includes bibliographical references.
Source of Description: Description based on online resource; title from PDF title page.
Source of Description: This bibliographic record is available under the Creative Commons CC0 public domain dedication. The University of Florida Libraries, as creator of this bibliographic record, has waived all rights to it worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law.
Statement of Responsibility: by Stephen F Orlando.
Thesis: Thesis (M.A.M.C.)--University of Florida, 2007.
Local: Adviser: McKeen, William L.

Record Information

Source Institution: UFRGP
Rights Management: Applicable rights reserved.
Classification: lcc - LD1780 2007
System ID: UFE0021381:00001


This item has the following downloads:


Full Text
xml version 1.0 encoding UTF-8
REPORT xmlns http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitss xmlns:xsi http:www.w3.org2001XMLSchema-instance xsi:schemaLocation http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitssdaitssReport.xsd
INGEST IEID E20101113_AAAALU INGEST_TIME 2010-11-13T15:12:02Z PACKAGE UFE0021381_00001
AGREEMENT_INFO ACCOUNT UF PROJECT UFDC
FILES
FILE SIZE 589029 DFID F20101113_AACIHU ORIGIN DEPOSITOR PATH orlando_s_Page_42.jp2 GLOBAL false PRESERVATION BIT MESSAGE_DIGEST ALGORITHM MD5
07f24d0bb8e60c0292adbc0d96726793
SHA-1
4986b2d4a6762f4eeda9fe1b648a20b55f9b975e
1053954 F20101113_AACICX orlando_s_Page_06.tif
e1f36e08ad1ca836ed35ecc21b273b63
c378e12c92b5d3696a76ebfa81818e6511043e3f
2192 F20101113_AACIMR orlando_s_Page_37.txt
bb505da385c65815f78c372bb2996583
4729e6fd37081a0e6a04b6d1dec1fe524d360518
96211 F20101113_AACIHV orlando_s_Page_43.jp2
5a1591c3059815f5ad6a4ef84bbd4545
a7a60eb93316c8da4baf54991ff6057fe34953dd
22217 F20101113_AACICY orlando_s_Page_35.QC.jpg
7eb16ce948d410364ff56b94b0fd214e
c2ef34467ba1ebd4a729b82fe6ed62a53a4ed38b
1933 F20101113_AACIMS orlando_s_Page_39.txt
7447be0fee0e2c879cc9a22ffad697eb
8f5c70805ee53a23d43b9a3f26868b0adb5aaac6
108284 F20101113_AACIHW orlando_s_Page_44.jp2
d69b28b241cee916254ebb8b234dfbc2
4e564491f0d76d14ebebe7f1365e94476a74b656
25271604 F20101113_AACICZ orlando_s_Page_46.tif
ee06dc9c7d237f4e2020dcc27fcf4e3f
73013cfbfff48d9c2b9aabc567a2d1fc7b9fa437
2213 F20101113_AACIMT orlando_s_Page_40.txt
648e1a334d0d8deb41d9fe690b65de22
8b97dcf062befd950d2905dc433f2f04ef670b67
1051982 F20101113_AACIHX orlando_s_Page_45.jp2
c99c657b9509bc7d162c0045ce65a494
590d5cf4cd8fe18083ec22c4a492a0a4a3f29101
1744 F20101113_AACIMU orlando_s_Page_41.txt
661c74f8b5d3baac665f308588a16f92
c0de386c6d8beddbd79320aff2c1dd4c90923533
866729 F20101113_AACIHY orlando_s_Page_47.jp2
595911e1d12a6d7f65d3e5b0b8619f7d
e70b68112ad0a5f0282740d2244370e091a48d93
1038 F20101113_AACIMV orlando_s_Page_42.txt
34ccc48babfd3fae3163f09de46d9848
64ce1a13f019fc10905974bbc872adfa0bfad909
69175 F20101113_AACIFA orlando_s_Page_15.jpg
628b1f80cb9710a8247f5545268db153
d7ec0ee0d737a3bc2933f98ff78ba7cd88980d38
82488 F20101113_AACIHZ orlando_s_Page_48.jp2
532454ec9d8edea5aa32d1b5d6129d0a
1788c95dd0a80b434667cf1410968593b0fcbfa1
1834 F20101113_AACIMW orlando_s_Page_43.txt
c77d7cb821598b2096be885de3598d12
c1f765efdd83bb0a6ff3636b9aac64b3fc1af247
66136 F20101113_AACIFB orlando_s_Page_16.jpg
00f0cb337b81fea272aafe9c9340c7d4
e70ad96c348cbac9be4cdd1a60b5e5c781bac822
1973 F20101113_AACIMX orlando_s_Page_44.txt
4ea09faec96abf5a7b6baf0bb8cb6543
20571e3acda4e173ebfac9363b9f85bf23b9b49e
73854 F20101113_AACIFC orlando_s_Page_17.jpg
372dc46e40ae4d8a68c60a077cc93be5
3de26808180887ee920a9a50177546a4a53f90a6
43467 F20101113_AACIKA orlando_s_Page_12.pro
5a307be0476907621c93fd0245c7b982
826ad0a8fd1644206914563f1b47eaee1f63a046
2265 F20101113_AACIMY orlando_s_Page_45.txt
23c492d09c401cf38c393aded9516abd
d3dd05ac8aa9efcba7b3b15cc549516fae707677
73785 F20101113_AACIFD orlando_s_Page_18.jpg
1697e790426f792f0933f4d8510f72fb
2e99aeeea6282790986b8c36d01946f7ce40afe8
47396 F20101113_AACIKB orlando_s_Page_13.pro
a4be40a62a65dce9085e011565e10c17
7da75ae74f88601604081a673c4c860d985e590d
2693 F20101113_AACIMZ orlando_s_Page_46.txt
6516bdf205f2f0c70a1e47010e8d5de6
de50922b7c1d4de9cdeeb53785fd00fd2d130adc
82180 F20101113_AACIFE orlando_s_Page_19.jpg
079cc8c559796c79e94dd777f073b8bd
52f1b6c65b263d7790e17c96b8a5f13217ce579a
52991 F20101113_AACIKC orlando_s_Page_14.pro
5b6ce45d6049f0f7839bf0c5c85d7b4c
fdfb0ca680b5e73a4f035afbd061db729196a59f
49009 F20101113_AACIKD orlando_s_Page_15.pro
31b9cce372a3a1619a98f6ae3dd456b9
3107cbc4e49d9ef1bb8e1aaa52064eaf83c471c7
70171 F20101113_AACIFF orlando_s_Page_20.jpg
142a49b73e5e9f900d663f863dad75a2
0c69ee6d9be3ea4579ca683668aee7d3925ca9f9
24097 F20101113_AACIPA orlando_s_Page_27.QC.jpg
e0bf5160cbe449420e0202329c1bbfaa
8bafcd7cf3f338a56709ea0b9eb1f731d30526e3
45528 F20101113_AACIKE orlando_s_Page_16.pro
5f214b5a98b0fa0e21bb9ee6138f252a
59ebb27282540ebf0065588e6e8c7e4e2566d6d0
70348 F20101113_AACIFG orlando_s_Page_22.jpg
3cb118c6ca4d278a0337702c417df49c
b7aae76bb6dde131fdb662f6d3b93728ff4b31e2
6672 F20101113_AACIPB orlando_s_Page_27thm.jpg
977dfea79821a41a0a128290dc9d8999
ca65c1ad360acfc34f1944af7fe8d403c9f24508
48338 F20101113_AACIKF orlando_s_Page_18.pro
b5aea4450753f1713098b0165ce8e37e
8c75cf175bbb29814b3c50f97db0f87774b40323
82494 F20101113_AACIFH orlando_s_Page_23.jpg
a3da685a1667ff8db2091415cbd7c4c0
8f50048c5cbc67307fc6e204b2c55879fc4b78ed
24221 F20101113_AACIPC orlando_s_Page_28.QC.jpg
00b78d919ea8e152124b0de6554183c2
4ad407d6015b4b460a825afb29ce4ed99cbec4f8
56412 F20101113_AACIKG orlando_s_Page_19.pro
faf2436806801796adfcc83e83c39d37
827464b724fa2490667ee66bfb46e5dc4c762f69
69517 F20101113_AACIFI orlando_s_Page_24.jpg
9efb39ab474405c8f985aa0bbf3b3e4b
49bc189fe3b7ee6e9b1d347fa6716575cc529e6c
6609 F20101113_AACIPD orlando_s_Page_28thm.jpg
a8c66744cd0963681981c0a8e026a999
6fc6b652f08c0c62f1f9a5f128bbc834973d604a
48691 F20101113_AACIKH orlando_s_Page_20.pro
16f2ec096cb9431e419410ae2cba27ee
c841692f4e170c0fc94407156322ac4e13060b29
66931 F20101113_AACIFJ orlando_s_Page_25.jpg
857c730a02b5db4fec3f5a8138ae2862
056f1370323f955bb1d0ac3e05aaab80ecc3b255
6856 F20101113_AACIPE orlando_s_Page_29thm.jpg
ba42a34d6e6f4098efef9343983b69ef
d2fb438207542e704c396fe1ce22c490dfad07be
50096 F20101113_AACIKI orlando_s_Page_21.pro
a52f92438ee46feebf26bc1752f3ee83
d10c00f9acdf40af15d0bd66c31e9ecef4f420cc
73864 F20101113_AACIFK orlando_s_Page_26.jpg
00cae8d70f5e1339d9f6bcd20f2d06b1
3ea010e5913dd86e79e74a16f848b1b60cdb5fda
23338 F20101113_AACIPF orlando_s_Page_30.QC.jpg
7c73b0bd9f3db52c8b9827932a0665e9
71a4f6c5d0469c2e5f94411f50b6a8a274d0476e
50679 F20101113_AACIKJ orlando_s_Page_22.pro
5b504686d244221050d8aecf2356aec2
67286e188ef1e81e0c964635c13d8c54ebcef239
73344 F20101113_AACIFL orlando_s_Page_27.jpg
1b572f35451c04c294e9d9d4ffcf9c9c
6bb659faed47a1348b235b9d3400b506c6d3f5a7
6346 F20101113_AACIPG orlando_s_Page_30thm.jpg
5642efc827037a9a5416776c68ebdf5c
de86554930041d6aa4ddc7ec28fe31b937494bbc
79031 F20101113_AACIFM orlando_s_Page_28.jpg
6a515a511b025ab5d6bb1a0041e9efbd
613acffb1b54945632808cfd8fa67d2c2415b8fd
15614 F20101113_AACIPH orlando_s_Page_31.QC.jpg
7a71637f22ad7255827e3fbee9337f1e
95fa12cc53ad779f49d69860f21052fbef0f3e57
52101 F20101113_AACIKK orlando_s_Page_23.pro
e42f01cf853ccdefad03e3453fbb36ae
1478d484951c66e3bbea12554fa17afd9a02d9a7
72903 F20101113_AACIFN orlando_s_Page_29.jpg
5dfa622701e44481caad7b45c361716b
aad03a36c0896c8086116b0d82d5937aba3ef338
4616 F20101113_AACIPI orlando_s_Page_31thm.jpg
6030297fe933efd2ab1c4c226a537456
7b325a93b1ea0ff5cc3a3bf76998e5a5c4471e55
49342 F20101113_AACIKL orlando_s_Page_24.pro
53062b9691f531eb984c3d439f1948e7
a0cf407c9213c612a285d63a0233ac4aeb83dddf
69910 F20101113_AACIFO orlando_s_Page_30.jpg
9c5908cbc73861d3932970aa0997b6a1
b2bdf585a16e78375172ebacdc69ce5773f6fed3
24209 F20101113_AACIPJ orlando_s_Page_32.QC.jpg
765c1f5c1113ad3e37402d6f60755f5b
7bd10421db340eb18dfd0822aa345b86b7b933ae
44533 F20101113_AACIKM orlando_s_Page_25.pro
4928ea83f0d8e5d4bb8060c20b46ce5d
7aaa4607f09bcf3a97566053022bb91ad143d321
48880 F20101113_AACIFP orlando_s_Page_31.jpg
575d5e9c765a401ed3d61f27bf32b73c
37ae111176d60ec8870a9d775a6bcbc7f34173a0
22268 F20101113_AACIPK orlando_s_Page_33.QC.jpg
74fca4179e24b8a80abd14d38c7c1518
bd60d118a637c3b2561672f6ac0ab8f95194314e
51646 F20101113_AACIKN orlando_s_Page_27.pro
6b22906ba773beb8ca028666c6130c6b
8603e3b23b333845ab7e49a52f39ac292dc4f0e8
79855 F20101113_AACIFQ orlando_s_Page_32.jpg
2c82c963527927d4fdb25153c35026e8
825bb407ee2cc068b1cfc070011bcf7ed5bbeef2
6047 F20101113_AACIPL orlando_s_Page_33thm.jpg
253a2d5a5df074dfaa642544e2031fe3
8c9751a452ef304b8f5bfbf1ea90227dae271bec
58178 F20101113_AACIKO orlando_s_Page_28.pro
9ce07329b0ab5f3e754a378c81b52eb1
44ececcde3d73b0db7a074b0c72416a94304debf
74143 F20101113_AACIFR orlando_s_Page_33.jpg
e2f99dfc0fcec904cc9efcfc6e47efc1
939d8fb1f7470f5005e30bf838add5e829296e2a
26293 F20101113_AACIPM orlando_s_Page_34.QC.jpg
5d038d4500a53d00992692b6e5c4dedf
f6c7582121e84581e3a542b49617acb49bd3106a
51295 F20101113_AACIKP orlando_s_Page_29.pro
c40c4629cefbb1a80efc71079fe64cd2
c8116b0a069cd152240c8005c68832dcb56b8fb3
66520 F20101113_AACIFS orlando_s_Page_35.jpg
dc2044017017db0eb3094e5037581895
769e5c299f5334e9ddd269769c5f0842ea39af7f
7126 F20101113_AACIPN orlando_s_Page_34thm.jpg
7fea5685c6a17c979b4d79b8011aaa31
b5f5cf1227fc75cf375b7cd8f5a5f8755a39d211
29593 F20101113_AACIKQ orlando_s_Page_31.pro
15f600ba443f8a04f9dbcd234b6f0ffb
5ed7130d92a939ea6e307e4ee6e40621d41492f5
69650 F20101113_AACIFT orlando_s_Page_36.jpg
d24e3b765aae145fe53313b0945f4bb5
803fc4ca4cbf1ce132b5f56ebb503ccaf662dca7
6222 F20101113_AACIPO orlando_s_Page_35thm.jpg
ede686735a16366b6dc7fe06ccc98e02
97e4c9037a1aa8dc08a2a4f6da14683e1bc2ac17
50107 F20101113_AACIKR orlando_s_Page_32.pro
2ad854176660b99a474fcedf1baa3dac
ca863fa4b15a1c5fdd2fb80c2e004b0eae3dc3e0
85708 F20101113_AACIFU orlando_s_Page_37.jpg
67077a68fa0a44eda3aff4d2bdee14c0
cf2699a448ac7b95bf2cdd8e3070f99dd200610d
53647 F20101113_AACIKS orlando_s_Page_33.pro
fb103c44df612f9181449ca6a4eae39e
969d4437e85a4caf73663e023c88601bff2da1be
65729 F20101113_AACIFV orlando_s_Page_38.jpg
4f479cc819eeaca3d035a37c18297b6d
be3c115b26b690db435216b8a2afab0c3cf50ac5
22578 F20101113_AACIPP orlando_s_Page_36.QC.jpg
a8e8873ba82146a2021a1a3575e9d33f
3b775cea39153e174ef0f2be4bda84a6a00301f6
56309 F20101113_AACIKT orlando_s_Page_34.pro
0d0f85b04f46ff6e1cc69706e2f3e06b
9cd750fd48cd23d46189d377699a39f08c911238
69538 F20101113_AACIFW orlando_s_Page_39.jpg
3289c411faf1bd3274cc0565e687e49d
f995da5a8b1f60c8c162e7001a68386de00f0c32
27041 F20101113_AACIPQ orlando_s_Page_37.QC.jpg
8a4b4e904d273e93571b28ba97ef5286
178cd417c732091612b911bfc9ee69d9d2aa065e
46321 F20101113_AACIKU orlando_s_Page_35.pro
26de81680e885beb7e279e53bd52f8d9
84202cf8e85d6c19a45dc344c7475b45201c1a95
63545 F20101113_AACIFX orlando_s_Page_41.jpg
c1c7ed3574ba3b94fbac40bb5991a33e
47c0a58b778c35b2660fb261f1a497ac7b677c5d
7441 F20101113_AACIPR orlando_s_Page_37thm.jpg
48c94115d7054b9df16ccb9f5cf37724
a11301467cb94d0dc1ef214bc1411f796d0e415b
47910 F20101113_AACIKV orlando_s_Page_36.pro
a3e6eeb9d56281abe1ea1e222e80e1ca
01a4fbea7300af7bca74642dfaeeddfc01c9360e
1051959 F20101113_AACIDA orlando_s_Page_46.jp2
2eaf3b311da5748e6a5cc875c9fee685
2512a060b9ab47ca0f28398117379f09b14dc71b
43193 F20101113_AACIFY orlando_s_Page_42.jpg
be2df3f283f5eec33ab8c055fe4c8fe5
b116744b66c67547e99aedd3bc50a6a37bb70982
22331 F20101113_AACIPS orlando_s_Page_38.QC.jpg
28dbd7fc6bc5aa9e249e70f70a2d6618
ee99e0afed0c8682916b2d7318b1d8c237951bc3
55422 F20101113_AACIKW orlando_s_Page_37.pro
89dcf97f10f316466aa238083a15f646
8e8b10e79fa90b1e57f4beb982f3d2e74dc1e551
6376 F20101113_AACIDB orlando_s_Page_36thm.jpg
9921747a207c067779118f9801835de0
133e11b656e79d977e6d1c5ed64a07ae051d6cc6
65220 F20101113_AACIFZ orlando_s_Page_43.jpg
02e457daa970c5c1e7a70318225b7870
248e1ad8eb8a8c4b7f39da0475e0ff5c0471e436
6296 F20101113_AACIPT orlando_s_Page_38thm.jpg
4f35eee870e5509ef9a6a40779e48c2a
e91ea174d7b0e0512a8c2e15beec104676502896
47607 F20101113_AACIKX orlando_s_Page_39.pro
db91fec0c97bf07479f84dce4e18bf32
84a79cd199714f30a34574df5050ed003daf03ac
F20101113_AACIDC orlando_s_Page_10.tif
a9ba32fed2f9538f9a53fbaf6ad43e90
02d6e1ab55a3a0ee8344bd29d7ac2d9d4f88faec
22970 F20101113_AACIPU orlando_s_Page_39.QC.jpg
cbb94ac866e86a6d8f428999b7d6586d
3857fcc8f9bf08c636f090ffbaf722023727817a
54429 F20101113_AACIKY orlando_s_Page_40.pro
45b812e6a7712882eacc9b46a841d977
3d9e3da7f6b4e901a3fcc6f974d3140c9f6fbb6e
6249 F20101113_AACIPV orlando_s_Page_39thm.jpg
d7fca8d0319adcb9eabb2177d44cd2ec
8cff3965325746863041a63b3a04cd514684402a
1051975 F20101113_AACIIA orlando_s_Page_49.jp2
815c7de6b57b3eff150b2d1d23ec302f
cc58886418dee52bb68ab721aac71f9ff148c58a
43249 F20101113_AACIKZ orlando_s_Page_41.pro
d0a961aac393a9ad369d1a0cbdc59100
ef7e70b30498286cf5fe0a50c68ae3ef4ff72745
23060 F20101113_AACIDD orlando_s_Page_20.QC.jpg
55294557caf3e2200b8cd7dc87d5ae4b
014228c4d5177996ed5b2677512228d591340e4d
23112 F20101113_AACIPW orlando_s_Page_40.QC.jpg
a255470fe1c55f4c4c35bc841c20cbe5
5170dcb81983984e8151c02a3851ce3e1095b7df
1051972 F20101113_AACIIB orlando_s_Page_50.jp2
4368f1bfd518ab8aa6382baa3e27a5b4
a8208728e2ad02bb49a8063e17692aeb64064a9c
87295 F20101113_AACIDE orlando_s_Page_34.jpg
94f2f0463ae770a2602dc2bcf148a0de
4e3de571ed5d5873896b014867aefff2f915a1eb
6491 F20101113_AACIPX orlando_s_Page_40thm.jpg
a569587b328eac6fe72e2b9192b083d5
ede62ad89b09c845cb6c3741308d0614bc998674
1051983 F20101113_AACIIC orlando_s_Page_51.jp2
71af54e79859d159bcb60e337cca6dc4
8c67ec28b15e6d9aebe1a76616bfcd16aa81324a
F20101113_AACIDF orlando_s_Page_23.tif
0ca6c14f32fa1eaeb007b478e57b3d25
f53010ace151bf6b88da8b013b5eb2eabd4cc9c3
1549 F20101113_AACINA orlando_s_Page_47.txt
c2a00f2a992792a8ab53e51bd60e064c
081b49e49fd5e2d216832cd11f8bdd01c9919814
21550 F20101113_AACIPY orlando_s_Page_41.QC.jpg
3b0721a37da4c98e84a4952057542df2
04953f1fca1734ede7952b6e38090fb1d6f0ed81
F20101113_AACIID orlando_s_Page_01.tif
5b35f143620a11fc3186cee0f17a8b7c
7c9a7e4d052c550db8731c892a457aee9b935bb7
F20101113_AACIDG orlando_s_Page_48.tif
e1fa805107a7446a75482ede60a311b2
c54d5b6788d9e5b623113e89eb721b4752056515
1548 F20101113_AACINB orlando_s_Page_48.txt
5610d31d73551782d2d0f48b6bfc408b
4b23183b6f6865395942636f78ec314c80bfd697
5793 F20101113_AACIPZ orlando_s_Page_41thm.jpg
79c8c3be7864f2d60427f13c31f34b08
8b4f3da3c2a9a7cc5852057ed78902da11f01e09
F20101113_AACIIE orlando_s_Page_03.tif
a2a7341b7ff6514960be23b58f882044
0b35ba9261ea75ed736bcd09ccb093b00b4df2dc
23642 F20101113_AACIDH orlando_s_Page_29.QC.jpg
8229e750870398cfacb76da389a195a1
965c6c16a08f981f37f03bf675f460a295d50440
2339 F20101113_AACINC orlando_s_Page_49.txt
45a7c8c49c32e67e2edde748efdb7fb9
9c1c9040edf288818c4585b0c7bde2eb51043018
F20101113_AACIIF orlando_s_Page_04.tif
029ae7073fd3711eb6c5fb6e9934394b
257fb5c316a4692916b5e5cef2707122cc649230
F20101113_AACIDI orlando_s_Page_29.tif
5e926cf261c4dcd29dd3c93bd541b454
cd079e7d3fc914df838ec2f10d5fb6b7fd2128f3
2270 F20101113_AACIND orlando_s_Page_50.txt
b19551b86ea22c8e5d36b0cafc8e4c76
6192b02a867e532cf4f53e04d480995357a33c11
F20101113_AACIIG orlando_s_Page_05.tif
bb02fa8a73d2409111d935ad021deb2a
e6dc32afc195bb5d4351eb373b3b0c37221a593f
6210 F20101113_AACIDJ orlando_s_Page_13thm.jpg
730eeddf9dbec52e1a63a15c1258b4ff
14f9d3e63cdef73e4672a6ac8c77bc7fd3d6a437
1807 F20101113_AACINE orlando_s_Page_51.txt
58d9223c6eb15c2aec8447df83402f3a
7e36c3637f1f9e6598bdd3420e0aa8047a7000d4
F20101113_AACIIH orlando_s_Page_07.tif
e8f8b339236a11e63b2ae483440e8519
77d2caf337ef28b1311a20cecc3196af9dd0b815
1833 F20101113_AACIDK orlando_s_Page_25.txt
54b9bbdcbc48eabbbe10e15462ed9be0
3a51aa1b44abf80b943fa37611f7372aea2d38ac
2287 F20101113_AACINF orlando_s_Page_01thm.jpg
9bec306c85ebc755667e5b9706264afc
dd927d7d80aa622979bdc924a37e4b1575ffeec6
F20101113_AACIDL orlando_s_Page_49.tif
8a86d729eb39c67555630f74f5ed0f8a
d9acd9b9ea3c760ceedf3fdd730ae368ad3bb9be
3258 F20101113_AACING orlando_s_Page_02.QC.jpg
07b92a4cde6e378905fcd4d35cd33dcb
8ac9dd56d7e1507825c41af610c6ee8405ac5053
F20101113_AACIII orlando_s_Page_08.tif
7193b0392affc584747e2c73baf8f327
0fb3d2241d0d806adfaebabae036433d47c8b1f4
1857 F20101113_AACIDM orlando_s_Page_38.txt
859a1c7298488616ada8a08001884d7c
19de5f8b74539f084b659396421d1228dee2506d
1344 F20101113_AACINH orlando_s_Page_02thm.jpg
047d9026c257105cd87330bc0937338e
229aef9d80100c56e06868700775b457d880ab78
F20101113_AACIIJ orlando_s_Page_09.tif
515f968f1e28cc7f9ecab689bd1c3a1d
564d910913c6b32a44f6c529b7ca8d54ad891b26
6026 F20101113_AACIDN orlando_s_Page_43thm.jpg
472bcea73d4c2b5b0fe686cd5d0c1662
06c066eca8c02632ef028f419ac4e36158808bc4
3148 F20101113_AACINI orlando_s_Page_03.QC.jpg
864270e5132c238bf8e3e9d18ea944b8
68243a6d677e9db586e73f6d59ee457e7a340ad7
F20101113_AACIIK orlando_s_Page_11.tif
362cb7b8ecf187819e47171004d41a18
6e4da629af3de619c5fe7c8da5c6575ab84f1dd6
1319 F20101113_AACINJ orlando_s_Page_03thm.jpg
c56c1565e44c4017f3bdeb8e17ac95cc
16709c6719276d8bdaba31457ff18f7ce56032c1
F20101113_AACIIL orlando_s_Page_12.tif
bfae18c9be4745b86f054f75cd38691e
3174f6061d43ef145df9541f0e15d40f20a114dd
865975 F20101113_AACIDO orlando_s.pdf
d675f543c985c007e9a8b7370f688961
961814696e8f3cdb426ad8dcf8efae2fa818563f
11398 F20101113_AACINK orlando_s_Page_04.QC.jpg
55171ef7eb69a907c7d330b2ad377d0f
4eb350db4d684375d0e3b396652f055e3e2763b4
F20101113_AACIIM orlando_s_Page_13.tif
237d4288560fd170940c57919255d85a
1aa9ccf60d77e28921ae1e3420a576425a2e6c09
F20101113_AACIDP orlando_s_Page_30.tif
11d285ce040785554c3e4316b2415722
04aea31ac60f7852fb2b97a648f5292395110a94
3508 F20101113_AACINL orlando_s_Page_04thm.jpg
8bc6705ee05af0e65d5e3d5aafbad2ac
379b650c957e26819f6d172952b448e1e2910a78
F20101113_AACIIN orlando_s_Page_14.tif
d622bf950ff4c692844cb681f312819d
fad249e99945fa6021ca9cbbc1ee58b2442fdc36
49959 F20101113_AACIDQ orlando_s_Page_17.pro
32baedf2583e682e816755f17524aed4
63933a75d00cc51887587ab3faed602d09d01f5e
11904 F20101113_AACINM orlando_s_Page_05.QC.jpg
ddd8a7117b7acffd4dfaa50ec25db4f9
b38810296c9396f9919111a89692dcd4bfd69913
F20101113_AACIIO orlando_s_Page_15.tif
a0eee847291270c4b41123ce03b750ca
5878f2e616f68917740675fe29d80959fe7282cd
F20101113_AACIDR orlando_s_Page_51.tif
ef1b5e4cd634953e83c4873b08c80db8
dc94c531d36948770afba63ffe07d78c27e4d024
F20101113_AACIIP orlando_s_Page_16.tif
958cc8a34d820a84bfcb994759ea1e4b
6c7a23e3ecba0676dbc8cb93b58b03fd1898a637
7296 F20101113_AACIDS orlando_s_Page_01.QC.jpg
72b5b7cb5fb545ef7e76a204b7f5a893
75ff964bd03e907d89ea0a4fb91f7c57e741caa9
3686 F20101113_AACINN orlando_s_Page_05thm.jpg
27832137354e1257a404d9defc52cc06
b96b2cfacc5c3c7e6d276c78c5c49f09c91ca5ca
8423998 F20101113_AACIIQ orlando_s_Page_18.tif
4554eff7e7c100d12f26f71bb8acc4ee
9e75b49b1228e34aac567b1d3b692cd0dc6fbd6f
99209 F20101113_AACIDT orlando_s_Page_46.jpg
a0095fa1b5afcae1af44010365ce933e
a40b11050c50f453d96cb730b1d14cd5692bd1f7
20154 F20101113_AACINO orlando_s_Page_06.QC.jpg
7ef582c87ce8e04dbed1245f128a9c69
fa0fe1badcb8ef5ebab8133d79db46aefdd37276
F20101113_AACIIR orlando_s_Page_19.tif
540449c295282222ffb63b3df3f23801
ad53c28525d763bb8db08d752b9c6562d2277265
2055 F20101113_AACIDU orlando_s_Page_27.txt
9d30ac3dd0241b81bf90c4ed6049b063
487718dc6b21fa8f34b9921f36211d81e9058c3d
22367 F20101113_AACINP orlando_s_Page_07.QC.jpg
881d3bb90c71caacdff9651170a22235
4aaf1c9dfd9af0fdc7bd6d0530c2c843453e899b
F20101113_AACIIS orlando_s_Page_20.tif
f0183a0810b7f817d2701f641a85e8ef
5dfca10c2ce5e87d12b5b0689ac9135b45eed61d
6772 F20101113_AACIDV orlando_s_Page_26thm.jpg
96d0be751e8a6dc979a2957230d5295b
fe187f66299325903cd6bc3e9c0a218fb9f8c558
6651 F20101113_AACINQ orlando_s_Page_07thm.jpg
7fd2a87a6b3ace1742c571ab5faf7c4c
26fd36d70e4227309ec6aa3adc87e714d958b595
F20101113_AACIIT orlando_s_Page_21.tif
7511edc1303d84567c906597ecbd0dfe
4ce5adf8b0379cd0ab41d41d764058f9076f9011
1965 F20101113_AACIDW orlando_s_Page_15.txt
6be342cbc69a7334e573c8ed39c9f07b
1bd1f17660a9d66e5a0ecb924ce07e5351f86630
24423 F20101113_AACINR orlando_s_Page_08.QC.jpg
18fbc494b8e79b2afc5d83e3753213ad
46960b06e64ba818186316e9c29a5f07b0349071
F20101113_AACIIU orlando_s_Page_22.tif
308ae0c3a6d5ff091e1846a5083493f1
0cc05288ed950e9f79e34b0323668960cc41aeb6
70123 F20101113_AACIDX orlando_s_Page_21.jpg
ba99ebdbddca407d596397b6a57ab2a5
4a253302faf9b28f4b1c58093c1a4d0419b43095
6658 F20101113_AACINS orlando_s_Page_08thm.jpg
ced406d9a2d98ac259b9718ab7e1c903
6a1aec8ce3b92cf9bb4a786f57449235638ce832
F20101113_AACIIV orlando_s_Page_24.tif
01c2a0180be50b24e1aec92ababe1bbc
23d49440de14013dc5d9146d5c46bd9854b3be7f
45570 F20101113_AACIDY orlando_s_Page_38.pro
c6bb1b90b95b5ade9dcc39b6c16d2623
c1ef9eea67259125cdd3517ad7d09f1e18eaeebe
25122 F20101113_AACINT orlando_s_Page_09.QC.jpg
f9763481b6882a440e1c1c6f2fe1a989
910cab833986738d4c2eac961194f9264b0d5303
F20101113_AACIIW orlando_s_Page_25.tif
be6a2bd23902e39dce3ab25327375e24
6dd8ed307760b5c6a6244bc821eeca7fff1fcc99
69373 F20101113_AACIDZ orlando_s_Page_13.jpg
bba0b53f0442cd38db6813de3717e616
97cabc4653e315feda413096dcc5facc9868fe1d
6808 F20101113_AACINU orlando_s_Page_09thm.jpg
11abb2f5bdbb24366dcaa14b13484a7f
508f0e2cabbe0644a7bf716d36724467cab6023d
F20101113_AACIIX orlando_s_Page_26.tif
717f6c3b1d5e6619f95194fcc45f3e70
5336d63b47a33f510aa90a0d5242a633d0f2dc33
21417 F20101113_AACINV orlando_s_Page_10.QC.jpg
c7b0e7abb3b7725f19ac669d9e7744df
8ffa84352427c0104c08ff72706172767e9122de
86680 F20101113_AACIGA orlando_s_Page_45.jpg
81396fe56246c9ed2ef4fe78602b517b
a8acea3e3fd31ebd11d733f047a7c1ae6198130d
F20101113_AACIIY orlando_s_Page_27.tif
6fa76d0cbe659b6d6945163f2f09af5a
6475dcdd4aa1415b5e21dae2e320a2d22e5ee718
5993 F20101113_AACINW orlando_s_Page_10thm.jpg
65efcad6e3f10dbb6dfbda9f17110067
a47de9143b83444ea90e055fb2de739e285e5ec5
59483 F20101113_AACIGB orlando_s_Page_47.jpg
26b689f27de60fc2758d0405ba80a23e
43dee54a8d81ddccfecc0928c8713b6f718d3023
F20101113_AACIIZ orlando_s_Page_28.tif
ad9292f7b710090290305d000a65a873
7cb194def44096919409ccf3438fd9172b8482b1
57225 F20101113_AACIGC orlando_s_Page_48.jpg
75d527229889e86804d26d7e973aaf86
d5e11337c4040962c9c14cc403607f1a6f2b53d1
9576 F20101113_AACINX orlando_s_Page_11.QC.jpg
a48e96653667f4a1cb1f86f324c10c72
499654be0824309187aeab6203be4df59ff935f2
92824 F20101113_AACIGD orlando_s_Page_49.jpg
43ce747b7f0619970601b41742390e3a
852c7f2de11dc664d332b1fdf91cf392dd007dab
24628 F20101113_AACILA orlando_s_Page_42.pro
f3db0ad19fe9ec1d08095a438e51cf7e
411c7775423d5b2f30bacd23f42bc680920b0633
3066 F20101113_AACINY orlando_s_Page_11thm.jpg
c80c730ba1cb51081d41d600a4477e8a
7b60e2acc7bfbb1beeca0f3cf56d4d2f4224044f
90117 F20101113_AACIGE orlando_s_Page_50.jpg
