--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Sadler, W. E. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 31 number: 2 published: 1927-12 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "W. E. Sadler, “The Scoop,” *Improvement Era* 31, no. 2 (December 1927): 149–152." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3102unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3102unse start_page: 149 end_page: 152 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1927-12) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3102unse publication_year: 1927 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1927, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Scoop The Scoop By W. E. Sadler They called him "Chubby" because he was fat, and he was known as the "cub" reporter of the Evening Herald, because that was his job. In case you don't know what a "cub" reporter is, I'll explain: he is usually the youngest of the staff of re- porters on any newspaper and his job is to write-up all the "cradle-to-the-grave," marriage notices, and various other bits of news which are too slight to warrant the efforts of the higher-salaried of the pro- fession. "Chubby" Leach had left high school that su.nmer to become the cub reporter for the Herald. He had made only one mistake since his advent into journalism and that was to tell Morton, the star re- porter his aims, ambitions and ideals as pertaining to newspaper writing. Since that time his aspirations were known to all of the staff, from the editor to the copy-boy, and he was constantly being made the goat for all sorts of practical jokes. And Chubby, being as devoid of humor as a bathing-beach is of modesty, welcomed such practical jokes because he refused to fall into line and laugh with the perpetra- tor. But. like the hero of Horatio Alger's stories, "nothing daunted his brave spirit, and he ever strove for success." The three o'clock "dead-line" for the afternoon edition had just passed. The strain of the day's news-getting had fallen off, and as the presses ground out their reams of printed pages everyone in the editorial rooms relaxed. Sitting in front of his desk. Chubby mused: "Gee, now if I could only get a line on a scoop — a real. big. important scoop — I'd have it all over these beat- men and maybe get the Old Man to make me a 'star' too! I'll show these stuck-up guys a thing or two about reporting one of these days!" Morton, the "star." gazed at Chubby over the edge of his paper and his mouth turned upward into a grin as he said: "What's the matter, Chubby, old boy? Still thinking of the One Big Scoop?" Chubby muttered something that sound- ed like "mind your own business," flung down the paper he had been reading and walked out of the office. On the side- walk he headed for the corner of the busiest street intersection with the fond hopes that an accident would happen with himself as the eye-witness. As soon as Chubby had gone Morton jumped up from his chair: the expression on his face was that of a man who had just been struck with a brilliant idea. Walking over to another reporter, Morton spoke a few words in boisterous glee and then settled down to outline his plan. The plan was this: Morton and the other reporter were to follow Chubby to the cafe at which he usually took his supper. Chubby should be allowed to overhear a conversation between the two which would lead him into going to room 448 at the New Netherlands Hotel late that night. He was to hear enough at the cafe which would lead him to believe that he was going after a big scoop. At the hotel the two reporters would arvangc it so Chubby would get an earful about a crazy plan to poison the municipal water supply. Morton was to assume the rob of the poisoner and the other man the financial backer of the plan. Then, after Chubby had gathered all the details of what seemed to be a big story, and had written them up. Morton and the rest of the editorial office were to joke him about his diligence in procuring a "dud" story. •• * * * yOU know where Chubby generally eats his supper — in that Chinese cafe with the booths at the side? Well, that's the place: meet me on the corner at about six o'clock," Morton finished. "But won't the chief get sore?" queried the other. 150 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Not on your life! The boss enjoys a joke as much as anyone else. Besides, we'll be teaching the youngster a lesson in news-gathering," replied Morton. "Better tell him about it first, though, to be sure about it — we don't want this to be a boomerang," said the cautious individual. Without further ado Morton walked over to the glassed-in enclosure with the single word: "Editor" inscribed on the door. Not bothering to knock he walked in. A few minutes later he came out chuckling to himself. "Everything's all set," he announced to his colleague. "Don't forget to meet me at six o'clock sharp in Sing Fat's!" And with another laugh he picked up his hat and walked out of the office. Sing Fat's Shanghai Cafe was the Mecca