The Fourth Estate (65 page)

Some people
began to applaud. Others looked uncertain, and some downright angry.

The proprietor
went on to explain to the journalists the logistics of such an immense operation.
‘The problem of distribution will be dealt with by our own fleet of trucks,
making it unnecessary in future for us to rely on the rail unions, who will
undoubtedly come out on strike in support of their comrades in the print
unions. I can only hope that you will all back me in this venture. Are there
any questions?” Hands shot up all around the room. Townsend pointed to a man
standing directly in front of him.

“Are you
expecting the unions to picket the new building, and if so, what contingency measures
have you put in place?”

‘The answer to
the first part of your question has to be yes,” said Townsend. “As far as the
second part is concerned, the police have advised me not to divulge any details
of what they have planned. But I can assure you that I have the backing of the
prime minister and the Cabinet for this whole operation.”

Some groans
could be heard around the room. Townsend turned and pointed to another raised
hand.

“Will there be
compensation for those of us who are unwilling to join this crazy scheme?”

That was one
question Townsend had hoped someone would ask.

I advise you to
read your contracts carefully,” he said. “You’ll find in them exactly how much
compensation you’ll get if I have to close the paper down.”

A buzz began all
around him.

“Are you
threatening us?” asked the same journalist.

Townsend swung
back to him and said fiercely, “No, I’m not. But if you don’t back me on this
one, you’ll be threatening the livelihood of everyone who works for the Globc.”

A sea of hands
shot up. Townsend pointed to a woman standing at the back.

“How many other
unions have agreed to back you?”

“None,” he
replied. “In fact, I’m expecting the rest of them to come out on strike
immediately following this meeting.” He pointed to someone else, and continued
to answer questions for over an hour. When he finally stepped off the table, it
was clear that the journalists were divided on whether to go along with his
plan, or to join the other print unions and opt for an all-out strike.

Later that
evening, Bruce told him that the National Union of Joumalists had issued a
press release stating their intention to hold a meeting of all Townsend
employees at ten o’clock the next morning, when they would decide what their
response would be to his demands. An hour later Townsend issued his own press
release.

Townsend spent a
sleepless night wondering if he had embarked on a reckless gamble that would in
time bring the whole of his empire to its knees. The only good news he had
received in the past month was that his youngest son, Graham, who was in New
York with Kate, had spoken his first word, and it wasn’t “newspaper.” Although
he had attended the child’s birth, he had been seen boarding a plane at Kennedy
three hours later.

He sometimes
wondered if it was all worthwhile.

The following
morning, afterbcing driven to his office, he sat alone awaiting the outcome of
the NUJ meeting. If they decided to call a strike, he knew he was beaten.
Following his press release outlining his plans, Global Corp’s shares had
fallen four pence overnight, while those of Armstrong Communications, the
obvious beneficiaries if there was to be any fall-out, had risen by two.

A few minutes
after one o’clock, Bruce charged into his office without knocking. ‘They backed
you,” he said. Townsend looked up, the color rushing back into his cheeks. “But
it was a damn close thing. They voted 343 to 301 to make the move. I think your
threat to close the paper down if they didn’t support you was what finally
tilted it in your favor.”

Townsend rang
Number Ten a few minutes later to warn the prime minister that there was likely
to be a bloody confrontation which could last for several weeks. Mrs. Thatcher
promised her full backing. As the days passed, it quickly became clear that he
hadn’t exaggerated: journalists and printers alike had to be escorted in and
out of the new complex by anned policei Townsend and Bruce Kelly were given
twenty- four- hour protection after they received anonymous death threats.

That didn’t turn
out to be their only problem. Although the new site on the Isle of Dogs was
unquestionably the most modern in the world, some of the journalists were
complaining about the life they were expected to endure, pointing out that
there was nothing in their contracts about having abuse, sometimes even stones,
hurled at them by hundreds of trades unionists as they entered Fortress
Townsend each morning and left at night.

The journalists’
complaints didn’t stop there. Once they were inside, few of them cared for the
productionline atmosphere, the modern keyboards and computers which had
replaced their old typewriters, and in particular the ban on alcohol on the
premises. It might have been easier if they hadn’t been stranded so far from
their familiar Fleet Street watering holes.

Sixty-three
journalists resigned in the first month after the move to the Isle of Dogs, and
sales of the Globe continued to fall week after week.

The picketing
became more and more violent, and the financial director warned Townsend that
if it went on for much longer, even the reSources of Global Corp would be
exhausted. He went on to ask, “is it worth risking bankruptcy to prove a
point?”

Armstrong
watched with delight from the other side of the Atlantic. The Citizen kept
picking up sales, and his share price soared. But he knew that if Townsend was
able to turn the tide he would have to return to London and quickly put a
similar operation in motion.

But no one could
have anticipated what would happen next.

THE SUN

4 MAY 1982

G
otcha!

ON A FRIDAY
night in April 1982, while the British were fast asleep, Argentinian troops
invaded the Falkland Islands. Mrs. Thatcher recalled Parliament on a Saturday
for the first time in forty years, and the House voted in favor of dispatching
a task force without delay to recapture the islands.

Alistair McAlvoy
contacted Armstrong in New York and persuaded him that the Citizen should toe
the Labor Party line-that a jingoistic response was not the Solution, and that
the United Nations should sort the problem out.

Armstrong remained
unconvinced until McAlvoy added, “This is an irresponsible adventure which will
cause the downfall of Thatcher. Believe me, the Labor Party will be back in
power within weeks.”