a1c83dd477838120a944d52a06808260
7ad75d2168b28b54183b0b8b474acb0957fddd52
43854 F20101113_AACILB orlando_s_Page_43.pro
b0963fb49dda55dc7a518eb06d1895cd
764e16d4f661bae541098efaa287923d1bdca019
21248 F20101113_AACINZ orlando_s_Page_12.QC.jpg
d6322c2a3b9716257cdb6a3d048ddb17
309b630156e8f2b6661dd3a3de5a585104564122
73763 F20101113_AACIGF orlando_s_Page_51.jpg
6ccee22aa8058c46a41508620c92d922
4afe122b230486806729aff94ffe916841322e06
49681 F20101113_AACILC orlando_s_Page_44.pro
8316cc34eb7fe4c88c5bb155710ec73c
11b93f242fbfe966132da180e45187bb80bd2d58
13430 F20101113_AACIQA orlando_s_Page_42.QC.jpg
c027ba0298ed903d28e8b813a24a5705
0e61ed28e5692da96ee76c9804eed92397b4f6b3
56265 F20101113_AACILD orlando_s_Page_45.pro
ea4d3749c5f0d203a2287ef06669cfc9
54c12bf9bb60f6e2ffbfe6cc9a89dc131ab9e30d
44871 F20101113_AACIGG orlando_s_Page_52.jpg
2547a166af188871558a9b81b67e38e6
1e696924ba2c55451f53d106407578fc6489e815
4055 F20101113_AACIQB orlando_s_Page_42thm.jpg
93466abac4fa3bfad8565179e66e4449
7b0d0b245d62f5f0e6c9855477a0ceb4d339fa89
66800 F20101113_AACILE orlando_s_Page_46.pro
f97ac03609a608b756b56577ed2f9402
b94828e9284b7e7cc493e12e1d8a0db67eeb2930
25681 F20101113_AACIGH orlando_s_Page_01.jp2
416805f72647f94e98c47516f92781c1
867ee818a3d3a7f5931f783d54865c934ba610b5
21293 F20101113_AACIQC orlando_s_Page_43.QC.jpg
a36f074a4eda3fe1d56ca454f65d5fe6
3b2f324d517122c9dddd27578a6e5c363b8304ba
37088 F20101113_AACILF orlando_s_Page_47.pro
2b6c0f02db4d681905c8598c27211b7d
bba889250c8e32150d574b3f3f0c67312ad02d91
5488 F20101113_AACIGI orlando_s_Page_02.jp2
48bf4d5a29b7cb4bee78108a948973e1
0e17312d456ace550748630f02a35c46f45bf475
23678 F20101113_AACIQD orlando_s_Page_44.QC.jpg
5e2a67af16b86389425981ef4ae29616
1a9669d50cd8b3107283aef1f357402b8954b99d
37501 F20101113_AACILG orlando_s_Page_48.pro
927878de89e9173ef689e4e27ac6f143
90b0efd4d560fb91f62701b08a31dba77dd4ee75
4675 F20101113_AACIGJ orlando_s_Page_03.jp2
2a9704a50c6b1331884028168e48b6b4
3844848661308df6afd6c26b8337a0548f77489e
6596 F20101113_AACIQE orlando_s_Page_44thm.jpg
815e6c888c5346a825650b144663f092
cd36e42163217d5a7813d5d7b2341ee2a3021d74
57378 F20101113_AACILH orlando_s_Page_49.pro
eec79e41d6e19c251bc15ac97e70896d
a2d33966ec67459a7b0c52c9fe9da26271b144d5
26034 F20101113_AACIQF orlando_s_Page_45.QC.jpg
d6f1d9318e699d614d35ccc15b5c6617
096fba0d741639ca8edf39aea3afa82f724dcfff
55906 F20101113_AACILI orlando_s_Page_50.pro
259bef437b218cce4b4196ccb71a3606
c2a20ffbc7af345b82d6bf123a1e5f8b546cc225
45653 F20101113_AACIGK orlando_s_Page_04.jp2
51ba7aec3d59306280cd9ff98b3cad66
47a5136ea7e61f4dac2f8fc494c72e22d8a1dda3
6814 F20101113_AACIQG orlando_s_Page_45thm.jpg
a014de893976081bd194aa6f68d35c1e
9f2380775939b52a3d765ddbb97cc2ffd85a38b8
43519 F20101113_AACILJ orlando_s_Page_51.pro
c72d5faca6aa9671f61716b71c263fac
03ae95b6a6389ca21b9fdf714e7ab0708154fa86
1015680 F20101113_AACIGL orlando_s_Page_05.jp2
9b85c408441bd2177e3f844bd5442d1c
2c1254a7d62b37f9cfa2f3d10cc7759ae212cf75
28876 F20101113_AACIQH orlando_s_Page_46.QC.jpg
f24f7d3fcf06c539aa9b4cea7542446e
455d1121596da1b905319e29883ba4bedbcced69
27728 F20101113_AACILK orlando_s_Page_52.pro
8f3caa7b977ab17ca73982ccbdfdba2d
d72bf5a8e1dd22c45c0af7ccf6ee2564390c1bb5
90683 F20101113_AACIGM orlando_s_Page_06.jp2
2574bcc87a8035e5b01a07c8231ce45d
603828bdccc9b6e1420212ffbf06ae855901bc71
7291 F20101113_AACIQI orlando_s_Page_46thm.jpg
5769b9f8aabcfb2555d8f6d38dc2c552
71e8fb17e7f79744098b5ad78f1860ed5e57caab
103282 F20101113_AACIGN orlando_s_Page_07.jp2
7915089ea37d229825007469c9c19969
33dc70befcac4d2a3c53e3896e71cf9894aff69d
17666 F20101113_AACIQJ orlando_s_Page_47.QC.jpg
367b913e4fb3324406f5e57db09c72a1
9a9c1f641feb853d553744640331450415e0ab21
462 F20101113_AACILL orlando_s_Page_01.txt
f91c1bb39ef79f82fa085a71917adcba
e831c0045279c1da4dbda087639f3a15c0d479b8
108842 F20101113_AACIGO orlando_s_Page_08.jp2
75dd6071dd438ae25462df5178c818be
69e4650b983803910f00dd8143a9893d49786400
5030 F20101113_AACIQK orlando_s_Page_47thm.jpg
10264affe6da1f6102f3df8cd83d6042
f27519798d80ebc2265044203ad40834146c96bb
92 F20101113_AACILM orlando_s_Page_02.txt
1d9c20fae58ac7d6cc890458877dc7d4
6d9541117501ae95b978cad9e2a6faf10ad403fd
122820 F20101113_AACIGP orlando_s_Page_09.jp2
9bad24bbda0d90c69a3c03a989db1ae2
1c0957be9dafadb2e995d6008a777f57e5a295bc
18010 F20101113_AACIQL orlando_s_Page_48.QC.jpg
fb6f564a7c999f11eea27d8243d132ac
e1f53056767d4c5a4439e5ad38059da49841fdaa
90 F20101113_AACILN orlando_s_Page_03.txt
576bfe1d2a92e637b8b42831516b6333
7b3d434dcd74389da383e374a5b358a74250ec68
97611 F20101113_AACIGQ orlando_s_Page_10.jp2
34d9cfee6114ab346538357634b1d966
b83d263ce023b6f6c68e370748a04fe73d5239e1
5250 F20101113_AACIQM orlando_s_Page_48thm.jpg
1343c86470715bf1c970b73c3cede34d
e46adb13a824c6b08246dccd5d63433ab016167a
848 F20101113_AACILO orlando_s_Page_04.txt
593f23336779f486fa4c21c30e701fad
3fd961c32e342c48b3f3105422caeade80c8248f
40807 F20101113_AACIGR orlando_s_Page_11.jp2
c0a94c2248a1af32e8366666a6be7131
0190efcd91239b6a73edcef58b77d21316aec711
27097 F20101113_AACIQN orlando_s_Page_49.QC.jpg
40b4f738b35c76189604ab1cdeac54c8
6f7696ddedd0d9886c49de11e23a340493f6aa27
1315 F20101113_AACILP orlando_s_Page_05.txt
431ff8ca77f29fa1ffaf29ec50de7ae8
7d4ed79d9ad867537e88bfd3170badb30cd7e6d2
96297 F20101113_AACIGS orlando_s_Page_12.jp2
aedd9b31e930ce8d78cbced21e3370ef
d66e5b9242519515fd3a59ec5b90ba3c977988ba
7416 F20101113_AACIQO orlando_s_Page_49thm.jpg
19827c37831f29d4b6b0a9461b569f7f
a3f6f9a3c36beed5c687bbd51c5cc3d76567ff35
1855 F20101113_AACILQ orlando_s_Page_06.txt
988a14f291b22926cc23e7cdc4dc83ff
accda7a329763d4e77098576370a59e3791d957a
101236 F20101113_AACIGT orlando_s_Page_13.jp2
13088df656526e42afaa1e761b4f650e
08e1260623885356f374ee6b599e1d0627713450
26900 F20101113_AACIQP orlando_s_Page_50.QC.jpg
01083dfa2265d25de069e2d3c822b7ca
e7ea29e169aa2a3ea4b70285538763ee533ff167
1951 F20101113_AACILR orlando_s_Page_07.txt
c365cd03c2c5cad647bd06d1e67ab865
57eb120d3897b3a512694750b6048b73300a3238
114537 F20101113_AACIGU orlando_s_Page_14.jp2
b17c24fe1e325e2b39a7fee1c588bbfb
2808c9ea0bf5e3a1a2e2034256a4529076ebdff6
2058 F20101113_AACILS orlando_s_Page_08.txt
af399dff2a527aedeeaa3a05d1f06131
9586e52bf0cacd5e27c9cf20880720a3dcb569bb
106402 F20101113_AACIGV orlando_s_Page_15.jp2
882430341dab4f1342ee353a08ecad67
cf24f60cf2c142045b14e8c349d29951d5633695
7390 F20101113_AACIQQ orlando_s_Page_50thm.jpg
99d54dec146c5bf3936b31f78f48abb8
874612cc5585c3be259c6bcb5393c73f2bfbde09
2430 F20101113_AACILT orlando_s_Page_09.txt
389de8699f42117a52d6c86e16006d9e
dceb714b087ce7637f57733e3433a5680b6635ea
98513 F20101113_AACIGW orlando_s_Page_16.jp2
e6eae13811126386a44839c7c1bf435c
38180331f9a7f70cd4bba6bdff71870f770988a8
21943 F20101113_AACIQR orlando_s_Page_51.QC.jpg
4ffca23de504e0932e65471507443fd9
8377638b90f9ab345d23e54a30f1b516785d113e
1810 F20101113_AACILU orlando_s_Page_10.txt
979c63f0a3fdf46ae27c6c6df2cfb714
d592d77173d9cdf0c9359a9ff1a68fd922dd1e89
F20101113_AACIGX orlando_s_Page_17.jp2
6511c736232671acff8fcb7999f25393
5c9cba330c2fe2026d11e263091c3a6198c784ac
6080 F20101113_AACIQS orlando_s_Page_51thm.jpg
6cb89777de7661f1a098e6663c9d0ed9
2549d869d2e00a4976e1a18eaefd204ea4e689a7
784 F20101113_AACILV orlando_s_Page_11.txt
4e61b3c1b17cf230c4711a4ba6fae651
45f486a239f181c9eeadc7cb2f988507cb5adca5
F20101113_AACIEA orlando_s_Page_31.tif
497ae6ea20db268bd873129f86852fa1
97aadaf1f740b582cf49c030e94cc5f9c1f7bb7b
1051927 F20101113_AACIGY orlando_s_Page_18.jp2
183ecfb790440b5b5e7f8f30407b5cec
baa5f54e8136eb2898869af196999d71dd76d69c
1846 F20101113_AACILW orlando_s_Page_12.txt
35aad9d94d74f2ebb8ddfd0683ce1a60
8d29bd2330efefaf221caef3f04ef54a4e37faf9
72010 F20101113_AACIEB orlando_s_Page_44.jpg
08eb2b882590fa82599c280cd7657bcd
d589537d73d44b2c0dab4952aac12196fae2e3b5
1051957 F20101113_AACIGZ orlando_s_Page_19.jp2
054bfeccac5cade3276a3a04e51b5f71
414adcb917afe973ace70c5c5d410f52150b3b8e
4194 F20101113_AACIQT orlando_s_Page_52thm.jpg
d69234dccc5e9936a1e0721324d643b0
95c2a37a4046b709095694faabd753996c8313b4
1903 F20101113_AACILX orlando_s_Page_13.txt
3f366850b1f771b5a71d75e1f3099b81
5edcc774d6bf72ca5d4d2361000398fbd8438f92
110749 F20101113_AACIEC orlando_s_Page_26.jp2
3616a02fcdfbc6fec217de3b4d063aa5
e6af6729e8888ad487a6928d597b4fd1d7bdde70
62922 F20101113_AACIQU UFE0021381_00001.mets FULL
4ec3c99199e5120d3be0bd473f5f7916
51ce23aed1493d68072d11b88c030cdf7972bff2
F20101113_AACIJA orlando_s_Page_32.tif
4d53950a5a60862188e8e9fe9be29a50
f5a57ab7be9cc1caa51b9abb71374e67eb321c67
1869 F20101113_AACILY orlando_s_Page_16.txt
bda27537513d63d8a878281166beb40c
46f445f707c1d3222efeb8e08c5053a3d36915b4
64209 F20101113_AACIED orlando_s_Page_52.jp2
3e851ce1e838498dbfb8ef1baf2759c7
5fc7335a7751c1df665845d8be543964ab4ba7dd
F20101113_AACIJB orlando_s_Page_34.tif
ba27eb60add001a817d10ac9b40e0eff
5bdeaf13e03e46614a48a53ad2ced7de02cb92bf
2000 F20101113_AACILZ orlando_s_Page_17.txt
e3580fd05c7fa45f3276f658b8662995
74785561fed4bbabac9b5ecc5ddaa94b588c14b8
F20101113_AACIJC orlando_s_Page_35.tif
8ae6c389e13b0dc956f72303ffb49fc6
385d9e8fe569a15fab6a87f9d8bca3c922de50f0
1147 F20101113_AACIEE orlando_s_Page_52.txt
e51692a22a6217dbe51c9b14ab324dbb
b0b3fe5f9d7db5a26862505f751fd8624ad4add0
F20101113_AACIJD orlando_s_Page_36.tif
cee5eeff04468c9db5aec3f3aa3166cb
c881082ea85af15480963e7be66eb4bfeb5d3ead
778 F20101113_AACIEF orlando_s_Page_03.pro
e1912123507de19a349732a41b44f5f8
dff5080299bbeaac5936b8502350dadab262386e
6125 F20101113_AACIOA orlando_s_Page_12thm.jpg
0e2c41ac670c29c49d19e88a5a0aef39
147afb627c8343d9523d28807ecd49c3aa55c668
F20101113_AACIJE orlando_s_Page_37.tif
c9bffc0d38ebfa7f78d801385b80dc09
e33a53eab8a5b5f945c68ffb4ee870fbf224c672
14849 F20101113_AACIEG orlando_s_Page_52.QC.jpg
e200d3875ff079826d2d335b2f2a9c7e
3eb0ac30fdfff2461bb6e3818a81b00b9c5a02da
23013 F20101113_AACIOB orlando_s_Page_13.QC.jpg
22a312ab06ebaf50fc711e106d2cf440
22c753656d696dbb88fc9a078009ec0f3f169cf9
F20101113_AACIJF orlando_s_Page_38.tif
b269d806d5106f89d11ad6a3cc020b63
7796f996658928635117e3f7c3cfecd4cb6375d0
5617 F20101113_AACIEH orlando_s_Page_06thm.jpg
84034ae15609348a36615986a4a978a0
9f0690cfd0b3e1f0b265f4a323b6d685dcfc5e67
23660 F20101113_AACIOC orlando_s_Page_14.QC.jpg
1dcc6bbd4c7a41228ae5088c5f314783
1e40b87ffdf8481a24ddb5c1b379cb4889d1420e
F20101113_AACIJG orlando_s_Page_39.tif
99a93fda1473d3c10d5321730c157daa
1e1fcbf9443d6a5d36c814c9b1b89ed9e57e5204
2133 F20101113_AACIEI orlando_s_Page_14.txt
c5f14e35d7e541a3bc76bb818aaac364
3154e753b77ac77494bb7d7ddf956a4b7c5b6991
6485 F20101113_AACIOD orlando_s_Page_14thm.jpg
1e295bcc27220be4ff90c8f38a5805a0
d2aab2e2ac91597371bd8520c94c5952c2791ef7
F20101113_AACIEJ orlando_s_Page_02.tif
cbca7bf03ac9abe4dbbb9a791e8b9876
2b100bac8d3fd8da9733e9acfc6bbb4752f7118b
23855 F20101113_AACIOE orlando_s_Page_15.QC.jpg
e3f6a3dc4e80b5fe55218f68c85df94e
5488cc690ae6331db850cd495470ce89f020a522
F20101113_AACIJH orlando_s_Page_40.tif
d58b7c34fca28f8de36d32a953f641e6
a2ed74e911687e0b4d9750d97d477d405b6dcf35
6806 F20101113_AACIEK orlando_s_Page_32thm.jpg
720a77a62981a8b7c940233b7db3727a
8c4e2a1a4fac442d11e17872aa87796dd5169a31
6517 F20101113_AACIOF orlando_s_Page_15thm.jpg
2d291923888f3e0239d8c89ad654018d
5c76e28e2bae7e31cd54b1e8b693dd2c2fa55ae4
F20101113_AACIJI orlando_s_Page_41.tif
e0eebfc56f38945e8b13e2fd084493d7
eab97f07edd581d2b4aba13bf8b1cb6e9f833fd7
80974 F20101113_AACIEL UFE0021381_00001.xml
a606c4d740f6a683ffd6dde2cf1b04a7
5b675740920ffb94f7fc698d277c33b5befeb0a1
22163 F20101113_AACIOG orlando_s_Page_16.QC.jpg
1c50d663df404f38c1c77c9a8a5a6b04
15a78c1d006f0e8e090ebbe6df1dc67a82701528
6309 F20101113_AACIOH orlando_s_Page_16thm.jpg
d3b00b5ad2d742b1e9e7e2500e802e31
d6f833245490108a4a57bcdd46e3c371d71bbc55
F20101113_AACIJJ orlando_s_Page_42.tif
c742c7d9444dabc5263a47d35a858d47
aa0d347ad36a23e5edca137db02893933de0524d
23453 F20101113_AACIOI orlando_s_Page_17.QC.jpg
b7d7c354f6cf08cf68628d4a753dc323
aae63154c08958bb157ad83f9434cf501e81e679
F20101113_AACIJK orlando_s_Page_43.tif
d3e6e8a85d169fb770231e0965486541
edc2d5178ae3b51d656eff6bac742f41d0778fbe
23770 F20101113_AACIEO orlando_s_Page_01.jpg
141955098ef98c59d08b035d96f863f3
d50f02a9a7f7a5b34b24a9329d7240f82b96b058
6435 F20101113_AACIOJ orlando_s_Page_17thm.jpg
722d2cf92b0b0dbeb1dc2d803f668cd3
78f388e6ee574c28c5910568e650f42489c3ffb0
F20101113_AACIJL orlando_s_Page_44.tif
eb449b413e1b3c059ffc92b0034f6a9a
c006bddf456faec768a7372e7a169a6bf4faf32e
9980 F20101113_AACIEP orlando_s_Page_02.jpg
c1c3c25bf80f2ecd5080ba74dd0e5324
e69157d4ae7b18de7a5f3bcc04bf79b3878dc333
23521 F20101113_AACIOK orlando_s_Page_18.QC.jpg
5d0348186cb7adc4c2efb44fa8f8d153
4dd2cbc07e516956da3502276e892d74bd7f16df
F20101113_AACIJM orlando_s_Page_45.tif
e503d87f2438521cf6e5ea2fc09d1469
ed1a3d0f79c01fc16b9f43897437b2e846e0e3f9
34929 F20101113_AACIEQ orlando_s_Page_04.jpg
22c63e95da0309dbd376df3b45b3f58b
a36f8df289a55e96c0794c603749c737aa13e1c1
6122 F20101113_AACIOL orlando_s_Page_18thm.jpg
0338faefe5a65c4e86d287ce24f82a0f
2e528105c9ab40078226f68e8f0c7a5ffac19b5d
F20101113_AACIJN orlando_s_Page_47.tif
5939a0a1434b9edf11d3b41b48e15903
a42ab70b768d219db533dc33f4dec44a4177382a
42271 F20101113_AACIER orlando_s_Page_05.jpg
f692c455b9dea232cde9cfe7e7ed9124
e81f821f0414ab0d24dc8c22124fe7ca1788a574
25837 F20101113_AACIOM orlando_s_Page_19.QC.jpg
29b0407e4e7cb50f89ca62864d6920d0
45a31bdd5a34e888719653927b1ce4e465f236a2
F20101113_AACIJO orlando_s_Page_50.tif
47138f54b61e4cfa39d84e0522082aed
e93ef6366e0f2320e6332fcd17cce6e443cc0f13
64074 F20101113_AACIES orlando_s_Page_06.jpg
47de40cd10ab51ab10dfc66e926a1c1e
e19c52ff41ceaf0631bded6b6be93ac577e05d1f
6531 F20101113_AACION orlando_s_Page_19thm.jpg
db732ecd7cd9922ddaef022212587c79
67de5f28b2c4cc1a4cb8219488eafb04d1bafc2e
F20101113_AACIJP orlando_s_Page_52.tif
223c9757d9cbfd00a28ca3f3cc9f2a19
95564e33cd370a609de519aee70db315f453a302
69675 F20101113_AACIET orlando_s_Page_07.jpg
719fc3347dbef8e03778ef1556f9b849
024d0741200cd00b3d2ba77a048a4f5de43c687c
8666 F20101113_AACIJQ orlando_s_Page_01.pro
116c4a0948277f53b5fcff8ca7a60682
26367f4d01da3f40a82c84ffa58a7d339ec7fc55
73032 F20101113_AACIEU orlando_s_Page_08.jpg
b71c0705e1a3dd3c84a9f0170c25d334
7636f5ddaa23a64f5d4ff3b20f3d0c56df324727
6477 F20101113_AACIOO orlando_s_Page_20thm.jpg
a8acae9964d67011e9cc4d41a338ec16
666e5555fb7c84334c7158dd9be36461762bd7a2
934 F20101113_AACIJR orlando_s_Page_02.pro
c56fafd9dac84b7e13d612fb37acf68a
bf7ae727a5e110bb46531c2b4695c14c2954932c
83329 F20101113_AACIEV orlando_s_Page_09.jpg
6f778f59b8d05f10c8d41a5e2c6b0074
d6bfc8fd1ff91e818a37530fdd13eea6f2acff21
23166 F20101113_AACIOP orlando_s_Page_21.QC.jpg
741920f56105342eec04bf6d531de735
6586bb2e9c7a93451aa71828aa270061d5ea09c5
19997 F20101113_AACIJS orlando_s_Page_04.pro
fbd5405fde9954c5eac53ddd180517ae
09199a640d34222edba81ed8d17eecc4cfe8fd0a
65292 F20101113_AACIEW orlando_s_Page_10.jpg
487d1d586558e24cfec6d0308e0b6d2f
08bb571f6b05e677a1a100df8e46b0f761497fe1
6379 F20101113_AACIOQ orlando_s_Page_21thm.jpg
b09816f01a7f34bba79895b463144191
4fe14add6bb065d8c973aab953aa4ad8c50e9af4
30065 F20101113_AACIJT orlando_s_Page_05.pro
f0635d3159deba3eda2aff74de848bdb
053f72f73a25dd9ca2c096b9971d57e264c8bd3c
29523 F20101113_AACIEX orlando_s_Page_11.jpg
efc955494fd577c9609fe16972a3204d
81d1994415698b21f0e754158817ade6a5ae9c07
23368 F20101113_AACIOR orlando_s_Page_22.QC.jpg
1434029fafdaed57acf71552b3dd7ab7
2aca77121bbe38d2ba8f723221667fa72c5f523d
41757 F20101113_AACIJU orlando_s_Page_06.pro
195dbe80f330ac64188eaa35aa7983c8
5d67432eb0275922ea27e97a5df9f24861b1cfc3
65510 F20101113_AACIEY orlando_s_Page_12.jpg
b58be6fca7e9269ff60f52ff721f7911
46b414f0664c1bc389fc08f96bc6ec4d38018729
6759 F20101113_AACIOS orlando_s_Page_22thm.jpg
e213bd2cad8cdf3355bd4b8cbb8933ee
d702782db8b90e9e9c62d595bf7f9b8c4cafb6ee
47595 F20101113_AACIJV orlando_s_Page_07.pro
c17c4b32984fcbd691bd4e4a4c74465e
c322d5c7977fb3f8df255983e8bfd4b8053335d1
75574 F20101113_AACIEZ orlando_s_Page_14.jpg
db659ab2999e77bf9146807cef1e0414
34dc66ad375dd8e77113eb098e5a56c1f7f0a580
24769 F20101113_AACIOT orlando_s_Page_23.QC.jpg
2570488a7914238ddb840e0759fbbedd
d69cf77b70d12f18983ce525ce09a753fa02af19
51764 F20101113_AACIJW orlando_s_Page_08.pro
2fc07f7ab4e2af4574b46bebf23ee931
834212de62c6ea737f0f1e126fda09f8956f8b61
6723 F20101113_AACIOU orlando_s_Page_23thm.jpg
971ebbc96fabafcdc39500baeb87c2ef
9ab04c5b179f8638f447b5ddd88764597c635978
60176 F20101113_AACIJX orlando_s_Page_09.pro
ca2e1bfadf241759b9f2b780776b549c
1fe72fbf41b7fc1c0a7874c3076ea6e295689283
23080 F20101113_AACIOV orlando_s_Page_24.QC.jpg
e3a1a8ee39558012511662ea30b7c9a6
e1bac8927be2ae85e194a054d26deab70c4f1a0d
105002 F20101113_AACIHA orlando_s_Page_20.jp2
3d39619ac145d0551d8dc6057b09e714
032126231225a0107e0e8918c34c93740c98dc21
44819 F20101113_AACIJY orlando_s_Page_10.pro
ac5267e65fb84ae95918b30975a9622c
60ce09b465956c1e343a0f890d1bc2a8fb9281f9
6391 F20101113_AACIOW orlando_s_Page_24thm.jpg
5940397b6e91464570a7afd356b6cf15
81df4839dc90ce40f6dd68ef08a523f612345b41
106259 F20101113_AACIHB orlando_s_Page_21.jp2
4c199184808c3b5f01d30b415ff33b3e
6c4979f19570574933a821696a1db1edc1775bfa
17778 F20101113_AACIJZ orlando_s_Page_11.pro
21e0ddb826fe2bb8057929133b014f3b
c9884db5e37a6af0c778d77fb4329a684d4679b1
21670 F20101113_AACIOX orlando_s_Page_25.QC.jpg
72949d16838160ce5e6089af1af5bce4
08fcb1cd54acedf37ca012556a7182f5fa15c602
105763 F20101113_AACIHC orlando_s_Page_22.jp2
b3bbaec2d7558e2212dbbd89cebd182a
5fac22bb32632109cd5645f167911b8d0f289078
1930 F20101113_AACIMA orlando_s_Page_18.txt
1acef390677a579e3b28475fca75aac5
0af881909e320953e5138e1aa16575944484cf2c
6209 F20101113_AACIOY orlando_s_Page_25thm.jpg
149b96148eea58f8180949f35ae20253
f99b76ade01754cbcac5139b2bcdee2817bafc7e
1051943 F20101113_AACIHD orlando_s_Page_23.jp2
aa07dc15d83ce6dc43ab3ad79f96f03e
002729ecb11da7d485c26f227d48a904be2b5da2
2280 F20101113_AACIMB orlando_s_Page_19.txt
4862ddcaeaf431811fad2ac35493f3d9
4ebe85c40902f1c8b5b8351e43e7d68fdbdbc341
24705 F20101113_AACIOZ orlando_s_Page_26.QC.jpg
cc3784bbcdae052637fa5cbb3169916e
e7c04bad44b93cd6999e593922e7e904246eb32c
103093 F20101113_AACIHE orlando_s_Page_24.jp2
994ff989adf93aaa68ef55c5e8d5f9a1
97c16f892fc9f5fb0b944fc89c06580b487c1301
1942 F20101113_AACIMC orlando_s_Page_20.txt
a9deef73f0d5697413bdaf7a6d20270d
16aba524a466bb9d7d5102d4f7d92424957e83cc
978687 F20101113_AACIHF orlando_s_Page_25.jp2
8ebc92930af2ab7acc6e6eefe0edac4a
8ab28374d16892315c5b9cc7fca1f75d6b0f4d40
111795 F20101113_AACIHG orlando_s_Page_27.jp2
03419b0b0de51f9d8377d4829516ea4c
15d822f72fbda62857725e19ff228cd1beb2d77d
1993 F20101113_AACIMD orlando_s_Page_21.txt
c90ecbf3c5775b29ef76edbfee225fbc
179cb22dfb20aabdccc167042951dfbc685609e8
2065 F20101113_AACIME orlando_s_Page_22.txt
6a0700403292b99d00df85f886e4bfec
789528aff23b15913a324171eb2a40988bb2b1e1
119252 F20101113_AACIHH orlando_s_Page_28.jp2
1991da07970440fda5cb96bb85a29486
80ff27a349a65c5e2cb403d6cd95f007c802a49b
2118 F20101113_AACIMF orlando_s_Page_23.txt
dd48ca75510faf4dfc546df40fc0ecee
e0a059958712a4e20c599ec36d945024d5ae7271
108365 F20101113_AACIHI orlando_s_Page_29.jp2
ea8a09744817ba7e27597e6c3e5a574c
48593fa594a6ac4497371067b24e3663c44f267e
2018 F20101113_AACIMG orlando_s_Page_24.txt
c7eaa86e34ede6ad3d2b5a54503ff157
e5002bd1c0f07c7feac64d03f60705b6e43eb9bf
105414 F20101113_AACIHJ orlando_s_Page_30.jp2
f99d517e311b6317c345f2ed4e0edd4f
10d2268aaa7c36f9bd6859eefee8f48d589f9d5c
F20101113_AACIMH orlando_s_Page_26.txt
376e5a2fe7db3108d5fd6e57db859bef
6a00a2f8d95dba85715f0b04e81d3c7f04cb1b59
680714 F20101113_AACIHK orlando_s_Page_31.jp2
5c648925b30d24b1e0aaf10b3c39e204
d78661f4f0beef24930225315a05e720dbd8f628
2340 F20101113_AACIMI orlando_s_Page_28.txt
8f76e83274ab5dc7482351b486c8f095
ff517120a701a8bb6d8e29f058f899476427c574
1051863 F20101113_AACIHL orlando_s_Page_32.jp2
858f64f8f9ebb6dc37373c3db069ac9a
0c81651b8a9a61e0a7c3522f8647d168c60d9266
2033 F20101113_AACIMJ orlando_s_Page_29.txt
f69b945c432503636a56869b64b113f0
d0ae9999f69d40aca2bbb356bb3b3fa418efe2f7
111665 F20101113_AACIHM orlando_s_Page_33.jp2
f51feee5b7fa34893e80db8d406d8b2d
30d20ad425d32b21a66b01af98abf695c607aca5
1941 F20101113_AACIMK orlando_s_Page_30.txt
fae71931b66cd4343e6bbbff40e67abb
879cfaae9eef285a266fde0fe64b7d915a37fde6
1051981 F20101113_AACIHN orlando_s_Page_34.jp2
ae672526bbfc6d5d76b0af459db3c071
f6eb2bb40a88b3f3a665baa6d110db9d35081e4a
F20101113_AACICQ orlando_s_Page_33.tif
8a6b0490e794c010d3d679641d20ccbc
f530584ec30eb6acaf0f47fb295589bae4287fd3
1232 F20101113_AACIML orlando_s_Page_31.txt
c5a909383fba562dfaea6ef4515b0e3b
a6a2ea7a1f39006206ddbae66242d6bbd326675b
104581 F20101113_AACIHO orlando_s_Page_36.jp2
5c807b2dab74379e2920de4f13959fdf
6c8426bf7dcde2aa1287a11010c44dc3da9cff8b
9716 F20101113_AACICR orlando_s_Page_03.jpg
901e37ee8a3f5903dfa15815e32484a7
c8abf5ab0221c92a2ebad7998260f83b90cc44d8
F20101113_AACIHP orlando_s_Page_37.jp2
ee54b9b60467a6a91bdb448ed7515140
b54d9a5196170b0a0d1583df8643dcf65b724878
F20101113_AACICS orlando_s_Page_17.tif
32562a541eb71d9acf958d315e87ff4e
9403eea6a9b28bd177430e3ed97fc65796aace0a
F20101113_AACIMM orlando_s_Page_32.txt
7d15d8fdbe7d59a53bfaf2e7419d1397
ca63e8a50eabac7efb0d5202d6e2440781625df3
97836 F20101113_AACIHQ orlando_s_Page_38.jp2
e1873144720cc728dc47571e38a9b3c4
ead7e588cf7b0eed9a5907ff195f0942b4af6385
48752 F20101113_AACICT orlando_s_Page_30.pro
7112c0c3a248842c2d191691dae814f4
e083d96e5c46aa9d19669bf6bd747a593607c30e
2218 F20101113_AACIMN orlando_s_Page_33.txt
7b31098869b6c717cd272f795a8b580f
1d365856b29a22003527e0027e836df9762ff5da
103146 F20101113_AACIHR orlando_s_Page_39.jp2
809e94b03b471b76602174edd14e27f4
49b5afa9f52cf7f9ba22f0c749dea255c4111fcc
74696 F20101113_AACICU orlando_s_Page_40.jpg
fda16fd631fbf8f6dbe33e3dae802857
3e020854f86022ae6df2128aaf3b984ae94a1b2b
2224 F20101113_AACIMO orlando_s_Page_34.txt
98f9adf4df05fbbc39afe41addbe55b3
3f334e55e307c6c8871d472c09c441b15db3e10c
112828 F20101113_AACIHS orlando_s_Page_40.jp2
bb5e2794fb4163f97ac0578fe3be0132
227beffe94ece9e89240e0f54c4eb9c1be1bcf73
99687 F20101113_AACICV orlando_s_Page_35.jp2
29a918345c33999e86d12d88c593f391
2e12d77c6d00605bbf2fe0e8b0dfd2887082723a
1881 F20101113_AACIMP orlando_s_Page_35.txt
92302472a26cf8b3b0bd64bd184c160d
a5d60032ea790f5e7e0fd1ad087059ae92d7eaf0
95777 F20101113_AACIHT orlando_s_Page_41.jp2
6d8e29c0d7a9fd3b0b618409847df68e
8fc4727a339454ef6f6484d1ad6d9117715b05c5
51641 F20101113_AACICW orlando_s_Page_26.pro
1b4f6c4a37b407ed5046ae8830430222
cc4f803a870d3d2f02737d85ab2a9d4b894eabe1
1912 F20101113_AACIMQ orlando_s_Page_36.txt
25a69593a97ea268fdf48db969b3d608
32164f4b9500e1a0f505f7056afade5470326acc