for all sorts of people. If you wanted a dish of chow mein or a pork-chop you could get it there, served by a slim, slant- eyed, yellow-skinned person. Likewise, if you wanted privacy in order to discuss a shady deal, the booths, heavily-curtained, which lined the wall were at your service. Every politician, crook, artist or merchant in the town knew and liked Sin Fat's. Chubby liked Sin Fat's because he could get a meal for thirty-five cents which was satisfying. And again, the meal would be served where others couldn't observe him when he utilized stray pieces of bread to mop up the remains of gravy on the plat- ter. So at or about six o'clock Chubby could be found occupying one of the booths. Chubby had just been visited with the first course when two men walked into the cafe, glanced around, spoke a few words to the Chinaman at the counter, and were guided to a booth adjoining that occupied by the cub reporter. Whilst in the motion of conveying a section of pie to his mouth, Chubby was startled at hearing someone in the next booth pounding on the table and shouting in an aggravated tone: "I won't have it! It's outrageous: it's a darned swindle — that's what it is!" Scenting a plot, or possibly a fight — both of which are good news — Chubby hustled out of his chair and glued his ear to the thinly boarded partition separating the two booths. A man was saying: "Well, don't shout like that or you'll have the whole restau- rant knowing your business! Be sensible and calm down, man; you'll get your share of the cut! And if you want to talk about any of the details you can make your talk to the committee — we meet to- night in room 448 at the New Nether- lands Hotel at eleven o'clock sharp. Be- lieve me, any newspaperman would give his ears to know the things up for dis- cussion tonight: be careful and don't let anyone know about it, and " here his voice trailed off until it was lost upon the eavesi-dropper. Chubby straightened up; he had heard enough to convince him that something was indeed "in the air." His eyes were as big as saucers as he thought of what the man had said: " * * * any news- paper man would give his ears to know the things up for discussion tonight — " Gone wa9 his appetite, and in its stead there burned the knowledge of an ap- parently "big scoop" about to break. He grabbed for his hat, hastily paid his check and walked out of the cafe with never a thought about food. Coming down to the corner. Chubby stopped and took stock of what he had heard. "The time was eleven o'clock and the place was the — let's see now; was it the New Holland or the New Nether- lands hotel? Well, I can find out from the clerk of each if anything is going on up in room 448!" he said half to him- self. From the time he had left the restaurant until nearly eleven o'clock — the time for the event to take place — Chubby had walked around with his chin in the air building air castles. If it was anything about the present city administration, he thought, there would sure be a big scoop in it. The Herald had bucked the in- cumbents ever since they had been elected because of certain nefarious practices. At any rate, here was his big chance; if this scoop was successful he was a made man and no but's about it! THE SCOOP 151 The clock on the bank corner warned him that it lacked fifteen minutes of eleven. Chubby hastened his footsteps to- wards the New Holland Hotel, two blocks away. Sauntering up to the desk, and trying to keep his excitement from showing on his face, Chubby asked if there was any- thing special doing in room 448. The clerk, who knew him, replied no; not in 448 anyway, but wasn't it 428 he re- ferred to? If it was, the clerk had seen five men go up there just a few moments ago, and although the room was registered to an out-of-town contractor maybe some- thing was happening there. Chubby pulled the clerk towards him and whispered what he had heard the man say in Sing Fat's. In return for this confidence he was given permission to listen at the key-hole of room 428 as long as he didn't get caught. Disdaining the elevator, Chubby took the stairs at a run and arrived at the fourth floor out of breath and gasping. He tip- toed down the corridor until he reached room 428 and pulled out his pad and pencil. With his ear to the door and a watchful eye on the corridor he was able to hear someone say: "But, Mayor, this contract I'm bidding in will put the total bond issue of the municipal sewer contract in your council's hands. Think of it, man! Five million dollars at the disposal of you four men! Now here's my plan: we'll substitute num- ber one clay pipe for the specified iron: we'll take a different grading than the one specified by the engineers and we'll reduce the footage. On top of that we'll use smaller pipe; then there's the incidental expenses to be considered, so altogether we should be able to clean up a million and a quarter out of the whole business! That's not a bad split for five men. is it?" "How are we going to be assured that the people will know nothing of the