by Nora Ephron
McALARY is on the phone in another hospital bed.
McALARY: This sucks huh?
HAP HAIRSTON: Yeah. It’s really pissing me off.
McALARY: But on the bright side, Hap, they found your heart, which is a surprise to some of us.
HAP HAIRSTON: I’m going to make it through. So are you. Even if it kills us. Both of us can not go down.
McALARY: And meanwhile, we’ve got morphine.
They’ve both got morphine pumps.
Does yours have a regulator?
HAP HAIRSTON: Sure. I guess so.
McALARY: What’s it set to?
HAP HAIRSTON: Six.
McALARY: Press the Exit button. See the main menu? Press the up arrow till it says thirteen.
HAP HAIRSTON: Okay.
HAP presses the button.
McALARY: Let’s do it.
HAP HAIRSTON: One, two, three.
McALARY: Beam me up, Scotty.
They both hit their morphine pumps.
Another beat.
You know what, Hap?
HAP HAIRSTON: What?
McALARY: Journalism has lost its charm.
HAP HAIRSTON: It’s like my first wife.
McALARY: How is it like your first wife?
HAP HAIRSTON: I know I used to love her, but I can’t remember why.
McALARY: Even so—I always knew I was going to live in the city. Knew I was going to write for a newspaper. Didn’t know which one, but I knew. Knew I’d have a column. I even knew I was going to be edited by a balding black man who drank almost as much as me. What I didn’t know, was all the other stuff that would come along as well.
Silence.
HAP HAIRSTON: So what’s the story?
McALARY: It’s looking not good. They got most of it. There’s something on the liver—but there’s this new chemo—there’s stuff in the pipeline.
McAlary Living Room
ALICE: The prognosis wasn’t good, but Michael’s outlook was positive. I thought, okay, we’ve got a grip on this. I did some reading, and then I stopped. I thought, this is Michael, this is not a statistic. The chemo was brutal but the tumors were shrinking. And the doctors weren’t right about everything—I was pregnant. After a few months, Michael went back to work at the Daily News—
Daily News Newsroom
DEBBY KRENEK: —Where I’d taken over as executive editor.
McALARY at his desk, typing. He looks up. There’s DEBBY KRENEK.
Good news. The lawsuit was dismissed.
McALARY: We won?
DEBBY KRENEK: We won in that it’s over and it was dismissed. It says you reported what the police department told you so it’s not libel. But the cops were wrong to tell you what they told you. It’s over, that’s the main thing.
A beat.
McALARY: What a relief. It’s all I thought about until I got sick. Good things have to happen every so often. I gotta call Alice. What a fucking anticlimax.
DEBBY KRENEK: Also, and this is unrelated I promise you, we have a problem. They’re making cutbacks. The owner.
A beat.
McALARY: He wants to fire me?
DEBBY KRENEK: But we have an idea—
McALARY: I have a contract.
DEBBY KRENEK: What if you wrote only once a week? They’d pay you less, but you’d hold on to your health insurance. And you could do magazine articles, you could write a book—
McALARY: (Re: the owner.) The prick. DEBBY KRENEK: Owners. What can you do?
A beat.
McALARY: I do have an idea for a novel.
DEBBY KRENEK: So we’ll work it out with Eddie?
McALARY nods.
This way you stay here. We need you here.
DEBBY walks off.
Bellport Kitchen
ALICE in the kitchen. She’s making toast. McALARY walks into the kitchen.
ALICE: What’s your day?
McALARY picks up the phone and dials his office to play his messages.
McALARY: (Listening to the phone message.) Chemo at eight. Then I gotta do some radio show and an interview with the Bellport Bulletin.
ALICE: Big-time. I’m making you toast.
McALARY doesn’t respond. He’s still listening to his message.
Not hearing an answer, I am moving forward in the toast area.
McALARY hangs up.
Stands by the phone, thinking.
Michael? (Turns and sees he’s distracted.) Are you feeling okay?
McALARY: (To ALICE.) Listen to this.
He hits the speaker-phone button on the phone.