A REAL BASTARD: WOULD THE TRUE FATHER OF THE
NEW JOURNALISM PLEASE STAND UP?





















By

STEPHEN F. ORLANDO


A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT
OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF
MASTER OF ARTS INT MASS COMMUNICATION

UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA

2007


































O 2007 Stephen F. Orlando




































To my brother, Dave









ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank the members of my supervisory committee for their guidance,

encouragement and humor.

I also would like to thank Tom Wolfe for his priceless contributions to the New Journalism

in general and to this thesis in particular, and all the other New Journalists who blazed the trail.

Thanks, too, to all of the editors I've worked with, particularly Ted Jackovics and Jim Tunstall.

Finally, I save my biggest thanks for my mother and father, Mary and Ray, for teaching me

the value of a good education; my children, Alex and Anna Kate, for being the most wonderful

kids ever and helping me keep my feet on the ground; and my wife, Ann-Marie, for her unfailing

support and for being the best thing that ever happened to me.












TABLE OF CONTENTS


page

ACKNOWLEDGMENT S .............. ...............4.....


AB S TRAC T ......_ ................. ............_........6


CHAPTER


1 INTRODUCTION: THE PARTY'S OVER, AND MAN, WHAT A RIDE ...........................7


2 THE CONTENDERS .............. ...............12....


Tom W olfe ................. ...............12.................

Terry Southern ................. ...............16.................
Norman M ailer ................. ...............25.................


3 AND THE WINNER IS ... ......... ...............32.......


The Paternity W ard: Esquire .............. ...............35....
The New York Herald Tribune Years .............. ...............38....


4 CONCLUSIONS .............. ...............43....


5 AFTERW ORD .............. ...............48....


LIST OF REFERENCES ................. ...............49........... ....


BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH .............. ...............52....









Abstract of Dissertation Presented to the Graduate School
of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree of Master of Arts in Mass Communication

A REAL BASTARD: WOULD THE TRUE FATHER
OF THE NEW JOURNALISM PLEASE STAND UP?

By

Stephen F. Orlando

August 2007

Chair: William McKeen
Major: Mass Communicaton

This thesis examines the origins of the j ournalistic style born during the early 1960s known

as the New Journalism. Many notable newspaper and magazine writers of the era were

practitioners-indeed, pioneers--of the new style: Tom Wolfe, Gay Talese, Terry Southern,

Jimmy Breslin and Norman Mailer, to name just a few. However, for more than a generation

there has been much confusion and discussion over who rightfully deserves credit for giving it

life.

Literary Journalism, one broad moniker for the overall genre, has many founders, the

earliest of whom include the likes of Daniel Defoe and Charles Dickens in the 18th and 19th

centuries, respectively. Even the term "new j ournalism" is anything but new: Its first use dates

back to the 1880s. But the New Journalism as it is most commonly used today--the style made

popular by Wolfe, Talese and their compadres--belongs to a relatively small historic time frame

because it was born of the unique events of its era.

Through analysis and interviews, this thesis offers an argument for who can really claim

the title of father of the New Journalism and makes the case that the real father is not a writer at

all but rather an editor: magazine legend Clay Felker.










CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCTION: THE PARTY' S OVER, AND MAN, WHAT A RIDE

Long after the empty beer kegs had been hauled off and the blue motorcycle exhaust had

drifted away, Rolling Stone magazine editor-in-chief Jann Wenner recalled his initial reaction to

Hunter S. Thompson' s 1967 book Hell 's Angels and what kind of conjones it took for the

world' s premier Gonzo j ournalist to report on the fearsome bikers.

"It all seems so tame now," he said, "but then it was the height of height of adventure and

courage."

The same could be said of the New Journalism.

More than 40 years after it screamed onto the scene, grabbed the American public by the

scruff of the neck and dragged it along for a merry romp, the phenomenon that would come to be

known as the New Journalism is almost as comfortable as TV Guide.

For most people born since the Johnson administration, names such as Tom Wolfe and

Jimmy Breslin belong with Milton Berle and Will Rogers--vaguely familiar, someone your

parents or grandparents knew about, but relevant? Not so much. Starting in the early 1960s and

continuing until the late 1970s, though, the New Journalists reigned like alien conquerors. Their

work was beyond relevant; it was they who identified who and what was relevant, and the speed

and style with which they did it turned journalism virtually overnight from a '52 Studebaker into

a Rosso Corsa Ferrari.

They had to. The times demanded it. Nothing else could have kept up.

As one who was at the center of the vortex put it, "The Sixties was one of the most

extraordinary decades in American history .. the decade when manners and morals, styles of



Marc Weingarten, The Gang That Wouldn 't Write Straight: Wolfe, Thompson, Didion, and the New Journalism
Revolution, (Random House, New York, 2006), 238.









living, attitudes towards the world changed the country more crucially than any political events .

.. This whole side of American life that gushed forth when postwar American affluence Einally

blew the lid off-all this novelists simply turned away from, gave up by default."2

But while it is widely recognized as nothing short of a journalistic revolution, several

questions remain: What did it really mean? What did it accomplish? What were its true

ramifications? And, of course, who really lit the fuse? The writers themselves most often get

bragging rights, although there is no real agreement on who among them deserves the title of The

One True Instigator. Many say it was Wolfe. Others claim it was Mailer. Still others give the

mantle to Gay Talese. The problem seems to lie in part with the fact that it all occurred so

quickly. As happens with so many great ideas, several principals were moving in the same

direction simultaneously, drawing inspiration from each other while at the same time competing

with one another. A collective consciousness develops so when the product Einally emerges, no

one is quite sure who really got there first.

With the New Journalism, the problem is complicated by the subj ective nature of the

product. Unlike the invention of, say, the light bulb or the microchip, no one can hold up one

particular story and say, "This was the first and I did it." The very definition of New Journalism

is a bit of a moving target, although some generally understood tenets stand out. Wolfe, who to a

large degree became the self-appointed chronicler of the New Journalism's history, listed them

as scene-by-scene construction, the generous use of dialog, third-person point of view and status-

life details, which serve to give readers vivid clues as to who the players are and how they live.3





STom Wolfe, ed. The New Journalism, (Picador, London, 1973), 44.

SWilliam McKeen, Tom Wolfe (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1995), 36-7.










One of the best summations of what comprises the New Joumnalism, though, may be this

one from Marshall Fishwick. It so happens that Fishwick was a strong influence on Tom Wolfe

when he was a professor at Washington and Lee University in the 1950s and Wolfe was his

student. The excerpt is from Fishwick' s introduction to a collection of essays on the New

Journalism that appeared in the Journal of Popular Culture in 1975:

These essays do not even agree on the validity or worth of the material under discussion.
They insist that today's trends spring up from yesterday but do not name the father (or
grandfather, or great-grandfather) of the New Movement. There is merit to the claims that
Addison or Steele, or Daniel Defoe, or Benjamin Franklin, or Mark Twain, deserve the
accolade. What about Lincoln Steffens and H.L. Mencken? And where can one find a
better statement of 'writing from inside' than this one, from the Preface of Joseph Conrad' s
The Nigger of the Narcissus:

'My task, which I am attempting to achieve by the power of the written word, is to make
you hear, to make you feel. It is, before all, to make you see.'

To do that takes STYLE. That, rather than semantics or sociology, is the key to both
popular culture and the New Journalism.4



Even the origins of the term "new j ournalism" have been disputed, but historically it

belongs to the British. It dates back to 1887, when English poet Matthew Amold used it in

reference to j ournalist W.T. Stead, editor of the Pall2all Galzette. Stead had become known for

tackling social issues of the day--for instance, child prostitution in London--by bringing it to

life with interviews and vivid description, hallmarks of the first New Journalism.

Though not called new j ournalism, examples of similar writing styles pop up throughout

the following half century. It remained primarily British turf. Before his famous novel 1984,

George Orwell-his real name was Eric Blair--was a journalist. One of his most notable works

SMarshall Fishwick, "The New Joumnalism, 2: A Style Befitting Our Times and Tastes." Journal ofConununication,
September 1975, 190.
SKevin Kerrane, Ben Yagoda, eds. The 4rt ofFact: 4 Historical ini,. Ji. --:r of Literary Journalism (New York:
Simon and Schuster, 1997), 17.










was Down and Out in ParisP~~~~PPPPP~~~~PPPP and London, an account of his adventures living among the

downtrodden during the early 1930s in what then were still widely considered the world's

cultural and political centers of power and exposing the poverty that most people chose to ignore.

But what may be the first real precursor to modern-day New Journalism came immediately

after the end of World War II, courtesy of American John Hersey. Born in China to missionaries,

Hersey attended Yale and Cambridge before becoming a war correspondent for Time, Life and

The New Yorker.

At the suggestion of The New Yorker editor William Shawn, Hersey decided to chronicle

the human toll of the American atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The result was

Hiroshima, which consumed the entire Aug. 31, 1946, issue of The New Yorker and later was

released in book form.6

The opening sentence is a perfect example of the level of detail with which Hersey

approached his subj ect. It is a seamless, matter-of-fact blend of simple data, mundane daily

routine and impending horror:

"At exactly fifteen minutes past eight in the morning, on August 6, 1945, Japanese time, at

the moment when the atomic bomb flashed above Hiroshima, Miss Toshiko Sasaki, a clerk in the

personnel department of the East Asia Tin Works, had just sat down at her place in the plant

office and was turning her head to speak to the girl at the next desk."'

The subsequent passages weave together the lives of six people and graphically describe

their experiences coping with the aftermath of the world' s first atomic attack. It was no small





6 Weingarten, 21-4.

SJohn Hersey, Hiroshima (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1985), 1










accomplishment. Hersey spent six weeks interviewing his subj ects, piecing together their stories

into a single tapestry that would total 30,000 words when finished.

As riveting as it was, Hiroshima still did not prompt anyone to label it a new brand of

journalism. That wouldn't happen for nearly 20 more years, when Pete Hamill, then a New York

Post columnist, used it as a title for a story he wanted to write about two of the genre' s leading

practitioners, Gay Talese and Jimmy Breslin.8

By then, the New Journalism was in full bloom.




































SDavid Abrahamson, "The New Journalism in the 1960s." Encyclopedia ofAmerican Journalism (New York: M.E.
Sharpe, 2006).









CHAPTER 2
THE CONTENDERS

Which brings us to the eve of conception.

The purpose of the following biographical sketches is not to recount each contender' s life

in detail. That ground has already been covered by others. The list of contenders also should not

be mistaken for a list of the best, though they certainly are among them. Rather, it is to establish

some basic information about the writer, how he came to be regarded as a New Joumnalism

pioneer and why he should or should not be considered the real founder. They are laid out in

roughly in reverse chronological order based on the timing of each writer' s watershed New

Journalism piece.

Tom Wolfe

Long before he ever donned his first ice cream suit, Tom Wolfe was becoming known for

his unusual writing ability.

Thomas Kennerly Wolfe Jr. was born March 2, 1931, in Richmond, Va. His father was

editor of the Sambenrl Plan2ter, an agronomy j oumal. Growing up in the world of classic

Southern refinement, the younger Wolfe attended Washington and Lee University, graduating

with a bachelor' s degree in English in 1951. It was at Washington and Lee that Wolfe's potential

became apparent to Fishwick, who taught a course in American studies. In particular, Fishwick

remembered a paper Wolfe wrote for the class called "A Zooful of Zebras" about the conformity

of academia.

Wolfe received his doctorate in American studies from Yale in 1957; his dissertation was

titled The League ofAmerican Writers: Communist Organi~zational Activity Among American

Writers, 1929-1942. He had already started his newspaper career the previous year, at the tiny


SWeingarten, 84.










Sp~rfing/7ehi(a~ss.) Union. In 1959, he landed a job with the Washington Post and in 1962 went

to work for the New York Herald-Tribune, where his ability finally would begin to flourish. 2

That marked the beginning of his flirtation with the New Journalism. As he put it, .. I

arrived at the New York Herald-Tribune .. This must be the place! .. I looked out across the

city room of the Herald Tribune, 100 moldering yards south of Times Square, with a feeling of

amazed bohemian bliss .. either this is the real world, Tom, or there is no real world .. "3

Working alongside the likes of columnist Jimmy Breslin--Wolfe described the hunkered-down-

on-deadline Breslin as "a bowling ball fueled with liquid oxygen"4--he was finally in the

element he had sought for so long. As much as he loved the atmosphere and his co-workers,

Wolfe found himself stymied by the space and time restrictions of daily deadline j ournalism. He

continually looked for his voice and finally began to find it when he was assigned to write for the

Herald-Tribune 's Sunday supplement, New York, and an editor there named Clay Felker. Wolfe

did not abandon his Herald-Tribune duties, but at last he had a venue that gave him room to

work to his potential.'