Townsend, on the
other hand, was in no doubt that he should back Mrs. Thatcher and wrap the
Union Jack round the Globe. “Argy Bargy” was the headline on Monday’s edition,
with a cartoon depicting General Galtieri as a cutthroat pirate. As the task
force headed out of Portsmouth and on toward the South Atlantic, sales of the Globe
rose to 300,000 for the first time in months. During the first few days of
skirmishing even Prince Andrew was praised for his “gallant and heroic service”
as a helicopter pilot. When the British submarine HMS Conqueror sunk the
General Belgrano on 2 May, the Globe told the world “BULLSEYE!”, and sales rose
again. By the time the British forces had retaken Port Stanley, the Globe was
selling over 500,000 copies a day, while sales of the Citizen had dipped
slightly for the first time since Armstrong had become proprietor. When Peter
Wakeham called Armstrong in New York to let him know the latest circulation
figures, he jumped on the first flight back to London.

By the time the
triumphant British troops were sailing back home, the Globe was selling over a
million copies a day, while the Citizen had dipped below four million for the
first time in twenty-five years. When the fleet sailed into Portsmouth, the
Globe launched a campaign to raise money for the widows whose gallant husbands
had made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. Day after day, Bruce Kelly
ran stories of heroism and pride alongside pictures of widows and their
children-all of whom turned out to be readers of the Globe.

On the day after
the remembrance service at St. Paul’s Cathedral, Armstrong called a council of
war on the ninth floor of Armstrong House. He was reminded quite unnecessarily
by his circulation manager that most of the Globe’s gains had been at the
expense of the Citizen. Alistair McAlvoy still advised him not to panic. After
all, the Globe was a rag; the Citizen remained a serious radical newspaper with
a great reputation. “It would be foolish to lower our standards simply to
appease an upstart whose paper is not fit to be wrapped around a
self-respecting serving of fish and chips,” he said. “Can you imagine the
Citizen ever involving itself in a bingo competition? Another one of Kevin
Rushcliffe’s vulgar ideas.”

Armstrong made a
note of the name. Bingo had put the Globe’s circulation up by a further 100,000
copies a day, and he could see no reason why it shouldn’t do the same for the
Citizen. But he also knew that the team McAlvoy had built up over the past ten
years was still fully behind its editor.

“Look at the
Globe’s front-page lead this morning,” Armstrong said in a last desperate
effort to make his point. “Why don’t we get stories like that?”

“Because Freddie
Starr wouldn’t even make page eleven of the Citizen,” said McAlvoy. “And in any
case, who cares a damn about his eating habits? We get offered stories like
that every day, but we don’t get the handful of writs that usually go with
them.” McAlvoy and his team left the meeting believing that they had persuaded
the proprietor not to go down the same path as the Globe.

T’heir
confidence lasted only until the next quartees circulation figures landed on
Armstrong’s desk. Without consulting anyone, he picked up a phone and made an
appointment to see Kevin Rushcliffe, the deputy editor of the Globe.

Rushcliffe
arrived at Armstrong Communications later that afternoon. He couldn’t have been
in greater contrast to Alistair McAlvoy. He addressed Dick at their first
meeting as if they were old friends, and talked in rapid-fire soundbites that
the proprietor didn’t begin to understand.

Rushc1iffe left
him in no doubt as to the immediate changes he would make if he were given a
chance to edit the Citizen. ‘The editorials are too bland,” he said. “Let them
know what you feel in a couple of sentences. No words with more than three
syllables, and no sentences with more than ten words. Don’t ever try to
influence them. Just make sure you demand what they already want.” An unusually
subdued Armstrong explained to the young man that he would have to start as the
deputy editor, “Because McAlvoy’s contract has another seven months to run.”

Armstrong nearly
changed his mind about the new appointment when Rushcliffe told him the package
he expected. He wouldn’t have given way so easily had he known the terms of
Rushcliffe’s contract with the Globe, or the fact that Bruce Kelly had no
intention of renewing it at the end of the year.

Three days later
he sent a memo down to McAlvoy telling him that he had appointed Kevin
Rushcliffe as his deputy.

McAlvoy
considered protesting at having the Globe’s deputy editor foisted upon him,
until his wife pointed out that he was due for retirement in seven months on a
full pension, and that this was not the time to sacrifice his job on the altar
of principle. When he arrived in the office the next morning, McAlvoy simply
ignored his new deputy and his idea-a-minute for tomorrow’s front page.

When the Globe
put a nude on page three and sold two million copies for the first time,
McAlvoy declared at morning conference, “Over my dead body.” No one felt able
to point out that two or three of his best reporters had recently left the
Citizen to join the Globe, while only Rushcliffe had made the journey in the
opposite direction.

As Armstrong
continued to spend a great deal of his time preparing for a takeover battle in
New York, he reluctantly continued to accept McAlvoy’s judgment, not least
because he didn’t want to sack his most experienced editor only weeks before a
general election.

When Margaret
Thatcher was returned to the Commons with a majority of 144, the Globe claimed
the victory as theirs, and declared that this would surely hasten the downfall
of the Citizen. Several commentators were quick to point out the irony of this
particular statement.

When Armstrong
returned to England the following week for the monthly board meeting, Sir Paul
raised the subject of the fall in the paper’s circulation figures.

“While the
Globe’s continue to rise every month,” Peter Wakeham interjected from the other
end of the table.

“So what are we
going to do about it?” asked the chairman, turning to face his chief executive.

I have already
put some plans in hand,” saidArmstrong.

“Are we to be
privy to these plans?” asked Sir Paul.

I will brief the
board fully at our next meeting,” said Armstrong.

Sir Paul didn’t
look satisfied, but made no further comment.