PHONE MESSAGE: McAlary. Mike McAlary. You don’t know me but I am calling you because in the Seven-O Precinct in Brooklyn, on August the ninth at 0400 hours, they, the cops there, sodomized a prisoner. The patient is currently at Coney Island Hospital. His name, his last name, is L-O-U-I-M-A. Now they are trying to cover this up, because it was two white officers. And they did this to a black guy who they locked up for disorderly conduct. And now they are charging him with assault in the second. All this information can be verified if you call Coney Island Hospital or the Seven-O Precinct. I will not call you again.
He hangs up the phone and looks at ALICE. After a beat—
McALARY: It probably didn’t happen.
ALICE: It sounds like it happened. Like something happened.
McALARY: We had something like it a couple of years ago, some livery drivers in Rockaway cooked up a story about a cop they said had sodomized them, it didn’t check out.
ALICE: If it did happen and you ignore it, you’ll never be able to look at yourself again.
McALARY: I’ll phone it in to Corky and pass it on to the desk.
ALICE: You’re gonna let someone else write it? What is going on here?
McALARY: I’m done with cop stuff.
ALICE: What the hell does that mean? You’re “done with cop stuff”?
McALARY: I’m only doing one column a week. I am done with cops.
ALICE: No, no, no. This is bigger than “I am only doing one column a week and I’m done with cops.” Who are these people going to call if they can’t call you? You’re the guy they call. Your whole career is about being the guy they call.
ALICE hands him his pad.
I’m changing your appointment.
McALARY: And I got that radio interview.
ALICE: Yeah, that radio thing.
McALARY: And the—
ALICE: Bellport Bulletin. Got it.
McALARY: On my way to chemo I start working the phone. Call a guy at the DMV, and I get him to run the name Louima. L-O-U-I-M-A. Ten Louimas. I call six or seven till I get to Fanie Louima, who turns out to be the guy’s aunt and she gives me his first name, Abner, and the name of his lawyer. So now I’m in chemo, and I reach the lawyer, and he tells me the name of the arresting officer and the room number at the hospital. Which I need because they don’t tell you the room number at the front desk if it’s a guy who just got arrested. They don’t even let you on the elevator, but I get around that.
Hospital Room
LOUIMA is a delicate Haitian. He’s wearing a white hospital smock. His right wrist is handcuffed to the side of the bed. McALARY is next to him, close by.
ABNER LOUIMA: They threw me in the car. They kicked me, they beat me with their radios. One said, “You scum, I am going to teach you to respect a cop.” “Why do you niggers come to this country if you can’t speak English?”
McALARY: Who were the cops?
ABNER LOUIMA: I don’t know.
McALARY: Did you see their name tags?
ABNER LOUIMA: No name tags. They took off my clothes at the station. My pants were down at my ankles in front of them. They walked me over to the bathroom and closed the door. There were two cops. One said, “You niggers have to learn to respect police officers.” The other one said, “If you yell or make any noise, I will kill you.”
He stops for a moment.
McALARY: Take your time. (Sits.) I’m not going a
nywhere.
ABNER LOUIMA: Then one held me and the other one stuck the stick up my behind. He said, “Take this, nigger.” I was screaming. Then the cop pulled it out. There was blood and shit on it. He shoved it in my mouth, broke my teeth and said, “That’s your shit, nigger.”
McALARY: What kind of a nightstick are we talking about?
ABNER LOUIMA: Not a nightstick. It was the plunger from the policemen’s bathroom.
McALARY: How do you know?
ABNER LOUIMA: I seen the rubber thing on the bottom.
McALARY: Where’s the Brooklyn D.A.?
ABNER LOUIMA: My lawyer is calling him.
McALARY: Be sure to tell him a reporter was here. Tell him it was me, okay? Mike McAlary.
Daily News Newsroom
HAP HAIRSTON, DEBBY KRENEK, STANLEY JOYCE at the table.
STANLEY JOYCE: No. Absolutely not. It shouldn’t be the wood.
HAP HAIRSTON: It shouldn’t be the wood? What else have you got for the wood?
STANLEY JOYCE: We’ve got the Duchess of Windsor. They’re auctioning off her jewels.
HAP HAIRSTON: Great.
STANLEY JOYCE: How do we know it’s true?