Wolfe was influenced by no single person as much as he was by Gay Talese. In July 1962,

an article by Talese titled "Joe Louis: The King as a Middle-Aged Man" appeared in Esquire.

Talese employed techniques that until then were virtually unheard of, at least to Wolfe: generous

use of dialog, transporting the reader from one scene to the next and, perhaps most important,

climbing inside the heads of his characters and letting the reader in on their inner-most thoughts.

Wolfe was floored.


2 McKeen, 8.

3 Wolfe, 16.

4 Wolfe, 26.

SWeingarten, 89-90.










What the hell is going on? With a little reworking the whole article could have read like a
short story .. At the time I hardly ever read magazines like Esquire. I wouldn't have read
the Joe Louis piece except that it was by Gay Talese. After all, Talese was a reporter for
the Times. He was a player in my own feature game. What he had written for Esquire was
so much better than what he was doing (or was allowed to do) for the Times, I had to check
out what was going on."6

Chronologically speaking, that in itself removes Wolfe from the list of contenders for

father of the New Journalism, but it by no means makes him an also-ran. On the contrary, it

energized him to pick up the torch and run headlong into fray. Talese's piece was just what

Wolfe had been looking for, and he immediately set out to mold the new style in his own image.

His first foray came in 1963--he was still working for the Herald-Tribune and New York at the

time --in the form of a story for Esquire under the laborious title "There Goes (Varoont

Varoons. That Kandy-Kolored (Thphhhhhh.9 Tangerine-Flake Streamnline Baby (Rahghhh.9

Around the Bend (Brunanaanaanaanannannannan .. When he published a collection of essays

two years later that included the Esquire piece, the title was truncated to "The Kandy-Kolored

Tangerine-Flake Streamnline Baby. "

The Esquire story raised eyebrows throughout both the journalism and literary worlds. As

the now well-known story goes, Wolfe had headed for California in search of the newly

emerging youth movement, and he found it in car culture. Wolfe immersed himself in his

subj ect, particularly car-customizing king George Barris. When the time came to put the whole

experience down on paper, Wolfe came up dry. With the Esquire deadline looming large, he sat

down at the typewriter, purged his brain in a memo to editor Byron Dobell and submitted it the

next morning. Dobell did little more than remove the salutation; he ran the memo as a story.'




bWolfe, 24.

SWeingarten, 94.










Streamline Baby was a maj or shift because it created two camps: those who loved Wolfe

and those who hated him.8 By extension, it also was the opening salvo in what would be a

decades-long war over the New Journalism and whether it was even journalism at all.

One of the first sharp shooters was Esquire 's own Dwight Macdonald. In an Aug. 26, 1965,

critique for the New York Review of Books titled "Paraj ournalism, or Tom Wolfe and His Magic

Writing Machine," Macdonald skewered Wolfe and his fellow practitioners. He accused them of

perpetrating "a bastard form" of journalism, "having it both ways, exploiting the factual

authority of journalism and the atmospheric license of fiction."9

In 1965, Wolfe stepped in it again, this time deep. Possibly emboldened by his string of

successes and high on a bit of hubris, he wrote two articles for New York that were guns-blazing

attacks on The New Yorker, its editor, William Shawn, its writing style and what Wolfe viewed

as its bloated reputation. The first was "Tiny Mummies!i The True Story of the Ruler of 43rd

Street' s Land of The Walking Dead!i", which was followed by "Lost in the Whichy Thicket."

The pieces were immediately greeted by howls of indignation, cries of cruelty and, most

damning, fabrication. However, Wolfe's editor at The New York, Clay Felker, said much later,

"If somebody doesn't agree with the theme, they say it' s inaccurate .. [but] history has shown

Tom was right." to

Criticism aside, Wolfe's modus operand; was now solid. Popular culture was his for the

taking, and take he did. His subjects over the next several years in pieces for Esquire and New





SMcKeen, 26.

9 Dwight Macdonald, "Parajournalism, or Tom Wolfe & His Magic Writing Machine." New York Review ofBooks.
August 26, 1965.
'O Chris Harvey, "Tom Wolfe's Revenge." 4merican Journalism Review. October 1994.










York read like a laundry list of the '60s' most influential players: The Beatles, Phil Spector,

"Baby" Jane Holzer, Murray the K, Ken Kesey, the Mercury astronauts.

Wolfe not only chronicled the '60s and American pop culture, he actually contributed to

the lexicon by creating or popularizing terms that remain in use even today. Perhaps the best-

known example is "good ol' boy," which he first used in "The Last American Hero is Junior

Johnson. Yes!," a 1964 Esquire article about a North Carolina stock car driver. Other examples

include The Right Stuff, the title of his 1979 "nonfiction novel" about j et-age test pilots and

America' s Mercury astronauts; "the Me Decade" from a 1976 essay in the collection "Mauve

Gloves & Madmen, Clutter & Vine;" and "radical chic," from his 1970 book "Radical Chic and

Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers," an indictment of how rich white people used minorities and

their causes to raise their own social standing.

Ironically, his 1973 book "The New Journalism," a collection of essays by writers he

believed best embraced it, arrived as the New Journalism itself was beginning to lose forward

speed. By then, even Wolfe had left newspaper and magazine writing behind, opting instead for

books as his main outlet. In the 1980s, he would also abandon nonfiction for novels.

Wolfe is repeatedly referred to as the father or founding father of the New Journalism.

Repeatedly, he has eschewed it.

But though it all, Wolfe served as a staunch--some might say strident--advocate of the

genre he helped create. It' s fair to say, then, that Wolfe was, and remains, the Godfather of the

New Journalism.

Terry Southern

If the other contenders wrote about the '60s, Terry Southern wa~s the '60s.










"Southern seemed to be at Ground Zero of almost everything that was happening" in '60s

popular culture. 1 Who else can lay claim to having his face on the cover of one of the decade' s

seminal albums (Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band), writing the dialog for two of the

decade's most memorable films (Dr. Strangelove and Easy Rider) and getting his byline in one

of the decade's most influential magazines (Esquire)?

Southern stands alone among the contenders in terms of the wide-ranging scope of his

work. Make no mistake, Southemn did some splendid magazine pieces, but his other writing was

all over the map. Nevertheless, he earns a spot among the potential fathers, not only because one

of his Esquire stories has been cited as the first of the genre but also because he has in fact been

called a father of it.

Southern was born May 1, 1924, in tiny Alvarado, Texas, the son of Terrence, the town

druggist, and Helen, a homemaker. His rural childhood was largely unremarkable in literary or

journalistic terms, though he did adopt a habit of "rewriting" Edgar Allen Poe to entertain his

school friends by inserting their names in place of the characters.'12

After graduating from high school in 1941, Southemn briefly attended North Texas

Agricultural School, then transferred to Southemn Methodist University in Dallas. With the dream

of s ome day b ecomi ng a great writer hi m self, he read voraci ou sly--Esquire, for whom he woul d

later make a j oumalistic name for himself, and the Saturday Evening Post, as well as novelists

such as John Steinbeck and F. Scott Fitzgerald. By then, though, World War II was in full swing,







11 Nick Gillespie. "Victim of the Sexual Revolution: Terry Southern's Telling Trip from Hipster to Has-been."
Reason, October 2001.

12 Hill, Lee. 4 Grand Guy: The 4rt and Life of Terry Southern. (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 200 1), 9-18









so Southern enlisted in the Army in March 1943. He would spend the war primarily in England

and Europe, but he spoke little of his experiences. 13

Southern returned to college in 1946 to study English at the University of Chicago, then

transferred to Northwestern University, graduating in 1948. He then opted to attend the Sorbonne

in Paris to study English literature and immersed himself in the local culture. He also joined the

literary crowd and began to dabble in short stories and had some of his work published in the

then-new ParisP~~~~PPPPP~~~~PPPP Review. Soon after he married Pud Gadiot, the couple returned to New York,

specifically Greenwich Village, the hub of the coming Beat movement. 14

During the next three years, Southern would befriend the likes of Jack Kerouac, who by

then had already written On the Road, though it would not be published until 1957, and Beat

poet Allen Ginsberg. Southern, however, remained detached from the Beats, but he did begin to

feel a sense of disgust with the blandness and conformity of post-war American culture. 1 That

feeling would be translated into the publication in 1958 of Southern' s first novel, Fla~sh and

Filigree, a darkly humorous tale set in Southern Califomnia whose central character is a world-

renowned dermatologist. The book gained notice but not necessarily overwhelming praise. A

review in the Sept. 29, 1958, issue of Time magazine noted, "Like the old two-reelers, Fla~sh and

Filigree lacks weight and discipline, but it also has an unfailing sense of the ridiculous,

heightened by deadpan delivery."16

It also would play a big part in Southemn's 1959 novel The Magic Christian, in which the

wealthy hero, Guy Grand, makes a mockery of middle-class life and values.


13 Hill, 16-18.
14 Hill, 53-4.

15 Hill, 56.

1 Mixed Fiction," Time, 29 Sept. 1958.










Southern had returned to Europe in 1956 for another three-year stint as an expatriate.

While living in Geneva, he would write not only Fla~sh and Filigree but also two other novels:

Canzdy, co-authored by pornographer Mason Hoffenberg, a sex-laced satire centered on a high

school girl and her comical adventures; and The Magic Christian. He also would begin to

experiment with writing screenplays for television, a skill he would later translate to film. He

returned to New York in 1960. 1

Southern' s defining New Journalism moment came in 1962, though the idea for it

belonged to David Newman, an associate editor at Esquire and a fan of Southern. Newman had

read a news story about the Dixie National Baton Twirling Institute, which held its classes on the

University of Mississippi campus. He telephoned Southern and asked him to go to Ole Miss and

write a story about it. Southern accepted immediately. "He went down to campus," Newman said

later, "and wrote 'Twirling at Ole Miss,' which is a classic and it is now one of the canonized

pieces of what is now called the New Joumnalism. I

What appeared in the February 1963 issue of Esquire was an ironic first-person account of

Southern' s experience in the heart of the racially divided South just as it was being swept up in

the turbulence of the civil rights movement. The baton-twirling school was almost a backdrop.

Arriving in Oxford then, on a hot midday in July, after the three-hour bus ride from
Memphis, I stepped off in front of the Old Colonial Hotel and meandered across the sleepy
square toward the only sign of life at hand-the proverbial row of shirt-sleeved men sitting
on benches in front of the county courthouse, a sort of permanent jury.

"Howdy," I say, striking an easy stance, smiling friendly-like, "Whar the school?"
The nearest regard me in narrow surmise: they are quick to spot the stranger here, but a bit
slow to cotton. One turns to another.

"What's that he say, Ed?" Big Ed shifts his wad, sluices a long spurt of juice into the dust,
gazes at it reflectively before fixing me again with gun-blue-cold eyes.

17 Hill, 70.

1s Hill, 105.










"Reckon you mean, 'Whar the school at?' don't you, stranger?"19

The official Terry Southemn Web site, created and maintained by the Terry Southern estate,

claims Tom Wolfe believes Southemn invented the New Journalism with "Twirling at Ole Miss,"

though evidence of that Wolfe quote seems to be nonexistent. What Wolfe did write in his 1973

anthology 7lhe New Journalism was that it was "the first example I noticed of a form of

journalism in which the writer starts out to do a feature assignment .. and ends up writing a

curious form of autobiography .. The supposed subject (e.g., baton twirlers) becomes

incidental."20 In fact, what Southemn had created was what later would come to be known as

Gonzo journalism.

With his ability now firmly established, Southemn soon followed "Twirling" with several

more pieces for Esquire, including "Recruiting for the Big Parade" about a CIA recruiter' s

experience rounding up participants for the ill-fated Bay of Pigs invasion, and "The Road out of

Axotle," a short story about the adventures of an American and two Mexicans on a road trip

through the Mexican countryside. About the same time, he began working with director Stanley

Kubrick on "Dr. Strangelove (Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.)" The

film began as an adaptation of the novel Red Alert about an American airbase commander who

goes mad and sends a fleet of B-52s to nuke the Soviet Union. With Southern's input, what

emerged instead was a farcical satire of military culture that included a slapstick pie Eight and

ended with the now-memorable image of Slim Pickens straddling a nuclear bomb cowboy-

style as it falls from a Stratofortress.21



19 Terry Southern. "Twirling at Ole Miss." Red-Dirt~arifuana and Other Tastes. (New York: Carol Publishing
Group, 1990).145-6.
20 Wolfe, 184

21 Hill, 106, 116.










His next big-screen splash came in 1969 with the release of Easy Rider, which starred

Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper and chronicled two long-haired, chopper-riding bikers as they

cross the Southern United States and encounter a collection of unusual characters. Its j arring end,

in which Fonda and Hopper are shotgunned by two rednecks, was Southern's idea, and the fi1m

came to be viewed as a symbol of the disillusionment and apocalyptic events that marked the

late-'60s.

But Southern wasn't quite finished with magazine work. His last foray into the New

Journalism and his swan song for Esquire came just as filming for Easy Rider was getting under

way: Esquire assigned him to cover the Democratic convention in Chicago.22 Accompanied by

Esquire writers John Sack and John Berendt, who would later write the best-seller "Midnight in

the Garden of Good and Evil," French novelist Jean Genet and Beat-generation writer William

Burroughs, Southern waded into the Windy City. Southern's story, "Grooving in Chi," was the

result of the team not only observing the world-shocking melee that ensued but also j oining the

anti-war protesters.23

The last two decades of Southern' s life went by with barely a public peep from him. Some

say he was trapped in the hipster persona he created for himself in the '60s, that he was unable to

change with the times. Others say he simply peaked too soon. Writing in the ParisP~~~~PPPPP~~~~PPPP Review after

Southern's death, Henry Allen said, "Maybe the silence of his last twenty years meant he was

ahead of his time. And as any hipster knows, when you're ahead of your time, you become your

own hardest act to follow.24



22Hill, 176.

23Carol Polsgrove. It Wasn 't Pretty, Folks, But Didn 't We Have Fun? Esquire in the Sixties. (New York: W.W.
Norton, 1995), 183-9.

24Henry Allen. "Terry Southern, An Appreciation." Paris Review, Spring 1996, 198.










Southern's obituary in the Oct. 31, 1995, New York Times lays out his life and career

largely in terms of how he influenced the '60s, but interestingly makes no mention whatsoever of

"Twirling at Ole Miss."25

Since he had already died by the time his estate claimed he was the father of the New

Journalism, he never had the chance to accept or deny the honor. Given his level of hipness, it

may be most fitting to call Southemn the Father of the Sixties.

Gay Talese

By the time Wolfe was knocked off of his feet by Talese' s 1962 Joe Louis piece, Talese

had been turning out stellar copy for a decade.

Gaetano Talese was bomn Feb. 7, 1932, in Ocean City, N.J., an island just south of Atlantic

City. His father, Joseph, immigrated to the United States from Italy in 1922 and was a tailor--

hence the younger Talese's lifelong reputation as a sharp-dressed man. His mother, Catherine,

was a buyer for a department store. Early on, Gay Talese felt like an outsider and with good

reason: Not only was he from an immigrant family, he was an Italian Catholic living on an island

populated primarily by Protestants, and he attended a school dominated by Irish Catholics.26

That circumstance played a big role in establishing his journalistic interest in losers rather than

winners.

Like so many of his j oumalism contemporaries, Talese became interested in sports,

particularly baseball. His first foray into j ournalism happened during a high school baseball

game. Talese's assistant coach asked him to call the newspaper, the Ocean City Sentinel-Ledger,

with the game highlights. Talese turned the opportunity into a two-year stint as a sports writer

and then reporter and columnist.27



25Pace, Eric. "Terry Southern, Screenwriter, Is Dead at 71." The New York Times, Oct. 31, 1995.

26Barbara Lounsberry. "Portrait of a (Nonfiction) Artist." Gay Talese Biography. 1998. Random House.
27Lounsberry.









Talese attended the University of Alabama, which as a New Jersey Italian must surely have

reinforced his outsider perspective. He worked for the student newspaper, The Crintson-White,

throughout his four years at Alabama, the last two as sports editor. Talese graduated in 1953 with

a bachelor' s degree in journalism and promptly got a job as a copyboy at The New York Times.

Although the job involved no writing, Talese managed to slip stories to editors and gain their

favor. 28

Having been in Army ROTC at Alabama and graduating as second lieutenant, Talese was

called up for two years of active duty in 1954. After writing for the base paper at Fort Knox, he

returned to the Times and finally launched his professional writing career on the sports desk.

Like Wolfe, Talese soon felt limited by the tight restrictions of routine daily j ournalism, which

became even more pronounced when he was promoted to cover New York state politics in the

Times 'capitol bureau in Albany. In February 1960, he contacted Esquire editor Harold Hayes

and began freelancing for the magazine.29

His first Esquire piece, "New York," an unconventional look at the unnoticed things

behind the facade of daily living in the Big Apple, received plenty of notice and acclaim. It

began, now famously:

New York is a city of things unnoticed. It is a city with cats sleeping under parked cars,
two stone armadillos crawling up St. Patrick's Cathedral, and thousands of ants creeping on
top of the Empire State Building. The ants probably were carried there by winds or birds,
but nobody is sure; nobody in New York knows any more about the ants than they do
about the panhandler who takes taxis to the Bowery; or the dapper man who picks trash out
of Sixth Avenue trash cans; or the medium in the West Seventies who claims, "I'm
clairvoyant, clairaudient and clairsensuous.30



28Lounsberry.

29 Weingarten, 62.

"0 Gay Talese. New York: 4 Serendipiter 's Journey. (New York: Harper & Row, 1961), 2.










"New York" not only led to the publication of his first book the following year, "New

York--A Serendipter' s Journey," it also established him as a maj or player at Esquire, giving him

the freewheeling outlet he was looking for.31 But Talese' s most direct connection in the lineage

of New Journalists was the Joe Louis piece that had so wowed Wolfe. Boxing was Talese's forte

"because it was a metaphor for just about everything--personal redemption, race, celebrity, and

especially the trying art of losing.32 The Louis piece was especially notable because it employed

not only the use of dialog but also because it created the illusion that the reader was inside the

character' s head. This is the passage that stopped Wolfe in his tracks:

'"Hi, sweetheart!" Joe Louis called to his wife, spotting her waiting for him at the Los
Angeles airport.

She smiled, walked toward him, and was about to stretch up on her toes and kiss him -
but suddenly stopped.

'"Joe," she said, "where's your tie?"

'"Aw, sweetie," he said, shrugging, "I stayed out all night in New York and didn't have
time--"

'"All night!" she cut in. "When you're out here, all you do is sleep, sleep, sleep."

'"Sweetie," Joe Louis said, with a tired grin, "I'm an ole man."

'"Yes," she agreed, "but when you go to New York you try to be young again."33

Talese left The New York Times in 1965 to write for Esquire, where he would continue to

expand his New Journalism repertoire. During that period, he would do some of his most

memorable work, concentrating on subj ects whose stars were fading. "Frank Sinatra Has a

Cold," which ran in April 1966, was the account of Talese' s efforts to get close enough to Ol'


31 Weingarten, 63.

32Weingarten, 61.

33Gay Talese. "Joe Louis: The King as a Middle-Aged Man." In The New Journalism, Tom Wolfe, E.W. Johnson,
eds. (London: Picador, 1973), 23.










Blue Eyes to write a story about him but not having much luck. In July 1966, "Silent Season of a

Hero," captured Joe DiMaggio as he made his peace with the downhill side of his glory days.34

After publishing "The Kingdom and the Power," an insider's look at The New York Times,

in 1969, Talese was firmly in the book camp. Newspapers and magazines no longer were

adequate for his burgeoning work.

As for being the father of the New Journalism, as many have tagged him (including Tom

Wolfe) Talese not only denies it, he denies being a New Journalist at all. In a 2004 interview

with MediaBistro.com, he said, "I'm often given credit for 'starting' the New Journalism ..

and, while I was kind of flattered that people were, for the first time, starting to take notice of

what I was doing, I have always kind of thought of myself as rather traditional in my approach

and not so 'new.'"35

In a 2003 interview with The Boston Globe, Talese was considerably more succinct. "Nor

does he subscribe to the widespread notion that he, along with Tom Wolfe and Hunter S.

Thompson, was one of the godfathers of New Journalism. "What the [expletive] did I do that was

new?" he asks.36

Who' s arguing? Instead, call him the Father of Unnoticed Detail Journalism.

Norman Mailer

Unlike Wolfe, Mailer started as a novelist before trying his hand as a journalist. That may

well have given him the background to write the piece many say was the premier example of the

New Journalism when it appeared in Esquire in 1960.




34Lounsberry.

35David S. Hirsclunan. "So What Do You Do, Gay Talese?" Mediabistro.com, 27 April 2004.

36 Don Aucoin. "Getting a Read on Gay Talese." 6 Dec. 2003. The Boston Globe.










Born Jan. 31, 1923, in Long Branch, N.J., and raised in Brooklyn, Mailer was the son of

Jewish immigrants: his mother, Fan, from Russia, his father, Barney, also from Russia but by

way of South Africa. As a child, Norman was an avid reader of science fiction and wrote his own

first "novel," The Invasion of Mars, at age 7. He began attending Harvard in September 1939,

the same month the Nazis invaded Poland and World War II began. Though his maj or was

aeronautical engineering, he took an interest in a freshman English class that sparked his real

yearning to become a writer. His favorites included Hemingway and Steinbeck. At the end of the

year, he wrote a short story for his English instructor and received an A+.37

Emboldened by his success, Mailer delved further into writing and j oined the board of the

Advocate, Harvard's literary magazine. After graduating in 1943, Mailer spent nine months

waiting to be drafted, during which time he wrote a 700-page novel, A Transit to Narcissus,

based on his experiences working at a mental institution while he was in college. The novel was

published only much later, in 1978, as a collectible. Also in 1944, Mailer married Bea, the first

of what ultimately would be his six wives, and Mailer Einally was drafted into the Army. Though

college graduates typically went in as officers, Mailer instead enlisted as a private, a move he

claimed was motivated by his desire to see combat.38

Mailer' s unit was sent to the Pacifie, specifically the Philippines, but even as a rifleman,

Mailer saw little action. When the war finally was over, Mailer was sent to Japan as part of the

American occupation force and served as a cook. He was discharged in May 1946 and upon

returning home began work almost immediately on what would become his first published and

most famous novel.39


37Mary V. Dearbomn. Mailer, 4 Biography. (New York: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1999), 11-26.

38Dearbomn, 27-39.

39 Dearbomn, 45.










Published in 1948, The Naked and the Dead was an instant sensation. Its subj ect was a

combat reconnaissance platoon in the South Pacific, the psyches of its members and the

interaction among the men and their superior officers. It also examines what Mailer viewed as

the corrupted mindset of the upper-echelon commanders and the overall futility of war. The book

was welcomed with rave reviews, though some were more reserved than others. In his review in

The New York Times, David Dempsey writes that Naked was "not a great book, but indistbutably

it bears witness to a new and significant talent among American writers.40

While Mailer was waiting for the release of The Naked and the Dead, he and Bea moved to

Paris and enrolled at the Sorbonne. Like Southern, Mailer j oined the literary set, but the Mailers'

stay was relatively brief and they returned to New York in summer 1948. His next two novels,

Barbary Matl~ Ie, published in 1951, and The Deer ParkP~~~~PPPPP~~~~PPPP 1957, were far less successful than The

Naked and the Dead and were both panned by the critics. Humility, however, was not Mailer' s

natural fall-back position. His answer came in 1959 with the publication of Advertisentents for

Myself, a collection of some of his earlier work such as excerpts from novels and political essays

interspersed by running autobiographical commentary and insights as well as his views of his

literary contemporaries, which accomplished considerable feather ruffling among those who fall

under his crosshairs. Nevertheless, Advertisentents was an inspired breakthrough and gave

Mailer' s career a much-needed boost. 41

It also served as the stepping stone to the next phase of his life; Advertisentents caught the

eye of editors at Esquire magazine, which had recently undergone a transformation from pin-up

mag to a sophisticated guide for living for the 1950s version of the male Yuppie. Editor Harold



"0 Dearbomn, 63.

41 Dearbomn, 145-7.










Hayes bought first serial rights to Advertisements, and excerpts appeared in the magazine's

November 1959 issue.42

Inventing the New Journalism was the last thing Mailer had in mind when Esquire editor

Clay Felker hit him with the idea of covering the 1960 Democratic convention in Los Angeles.

Felker had read Advertisements but found it to be "long-winded and self-indulgent."43 Yet he

recognized Mailer' s enormous potential and remembered it when the two ran into each other in

at a swanky New York restaurant, the Five Spot. Mailer and his second wife, Adele, had a

boisterous argument that prompted Adele to storm out. Felker filled in the awkward silence by

asking Mailer if he had ever considered political writing. The two quickly came to an agreement

on Mailer covering the convention.44

Felker traveled to Los Angeles with Mailer to help him make connections among the

Hollywood set, but Mailer had enough name recognition to stand on his own. Though Mailer had

no real idea how he would approach the story when he arrived, he spotted the focus right away

when the Kennedy motorcade arrived at the Biltmore.

"One saw him immediately. He had the deep orange-brown suntan of a ski instr-uctor, and
when he smiled at the crowd his teeth were amazingly white and clearly visible at a
distance of fifty yards. For one moment he saluted Pershing Square, and Pershing Square
saluted him back, the prince and the beggars of glamour staring at one another across a city
street, one of those very special moments in the underground history of the world, and then
with a quick move he was out of his car and by choice headed into the crowd instead of the
lane cleared for him into the hotel by the police, so that he made his way inside surrounded
by a mob, and one expected at any moment to see him lifted to its shoulders like a matador
being carried back to the city after a triumph in the plaza."45


42 Dearbomn, 149.

43Weingarten, 53.
44Dearbomn, 149.

45 Norman Mailer. "Superman Comes to the Supermarket." Esquire, October 1960. In Jay Rosen. "Once There Was
a New Joumnalism: Here's Norman Mailer Covering the 1960 Democratic Convention." PressThink. 21 July 2004.
New York University.










"Superman Comes to the Supermarket" appeared in the October 1960 issue of Esquire, just

before the November elections, and took the journalism world by storm. Pete Hamill, who at the

time was a reporter for the New York Post, said the effect in the Post 's city room was

phenomenal. "All the young guys were going, 'Holy shit, what the hell is this?' He just took the

form and exploded it, and showed writers that there were other possibilities."'46 Later, journalist

Jack Newfield called Superman" "the single greatest piece of magazine j ournalism I've ever

read .. It was the first piece that caught the Hollywood domination of politics, the influence of

marketing and public relations on politics. That piece blew my mind. It was like the first time I

heard Bob Dylan and Charlie Parker. It opened a whole new room in my imagination of what

journalism could be."47

What also stood out about "Superman" was the prominent treatment Mailer gave to

Kennedy's personality, something that j journalists up to that point had, by and large, avoided. He

also inserted himself into the story--again, something that previously had been strictly forbidden

in straight-laced j ournalism. Mailer, never one to underestimate his own importance, later saw

something beyond the story's effect on j ournalism; in his opinion, "Superman" had gotten

Kennedy elected.48

While the credit for that more likely goes to Kennedy and his charisma, style, youth and

good looks, Mailer certainly deserves credit for being astute enough to pick up on the

significance of those qualities. Hayes wrote in his introduction to Smiling Through the

Apocalypse: Esquire 's History of the Sixties," that the '60s began, at least for politicians and

journalists, when Nixon' s face registered defeat during his televised 1960 debate with

46 Weingarten, 56.

47Eve Berliner. "Jack Newfield: Journalist of Sacred Rage." Eve 's Magazine. 2000.