plan? How are you going to keep your foremen from knowing what's going on? How are you going to protect our interests?" came from a Doubting Thomas in the room. "By simply using out-of-the-city labor." explained the first speaker. "I intend to hire none of my skilled help from this city, so you'll all have nothing to worry about' Then think of this, too: you, Mr. Mayor, and you, Councilmcn. will go up for elec- tion this fall. With the Herald against you, you know you can't win; they've shown you up too much in the past. Why not take a good slice of the tax-payer's money while there's the chance? Why not be killed for a sheep as for a lamb?" Scribbling furiously, his ear still at the door, Chubby caught this much and a great deal more of the same kind of talk. The gist of the whole business! was that the incumbent administration was planning a gigantic coup, which, if carried off, would cost the taxpayers over a million dollars and would jeopardize practically the en- tire sewage system of the city through in ferior material and inferior methods. Chubby heard a vote taken, heard the names of the mayor and his councilmen reply "aye" to the question, and after a short talk by the man who appeared to be the instigator he heard the chairs being pulled back from the center of the room. Chubby again bounced down the stairs and into the lobby. It was almost two o'clock in the morning. He had been listening for the better part of three hours! But, oh boy! what a scoop! There re- mained only the identification of the men as they passed through the lobby to make the story a fact. He stuffed his notes into a side pocket and slumped into a large, over-stuffed chair where he could see the men as they passed through the lobby but could not be seen by them. He did not have long to wait. The elevator door opened with a bang and four figures came out and started hurriedly for the door. Chubby recognized their faces as they passed; Parsons, the mayor, and Briggs, Stratton. Peterson and Meyer, councilmen. From the register Chubby obtained the name of the out-of-town contractor and verified it with the clerk. Then he hastened home with his secret, confident in the knowledge that he had obtained a "beat" over the morning paper, and that his 152 IMPROVEMENT ERA story would be the biggest scoop ill months. He could hardly sleep that night, think- ing about his story. Several times he awoke and reached for the scribbled notes to make sure that it was not a dream. At seven the next morning Chubby re- ported for duty. Instead of writing up the bits of miscellaneous news which hung on his desk-file he commenced on the story. His cheeks glowing, his eyes snapping with the fire of it, Chubby pounded the keys of his dilapidated typewriter. The other reporters, trooping in, glanced at him and smiled knowingly. A group of them stood near the editor's sanctum and exchanged wise-cracks. Loudest amongst them was Morton. His copy finished, Chubby picked up the sheets and carried them himself to the editor's office. If it had been anything else but his "big scoop" Chubby would have availed himself of the services of the copy-boy, the only individual in the big office actually at his beck and call. The other reporters, four of them, nudged each other as Chubby, wild-eyed and tousled-haired, brushed past them into the presence of the editor. The door banged beh'nd him. "Just wait until he comes out after he THE finds out it's all a put-up job!" chuckled Morton. The others laughed loudly and watched the door. Inside the office Chubby Was telling the Chief how he heard of the story. He had just reached the point where he was telling about the hotel; about the room number being 428 instead of 448 when the editor looked up surprised. Manning, the editor, grabbed the sheets from Chubby's hands and began reading them with absorption. Quickly he ran through them, sifting them from page to page as the important points came to light. Then he jumped up and shouted: "What hotel did you get this from? Hurry boy — what — ?" "T-t-the New Holland, sir. Isn't it all right?" faltered Chubby. "All right! Oh, boy! I'll say it's all right and so are you! Hooray! And now run out of here while I head this stuff up — come and see me this afternoon and I'll have some good news for you!" And as Chubby walked out of the door Manning picked up the telephone to call the mayor's office. While waiting for the number he mumbled elatedly: "The New Holland and the New Netherlands! Wowie! That's surely a hot one on Mor- ton— the biggest scoop of the season!" END It's The Vim Oh, it isn't the trimmings and trappings! Nor the polished face of the train; It's the vim panting back in the engine, That carries it o'er the plain. No, it isn't the army's regalia, Nor the front line, wide as the sea; It's the vim pulsing deep in the bosoms. That flags us the victory. So don't count much on trappings and trimmings, As wagers in this world's great strife; For it's the vim behind the endeavor, That wins the battle of life. Ephraim, Utah. SUSAN T. JENNINGS