HAP HAIRSTON: We’ve got Louima, we’re the only ones who talked to the guy. The police confirmed he was arrested. Which part of it do we not know is true?
STANLEY JOYCE: How do we know he was really raped?
HAP HAIRSTON: His asshole is bleeding. Look, the story’s solid. We’re already thinking about follow-up. I don’t see the problem.
STANLEY JOYCE: The problem is obvious, isn’t it? The problem is McAlary.
A long pause.
HAP HAIRSTON: It’s not your call, Stanley.
They turn to look at DEBBY KRENEK.
DEBBY KRENEK: (To audience.) It was my call. The editor in chief, Pete Hamill, was on vacation, and I was the acting editor. I couldn’t believe it. We’ve got this great story and we have to figure out how to play it and unfortunately all I’m thinking is, why me? (To the other editors.) I think we should read it first. (A beat.) And the lawyers obviously have to read it.
STANLEY JOYCE: Obviously.
DEBBY KRENEK: I’ll see if I can find Pete.
HAP HAIRSTON: (To audience.) We turned the story in at six. Everyone was still nervous. The lawyers had a million petty and obscure suggestions. Stanley was still talking about the Duchess of Windsor. But Debby found Pete, and he said, go with McAlary. By then, the cops knew Mac had the story, so they put out a statement.
The volume comes up on all the television sets in the newsroom. Everyone in the newsroom turns to watch.
NEW YORK 1 REPORTER: The NYPD announced late today it was suspending two policemen in Brooklyn pending an investigation into an incident following an arrest in a Flatbush nightclub.
The volume drops but everyone continues to watch the New York 1 Reporter.
HAP HAIRSTON: (To audience.) Big sigh of relief. They’re thrilled. It must be true—it’s on television. It’s the moment you know, if you didn’t already know, that it’s over. The newspaper business. The glory days.
McALARY: But here’s the thing about being a reporter. “It’s not the oldest job in the world, but it’s the best job in the world.” Because—
JIM DWYER: —because what you do matters—
HAP HAIRSTON: —because every day is different—
JERRY NACHMAN: —because everybody is smart, even the dumb ones—
MICHAEL DALY: —because of the action—
BOB DRURY: —because of the deadlines—
JERRY NACHMAN: —because of the guys—
MICHAEL DALY: —because of the stories—
HAP HAIRSTON: —because you never have to go home—
McALARY: —because beneath that cynicism there’s the same sweet fantasy we all have about this business—that we’re knights, that we right wrongs, and then afterwards we go out and have a drink because that’s what we do.
Headline on Daily News front page: SECURITY GUARD TELLS McALARY HE WAS TORTURED BY COPS.
McALARY at his computer, typing.
DEBBY KRENEK: (To audience.) It was a huge story.
Headline on Daily News front page: ACCUSED COP TALKS TO McALARY ABOUT TORTURE SCANDAL.
McALARY at his computer, typing.
HAP HAIRSTON: (To audience.) Nobody had what Mac had.
Headline on Daily News front page: RUDY AND BRASS REAP HARVEST OF HATE by Mike McAlary.
MICHAEL DALY: Every connection he’d ever made paid off.
DEBBY KRENEK: And he had the wood for the next four days.
JIM DWYER: (To audience.) That summer, the McAlarys came up to the Poconos for a visit. Mac’s novel had just been published, he was looking healthy and happy. The kids called him Zipper Man because of all his scars. He played tennis. So we were all out at the pool and their son Ryan wanted to do a flip, and he was nervous, and Mac said, “When you do these things you can’t be nervous—if you think about what can go wrong, if you think about the belly flop, or you think you’ll land on your back, that’s what’ll happen. You just have to do it. I’ll show you.” So he went out to the end of the diving board. Poor Alice, she covered her eyes. She couldn’t even look at this, she couldn’t even watch. Mac took two steps, bounces up into the sun, and he’s not just doing a flip, he’s doing a one-and-a-half gainer. He comes out of the water laughing. And he said to Ryan—I can see him, putting his fingers in the air—he always put his fingers in the air—he said, “Ryan, the important thing is, don’t be afraid. Just do the dive.”
DWYER puts his fingers up in the air, like McALARY.