48Dearborn, 153.










Kennedy.49 American Review editor Theodore Solotaroff wrote in 1969 that the decade actually

began with the 1960 Democratic convention, "which as Norman Mailer foresaw in his essay '

Superman Comes to the Supermarket' marked the changing of the generations .. "5o

The magazine' s treatment of Superman did not quite jibe with Mailer' s vision of what it

should be, though. Esquire co-founder Arnold Gingrich called it "just smearing anything on the

page that comes into [Mailer's] head" and removed any reference to the story from the

magazine's cover. Gingrich also changed the title at the last minute to "Superman Comes to the

Supermart," which so enraged Mailer that he wrote a scathing letter to the editor of Esquire

about it and did not write for the magazine again for two years.5

When he did return, it was to write a regular column, 12 in all, that ran the gamut in terms

of topics. Mailer became an Esquire fixture that Hayes realized was helping circulation along

nicely. Though he would continue his magazine writing for many years to come, his biggest

impact was in books. After publishing the novel Why Are We in Vietnamn? in 1967, he was

invited to participate in an anti-war march on the Pentagon that would lead to his arrest. More

important, though, the march became the material for "The Steps of the Pentagon," which ran in

the March 1968 issue of Harper 's. That piece, along with "The Battle of the Pentagon,"

published in the April 1968 issue of Commentary, were published together in book form under

the title The Armies of the Night. For Armies, Mailer received both the Pulitzer Prize for

nonfiction and the National Book Award in 1969.52



49 Ronald Weber. The Reporter as Artist: A Look at the New Journalism Controversy. (New York: Hastings House,
1974), 154.
5o Weber, 161.

51Polsgrove, 46.
52 Weingarten, 189-98.










Not surprisingly, Mailer, like Wolfe and Talese, denied playing any part in pioneering the

New Journalism. In fact, Mailer pointed out in his 1976 collection "Some Honorable Men:

Political Conventions," that he actually seemed to be receiving more notice as a New Journalist

than he ever did as a novelist. "That is an irony that tempts me to spit to the wind: I never

worked as a journalist and never liked the profession."53

Mailer had a point: Even today, more than 30 years later, his entry in the Encyclopedia

Britannica begins, "American novelist and journalist, best known for using a form of

j ournalism--called New Journalism--that combines the imaginative subj activity of literature

with the more obj ective qualities of journalism." 54

New Journalist or not, Mailer could easily be recognized as the Father of Modern Political

Campaign Coverage.

























53 NOrman Mailer. Some Honorable Men: Political Conventions, 1960-1972. Boston: Little, Brown, 1976.

54 "Mailer, Norman." Encyclopedia Britannica. 2007. Encyclopedia Britannica Online. 19 June 2007
.









CHAPTER 3
AND THE WINNER IS ..

While many have been tempted over the years to give a writer credit for being the father of

the New Journalism, a good case can be made that Clay Felker was the first to have the vision of

what j ournalism needed to become in order to chronicle the blindingly fast cultural and societal

changes that the 1960s would embody.

Felker was the lynchpin, the keystone, the one man who was in the right place at the right

time to bring all the elements and talent and players to the table and lay out the feast. The

Chinese may have invented the rocket and Neil Armstrong may have been the first man to walk

on the moon, but it was John F. Kennedy who seized the perfect moment, giving an entire nation

the tools and the inspiration to tackle the New Frontier and put him there.

Likewise for Felker and the New Journalism.

Born October 2, 1925, in Webster Groves, Mo., Felker came by his interest in journalism

naturally. His father was managing editor of The Sporting News, a weekly newspaper, and editor

of the monthly trade publication Sporting Goods Dealer. Felker' s mother was a women' s editor.

At the age of 8, Felker started his own neighborhood newspaper, which he described as "the

publishing equivalent of a lemonade stand."l

Felker entered Duke University in 1942, before graduating from high school, and

worked at the student newspaper, The Chronicle. He quickly earned a reputation as an

editor who could bring out the best in his writers. In one famous instance, he caj oled Peter Maas,

an investigative reporter who later went on to fame penning books such as Serpico, to go to Duke

Hospital and get an interview with auto workers union president Walter Reuther, who had been



1Robert J. Bliwise. "The Master of New York, Clay Felker." Duke Magazine, Duke University. 10 June 2007.
hop u\ \\ dukemagazine.duke.edu/alumni/dm6/master~tthm










shot in what appeared to be a gang-style hit. Other reporters were having no luck getting in to see

Reuther, but Felker exhorted Maas to get the interview anyway. Maas did, slipping into the

hospital by posing as a student.2

The following year, Felker' s college education was interrupted by a three-year stint in the

Navy, where he worked for a Navy newspaper, Blue Jacket. He returned to Duke and the

Chronicle afterward.3

It was during that brief interlude--one fall semester as the Chronicle 's editor--that

lightning struck.

Felker was standing in the Duke library perusing historic materials in search of models to

follow at the Chronicle. He was thumbing through some bound Civil War-era issues of the New

York Herald-Tribune when the whole idea washed over him.

"'I spent the whole afternoon reading these things; I didn't even realize where the time
went because they were so gripping,' said Felker. 'They were written in a narrative
structure. And I realized that they were so much more interesting than the newspaper
stories I had grown up reading.' The stories, with their vivid descriptions of life in the
trenches, changed Felker irrevocably. American j ournalism had to move in this direction;
reporters should be meticulous and exacting when describing events, have a novelist' s flair
for language, and enliven their stories with headlong momentum."4


In a 1995 interview with The New York Times, Felker expanded on that a-ha moment:

"And I discovered that the writing was as fresh and as dramatic as anything being written
and I said, how come I don't read daily newspapers with the same fascination as I'd read
this stuff! The reason was that although these were written by basically more or less
uneducated people--they didn't have the broad education that most j ournalists do now-
they were using all of the classical literary techniques of storytelling, narrative flow. And
so I said, hey, there's another way to write, and I began looking for writers who could write




2 Bliwise.

3 Bliwise


4 Weingarten, 46.










that way. I said, we are going to express our opinion. It's got to be fair and accurate, but it
has to be based on a lot of reporting put together in this dramatic form.

The die was cast, but Felker had some other dues to pay before he would be in a position to

turn his vision into reality. After graduating from Duke in 1951, he landed a job as a sportswriter

for Life magazine. Once again, he beat the New Journalism writers at their own game, and by a

long margin. A full 15 years before Talese wrote "The Silent Season of a Hero," his famous

portrait of past-his-prime New York Yankees icon Joe DiMaggio, Felker got his hands on a

secret Brooklyn Dodgers scouting report that contained a line pointing out that DiMaggio's

throwing arm was history. "Well, DiMaggio is a very proud man" Felker recalled later. "And

although he had a very good series, he quit baseball after that. And the Yankees never forgave

me: They accused me of causing DiMaggio to quit baseball."6

That remarkable knack for recognizing significance in the seemingly unimportant would

serve Felker well throughout his career. It was a trait he would share with Wolfe and also made

him particularly well suited for the New Journalism. New York Herald-Tribune editor Shelly

Zelanick, whom Felker would later succeed as editor of the paper' s Sunday supplement, New

York, once said that his coolness radar could pick up on the next big thing "whether it was that

the neckline of women' s dresses would soon be descending to the nipple, or that pro football was

soon to replace church on Sunday."'

Restless and temperamental with a razor' s-edge mind and a probing curiosity about wildly

disparate subj ects, Felker possessed another trait that would make him uniquely tailored for the


5 Deirdre Carmody. "Conversations / Clay Felker: He Created Magazines by Marrying New Journalism to
Consumerism." 9 April 1995. The New York Times. 10 June 2007.
http://select.nytimes.com/search/restrictdaicersF01835C7CDA89D4D1
6 Bliwise.

SRichard Kluger. The Paper: The Life and Death of the New York Herald Tribune. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf,
1986), 681.










status-sensitive world of New Journalism: an appreciation for the finer things in life. Living in a

duplex on New York's East Side, Felker also owned the de rigueur summer home in the

Hamptons and an antique silver collection.8 After launching New West, a magazine venture in

the mid-1970s, Felker was criticized for allowing his executive staff to do its work about town in

leased Alfa Romeos, paid for through magazine expense accounts.9

When they met years later in the offices of New York, Wolfe must surely have felt he found

a kindred spirit in Felker in terms of eruditeness and sophistication. A bon vivant of top-drawer

quality, Felker was known as a world traveler and a hail fellow well met. He could stroll down a

Paris avenue and have no compunction about stopping at a sidewalk cafe, introducing himself to

French intellectual Simone de Beauvoir and asking her to write a story for Esquire about Brigitte

Bardot. 10

The Paternity Ward: Esquire

Felker helped launch Sports Illustrated in 1954, then moved on to become Life 's political

correspondent in Washington, until 1957. That's when the chance to finally realize the vision

that first gripped him in the Duke library finally arrived. Felker was hired as features editor at

Esquire, where he would work for the next five years. Esquire would prove to be what Bliwise

described as "an inviting laboratory to put into practice the Greeley-inspired notion of reporting.

Its pages saw some of the earliest expressions of the New Journalism, which applied, Felker

says, 'the standard literature techniques rather than the standard newspaper techniques--

narrative structure, scene-setting and characterization, dialogue."'""


SKluger, 704.
9 Weingarten, 283.

10 Polsgrove, 32-3.
11 Bliwise.










At Esquire, Felker would gain a somewhat ill-fitting partner, Harold Hayes, though the

two had crossed paths earlier without Felker knowing it. A North Carolina native and World War

II Navy veteran, Hayes was a graduate of Wake Forest University, where he worked on the

student magazine, appropriately named The Student. At a conference he attended in Raleigh,

N.C., Hayes was impressed by an editor at Duke University student newspaper who had

organized the conference. The organizer was none other than Felker. 12

After returning to the service in 1950 for a two-year stint during the Korean War--this

time, he served with the Marines--Hayes went into magazines, first as an assistant editor at

Pageant, then at Tempo, where he helped create a new magazine, Picture Week. He finally

landed at Esquire in 1956. 13

While Felker was the embodiment of style, Hayes was cut from more traditional newsman

cloth. Felker spent his younger years working in Life's Washington bureau hobnobbing with the

Kennedys. Hayes came up through the journalism ranks in more customary fashion, battling

deadlines at United Press covering state politics. Ralph Ginzburg, who shared editorial duties

with Felker at Esquire, recognized the stark difference in the two men; Hayes was a competent

and diligent worker but not exactly a stellar intellect, while Felker was the more polished one

who was headed for big things. During a heated argument during a story meeting in 1958, Felker

put a fine point on the difference when he shouted at Hayes, "The trouble with you is, you just

don't know."14

Hayes knew he didn't know. To make up for his shortcomings, he enrolled in 1958 in a

yearlong Neiman Fellowship at Harvard. In his absence, Felker' s stock began to appreciate

12 Polsgrove, 28.

13 Polsgrove, 29.

14 Polsgrove, 37.










rapidly. One story he assigned, a profile of Sammy Davis Jr., came later to be recognized as one

of the first precursors of the New Journalism. The writer, Thomas B. Morgan, stuck to Davis for

10 days and turned out "What Makes Sammy Davis Jr. Run?" a lively piece with a fiction-like

feel, complete with generous use of detail and plenty of dialog. Morgan, again with Felker' s

guidance, then did a similar story on television personality David Susskind. 1

Clearly, Felker' s talent for coming up with good ideas, finding the right writers to execute

them and then massaging the writing into print-ready form was finally coming into full bloom.

He had found in Esquire a home for his own talents, and in turn he was able to nurture the talents

of the writers who came under his wing.

Many years later, Tom Wolfe would describe Felker' s editing style this way: "The

difference was Felker' s vision of The City and his insistence on in-depth reporting--'saturation

reporting,' I called it. The reporting Felker demanded became one of the great breeding grounds

for the New Journalism, as Pete Hamill called it, the use of the devices of the novel and the short

story while observing j ournalism' s rules of accuracy." 16

What may be the best example of that editing gift came in 1960, when Felker hit on an idea

that would lead to a story many have described as the first genuine piece of New Journalism:

assigning Mailer to cover the Democratic convention in Los Angeles. Felker saw in Mailer the

potential to bring a fresh eye to the changing political scene, and over Hayes' obj sections, he gave

the job to Mailer. Although he was primarily a novelist, Mailer accepted the challenge. Upon

arriving in L.A., Mailer quickly singled out a young, charismatic senator from Massachusetts

named John Kennedy as not only the star but also the rising new face of American politics. The


1s Polsgrove, 41.

16 Tom Wolfe. "City of Clay." May 2005. California Magazine. University of California-Berkeley. 10 June 2007.











piece, "Superman Comes to the Supermart," was "a new hybrid--think piece, personality profile,

and polemic. It was unmistakably journalism, but a newspaper editor would be hard-pressed to

place it. 1

The piece, however, almost did not make it into print. While Felker though it was great,

Hayes and Gingrich hated it, especially Gingrich, who called it "the worst piece of dreck he had

ever read." With 16 pages already reserved for the story, the battle among the three raged for

days until, just three hours before the magazine had to be sent to the printer, Felker finally won. I

Journalists around the country were bowled over. Although he did not consider it "new" in

the sense of New Journalism, renowned j ournalist Jack Newfield, a college student when

Mailer' s story was published, wrote later that "blew my mind. It also blew Pete Hamill's and

Jimmy Breslin's. Mailer opened a door with that piece. 19

Despite the professional recognition from others and the fact that he had conceived it,

Felker was not to find his efforts rewarded at Esquire. In fall 1961, Gingrich named Hayes

managing editor. Felker soon realized it was time to move on, though he would stay on at

Esquire for several more months before finally making the break--or having it made for him-

on Oct. 1, 1962. He would spend about a year as a consultant at Infiniti magazine and dabbling

in other proj ects before happening upon his next leap.20

The New York Herald Tribune Years

In a fine example of serendipity, the closing of the door at Esquire coincided perfectly with

the opening of a window at the New York Herald Tribune. Once a giant in the j ournalism world


'7 Weingarten, 55.

's Weingarten, 56.

19 Weber, 301.

20 Weingarten, 67.









tracing its roots back to the New York Tribune of the mid-1800s and editor Horace Greeley, the

Herald Tribune had become a perpetual small dog nipping at the heels of the big-dog New York

Times. Though its alumni included the likes of Homer Bigart, Red Smith and Walter Lippmann,

the Herald Tribune was performing badly in the financial arena. As a result, the paper was in the

midst of a makeover in fall 1963 when editor Jim Bellows hired Felker as a consultant to help

with the re-birth. Felker subsequently was put in charge of the paper' s newly revamped Sunday

supplement, New York. The position had been recently vacated by Sheldon Zalaznick, who had

been named editor of the entire Sunday Herald Tribune.21

Felker believed New York, a city he had come to love, was a place where only people at

the top of their games--a category in which he clearly placed himself-could survive. He also

was drawn to such people, which is likely why he and Tom Wolfe got on so well. Felker had

inherited a stunning pair of relatively new young writers who already were getting noticed:

Wolfe and Jimmy Breslin, each of whom was to produce one piece a week for New York. 22

Until then, Wolfe had been a daily reporter for the Herald Tribune. Now, Felker would

give him the chance to spread his literary wings in what can only properly be described as a

"j ournalistic marriage made in heaven."23

Or as Chet Flippo put it:

"It was there that Wolfe and Jimmy Breslin and Pete Hamill and others were encouraged to
try new avenues in journalism .. The Trib's ad campaign was, "Who says a good
newspaper has to be dull?" and Felker let his writers take the bit and run. They were
encouraged to go beyond the "obj ective" j ournalism that ruled daily newspapers, and the





21 Kluger, 680.

22 Kluger, 703-4.

23 McKeen, 23.










result was crisp, alive writing that, more than anything else, made its subj ects personal the
way fiction did."24

The first example of Felker' s influence on Wolfe appeared in the Dec. 6, 1964, issue of

New York, "Girl of the Year." Ostensibly, it was a profile of "Baby Jane" Holzer, then 24, the

latest of the young, attractive, well-to-do women the fashion press singled out each year to lavish

with attention. Wolfe tackled the proj ect by creating a technique that would become a hallmark

of the New Journalism: "The full obj ective description, plus something that readers had always

had to go to novels and short stories for: namely, the obj ective or emotional life of the

characters.25

The story opened:

Bangs manes bouffants beehive Beatle caps butter faces brush-on lashes decal eyes puffy
sweaters French thrust bras flailing leather blue j eans stretch pants stretch j eans honey dew
bottoms eclair shanks elf boots ballerinas Knight slippers, hundreds of them these flaming
little buds, bobbing and screaming, rocketing around inside the Academy of Music Theater
underneath that vast old moudlering cherub some up there--aren't they super-marvelous!

"Aren't they super-marvelous!" says Baby Jane, and then: "Hi, Isabel! You want to sit
back stage--with the Stones?"26

Under Felker' s influence, New York soared. Its reputation, as well as that of the Herald-

Tribune, improved dramatically, and increased advertising in New York reflected that. The

driving force behind the magazine's growing stature was Felker. His wide-ranging selections of

writers and subj ect matter, combined with his natural curiosity and constant mission of looking

for new story ideas, pushed New York into the top echelon of cultural and intellectual mainstays.

As Richard Kluger put it in "The Paper," Felker "must be counted on the short roster of inspired



24Chet Flippo. "The Rolling Stone Interview: Tom Wolfe." In Conversations with Tom Wolfe, ed. Dorothy M.
Scura, 129-57. Jackson, Miss.: University Press of Mississippi, 1990.

25Kluger, 705.
26 Kluger, 705.










editors of the Tribune because he helped reshape New York j ournalism and redefined what was

news. 2

Wolfe's and Felker' s run-ins with Tlhe New Yorker may have helped enflame a running

battle over the validity of the New Journalism, but they also served the purpose of further raising

the magazine' s profile. By 1966, John Tebbel wrote in a Saturday Review piece on the growth of

Sunday newspaper supplements, "Far in the lead is the New York Herald Tribune 's New York

magazine, whose editor, Clay Felker, is turning out a brilliant, sophisticated product that has

broken new ground."28

But New York' s heyday, at least as part of the Herald-Tribune, was to be short-lived. The

paper' s fiscal shakiness finally caught up with it. On March 21, 1966, management announced

that the Herald-Tribune would merge with the Journal-American and the World-Telegram & Sun

to form the World-Journal-Tribune. Eight months later, that, too, sank.29

The Herald-Tribune 's hefty contributions to the New Journalism would not go unnoticed.

In a 1970 piece titled "The Newspaper as Literature/Literature as Leadership," Seymour Krim, a

noted essayist with solid roots as a member of the World War II literary generation, wrote a well-

earned epitaph for the paper. He praised it as the first mainstream newspaper to embrace the New

Journalism and took particular note of Wolfe and Breslin--Felker' s wunderkinds.30

Felker, however, was far from finished. Having dreamt for years of running his own

freestanding magazine, Felker bought the name of the magazine from former World-Journal-




27Kluger, 704.

28Kluger, 708.
29 Kluger, 730-6.

30Kluger, 727.










Tribune president Matt Meyer, in late 1967. The new New York debuted in early 1968, with

Felker, Breslin, Wolfe, Steinem and a host of others on board for the maiden voyage.31

Felker would run New York until 1977, when Australian publishing giant Rupert Murdoch

wrested control of it from him. Murdoch, well practiced in the art of the deal, had outwitted

Felker by going behind his back, negotiating directly with the shareholders and gaining

ownership of the company. Felker scrambled to save the magazine but to no avail. At a court

hearing where the final details would be ironed out, Felker sat with Murdoch and watched his

baby slip away. "It was an unhappy meeting," Felker said, "to sit there with a former friend, to

have to negotiate the end of one's dream."32





























31 Weingarten, 201-2.

32"The Battle of New York." Time, 17 Jan., 1977. Time, Inc. June 20, 2007.
Imp un \\ time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,9189,0hm









CHAPTER 4
CONCLUSIONS

So why not Hayes? After all, he emerged victorious in the battle for supreme rule over

Esquire and remained there long after Felker. The difference lies in timing and approach.

By all accounts, Hayes was an editor of extraordinary ability who cared deeply about

maintaining high j ournalistic standards and ensuring Esquire kept its readers on the edge of their

seats each month. He continually urged his staff to turn new soil and seek out unexpected

approaches to issues, and he later would play a distinct and vital role at Esquire when it came to

the New Journalism style of writing, Talese being one of the chief beneficiaries of his editing

(incidentally, Hayes was one of those who denied any such writing style even existed.) But

Hayes didn't always have the same kind of long-range vision as Felker when it came to

individual story ideas and tended to be slower on the uptake when it came to seeing the potential

in his writers.

For instance, had it been up to Hayes, Mailer's "Superman Comes to the Supermarket"

might never have been written. Felker made it happen over Hayes' obj sections. In another

example, Wolfe's "Streamline Baby" made it into Esquire only because editor Byron Dobell

persuaded Hayes to let Wolfe have a crack at it. And when John Sack wrote to Hayes in 1965

with the idea of getting at the real story behind what was going on in Vietnam by following a

group of soldiers on their way there, Hayes' response likely was not what Sack hope for: "Dear

John, Jesus Christ, how much would all this cost?"2 Sack' s coverage, of course, proved to be

nothing less than phenomenal.




Polsgrove, 86.
2 Polsgrove, 148.









Unlike Felker, Hayes had a personality that became an obstacle when it came to dealing

with temperamental writers. Although he understood the importance of keeping good writers on

board and making Esquire an unconventional and groundbreaking force in American j ournalism,

he could not bring himself to indulge the quirks and demands of the talent that would be required

to make that happen. He prompted the departure of writer Tom Morgan after a dispute over how

much Morgan thought he should be paid for his work. Morgan wanted $1,500 per piece; Hayes

countered with $1,450 and refused to budge. He lost Mailer over a disagreement over the title of

a story on the 1964 Republican national convention. Hayes assigned and approved a piece on

James Baldwin in 1964 that was so unflattering, as was the accompanying photo, that it would be

years before Baldwin would write for Esquire again.3

Gloria Steinem, who worked with both Hayes and Felker at Esquire, said Hayes seemed

authoritarian and expected writers to prove his ideas, while Felker would take a writer' s idea and

"make it grow."4 Breslin took full advantage of Felker' s willingness to go above and beyond the

call of duty to accommodate his writers. Well known as a prima donna, Breslin would call

Felker at any hour after filing a column and expect immediate attention. Felker dropped

whatever he was doing and gave it. "I knew goddamned well I couldn't trust him to leave the

piece," Felker said. "For a daily j ournalist, he took himself very seriously and needed that daily

feedback."'

As for the issue of timing, simply put, it was Felker who was directly guiding the most

gifted writers at that critical time in the very early 1960s when the New Journalism was

emerging. In a 1972 article for The Bulletin of the American Society of Newspaper Editors,

3 Polsgrove, 115-19.

4 Polsgrove, 57.

SKluger, 729.










Lester Markel described Felker as "patron saint and one of the keepers of the [New Journalism]

aviary."

Of the three pieces most commonly cited as the first examples of the New Journalism--

Mailer' s "Superman Comes to the Supermarket," Talese' s "Joe Louis" and Wolfe' s "Streamline

Baby"--Felker had some connection to each. He was Mailer' s editor when he wrote the

Superman piece; though he did not edit Talese, he had already cast the new mold at Esquire by

the time Talese wrote "Joe Louis;" and he was Wolfe's editor at the Herald-Tribune when Wolfe

wrote "Streamline Baby" as a freelance story for Esquire.

Time magazine recognized Felker' s influence 30 years ago, even as he was still reeling

from the loss of New York to Rupert Murdoch. A story in the Jan. 17, 1977, issue quoted Felker' s

friend Malcolm Glaser describing Felker as "very abrasive, very argumentative."' But the story

went on to explain:

The list of writers for whom he has provided a springboard is also impressive. As features
editor of Esquire from 1957 to 1962, he helped steer Norman Mailer into reportage and
published some of the first so-called New Journalists, most notably Tom Wolfe. On the old
New York Herald-Tribune, where he edited the Sunday magazine that was to be
reincarnated as New York, he gave free rein to such emerging stars as Jimmy Breslin, Dick
Schaap, George ("Adam Smith") Goodman.8

It seems abundantly clear, then, that Felker was the pivot point for the creation of the New

Journalism, although the full extent of his contributions has largely been overshadowed by the

literary fighter pilots who pulled it off: the writers. But there also seems to be at least some

growing recognition of Felker and his importance to the movement. Consider this passage



b Lester Markel. So What's New?" In The Reporter as artist: 4 Look at the New Journalism Controversy, ed.
Ronald Weber. 255-59. (New York: Hastings House, Publishers, 1974), 256.

7 Felker: 'Bully .. Boor .. Genius."' Time, 17 Jan. 1977. Time, Inc. 10 June 2007.

"Felker: 'Bully .. Boor .. Genius."










written by Kerry Tremain, editor of California M~onthly, the alumni magazine for the University

of California-Berkeley, where Felker taught in recent years. Tremain's piece was an introduction

to a collection of tributes to Felker from some of his closest friends and colleagues:

"Together with artist Milton Glaser, whose sketch of Felker graces our cover, he founded
New York magazine in 1968, which under his leadership became not only a nucleus of
great writing, but also the progenitor of an entire genre of writing that came to be known as
the "New Journalism." This genesis has been so obscured (and, sadly, sometimes
degraded) by the many subsequent iterations of the form that its original genius can be
overlooked. Inspired by influences as diverse as new psychological theories and the
innovative films of the period, New Journalism was emotion ally charged and cinematic,
its writers crafted dramatic, often socially portentous scenes for readers. They trash-canned
what they regarded as the pseudo-obj ective third person of traditional j ournalism in favor
of a deeply reported and boldly colored style of first-person writing. They took sides in the
cultural conflicts of the time, and aimed squarely at the big social issues. No minimalism
here."9

Felker, Wolfe, Talese, Mailer and the rest of the crew reached the top of their games

during that brief, shining moment when America was at the zenith of its post-war power and

prestige, the early 1960s. They came into their own just as the nation began its rollercoaster-like

plunge into the Vietnam War, campus unrest, the drug culture, the women's liberation

movement, the civil rights movement and a plethora of other issues that very nearly left the

country permanently disabled. And they were there to document all of it, giving the nation a way

to make sense of it all.

In the end, the New Journalism profoundly and undeniably affected professional writing

and reporting, continues to today and likely will for generations. While some may fret over the

bad imitators, blaming Wolfe and his cohort for such inadequacies is "like blaming the Beatles

for the Monkees. 10



9 Kerry Tremain. "Agonizing Ecstasies." May 2005. California Magazine. University of California Berkeley. 10
June 2007. http:.//alumni.berkeley. edu/Alumni/CalMonthly/May_2005/Editors~nt-_gniznctse.asp

'O Jack Shafer. "The Tripster in Wolfe's Clothing." March/April 2006. Colwnbia Journalism Review. 10 June 2007.











"Forty years from now, when Wolfe's book, I predict, will still be in print, our

grandchildren will be celebrating his role in resuscitating the narrative form. They'll marvel at

his hack-like abilities to get just enough of the hard-to-get portions of the acid legend to tell the

complete story with authority. And they'll be carrying a copy of The Electric Kool-AidAcid Test

in their hip pockets."l

If today's bloggers offer any clues, that prediction appears well on its way to fulfillment.

Here is an excerpt from mediapost.com, a Web site that caters primarily to online advertising and

marketing professionals:

"For those who are more familiar with the history of blogs than magazines, Felker is the
guy most directly responsible for the "new journalism" of the '60s, '70s, and '80s. He's the
guy who created New York magazine and spawned an entire genre of city magazines that
transformed the publishing world. He's the guy who discovered such brilliant young
journalists as Tom Wolfe, Jimmy Breslin, and Gay Talese. 12

"Discovered" may be too strong word for what Felker did. Coax, caj ole, coach, urge,

counsel, prompt, demand, suffer gladly, commiserate--those are better words.

After all, that' s what fathers do.


















11 Shafer.

12 "Fetes of Clay." 23 Nov. 2004. Real Media Riffs. 10 June 2007.










AFTERWORD

In early April 2007, as this thesis was in progress, I had e-mailed Tom Wolfe, Pete Hamill

and Gail Sheehy, Clay Felker's wife, with several questions. Felker was in poor health, so it was

understandable why Sheehy might not respond. The e-mail address I used for Hamill was a

general address available to the public, so a response, although possible, seemed unlikely. Wolfe,

however, I still hoped to hear from. Shortly before 5 p.m. on the Friday I submitted the first draft

of this thesis to my committee chair, an e-mail arrived in my in basket. It was from Wolfe,

responding to my request for his thoughts on the idea of Felker being the father of the New

Journalism. It was brief, elegant and straight to the point:

:::::::::::::I never thought about it that way before, but I think you are probably

right. The red-hot centers (to use an Esquire term) of the NJ were New York Magazine as long

as Clay edited it and Esquire, where he had been a prominent editor until he went to work for the

NY Herald Tribune in 1963. Clay didn't merely accept the NJ approach. He was its greatest

exponent."

I was elated. What better validation than from one of The Contenders himself, the one who

arguably is most closely and frequently associated with the genre? Wolfe's reply, I believe,

constitutes the most compelling evidence of all that Clay Felker was, indeed, The One True

Instigator.

The Godfather had spoken.










LIST OF REFERENCES


Abrahamson, David. "The New Journalism in the 1960s." Encycloped'ia ofAmerican Journalism.
New York: M.E. Sharpe, 2006.


Allen, Henry. "Terry Southemn, An Appreciation." Paris Review, vol. 38, Spring 1996, p. 198-
202. Wilson Web. 24 June 2007.
bl 790e70e397f5ebc28d340c45 1fa43 52ebd6a6cacdf7d31Idl 68d63 8d65adcc2672ad2&
fmt=C$3 Citation$yArticle Citation in WilsonWeb>


Aucoin, Don. "Getting a Read on Gay Talese." 6 Dec. 2003. The Boston Globe. 10 June 2007.



Berliner, Eve. "Jack Newfield: Journalist of Sacred Rage." 2000, Eve 's Magazine. 10 June 2007.



Bliwise, Robert J. "The Master of New York, Clay Felker." Duke Magazine, Duke University.
10 June 2007.

Carmody, Deirdre. "Conversations / Clay Felker; He Created Magazines by Marrying New
Journalism to Consumerism." 9 April 1995. The New York Times. 10 June 2007.
894DD494D81>

Dearborn, Mary V. Mailer, A Biography. New York, Houghton Mifflin Co., 1999.

"Felker: 'Bully ... Boor ... Genius.'" Time, 17 Jan. 1977. Time, Inc. 10 June 2007.


"Fetes of Clay." 23 Nov. 2004. Real Media Riffs. 10 June 2007.
=21039>

Fishwick, Marshall W. "The New Journalism, 2: A Style Befitting Our Times and Tastes."
Journal of Communication, Vol. 25, Issue 3, p. 190. September 1975.

Flippo, Chet. "The Rolling Stone Interview: Tom Wolfe." In Conversations nI ithr Tom Wolfe, ed.
Dorothy M. Scura, 129-57. Jackson, Miss.: University Press of Mississippi, 1990.

Gillespie, Nick. "Victim of the Sexual Revolution: Terry Southemn's Telling Trip from Hipster to
Has-been." Reason, October 2001. Reason Magazine, 10 June 2007.











Harvey, Chris. "Tom Wolfe' s Revenge." American Journalism Review. October 1994. The
University of Maryland, 10 June 2007.

Hersey, John. Hiroshima. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1946.

Hill, Lee. A Grand' Guy: The Art and Life of Terry .Sambal~ I. New York: HarperCollins
Publishers, 2001.

Hirschman, David S. "So What Do You Do, Gay Talese?" Mediabistro.com, 27 April 2004.
Mediabistro.com, 10 June 2007.

Kerrance, Kevin and Yagoda, Ben, eds. The Art ofFact: A Historical Anthology ofLiterary
Journalism. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1998.

Kluger, Richard. The Paper: The Life and Death of the New York Herald Tribune. New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1986.

Lounsberry, Barbara. "Portrait of a (Nonfiction) Artist." Gay Talese Biography. 1998. Random
House. 10 June 2007.

Macdonald, Dwight. "Paraj ournalism, or Tom Wolfe & His Magic Writing Machine." The New
York Review ofBooks. Vol. 5, Number 2, 26 August 1965. The New York Review of
Books, 10 June 2007. preview?articlerid=12793>

Mailer, Norman. "Superman Comes to the Supermarket." Esquire, October, 1960.

Mailer, Norman. Some Honorable M~en: Political Conventions, 1960-1972. New York: Little
Brown, 1976.

"Mailer, Norman." Encyclopedia Britannica. 2007. Encyclopedia Britannica Online. 19 June
2007 .

Markel, Lester. So What' s New?" In The Reporter as Artist: A Look at the New Journalism
Controversy, ed. Ronald Weber. 255-59. New York: Hastings House, Publishers, 1974.

McKeen, William. Tom Wolfe. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1995.

"Mixed Fiction," Time, 29 Sept. 1958. Time, Inc. 10 June 2007.


Pace, Eric. "Terry Southern, Screenwriter, Is Dead at 71." The New York Times, 31 Oct. 1995.
The New York Times, 10 June 2007.
4DD494D81>










Polsgrove, Carol. It Wasn't Pretty, Folks, But Didn 't We Have Fun? Esquire in the Sixties. New
York: W.W. Norton, 1995.

Rosen, Jay. "Once There Was a New Joumnalism: Here's Norman Mailer Covering the 1960
Democratic Convention." PressThink. 21 July 2004. New York University. 19 June 2007.


Shafer, Jack. "The Tripster in Wolfe's Clothing." March/April 2006. Columbia Journalism
Review. 10 June 2007.


Southern, Terry. "Twirling at Ole Miss." Red-Dirt2arijuana and' Other Tastes. New York:
Carol Publishing Group, 1990.

"The Battle of New York." Time, 17 Jan. 1977. Time, Inc. 20 June 2007.


Talese, Gay. New York: A Serendipiter 's Journey. New York: Harper & Row, 1961.

Tremain, Kerry. "Agonizing Ecstasies." California Magazine.. May 2005. University of
California Berkeley. 10 June 2007.
AgonizingEcstasies. asp>

Weber, Ronald. The Reporter as Artist: A Look at the New Journalism Controversy. New York:
Hastings House, 1974.

Weingarten, Marc. The Gang That Wouldn 't Write Straight: Wolfe, Thompson, Didion, and' the
New Journalism Revolution. New York: Random House, 2006.

Wolfe, Tom. "City of Clay." May 2005. Cahifornia Magazine. University of Califomnia Berkeley.
10 June 2007.

Wolfe, Tom and Johnson, E.W., eds. The New Journalism. New York, Harper and Row, 1973.









BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Stephen F. Orlando was born Oct. 22, 1963, in Pensacola, Fla. A lifelong Florida resident,

Stephen graduated from Pensacola Junior College in 1983 and from the University of Florida in

Gainesville in 1986 with a bachelor' s degree in political science. He returned to UF in 1987 for a

semester of post baccalaureate work in the University of Florida College of Journalism and

Communications. He entered the master' s program at UF's College of Journalism and

Communications in 2003 and received his Master of Arts in Mass Communication degree in

2007.

Stephen is director for print media for UF's News Bureau, where he has worked since

1996. Prior to that, he was a reporter for The Taxmpa Tribune from 1988 to 1996, covering cops,

courts, city council, county government, schools and general assignment throughout west Central

Florida. Stephen worked for a semester as a stringer for the Independent Florida Alligator in fall

1987 and did writing, editing, paste-up and layout for the weekly Gulf Breeze Sentinel, also in

1987.





PAGE 1

1 A REAL BASTARD: WOULD THE TRUE FATHER OF THE NEW JOURNALISM PLEASE STAND UP? By STEPHEN F. ORLANDO A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLOR IDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS IN MASS COMMUNICATION UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA 2007

PAGE 2

2 2007 Stephen F. Orlando

PAGE 3

3 To my brother, Dave

PAGE 4

4 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I would like to thank the me mbers of my supervisory committee for their guidance, encouragement and humor. I also would like to thank Tom Wolfe for his priceless contributions to the New Journalism in general and to this thesis in particular, and all the other New Journalis ts who blazed the trail. Thanks, too, to all of the editors I've worked with, particularly Ted Jackovics and Jim Tunstall. Finally, I save my biggest thanks for my mother and father, Ma ry and Ray, for teaching me the value of a good education; my children, Alex and Anna Kate, for being the most wonderful kids ever and helping me keep my feet on the ground; and my wife, Ann-Marie, for her unfailing support and for being the best thing that ever happened to me.

PAGE 5

5 TABLE OF CONTENTS page ACKNOWLEDGMENTS...............................................................................................................4 ABSTRACT....................................................................................................................... ..............6 CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION: THE PARTYS OVE R, AND MAN, WHAT A RIDE...........................7 2 THE CONTENDERS.............................................................................................................12 Tom Wolfe...................................................................................................................... ........12 Terry Southern................................................................................................................. .......16 Norman Mailer.................................................................................................................. ......25 3 AND THE WINNER IS ....................................................................................................32 The Paternity Ward: Esquire..................................................................................................35 The New York Herald Tribune Years....................................................................................38 4 CONCLUSIONS....................................................................................................................43 5 AFTERWORD...................................................................................................................... .48 LIST OF REFERENCES............................................................................................................. ..49 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.........................................................................................................52

PAGE 6

6 Abstract of Dissertation Pres ented to the Graduate School of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Mast er of Arts in Mass Communication A REAL BASTARD: WOULD THE TRUE FATHER OF THE NEW JOURNALISM PLEASE STAND UP? By Stephen F. Orlando August 2007 Chair: William McKeen Major: Mass Communicaton This thesis examines the origins of the j ournalistic style born duri ng the early 1960s known as the New Journalism. Many notable newspape r and magazine writers of the era were practitionersindeed, pioneersof the new styl e: Tom Wolfe, Gay Talese, Terry Southern, Jimmy Breslin and Norman Mailer, to name just a few. However, for more than a generation there has been much confusion and discussion ov er who rightfully deserv es credit for giving it life. Literary Journalism, one broad moniker fo r the overall genre, has many founders, the earliest of whom include the likes of Daniel Defoe and Charles Dickens in the 18th and 19th centuries, respectively. Even the te rm new journalism is anythi ng but new: Its first use dates back to the 1880s. But the New Journalism as it is most commonly used todaythe style made popular by Wolfe, Talese and their compadresbel ongs to a relatively small historic time frame because it was born of the unique events of its era. Through analysis and interviews, this thesis offers an argument for who can really claim the title of father of the New Journalism and makes the case that the real father is not a writer at all but rather an editor: ma gazine legend Clay Felker.

PAGE 7

7 CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION: THE PARTYS OVE R, AND MAN, WHAT A RIDE Long after the empty beer kegs had been haul ed off and the blue motorcycle exhaust had drifted away, Rolling Stone magazine editor-in-chief Jann Wenne r recalled his initial reaction to Hunter S. Thompsons 1967 book Hells Angels and what kind of conjones it took for the worlds premier Gonzo journalist to report on the fearsome bikers. It all seems so tame now, he said, but then it was the height of he ight of adventure and courage.1 The same could be said of the New Journalism. More than 40 years after it screamed onto th e scene, grabbed the American public by the scruff of the neck and dragged it along for a merry romp, the phenomenon that would come to be known as the New Journalism is almost as comfortable as TV Guide. For most people born since the Johnson admi nistration, names such as Tom Wolfe and Jimmy Breslin belong with Milton Berle and Will Rogersvaguely familiar, someone your parents or grandparents knew about, but relevant ? Not so much. Starting in the early 1960s and continuing until the late 1970s, though, the New Jour nalists reigned like alien conquerors. Their work was beyond relevant; it was they who identif ied who and what was relevant, and the speed and style with which they did it turned journalis m virtually overnight from a Studebaker into a Rosso Corsa Ferrari. They had to. The times demanded it. Nothing else could have kept up. As one who was at the center of the vortex put it, The Sixties was one of the most extraordinary decades in American history the decade when manners and morals, styles of 1 Marc Weingarten, The Gang That Wouldnt Write Straight: Wolfe, Thompson, Didion, and the New Journalism Revolution, (Random House, New York, 2006), 238.

PAGE 8

8 living, attitudes towards the world changed the country more crucially than any political events This whole side of American life that gushe d forth when postwar Amer ican affluence finally blew the lid offall this novelists simply turned away from, gave up by default.2 But while it is widely recognized as nothi ng short of a journalis tic revolution, several questions remain: What did it re ally mean? What did it acco mplish? What were its true ramifications? And, of course, w ho really lit the fuse? The write rs themselves most often get bragging rights, although there is no real agreement on who among th em deserves the title of The One True Instigator. Many say it was Wolfe. Othe rs claim it was Mailer. Still others give the mantle to Gay Talese. The problem seems to lie in part with the fact that it all occurred so quickly. As happens with so many great ideas, several principals were moving in the same direction simultaneously, drawing inspiration fro m each other while at the same time competing with one another. A collective consciousness deve lops so when the product finally emerges, no one is quite sure who re ally got there first. With the New Journalism, the problem is co mplicated by the subjective nature of the product. Unlike the invention of, say, the light bulb or the microchip, no one can hold up one particular story and say, This was the first and I did it. The very defini tion of New Journalism is a bit of a moving target, al though some generally understood tene ts stand out. Wolfe, who to a large degree became the self-appointed chronicler of the New Journalisms history, listed them as scene-by-scene construction, the generous use of dialog, third-person poin t of view and statuslife details, which serve to give readers vivid clues as to who the players are and how they live.3 2 Tom Wolfe, ed. The New Journalism (Picador, London, 1973), 44. 3 William McKeen, Tom Wolfe (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1995), 36-7.

PAGE 9

9 One of the best summations of what comp rises the New Journalism, though, may be this one from Marshall Fishwick. It so happens th at Fishwick was a str ong influence on Tom Wolfe when he was a professor at Washington and L ee University in the 1950s and Wolfe was his student. The excerpt is from Fishwicks intr oduction to a collection of essays on the New Journalism that appeared in the Journal of Popular Culture in 1975: These essays do not even agree on the validity or worth of the material under discussion. They insist that todays trends spring up fr om yesterday but do not name the father (or grandfather, or great-grandfat her) of the New Movement. There is merit to the claims that Addison or Steele, or Daniel Defoe, or Benjamin Frankli n, or Mark Twain, deserve the accolade. What about Lincoln Steffens and H.L. Mencken? And where can one find a better statement of writing from inside than this one, from the Preface of Joseph Conrads The Nigger of the Narcissus: My task, which I am attempting to achieve by the power of the written word, is to make you hear to make you feel It is, before all, to make you see To do that takes STYLE. That, rather than semantics or sociology, is the key to both popular culture and the New Journalism.4 Even the origins of the term new journalism have been disputed, but historically it belongs to the British. It dates back to 1887, when English poet Matth ew Arnold used it in reference to journalist W. T. Stead, editor of the Pall Mall Gazette. Stead had become known for tackling social issues of the dayfor instan ce, child prostitution in Londonby bringing it to life with interviews and vivid descripti on, hallmarks of the first New Journalism.5 Though not called new journalism, examples of similar writing styles pop up throughout the following half century. It remained pr imarily British turf. Before his famous novel 1984 George Orwellhis real name wa s Eric Blairwas a journalist. One of his most notable works 4 Marshall Fishwick, The New Journalism, 2: A Style Befitting Our Times and Tastes. Journal of Communication September 1975, 190. 5 Kevin Kerrane, Ben Yagoda, eds. The Art of Fact: A Historical Anthology of Literary Journalism (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1997), 17.

PAGE 10

10 was Down and Out in Paris and London, an account of his adventures living among the downtrodden during the early 1930s in what then were still wi dely considered the worlds cultural and political cente rs of power and exposing the poverty that most people chose to ignore. But what may be the first real precursor to modern-day New Journalism came immediately after the end of World War II, c ourtesy of American John Hersey. Born in China to missionaries, Hersey attended Yale and Cambridge before becoming a war correspondent for Time, Life and The New Yorker At the suggestion of The New Yorker editor William Shawn, Hersey decided to chronicle the human toll of the American atomic bombin gs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The result was Hiroshima which consumed the entire Aug. 31, 1946, issue of The New Yorker and later was released in book form.6 The opening sentence is a pe rfect example of the level of detail with which Hersey approached his subject. It is a seamless, matte r-of-fact blend of simple data, mundane daily routine and impending horror: At exactly fifteen minutes past eight in th e morning, on August 6, 1945, Japanese time, at the moment when the atomic bomb flashed above Hiroshima, Miss Toshiko Sasaki, a clerk in the personnel department of the East Asia Tin Work s, had just sat down at her place in the plant office and was turning her head to sp eak to the girl at the next desk.7 The subsequent passages weave together the liv es of six people and graphically describe their experiences coping with the aftermath of the worlds first at omic attack. It was no small 6 Weingarten, 21-4. 7 John Hersey, Hiroshima (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1985), 1

PAGE 11

11 accomplishment. Hersey spent six weeks interviewi ng his subjects, piecing together their stories into a single tapestry that woul d total 30,000 words when finished. As riveting as it was, Hiroshima still did not prompt anyone to label it a new brand of journalism. That wouldnt happen for nearly 20 more years, when Pete Hamill, then a New York Post columnist, used it as a title for a story he wa nted to write about two of the genres leading practitioners, Gay Talese and Jimmy Breslin.8 By then, the New Journalism was in full bloom. 8 David Abrahamson, "The New Journalism in the 1960s." Encyclopedia of American Journalism (New York: M.E. Sharpe, 2006).

PAGE 12

12 CHAPTER 2 THE CONTENDERS Which brings us to the eve of conception. The purpose of the following biographical sketch es is not to recount each contenders life in detail. That ground has already been covered by others. The list of contenders also should not be mistaken for a list of the be st, though they certainly are among them. Rather, it is to establish some basic information about the writer, how he came to be regarded as a New Journalism pioneer and why he should or shoul d not be considered the real founder. They are laid out in roughly in reverse chronological order based on the timing of each wr iters watershed New Journalism piece. Tom Wolfe Long before he ever donned his first ice cr eam suit, Tom Wolfe was becoming known for his unusual writing ability. Thomas Kennerly Wolfe Jr. was born March 2, 1931, in Richmond, Va. His father was editor of the Southern Planter an agronomy journal. Growin g up in the world of classic Southern refinement, the younger Wolfe attended Washington and Lee University, graduating with a bachelors degree in English in 1951. It was at Washington and Le e that Wolfes potential became apparent to Fishwick, who taught a course in American studies. In particular, Fishwick remembered a paper Wolfe wrote for the class call ed A Zooful of Zebras about the conformity of academia.1 Wolfe received his doctorate in American studies from Yale in 1957; his dissertation was titled The League of American Writers: Communi st Organizational Activity Among American Writers, 1929. He had already started his newspaper career the previous year, at the tiny 1 Weingarten, 84.

PAGE 13

13 Springfield (Mass.) Union In 1959, he landed a job with the Washington Post and in 1962 went to work for the New York Herald-Tribune where his ability finally would begin to flourish.2 That marked the beginning of hi s flirtation with the New Journalism. As he put it, I arrived at the New York Herald-Tribune This must be the place! I looked out across the city room of the Herald Tribune 100 moldering yards south of Ti mes Square, with a feeling of amazed bohemian bliss either this is the real world, Tom, or there is no real world 3 Working alongside the likes of columnist Ji mmy BreslinWolfe described the hunkered-downon-deadline Breslin as a bowling ball fueled with liquid oxygen4he was finally in the element he had sought for so long. As much as he loved the atmosphere and his co-workers, Wolfe found himself stymied by the space and time restrictions of daily deadline journalism. He continually looked for his voice and finally began to find it when he was assigned to write for the Herald-Tribunes Sunday supplement, New York and an editor there named Clay Felker. Wolfe did not abandon his Herald-Tribune duties, but at last he had a venue that gave him room to work to his potential.5 Wolfe was influenced by no single person as much as he was by Gay Talese. In July 1962, an article by Talese titled Joe Louis: Th e King as a Middle-Aged Man appeared in Esquire Talese employed techniques that until then were virt ually unheard of, at leas t to Wolfe: generous use of dialog, transporting the reader from one scene to the next and, perhaps most important, climbing inside the heads of his characters and letting the reader in on their inner-most thoughts. Wolfe was floored. 2 McKeen, 8. 3 Wolfe, 16. 4 Wolfe, 26. 5 Weingarten, 89-90.

PAGE 14

14 What the hell is going on? With a little reworking the whol e article could have read like a short story At the time I hardly ever read magazines like Esquire I wouldnt have read the Joe Louis piece except that it was by Gay Ta lese. After all, Talese was a reporter for the Times He was a player in my own feat ure game. What he had written for Esquire was so much better than what he was doing (or was allowed to do) for the Times I had to check out what was going on.6 Chronologically speaking, that in itself removes Wolfe from the list of contenders for father of the New Journalism, but it by no mean s makes him an also-ran. On the contrary, it energized him to pick up the torch and run head long into fray. Taleses piece was just what Wolfe had been looking for, and he immediately set out to mold th e new style in his own image. His first foray came in 1963he was still working for the Herald-Tribune and New York at the time in the form of a story for Esquire under the laborious title There Goes (Varoom! Varoom!) That Kandy-Kolored (Thphhhhhh!) T angerine-Flake Streamline Baby (Rahghhh!) Around the Bend (Brummmm mmmmmmmmmmm When he published a collection of essays two years later that included the Esquire piece, the title was truncated to The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby. The Esquire story raised eyebrows throughout both the journalism and literary worlds. As the now well-known story goes, Wolfe had headed for California in search of the newly emerging youth movement, and he found it in car culture. Wolfe immersed himself in his subject, particularly car-custom izing king George Barris. When the time came to put the whole experience down on paper, Wolfe came up dry. With the Esquire deadline looming large, he sat down at the typewriter, purged his brain in a memo to editor Byron D obell and submitted it the next morning. Dobell did little more than remove the salutation; he ra n the memo as a story.7 6 Wolfe, 24. 7 Weingarten, 94.

PAGE 15

15 Streamline Baby was a major shift because it create d two camps: those who loved Wolfe and those who hated him.8 By extension, it also was the ope ning salvo in what would be a decades-long war over the New Journalism and whether it was even journalism at all. One of the first sharpshooters was Esquires own Dwight Macdonald. In an Aug. 26, 1965, critique for the New York Review of Books titled Parajournalism, or Tom Wolfe and His Magic Writing Machine, Macdonald skewered Wolfe and his fellow practitioners. He accused them of perpetrating a bastard form of journalism, having it both ways, exploiting the factual authority of journalism and the atmospheric license of fiction.9 In 1965, Wolfe stepped in it again, this time deep. Possibly emboldened by his string of successes and high on a bit of hubr is, he wrote two articles for New York that were guns-blazing attacks on The New Yorker its editor, William Shawn, its writi ng style and what Wolfe viewed as its bloated reputation. The first was Tiny Mummies! The True Story of the Ruler of 43rd Streets Land of The Walking Dead!, which was followed by Lost in the Whichy Thicket. The pieces were immediately greeted by howls of indignation, cries of cruelty and, most damning, fabrication. However, Wolfes editor at The New York Clay Felker, said much later, If somebody doesnt agree with the theme, they sa y its inaccurate [but] history has shown Tom was right.10 Criticism aside, Wolfes modus operandi was now solid. Popular culture was his for the taking, and take he did. His subjects over the next several years in pieces for Esquire and New 8 McKeen, 26. 9 Dwight Macdonald, Parajournalism, or Tom Wolfe & His Magic Writing Machine. New York Review of Books August 26, 1965. 10 Chris Harvey, Tom Wolfes Revenge. American Journalism Review October 1994.

PAGE 16

16 York read like a laundry list of the 0s most influential players: The Beatles, Phil Spector, Baby Jane Holzer, Murray the K, Ken Kesey, the Mercury astronauts. Wolfe not only chronicled the s and Amer ican pop culture, he actually contributed to the lexicon by creating or populariz ing terms that remain in use even today. Perhaps the bestknown example is good ol boy, which he first us ed in The Last American Hero is Junior Johnson. Yes!, a 1964 Esquire article about a North Carolina stoc k car driver. Other examples include The Right Stuff, the title of his 1979 nonfiction novel about je t-age test pilots and Americas Mercury astronauts; the Me Decade from a 1976 essay in the collection Mauve Gloves & Madmen, Clutter & Vine; and radical chic, from his 1970 book Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers, an indictment of how rich wh ite people used minorities and their causes to raise th eir own social standing. Ironically, his 1973 book The New Journalism, a collection of essays by writers he believed best embraced it, arrived as the New J ournalism itself was beginning to lose forward speed. By then, even Wolfe had left newspape r and magazine writing behind, opting instead for books as his main outlet. In the 1980s, he would also abandon nonfiction for novels. Wolfe is repeatedly referred to as the fath er or founding father of the New Journalism. Repeatedly, he has eschewed it. But though it all, Wolfe served as a sta unchsome might say stridentadvocate of the genre he helped create. Its fair to say, then, th at Wolfe was, and remains, the Godfather of the New Journalism. Terry Southern If the other contenders wrote about the s, Terry Southern was the s.