As ALICE helps a weakened McALARY get dressed—
HAP HAIRSTON: I first heard from Debby—
BOB DRURY: Daly told me—
MICHAEL DALY: After Alice had called me.
DEBBY KRENEK: It was a Friday.
HAP HAIRSTON: (Elated.) The first words out of my mouth were son-of-a-bitch! That lucky bastard has gone and won himself the Pulitzer Prize!
Daily News Newsroom
DEBBY KRENEK: (To audience.) We planned a celebration in the newsroom and everybody showed up. He walked in and—
McALARY walks in. He’s very obviously sick, his shirt is way too big for his neck, and he’s walking with difficulty.
The ensemble is in the newsroom. Everyone starts to applaud.
JIM DWYER: (To audience.) He was so thin.
HAP HAIRSTON: (To audience.) He was emaciated.
MICHAEL DALY: (To audience.) His shirt collar was way too big for his neck.
DEBBY KRENEK: (To audience.) Everyone was shocked.
HAP HAIRSTON: (To audience.) People were shocked, especially the ones who hadn’t seen him.
JIM DWYER: (To audience.) Alice was wearing red. ALICE is wearing red.
DEBBY KRENEK: (To audience.) I spoke first. Then the publisher said something. And then Mac said, “A mistake has been made”—
McALARY stands in front of the newsroom. He’s nervous and shaking.
McALARY: A mistake has been made. That’s what I keep telling myself. I was on the phone with the office every ten minutes yesterday asking, “Is it still true?” And then we would scream. I told my parents they must have the wrong Mike. They must mean Daly, who along with Cotter taught me to write a column. It could and should have been any of you. Catherine, Carl, Joe, Tim—
HAP HAIRSTON: (To the audience.) He mentioned a whole bunch of people. A lot of them had signed the petition against him, but he mentioned them anyway.
EDDIE HAYES: (To the audience.) He even mentioned me.
McALARY: On the other hand, as my lawyer and friend Eddie Hayes said, “I don’t know if I’m ready to live in a world where McAlary is admired and respected.”
Everyone laughs, including EDDIE.
So they made a mistake. But I won’t ask for a correction. (Beat.) I got sick a couple of years ago. They removed a tumor from my colon. Finding out you have cancer is a little like waking up on death row. I h
ad chemotherapy the day I heard about Abner Louima. Drove directly from my doctor’s office to his hospital room. It wasn’t my day to write. But Hap Hairston, my genius editor—
HAP HAIRSTON: (To audience.) —He called me the best editor in the United States, bar none—
McALARY: —the best editor in the United States, bar none—cleared the decks and Debby rode the column into the paper.
HAP HAIRSTON is crying.
I might not have done it if Alice hadn’t pushed me the morning we heard the taped message. This is her win too.
ALICE is crying.
So yes, maybe it was a mistake. But I am a couple of people’s mistakes. Jim Willse listened to my late friend John Cotter and gave me the chance to follow Breslin. We believed that you could do a column differently. Mostly we believed this because we weren’t smart enough to do it any other way. You could write a column and break news. And a lot of days we did that. Reporting was the key. The story’s the thing. And you have to go get it. Basic reporting. Go find out. There are no stories in the newsroom. Get your butt into the street. Knock on doors, ask questions at two in the morning. Red meat.
McALARY is crying now.
I have lived the life I dreamed about, but there’s so much more I want to do. I want to dance at my daughter’s wedding. I want to see my son Ryan graduate from college. I want to walk old and gray on the beach with my wife. (Beat.) I know I am unworthy. But please forgive me if I don’t protest this Pulitzer Prize. This is a mistake I can live with.
He smiles.
Everyone starts to applaud.
Applause stops as McALARY puts his fingers in the air.
(To audience.) I was in Room 918 in the Milstein Hospital at Columbia-Presbyterian, the floor where they put the rich people. There’s an atrium with a big grand piano. They serve tea every day at four and some guy who can’t play the piano plays the piano. It’s Christmas Eve and there’s a little tree in the room. My legs are swollen. Everything hurts. They want to put a tube down my throat but I won’t let them.
A beat.
Count the bodies.