PAGE 17

17 Southern seemed to be at Ground Zero of almo st everything that was happening in s popular culture.11 Who else can lay claim to having his f ace on the cover of one of the decades seminal albums (Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band), writing the dialog for two of the decades most memorable films (Dr. Strangelove and Easy Rider) a nd getting his byline in one of the decades most influential magazines ( Esquire )? Southern stands alone among the contenders in terms of the wide -ranging scope of his work. Make no mistake, Southern did some sple ndid magazine pieces, but his other writing was all over the map. Nevertheless, he earns a spot among the potential fathers, not only because one of his Esquire stories has been cited as th e first of the genre but also because he has in fact been called a father of it. Southern was born May 1, 1924, in tiny Alvarado Texas, the son of Terrence, the town druggist, and Helen, a homemaker. His rural chil dhood was largely unremarkable in literary or journalistic terms, though he did adopt a habit of rewriting Edgar Alle n Poe to entertain his school friends by inserting their names in place of the characters.12 After graduating from high school in 1941, Southern briefly attended North Texas Agricultural School, then transferred to Southern Methodist University in Dallas. With the dream of someday becoming a great writer himself, he read voraciously Esquire for whom he would later make a journalistic name for himself, and the Saturday Evening Post as well as novelists such as John Steinbeck and F. Scott Fitzgerald. By then, tho ugh, World War II was in full swing, 11 Nick Gillespie. Victim of the Sexual Revolution: Terr y Southerns Telling Trip from Hipster to Has-been. Reason October 2001. 12 Hill, Lee. A Grand Guy : The Art and Life of Terry Southern. (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2001), 9-18

PAGE 18

18 so Southern enlisted in the Army in March 1943. He would spend the war primarily in England and Europe, but he spoke little of his experiences.13 Southern returned to college in 1946 to study English at the University of Chicago, then transferred to Northwestern University, gradua ting in 1948. He then opted to attend the Sorbonne in Paris to study English literature and immersed himself in the loca l culture. He also joined the literary crowd and began to dabble in short stor ies and had some of his work published in the then-new Paris Review Soon after he married Pud Gadiot, the couple returned to New York, specifically Greenwich Village, the hub of the coming Beat movement.14 During the next three years, Southern would befriend the likes of Jack Kerouac, who by then had already written On the Road though it would not be published until 1957, and Beat poet Allen Ginsberg. Southern, however, remained detached from the Beats, but he did begin to feel a sense of disgust with the blandness and conformity of post-war American culture.15 That feeling would be translated into the pub lication in 1958 of Sout herns first novel, Flash and Filigree, a darkly humorous tale set in Southern Ca lifornia whose central character is a worldrenowned dermatologist. The book gained notice but not necessarily overwhelming praise. A review in the Sept. 29, 1958, i ssue of Time magazine noted, Like the old two-reelers, Flash and Filigree lacks weight and discipline, but it also has an unfailing sense of the ridiculous, heightened by deadpan delivery.16 It also would play a big part in Southerns 1959 novel The Magic Christian in which the wealthy hero, Guy Grand, makes a mock ery of middle-class life and values. 13 Hill, 16-18. 14 Hill, 53-4. 15 Hill, 56. 16 Mixed Fiction, Time 29 Sept. 1958.

PAGE 19

19 Southern had returned to Europe in 1956 for another three-year stint as an expatriate. While living in Geneva, he would write not only Flash and Filigree but also two other novels: Candy co-authored by pornographer Mason Hoffenbe rg, a sex-laced satire centered on a high school girl and her comical adventures; and The Magic Christian He also would begin to experiment with writing screenplays for televisio n, a skill he would later translate to film. He returned to New York in 1960.17 Southerns defining New Journalism moment came in 1962, though the idea for it belonged to David Newman, an associate editor at Esquire and a fan of Southern. Newman had read a news story about the Dixie National Baton Twirling Institute, which held its classes on the University of Mississippi campus. He telephoned Southern and asked him to go to Ole Miss and write a story about it. Southern accepted immedi ately. He went down to campus, Newman said later, and wrote Twirling at Ole Miss, which is a classic a nd it is now one of the canonized pieces of what is now called the New Journalism.18 What appeared in the February 1963 issue of Esquire was an ironic first-person account of Southerns experience in the hear t of the racially divided South just as it was being swept up in the turbulence of the civil ri ghts movement. The baton-twirli ng school was almost a backdrop. Arriving in Oxford then, on a hot midday in July, after the threehour bus ride from Memphis, I stepped off in front of the Old Colonial Hotel and mea ndered across the sleepy square toward the only sign of life at hand-the proverbial row of shirt-sleeved men sitting on benches in front of the county cour thouse, a sort of permanent jury. "Howdy," I say, striking an easy stance, smiling friendly-like, "Whar the school?" The nearest regard me in narrow surmise: they are quick to spot the stranger here, but a bit slow to cotton. One turns to another. "What's that he say, Ed?" Big Ed shifts his wa d, sluices a long spurt of juice into the dust, gazes at it reflectively before fixing me again with gun-blue-cold eyes. 17 Hill, 70. 18 Hill, 105.

PAGE 20

20 "Reckon you mean, 'Whar the school at?' don't you, stranger?"19 The official Terry Southern Web site, created and maintained by the Terry Southern estate, claims Tom Wolfe believes Southe rn invented the New Journalism with Twirling at Ole Miss, though evidence of that Wolfe quote seem s to be nonexistent. What Wolfe did write in his 1973 anthology The New Journalism was that it was the first example I noticed of a form of journalism in which the writer starts out to do a feature assignment and ends up writing a curious form of autobiography The suppos ed subject (e.g., baton twirlers) becomes incidental.20 In fact, what Southern had created wa s what later would come to be known as Gonzo journalism. With his ability now firmly established, Southern soon followed Twirling with several more pieces for Esquire including Recruiting for the Big Parade about a CIA recruiters experience rounding up participants for the ill-fated Bay of Pigs invasion, and The Road out of Axotle, a short story about the adventures of an American and two Me xicans on a road trip through the Mexican countryside. A bout the same time, he began working with director Stanley Kubrick on Dr. Strangelove (O r How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.) The film began as an adaptation of the novel Red Alert about an American airbase commander who goes mad and sends a fleet of B-52s to nuke the Soviet Union. With S outherns input, what emerged instead was a farcical satire of military culture that included a slapstick pie fight and ended with the now-memorable image of Slim Pickens straddling a nuclear bomb cowboystyle as it falls from a Stratofortress.21 19 Terry Southern. Twirling at Ole Miss. Red-Dirt Marijuana and Other Tastes. (New York: Carol Publishing Group, 1990).145-6. 20 Wolfe, 184 21 Hill, 106, 116.

PAGE 21

21 His next big-screen splash came in 1969 with the release of Easy Rider which starred Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper a nd chronicled two long-haired, chopper-riding bikers as they cross the Southern United States and encounter a collection of unusual characters. Its jarring end, in which Fonda and Hopper are shotgunned by two re dnecks, was Southerns idea, and the film came to be viewed as a symbol of the disillusionment and apocalyptic events that marked the late-s. But Southern wasnt quite finished with ma gazine work. His last foray into the New Journalism and his swan song for Esquire came just as filming for Easy Rider was getting under way: Esquire assigned him to cover the Democratic convention in Chicago.22 Accompanied by Esquire writers John Sack and John Berendt, who woul d later write the best-seller Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, French novelist Jean Genet and Beat-generation writer William Burroughs, Southern waded into the Windy City. S outherns story, Grooving in Chi, was the result of the team not only observing the world-sh ocking melee that ensued but also joining the anti-war protesters.23 The last two decades of Southerns life went by with barely a public peep from him. Some say he was trapped in the hipster persona he created for himself in the s, that he was unable to change with the times. Others say he simply peaked too soon. Writing in the Paris Review after Southerns death, Henry Allen said, Maybe the s ilence of his last twenty years meant he was ahead of his time. And as any hipster knows, when you're ahead of your time, you become your own hardest act to follow.24 22 Hill, 176. 23 Carol Polsgrove. It Wasnt Pretty, Folks, But Didnt We Have Fun? Esquire in the Sixties. (New York: W.W. Norton, 1995), 183-9. 24 Henry Allen. Terry Southern, An Appreciation. Paris Review, Spring 1996, 198.

PAGE 22

22 Southerns obituary in the Oct. 31, 1995, New York Times lays out his life and career largely in terms of how he influenced the s, but interestingly makes no mention whatsoever of Twirling at Ole Miss.25 Since he had already died by the time his es tate claimed he was the father of the New Journalism, he never had the chance to accept or deny the honor. Given his level of hipness, it may be most fitting to call Southern the Father of the Sixties. Gay Talese By the time Wolfe was knocked off of his f eet by Taleses 1962 Joe Louis piece, Talese had been turning out stellar copy for a decade. Gaetano Talese was born Feb. 7, 1932, in Ocean Cit y, N.J., an island just south of Atlantic City. His father, Joseph, immigrated to the United States from Italy in 1922 and was a tailor hence the younger Taleses lifelong reputation as a sharp-dressed man. His mother, Catherine, was a buyer for a department store. Early on, Ga y Talese felt like an outsider and with good reason: Not only was he from an immigrant famil y, he was an Italian Catholic living on an island populated primarily by Protestants, and he atte nded a school dominated by Irish Catholics.26 That circumstance played a big role in establishing his journalistic interest in losers rather than winners. Like so many of his journalism contemporaries, Talese became interested in sports, particularly baseball. His first foray into journalism happened during a high school baseball game. Taleses assistant coach asked him to call the newspaper, the Ocean City Sentinel-Ledger, with the game highlights. Talese turned the opportunity into a two-year stint as a sports writer and then reporter and columnist.27 25 Pace, Eric. Terry Southern, Screenwriter, Is Dead at 71. The New York Times, Oct. 31, 1995. 26 Barbara Lounsberry. Portrait of a (Nonfiction) Artist. Gay Talese Biography. 1998. Random House. 27 Lounsberry.

PAGE 23

23 Talese attended the University of Alabama, wh ich as a New Jersey Italian must surely have reinforced his outsider perspective. He worked for the student newspaper, The Crimson-White, throughout his four years at Alabam a, the last two as sports editor. Talese graduated in 1953 with a bachelors degree in journalism an d promptly got a job as a copyboy at The New York Times Although the job involved no writing, Talese managed to slip stories to editors and gain their favor.28 Having been in Army ROTC at Alabama and graduating as second li eutenant, Talese was called up for two years of active duty in 1954. After writing for the base paper at Fort Knox, he returned to the Times and finally launched his professiona l writing career on the sports desk. Like Wolfe, Talese soon felt limited by the tight re strictions of routine daily journalism, which became even more pronounced when he was promoted to cover New York state politics in the Times capitol bureau in Albany. In Fe bruary 1960, he contacted Esquire editor Harold Hayes and began freelancing for the magazine.29 His first Esquire piece, New York, an unconventi onal look at the unnoticed things behind the faade of daily living in the Big Appl e, received plenty of notice and acclaim. It began, now famously: New York is a city of things unnoticed. It is a city with cats slee ping under parked cars, two stone armadillos crawling up St. Patrick's Ca thedral, and thousands of ants creeping on top of the Empire State Buildi ng. The ants probably were carr ied there by winds or birds, but nobody is sure; nobody in New York knows any more about the ants than they do about the panhandler who takes taxis to the Bo wery; or the dapper man who picks trash out of Sixth Avenue trash cans; or the medium in the West Seventies who claims, "I'm clairvoyant, clairaudient and clairsensuous.30 28 Lounsberry. 29 Weingarten, 62. 30 Gay Talese. New York: A Serendipiters Journey (New York: Harper & Row, 1961), 2.

PAGE 24

24 New York not only led to the publication of his first book the following year, New YorkA Serendipters Journey, it also established him as a major player at Esquire giving him the freewheeling outle t he was looking for.31 But Taleses most direct connection in the lineage of New Journalists was the Joe Louis piece that had so wowed Wolfe. Boxing was Taleses forte because it was a metaphor for just about ever ythingpersonal redemption, race, celebrity, and especially the trying art of losing.32 The Louis piece was especial ly notable because it employed not only the use of dialog but also because it created the illusion that the reader was inside the characters head. This is the passage that stopped Wolfe in his tracks: Hi, sweetheart! Joe Louis called to his wife, spotting her waiting for him at the Los Angeles airport. She smiled, walked toward him, and was a bout to stretch up on her toes and kiss him but suddenly stopped. Joe, she said, wheres your tie? Aw, sweetie, he said, shrugging, I stayed out all night in New York and didnt have time All night she cut in. When youre out here all you do is sleep, sleep, sleep. Sweetie, Joe Louis said, with a tired grin, Im an ole man. Yes, she agreed, but when you go to New York you try to be young again.33 Talese left The New York Times in 1965 to write for Esquire where he would continue to expand his New Journalism repertoire. During that period, he would do some of his most memorable work, concentrating on subjects w hose stars were fading. Frank Sinatra Has a Cold, which ran in April 1966, was the account of Taleses efforts to get close enough to Ol 31 Weingarten, 63. 32 Weingarten, 61. 33 Gay Talese. Joe Louis: The King as a Middle-Aged Man. In The New Journalism, Tom Wolfe, E.W. Johnson, eds. (London: Picador, 1973), 23.

PAGE 25

25 Blue Eyes to write a story about him but not ha ving much luck. In July 1966, Silent Season of a Hero, captured Joe DiMaggio as he made his peace with the downhill side of his glory days.34 After publishing The Kingdom and th e Power, an insiders look at The New York Times, in 1969, Talese was firmly in the book camp. Newspapers and magazines no longer were adequate for his burgeoning work. As for being the father of the New Journa lism, as many have tagged him (including Tom Wolfe) Talese not only denies it, he denies being a New Journa list at all. In a 2004 interview with MediaBistro.com, he said, I'm often given credit for start ing the New Journalism and, while I was kind of flattered that people were, for the first time, starting to take notice of what I was doing, I have always kind of thought of myself as rath er traditional in my approach and not so new.35 In a 2003 interview with The Boston Globe Talese was considerably more succinct. Nor does he subscribe to the widespread notion th at he, along with Tom Wolfe and Hunter S. Thompson, was one of the godfathers of New Journa lism. What the [expletive] did I do that was new? he asks.36 Whos arguing? Instead, call him the Fath er of Unnoticed Detail Journalism. Norman Mailer Unlike Wolfe, Mailer started as a novelist befo re trying his hand as a journalist. That may well have given him the background to write the piece many say was the premier example of the New Journalism when it appeared in Esquire in 1960. 34 Lounsberry. 35 David S. Hirschman. So What Do You Do, Gay Talese? Mediabistro.com 27 April 2004. 36 Don Aucoin. Getting a Read on Gay Talese. 6 Dec. 2003. The Boston Globe

PAGE 26

26 Born Jan. 31, 1923, in Long Branch, N.J., and ra ised in Brooklyn, Mailer was the son of Jewish immigrants: his mother, Fan, from Russi a, his father, Barney, also from Russia but by way of South Africa. As a child, Norman was an av id reader of science fi ction and wrote his own first novel, The Invasion of Mars, at age 7. He began attending Harvard in September 1939, the same month the Nazis invaded Poland and World War II began. Though his major was aeronautical engineering, he took an interest in a freshman Eng lish class that sparked his real yearning to become a writer. His favorites includ ed Hemingway and Steinbeck. At the end of the year, he wrote a short story for his En glish instructor and received an A+.37 Emboldened by his success, Mailer delved furthe r into writing and joined the board of the Advocate Harvards literary magazine. After gra duating in 1943, Mailer spent nine months waiting to be drafted, during which time he wrote a 700-page novel, A Transit to Narcissus based on his experiences working at a mental in stitution while he was in college. The novel was published only much later, in 1978, as a collectibl e. Also in 1944, Mailer married Bea, the first of what ultimately would be his six wives, and Mailer finally was drafte d into the Army. Though college graduates typically went in as officers, Mailer instead en listed as a private, a move he claimed was motivated by his desire to see combat.38 Mailers unit was sent to the Pacific, specifi cally the Philippines, but even as a rifleman, Mailer saw little action. When the war finally was over, Mailer was sent to Japan as part of the American occupation force and served as a cook. He was discharged in May 1946 and upon returning home began work almo st immediately on what would b ecome his first published and most famous novel.39 37 Mary V. Dearborn. Mailer, A Biography. (New York: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1999), 11-26. 38 Dearborn, 27-39. 39 Dearborn, 45.

PAGE 27

27 Published in 1948, The Naked and the Dead was an instant sensation. Its subject was a combat reconnaissance platoon in the South P acific, the psyches of its members and the interaction among the men and their superior officer s. It also examines what Mailer viewed as the corrupted mindset of the upper-echelon comma nders and the overall futility of war. The book was welcomed with rave reviews, though some were more reserved than others. In his review in The New York Times David Dempsey writes that Naked was not a great book, but indistbutably it bears witness to a new and signifi cant talent among American writers.40 While Mailer was waiting for the release of The Naked and the Dead he and Bea moved to Paris and enrolled at the Sorbonne. Like Southern, Mailer joined the literary se t, but the Mailers stay was relatively brief and they returned to New York in summer 1948. His next two novels, Barbary Shore published in 1951, and The Deer Park 1957, were far less successful than The Naked and the Dead and were both panned by the critics. Humility, however, was not Mailers natural fall-back position. His answer came in 1959 with the publication of Advertisements for Myself a collection of some of his ear lier work such as excerpts from novels and political essays interspersed by running autobiogra phical commentary and insights as well as his views of his literary contemporaries, which accomplished cons iderable feather ruffling among those who fall under his crosshairs. Nevertheless, Advertisements was an inspired breakthrough and gave Mailers career a much-needed boost.41 It also served as the stepping stone to the next phase of his life; Advertisements caught the eye of editors at Esquire magazine, which had recently unde rgone a transformation from pin-up mag to a sophisticated guide for living for the 1950s version of th e male Yuppie. Editor Harold 40 Dearborn, 63. 41 Dearborn, 145-7.

PAGE 28

28 Hayes bought first serial rights to Advertisements and excerpts appeared in the magazines November 1959 issue.42 Inventing the New Journalism was the la st thing Mailer had in mind when Esquire editor Clay Felker hit him with the idea of coveri ng the 1960 Democratic convention in Los Angeles. Felker had read Advertisements but found it to be long-winded and self-indulgent.43 Yet he recognized Mailers enormous potential and rememb ered it when the two ra n into each other in at a swanky New York restaurant the Five Spot. Mailer and his second wife, Adele, had a boisterous argument that prompted Adele to stor m out. Felker filled in the awkward silence by asking Mailer if he had ever considered political writing. The tw o quickly came to an agreement on Mailer covering the convention.44 Felker traveled to Los Angeles with Mail er to help him make connections among the Hollywood set, but Mailer had enough name rec ognition to stand on his own. Though Mailer had no real idea how he would approach the story when he arrived, he spotted the focus right away when the Kennedy motorcade arrived at the Biltmore. One saw him immediately. He had the deep or ange-brown suntan of a ski instructor, and when he smiled at the crowd his teeth we re amazingly white and clearly visible at a distance of fifty yards. For one moment he saluted Pershing Square, and Pershing Square saluted him back, the prince and the beggars of glamour staring at one another across a city street, one of those very speci al moments in the underground hi story of the world, and then with a quick move he was out of his car and by choice headed into the crowd instead of the lane cleared for him into the hotel by the police, so that he made his way inside surrounded by a mob, and one expected at any moment to s ee him lifted to its shoulders like a matador being carried back to the city after a triumph in the plaza.45 42 Dearborn, 149. 43 Weingarten, 53. 44 Dearborn, 149. 45 Norman Mailer. Superman Comes to the Supermarket. Esquire October 1960. In Jay Rosen. Once There Was a New Journalism: Here's Norman Mailer Covering the 1960 Democratic Convention. PressThink. 21 July 2004. New York University.

PAGE 29

29 Superman Comes to the Supermarket appeared in the October 1960 issue of Esquire just before the November elections, and took the journalism world by storm. Pete Hamill, who at the time was a reporter for the New York Post said the effect in the Posts city room was phenomenal. All the young guys were going, Holy shit, what the hell is this ? He just took the form and exploded it, and showed writers that there were other possibilities.46 Later, journalist Jack Newfield called Superman the single greate st piece of magazine journalism I've ever read It was the first piece that caught th e Hollywood domination of pol itics, the influence of marketing and public relations on politics. That piece blew my mind. It was like the first time I heard Bob Dylan and Charlie Park er. It opened a whole new room in my imagination of what journalism could be.47 What also stood out about Superman was the prominent treatment Mailer gave to Kennedys personality, something that journalists up to that point had, by and large, avoided. He also inserted himself into the storyagain, someth ing that previously had been strictly forbidden in straight-laced journalism. Mailer, never one to underestimate his ow n importance, later saw something beyond the storys effect on journa lism; in his opinion, Superman had gotten Kennedy elected.48 While the credit for that more likely goes to Kennedy and his charisma, style, youth and good looks, Mailer certainly de serves credit for being astute enough to pick up on the significance of those qualities. Hayes wrote in his introduction to Smiling Through the Apocalypse: Esquires History of the Sixties, that the s began, at least for politicians and journalists, when Nixons face registered def eat during his televised 1960 debate with 46 Weingarten, 56. 47 Eve Berliner. Jack Newfield: Journalist of Sacred Rage. Eves Magazine 2000. 48 Dearborn, 153.

PAGE 30

30 Kennedy.49 American Review editor Theodore Solotaroff wrote in 1969 that the decade actually began with the 1960 Democratic convention, whi ch as Norman Mailer foresaw in his essay Superman Comes to the Supermarket' marked the changing of the generations 50 The magazines treatment of Superman did not quite jibe with Ma ilers vision of what it should be, though. Esquire co-founder Arnold Gingrich called it just smearing anything on the page that comes into [Mailers] head and re moved any reference to the story from the magazines cover. Gingrich also changed the title at the last minute to Superman Comes to the Supermart, which so enraged Mailer that he wrote a scathing letter to the editor of Esquire about it and did not write for th e magazine again for two years.51 When he did return, it was to write a regular co lumn, 12 in all, that ran the gamut in terms of topics. Mailer became an Esquire fixture that Hayes realized was helping circulation along nicely. Though he would continue his magazine writing for ma ny years to come, his biggest impact was in books. After publishing the novel Why Are We in Vietnam ? in 1967, he was invited to participate in an anti-war march on th e Pentagon that would lead to his arrest. More important, though, the march became the material fo r The Steps of the Pentagon, which ran in the March 1968 issue of Harpers That piece, along with The Battle of the Pentagon, published in the Ap ril 1968 issue of Commentary were published together in book form under the title The Armies of the Night For Armies Mailer received both the Pulitzer Prize for nonfiction and the National Book Award in 1969.52 49 Ronald Weber. The Reporter as Artist: A Look at the New Journalism Controversy (New York: Hastings House, 1974), 154. 50 Weber, 161. 51 Polsgrove, 46. 52 Weingarten, 189-98.

PAGE 31

31 Not surprisingly, Mailer, like Wolfe and Talese, denied playing any part in pioneering the New Journalism. In fact, Mailer pointed out in his 1976 collection Some Honorable Men: Political Conventions, that he actually seemed to be receiving more notice as a New Journalist than he ever did as a novelist. That is an irony that tempts me to spit to the wind: I never worked as a journalist and never liked the profession.53 Mailer had a point: Even today, more than 30 years later, his entry in the Encyclopedia Britannica begins, American novelist and jour nalist, best known for using a form of journalismcalled New Journalismthat combines the imaginative subjectivity of literature with the more objective qu alities of journalism.54 New Journalist or not, Mailer c ould easily be recognized as th e Father of Modern Political Campaign Coverage. 53 Norman Mailer. Some Honorable Men: Political Conventions, 1960972. Boston: Little, Brown, 1976. 54 Mailer, Norman. Encyclopedia Britannica. 2007. Encyclopedia Britannica Online. 19 June 2007 < http://www.search.eb.com.lp.hsc l.ufl.edu/eb/article-254015 >.

PAGE 32

32 CHAPTER 3 AND THE WINNER IS While many have been tempted over the years to give a writer credit for being the father of the New Journalism, a good case can be made that Cl ay Felker was the first to have the vision of what journalism needed to become in order to chronicle the blindingly fast cultural and societal changes that the 1960s would embody. Felker was the lynchpin, the keystone, the one man who was in the right place at the right time to bring all the elements and talent and pl ayers to the table and lay out the feast. The Chinese may have invented the rocket and Neil Armstrong may have been the first man to walk on the moon, but it was John F. Kennedy who seized the perfect moment, giving an entire nation the tools and the inspiration to tackle the New Frontier and put him there. Likewise for Felker and the New Journalism. Born October 2, 1925, in Webster Groves, Mo., Fe lker came by his interest in journalism naturally. His father was managing editor of The Sporting News a weekly newspaper, and editor of the monthly trade publication Sporting Goods Dealer Felkers mother was a womens editor. At the age of 8, Felker started his own neighbor hood newspaper, which he described as the publishing equivalent of a lemonade stand.1 Felker entered Duke University in 19 42, before graduating from high school, and worked at the student newspaper, The Chronicle He quickly earned a reputation as an editor who could bring out the best in his writers. In one famous instance he cajoled Peter Maas, an investigative reporter who later went on to fame penning books such as Serpico to go to Duke Hospital and get an interview with auto worker s union president Walter Re uther, who had been 1Robert J. Bliwise. The Master of New York, Clay Felker. Duke Magazine, Duke University. 10 June 2007. http://www.dukemagazine.duke.e du/alumni/dm6/master_txt.html

PAGE 33

33 shot in what appeared to be a gang-style hit. Othe r reporters were having no luck getting in to see Reuther, but Felker exhorted Maas to get the interview anyway. Maas did, slipping into the hospital by posing as a student.2 The following year, Felkers college education was interrupted by a three-year stint in the Navy, where he worked for a Navy newspaper, Blue Jacket He returned to Duke and the Chronicle afterward.3 It was during that brief interludeone fall semester as the Chronicles editorthat lightning struck. Felker was standing in the Duke library perusing historic materials in search of models to follow at the Chronicle He was thumbing through some bou nd Civil War-era issues of the New York Herald-Tribune when the whole idea washed over him. I spent the whole afternoon r eading these things; I didnt even realize where the time went because they were so gripping, said Felker. They were written in a narrative structure. And I realized that they were so much more interesting than the newspaper stories I had grown up reading. The stories, with their vivid descriptions of life in the trenches, changed Felker irrevocably. American journalism had to move in this direction; reporters should be meticulous and exacting when describing events, have a novelists flair for language, and enliven their st ories with headlong momentum.4 In a 1995 interview with The New York Times Felker expanded on that a-ha moment: And I discovered that the writing was as fres h and as dramatic as anything being written and I said, how come I don't read daily newspape rs with the same fascination as I'd read this stuff? The reason was that although thes e were written by basically more or less uneducated peoplethey didn't have the broa d education that most journalists do now they were using all of the classical literary techniques of storytel ling, narrative flow. And so I said, hey, there's another way to write, and I began looking for writers who could write 2 Bliwise. 3 Bliwise 4 Weingarten, 46.

PAGE 34

34 that way. I said, we are going to express our opi nion. It's got to be fair and accurate, but it has to be based on a lot of reporting put together in this dramatic form.5 The die was cast, but Felker had some other dues to pay before he would be in a position to turn his vision into reality. After graduating from Duke in 1951, he landed a job as a sportswriter for Life magazine. Once again, he beat the New Jour nalism writers at their own game, and by a long margin. A full 15 years before Talese wrote The Silent Season of a Hero, his famous portrait of past-his-prime New York Yankees icon Joe DiMaggio, Felker got his hands on a secret Brooklyn Dodgers scouti ng report that contai ned a line pointing out that DiMaggios throwing arm was history. "Well, DiMaggio is a very proud man Felker recalled later. And although he had a very good series, he quit base ball after that. And the Yankees never forgave me: They accused me of causing DiMaggio to quit baseball."6 That remarkable knack for recognizing signi ficance in the seemi ngly unimportant would serve Felker well throughout his ca reer. It was a trait he would sh are with Wolfe and also made him particularly well suited for the New Journalism. New York Herald-Tribune editor Shelly Zelanick, whom Felker would later succeed as editor of the papers Sunday supplement, New York once said that his coolness radar could pick up on the next big thing whether it was that the neckline of womens dresses would soon be des cending to the nipple, or that pro football was soon to replace church on Sunday.7 Restless and temperamental with a razors-edge mind and a probing curiosity about wildly disparate subjects, Felker possess ed another trait that would make him uniquely tailored for the 5 Deirdre Carmody. Conversations / Clay Felker; He Created Magazines by Marrying New Journalism to Consumerism. 9 April 1995. The New York Times 10 June 2007. http://select.nytimes.com/search/restricted/ar ticle?res=F60616F83A550C7A8CDDAD0894DD494D81 6 Bliwise. 7 Richard Kluger. The Paper: The Life and Death of the New York Herald Tribune. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1986), 681.

PAGE 35

35 status-sensitive world of New Journalism: an appr eciation for the finer things in life. Living in a duplex on New Yorks East Side, Felker also owned the de rigueur summer home in the Hamptons and an antique silver collection.8 After launching New West a magazine venture in the mid-1970s, Felker was criticized for allowing his executive staff to do its work about town in leased Alfa Romeos, paid for th rough magazine expense accounts.9 When they met years later in the offices of New York Wolfe must surely have felt he found a kindred spirit in Felker in term s of eruditeness and sophistication. A bon vivant of top-drawer quality, Felker was known as a worl d traveler and a hail fellow we ll met. He could stroll down a Paris avenue and have no compunction about stop ping at a sidewalk caf, introducing himself to French intellectual Simone de Beauvoir and asking her to write a story for Esquire about Brigitte Bardot.10 The Paternity Ward: Esquire Felker helped launch Sports Illustrated in 1954, then moved on to become Lifes political correspondent in Washington, until 1957. Thats when the chan ce to finally realize the vision that first gripped him in the Duke library finally arrived. Felker was hired as features editor at Esquire where he would work for the next five years. Esquire would prove to be what Bliwise described as an inviting laboratory to put into practice the Greeley-ins pired notion of reporting. Its pages saw some of the earlie st expressions of the New Jour nalism, which applied, Felker says, the standard literature techniques ra ther than the standard newspaper techniques narrative structure, s cene-setting and charac terization, dialogue.11 8 Kluger, 704. 9 Weingarten, 283. 10 Polsgrove, 32-3. 11 Bliwise.

PAGE 36

36 At Esquire Felker would gain a somewhat ill-fi tting partner, Harold Hayes, though the two had crossed paths earlier without Felker knowing it. A North Carolin a native and World War II Navy veteran, Hayes was a graduate of Wake Forest University, where he worked on the student magazine, appropriately named The Student At a conference he attended in Raleigh, N.C., Hayes was impressed by an editor at D uke University student newspaper who had organized the conference. The orga nizer was none other than Felker.12 After returning to the service in 1950 for a two-year stint during the Korean Warthis time, he served with the MarinesHayes went in to magazines, first as an assistant editor at Pageant then at Tempo where he helped create a new magazine, Picture Week. He finally landed at Esquire in 1956.13 While Felker was the embodiment of style, Hayes was cut from more traditional newsman cloth. Felker spent his younger years working in Life s Washington bureau hobnobbing with the Kennedys. Hayes came up through the journalism ranks in more customary fashion, battling deadlines at United Press covering state politics Ralph Ginzburg, who sh ared editorial duties with Felker at Esquire recognized the stark difference in the two men; Hayes was a competent and diligent worker but not exac tly a stellar intellect, while Fe lker was the more polished one who was headed for big things. During a heated argument during a story meeting in 1958, Felker put a fine point on the difference when he shouted at Hayes, The trouble with you is, you just dont know. 14 Hayes knew he didnt know. To make up for hi s shortcomings, he enrolled in 1958 in a yearlong Neiman Fellowship at Harvard. In his ab sence, Felkers stock began to appreciate 12 Polsgrove, 28. 13 Polsgrove, 29. 14 Polsgrove, 37.

PAGE 37

37 rapidly. One story he assigned, a profile of Sammy Davis Jr., came later to be recognized as one of the first precursors of the New Journalism. Th e writer, Thomas B. Morgan, stuck to Davis for 10 days and turned out What Makes Sammy Davi s Jr. Run? a lively piece with a fiction-like feel, complete with generous use of detail and plenty of dialog. Morgan, again with Felkers guidance, then did a similar story on television personality David Susskind.15 Clearly, Felkers talent for coming up with good ideas, finding the right writers to execute them and then massaging the writing into print -ready form was finally coming into full bloom. He had found in Esquire a home for his own talents, and in turn he was able to nurture the talents of the writers who came under his wing. Many years later, Tom Wolfe would describe Felkers editing styl e this way: The difference was Felkers vision of The City and his insistence on in-dep th reportingsaturation reporting, I called it. The reporting Felker de manded became one of the great breeding grounds for the New Journalism, as Pete Hamill called it, the use of the devices of the novel and the short story while observing journalisms rules of accuracy.16 What may be the best example of that editi ng gift came in 1960, when Felker hit on an idea that would lead to a story many have described as the first genuine piece of New Journalism: assigning Mailer to cover the Demo cratic convention in Los Angele s. Felker saw in Mailer the potential to bring a fresh eye to the changing political scene, a nd over Hayes objections, he gave the job to Mailer. Although he was primarily a novelist, Mailer accep ted the challenge. Upon arriving in L.A., Mailer quickly singled out a young, charismatic senator from Massachusetts named John Kennedy as not only the star but also the rising new face of American politics. The 15 Polsgrove, 41. 16 Tom Wolfe. City of Clay. May 2005. California Magazine University of California-Berkeley. 10 June 2007. < http://alumni.berkeley.edu/Alumni/Cal_Monthly/May_2005/City_of_Clay.asp >

PAGE 38

38 piece, Superman Comes to the Supermart, was a new hybridthink piece, personality profile, and polemic. It was unmistakably journalism, but a newspaper editor would be hard-pressed to place it.17 The piece, however, almost did not make it in to print. While Felker though it was great, Hayes and Gingrich hated it, especially Gingrich, who called it the worst piece of dreck he had ever read. With 16 pages already reserved for the story, the battle am ong the three raged for days until, just three hours before the magazine ha d to be sent to the prin ter, Felker finally won.18 Journalists around the country were bowled ove r. Although he did not consider it new in the sense of New Journalism, renowned journa list Jack Newfield, a college student when Mailers story was published, wrote later that blew my mind. It also blew Pete Hamills and Jimmy Breslins. Mailer opened a door with that piece.19 Despite the professional recognition from others and the fact that he had conceived it, Felker was not to find his efforts rewarded at Esquire In fall 1961, Gingrich named Hayes managing editor. Felker soon realized it was ti me to move on, though he would stay on at Esquire for several more months before finally making the breakor having it made for him on Oct. 1, 1962. He would spend about a year as a consultant at Infiniti magazine and dabbling in other projects before ha ppening upon his next leap.20 The New York Herald Tribune Years In a fine example of serendip ity, the closing of the door at Esquire coincided perfectly with the opening of a window at the New York Herald Tribune Once a giant in the journalism world 17 Weingarten, 55. 18 Weingarten, 56. 19 Weber, 301. 20 Weingarten, 67.

PAGE 39

39 tracing its roots back to the New York Tribune of the mid-1800s and editor Horace Greeley, the Herald Tribune had become a perpetual small dog nipping at the heels of the big-dog New York Times. Though its alumni included the likes of Ho mer Bigart, Red Smith and Walter Lippmann, the Herald Tribune was performing badly in the financial arena. As a result, the paper was in the midst of a makeover in fall 1963 when editor Jim Be llows hired Felker as a consultant to help with the re-birth. Felker subsequently was put in charge of the papers newly revamped Sunday supplement, New York The position had been recently va cated by Sheldon Zalaznick, who had been named editor of the entire Sunday Herald Tribune .21 Felker believed New York, a city he had co me to love, was a place where only people at the top of their gamesa category in which he cl early placed himselfcould survive. He also was drawn to such people, which is likely w hy he and Tom Wolfe got on so well. Felker had inherited a stunning pair of re latively new young writers who al ready were getting noticed: Wolfe and Jimmy Breslin, each of whom was to produce one piece a week for New York .22 Until then, Wolfe had been a daily reporter for the Herald Tribune Now, Felker would give him the chance to spread hi s literary wings in what can only properly be described as a journalistic marriage made in heaven.23 Or as Chet Flippo put it: It was there that Wolfe and Jimmy Breslin and Pete Hamill and others were encouraged to try new avenues in journalism The Tribs ad campaign was, Who says a good newspaper has to be dull? and Felker let his writers take the bit and run. They were encouraged to go beyond the objective journa lism that ruled daily newspapers, and the 21 Kluger, 680. 22 Kluger, 703-4. 23 McKeen, 23.

PAGE 40

40 result was crisp, alive writing that, more than anything else, made its subjects personal the way fiction did.24 The first example of Felkers influence on Wo lfe appeared in the Dec. 6, 1964, issue of New York Girl of the Year. Ostens ibly, it was a profile of B aby Jane Holzer, then 24, the latest of the young, attractive, wellto-do women the fashion press singl ed out each year to lavish with attention. Wolfe tackled the project by crea ting a technique that would become a hallmark of the New Journalism: The full objective descri ption, plus something that readers had always had to go to novels and short stories for: na mely, the objective or emotional life of the characters.25 The story opened: Bangs manes bouffants beehive Beatle caps bu tter faces brush-on lashes decal eyes puffy sweaters French thrust bras flailing leather bl ue jeans stretch pants stretch jeans honey dew bottoms clair shanks elf boots ballerinas Kni ght slippers, hundreds of them these flaming little buds, bobbing and screaming, rocketing ar ound inside the Academy of Music Theater underneath that vast old moudl ering cherub some up therear ent they super-marvelous! Arent they super-marvelous! says Baby Jane and then: Hi, Isabel! You want to sit back stagewith the Stones?26 Under Felkers influence, New York soared. Its reputation, as well as that of the HeraldTribune improved dramatically, and increased advertising in New York reflected that. The driving force behind the magazine s growing stature was Felker. His wide-ranging selections of writers and subject matter, combined with his natural curiosity and c onstant mission of looking for new story ideas, pushed New York into the top echelon of cultural and intellectual mainstays. As Richard Kluger put it in The Paper, Felker must be counted on the short roster of inspired 24 Chet Flippo. The Rolling Stone Interview: Tom Wolfe. In Conversations with Tom Wolfe ed. Dorothy M. Scura, 129-57. Jackson, Miss.: University Press of Mississippi, 1990. 25 Kluger, 705. 26 Kluger, 705.

PAGE 41

41 editors of the Tribune because he helped reshape New York journalism and redefined what was news.27 Wolfes and Felkers run-ins with The New Yorker may have helped enflame a running battle over the validity of the New Journalism, but they also served the purpose of further raising the magazines profile. By 1966, John Tebbel wrote in a Saturday Review piece on the growth of Sunday newspaper supplements, Far in the lead is the New York Herald Tribunes New York magazine, whose editor, Clay Felker, is turni ng out a brilliant, sophist icated product that has broken new ground.28 But New York s heyday, at least as part of the Herald-Tribune was to be short-lived. The papers fiscal shakiness finally caught up w ith it. On March 21, 1966, management announced that the Herald-Tribune would merge with the Journal-American and the World-Telegram & Sun to form the World-Journal-Tribune. Eight months later, that, too, sank.29 The Herald-Tribunes hefty contributions to the New Journalism would not go unnoticed. In a 1970 piece titled The Newspaper as Literatu re/Literature as Leadership, Seymour Krim, a noted essayist with solid roots as a member of the World War II literary generation, wrote a wellearned epitaph for the paper. He pr aised it as the first mainstream newspaper to embrace the New Journalism and took particular no te of Wolfe and BreslinFelkers wunderkinds .30 Felker, however, was far from finished. Having dreamt for years of running his own freestanding magazine, Felker bought the name of the magazine from former World-Journal27 Kluger, 704. 28 Kluger, 708. 29 Kluger, 730-6. 30 Kluger, 727.

PAGE 42

42 Tribune president Matt Meyer, in late 1967. The new New York debuted in early 1968, with Felker, Breslin, Wolfe, Steinem and a host of others on board for the maiden voyage.31 Felker would run New York until 1977, when Australian publishing giant Rupert Murdoch wrested control of it from him. Murdoch, well pr acticed in the art of the deal, had outwitted Felker by going behind his back, negotiating di rectly with the shareholders and gaining ownership of the company. Felker scrambled to sa ve the magazine but to no avail. At a court hearing where the final details would be ironed out, Felker sa t with Murdoch and watched his baby slip away. "It was an unhappy meeting, Felker said, to sit there with a former friend, to have to negotiate the end of one's dream.32 31 Weingarten, 201-2. 32 The Battle of New York. Time 17 Jan., 1977. Time, Inc. June 20, 2007. http://www.time.com/time/magazine /article/0,9171,918594,00.html

PAGE 43

43 CHAPTER 4 CONCLUSIONS So why not Hayes? After all, he emerged vi ctorious in the battle for supreme rule over Esquire and remained there long after Felker. Th e difference lies in timing and approach. By all accounts, Hayes was an editor of extr aordinary ability who cared deeply about maintaining high journalist ic standards and ensuring Esquire kept its readers on the edge of their seats each month. He continually urged his st aff to turn new soil and seek out unexpected approaches to issues, and he later woul d play a distinct and vital role at Esquire when it came to the New Journalism style of writing, Talese bein g one of the chief beneficiaries of his editing (incidentally, Hayes was one of those who deni ed any such writing style even existed.) But Hayes didnt always have the same kind of l ong-range vision as Felker when it came to individual story ideas and tended to be slower on the uptake when it came to seeing the potential in his writers. For instance, had it been up to Hayes, Mail ers Superman Comes to the Supermarket might never have been written. Felker made it happen over Hayes objections. In another example, Wolfes Stream line Baby made it into Esquire only because editor Byron Dobell persuaded Hayes to let Wo lfe have a crack at it.1 And when John Sack wrote to Hayes in 1965 with the idea of getting at th e real story behind what was goi ng on in Vietnam by following a group of soldiers on their way there, Hayes re sponse likely was not what Sack hope for: Dear John, Jesus Christ, how much would all this cost?2 Sacks coverage, of course, proved to be nothing less than phenomenal. 1 Polsgrove, 86. 2 Polsgrove, 148.

PAGE 44

44 Unlike Felker, Hayes had a personality that b ecame an obstacle when it came to dealing with temperamental writers. Although he unders tood the importance of keeping good writers on board and making Esquire an unconventional and groundbreaking force in American journalism, he could not bring himself to indulge the quirks a nd demands of the talent that would be required to make that happen. He prompted the departur e of writer Tom Morgan after a dispute over how much Morgan thought he should be paid for hi s work. Morgan wanted $1,500 per piece; Hayes countered with $1,450 and refused to budge. He lost Mailer over a disagreement over the title of a story on the 1964 Republican national convention. Hayes assigned and approved a piece on James Baldwin in 1964 that was so unflattering, as was the accompanying photo, that it would be years before Baldwin would write for Esquire again.3 Gloria Steinem, who worked with both Haye s and Felker at Esquire, said Hayes seemed authoritarian and expected writers to prove his ideas, while Felker would take a writers idea and make it grow.4 Breslin took full advantage of Felker s willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty to accommodate his writers. Well known as a prima donna, Breslin would call Felker at any hour after filing a column and expect immediate attention. Felker dropped whatever he was doing and gave it. I knew goddamned well I c ouldnt trust him to leave the piece, Felker said. For a daily journalist, he took himself very seriously and needed that daily feedback.5 As for the issue of timing, simply put, it was Felker who was directly guiding the most gifted writers at that critical time in th e very early 1960s when the New Journalism was emerging. In a 1972 article for The Bulletin of th e American Society of Newspaper Editors, 3 Polsgrove, 115-19. 4 Polsgrove, 57. 5 Kluger, 729.

PAGE 45

45 Lester Markel described Felker as patron saint and one of the keepers of the [New Journalism] aviary.6 Of the three pieces most commonly cited as the first examples of the New Journalism Mailers Superman Comes to the Supermarket, Taleses Joe Louis and Wolfes Streamline BabyFelker had some connection to each. He was Mailers editor when he wrote the Superman piece; though he did not edit Talese he had already cast the new mold at Esquire by the time Talese wrote Joe Louis; and he was Wolfes editor at the Herald-Tribune when Wolfe wrote Streamline Baby as a freelance story for Esquire Time magazine recognized Felkers influence 30 years ago, even as he was still reeling from the loss of New York to Rupert Murdoch. A story in the Jan. 17, 1977, issue quoted Felkers friend Malcolm Glaser descri bing Felker as very abra sive, very argumentative.7 But the story went on to explain: The list of writers for whom he has provided a springboard is also impr essive. As features editor of Esquire from 1957 to 1962, he helped steer Norman Mailer into reportage and published some of the first so-c alled New Journalists, most not ably Tom Wolfe. On the old New York Herald-Tribune, where he edited the Sunday magazine that was to be reincarnated as New York, he gave free rein to such emerging stars as Jimmy Breslin, Dick Schaap, George (Adam Smith) Goodman.8 It seems abundantly clear, then, that Felker was the pivot point for the creation of the New Journalism, although the full extent of his contributions has larg ely been overshadowed by the literary fighter pilots who pulled it off: the write rs. But there also seems to be at least some growing recognition of Felker and his importanc e to the movement. Consider this passage 6 Lester Markel. So Whats New? In The Reporter as Artist: A Look at the New Journalism Controversy ed. Ronald Weber. 255-59. (New York: Hastings House, Publishers, 1974), 256. 7 Felker: Bully Boor Genius. Time 17 Jan. 1977. Time, Inc. 10 June 2007. < http://www.time.com/time/magazine/a rticle/0,9171,918595-2,00.html > 8 Felker: Bully Boor Genius.

PAGE 46

46 written by Kerry Tremain, editor of California Monthly the alumni magazine for the University of California-Berkeley, where Felker taught in recent years. Tremains piece was an introduction to a collection of tributes to Felker from some of his closest friends and colleagues: Together with artist Milton Gl aser, whose sketch of Felker graces our cover, he founded New York magazine in 1968, which under his le adership became not only a nucleus of great writing, but also the progeni tor of an entire genre of writ ing that came to be known as the New Journalism. This genesis has been so obscured (and, sadly, sometimes degraded) by the many subsequent iterations of the form that its original genius can be overlooked. Inspired by influences as divers e as new psychological theories and the innovative films of the period, New Journalism was emotion ally charged and cinematic; its writers crafted dramatic, often socially por tentous scenes for readers. They trash-canned what they regarded as the pseudo-objective third person of traditional journalism in favor of a deeply reported and boldly colored style of first-person wr iting. They took sides in the cultural conflicts of the time, and aimed square ly at the big social issues. No minimalism here.9 Felker, Wolfe, Talese, Mailer and the rest of the crew reached the top of their games during that brief, shining moment when America was at the zen ith of its post-war power and prestige, the early 1960s. They came into their own just as the nation began its rollercoaster-like plunge into the Vietnam War, campus unrest, the drug culture, the womens liberation movement, the civil rights movement and a plethora of other issues that very nearly left the country permanently disabled. And they were ther e to document all of it, giving the nation a way to make sense of it all. In the end, the New Journalism profoundly and undeniably affected professional writing and reporting, continues to today and likely will for generations. While some may fret over the bad imitators, blaming Wolfe and his cohort for su ch inadequacies is like blaming the Beatles for the Monkees.10 9 Kerry Tremain. Agonizing Ecstasies. May 2005. California Magazine University of Calif ornia Berkeley. 10 June 2007. http://alumni.berkeley.edu/Alumni/Cal_Monthly/May_2005/Editors_note-_Agonizing_Ecstasies.asp 10 Jack Shafer. The Tripster in Wolfes Clothing. March/April 2006. Columbia Journalism Review. 10 June 2007. < http://cjrarchives.org/issues/2006/2/Shafer.asp?printerfriendly=yes >

PAGE 47

47 Forty years from now, when Wolfes book, I predict, will still be in print, our grandchildren will be celebrating his role in re suscitating the narrative form. Theyll marvel at his hack-like abilitie s to get just enough of the hard-to-get portions of the acid legend to tell the complete story with authority. A nd theyll be carrying a copy of The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test in their hip pockets.11 If todays bloggers offer any clues, that pred iction appears well on its way to fulfillment. Here is an excerpt from mediapost.com, a Web site that caters primarily to online advertising and marketing professionals: For those who are more familiar with the hist ory of blogs than magazines, Felker is the guy most directly responsible fo r the "new journalism" of the s, s, and s. He's the guy who created New York magazine and spawned an entire genre of city magazines that transformed the publishing world. He's th e guy who discovered such brilliant young journalists as Tom Wolfe, Ji mmy Breslin, and Gay Talese.12 Discovered may be too strong word for wh at Felker did. Coax, cajole, coach, urge, counsel, prompt, demand, suffer gladly, commiseratethose are better words. After all, thats what fathers do. 11 Shafer. 12 Fetes of Clay. 23 Nov. 2004. Real Media Riffs 10 June 2007. < http://publications.mediapost.co m/index.cfm?fuseaction=Article s.showArticle&art_aid=21039 >

PAGE 48

48 AFTERWORD In early April 2007, as this thesis was in pr ogress, I had e-mailed Tom Wolfe, Pete Hamill and Gail Sheehy, Clay Felkers wife, with several questions. Felker was in poor health, so it was understandable why Sheehy might not respond. The e-mail address I used for Hamill was a general address available to the public, so a re sponse, although possible, seemed unlikely. Wolfe, however, I still hoped to hear from. Shortly before 5 p.m. on the Friday I submitted the first draft of this thesis to my committee chair, an e-mail arrived in my in basket It was from Wolfe, responding to my request for his thoughts on the idea of Felker being the father of the New Journalism. It was brief, eleg ant and straight to the point: :::::::::::::::: ::::::::I never thought about it that way before, but I think you are probably right. The red-hot center s (to use an Esquire term) of the NJ were New York Magazine as long as Clay edited it and Esquire, where he had been a prominent editor until he went to work for the NY Herald Tribune in 1963. Clay didn't merely accept the NJ approach. He was its greatest exponent. I was elated. What better validation than from one of The Contenders himself, the one who arguably is most closel y and frequently associated with the genre? Wolfes reply, I believe, constitutes the most compelling evidence of all that Clay Felker was, indeed, The One True Instigator. The Godfather had spoken.

PAGE 49

49 LIST OF REFERENCES Abrahamson, David. "The New Journalism in the 1960s." Encyclopedia of American Journalism New York: M.E. Sharpe, 2006. Allen, Henry. Terry Sout hern, An Appreciation. Paris Review, vol. 38, Spring 1996, p. 198202. Wilson Web. 24 June 2007. Aucoin, Don. Getting a Read on Gay Talese. 6 Dec. 2003. The Boston Globe 10 June 2007. Berliner, Eve. Jack Newfield: J ournalist of Sacred Rage. 2000, Eves Magazine 10 June 2007. Bliwise, Robert J. The Master of New York, Clay Felker. D uke Magazine, Duke University. 10 June 2007. Carmody, Deirdre. Conversations / Clay Felk er; He Created Magazi nes by Marrying New Journalism to Consumerism. 9 April 1995. The New York Times 10 June 2007. Dearborn, Mary V. Mailer, A Biography. New York, Houghton Mifflin Co., 1999. Felker: Bully Boor Genius. Time 17 Jan. 1977. Time, Inc. 10 June 2007. Fetes of Clay. 23 Nov. 2004. Real Media Riffs 10 June 2007. Fishwick, Marshall W. The New Journalism, 2: A Style Befitting Our Times and Tastes. Journal of Communication, Vol. 25, Issue 3, p. 190. September 1975. Flippo, Chet. The Rolling Stone Interview: Tom Wolfe. In Conversations with Tom Wolfe ed. Dorothy M. Scura, 129-57. Jackson, Miss. : University Press of Mississippi, 1990. Gillespie, Nick. Victim of the Sexual Revolution: Terry Southerns Telling Trip from Hipster to Has-been. Reason October 2001. Reason Magazine, 10 June 2007.

PAGE 50

50 Harvey, Chris. Tom Wolfes Revenge. American Journalism Review October 1994. The University of Maryland, 10 June 2007. Hersey, John. Hiroshima New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1946. Hill, Lee. A Grand Guy : The Art and Life of Terry Southern. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2001. Hirschman, David S. So What Do Y ou Do, Gay Talese? Mediabistro.com 27 April 2004. Mediabistro.com, 10 June 2007. Kerrance, Kevin and Yagoda, Ben, eds. The Art of Fact: A Historic al Anthology of Literary Journalism. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1998. Kluger, Richard. The Paper: The Life and Death of the New York Herald Tribune. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1986. Lounsberry, Barbara. Portrait of a (Nonfiction) Artist. Ga y Talese Biography. 1998. Random House. 10 June 2007. Macdonald, Dwight. Parajourna lism, or Tom Wolfe & Hi s Magic Writing Machine. The New York Review of Books Vol. 5, Number 2, 26 August 1965. The New York Review of Books, 10 June 2007. Mailer, Norman. Superman Comes to the Supermarket. Esquire October, 1960. Mailer, Norman. Some Honorable Men: Poli tical Conventions, 1960-1972. New York: Little Brown, 1976. Mailer, Norman. Encyclopedia Britannica. 2007. Encyclopedia Britannica Online. 19 June 2007 . Markel, Lester. So Whats New? In The Reporter as Artist: A Look at the New Journalism Controversy ed. Ronald Weber. 255-59. New York: Hastings House, Publishers, 1974. McKeen, William. Tom Wolfe New York: Twayne Publishers, 1995. Mixed Fiction, Time 29 Sept. 1958. Time, Inc. 10 June 2007. Pace, Eric. Terry Southern, Sc reenwriter, Is Dead at 71. The New York Times, 31 Oct. 1995. The New York Times, 10 June 2007.

PAGE 51

51 Polsgrove, Carol. It Wasnt Pretty, Folks, But Didnt We Have Fun? Esquire in the Sixties. New York: W.W. Norton, 1995. Rosen, Jay. Once There Was a New Journalis m: Here's Norman Mailer Covering the 1960 Democratic Convention. PressThink. 21 July 2004. New York University. 19 June 2007. Shafer, Jack. The Tripster in Wolfes Clothing. March/April 2006. Columbia Journalism Review. 10 June 2007. Southern, Terry. Twirling at Ole Miss. Red-Dirt Marijuana and Other Tastes. New York: Carol Publishing Group, 1990. The Battle of New York. Time 17 Jan. 1977. Time, Inc. 20 June 2007. Talese, Gay. New York: A Serendipiters Journey New York: Harper & Row, 1961. Tremain, Kerry. Agonizing Ecstasies. California Magazine May 2005. University of California Berkeley. 10 June 2007. Weber, Ronald. The Reporter as Artist: A Look at the New Journalism Controversy New York: Hastings House, 1974. Weingarten, Marc. The Gang That Wouldnt Write Straig ht: Wolfe, Thompson, Didion, and the New Journalism Revolution. New York: Random House, 2006. Wolfe, Tom. City of Clay. May 2005. California Magazine University of California Berkeley. 10 June 2007. Wolfe, Tom and Johnson, E.W., eds. The New Journalism New York, Harper and Row, 1973.

PAGE 52

52 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Stephen F. Orlando was born Oct. 22, 1963, in Pe nsacola, Fla. A lifelong Florida resident, Stephen graduated from Pensacola Junior College in 1983 and from the University of Florida in Gainesville in 1986 with a bachelo rs degree in political science. He returned to UF in 1987 for a semester of post baccalaureate work in the Un iversity of Florida College of Journalism and Communications. He entered the masters progr am at UFs College of Journalism and Communications in 2003 and received his Mast er of Arts in Mass Communication degree in 2007. Stephen is director for print media for UFs News Bureau, where he has worked since 1996. Prior to that, he was a reporter for The Tampa Tribune from 1988 to 1996, covering cops, courts, city council, county government, schools and general assignment throughout west Central Florida. Stephen worked for a semester as a stringer for the Independent Florida Alligator in fall 1987 and did writing, editing, paste-up and layout for the weekly Gulf Breeze Sentinel also in 1987.