The Gang That Wouldn't Write Straight: Wolfe, Thompson, Didion, Capote, and the New Journalism Revolution (47 page)

New York’s
editor in chief knew none of this on November 29, the day before Shuman called Patricof, when Felker and Murdoch sat down to discuss the fate
of New York
. “What you ought to do,” Murdoch told him, “is borrow a lot of money in order to own something like 51 percent, then work your tail off for two or three years, scrimp and save and pay off the thing, you’ll own 100 percent and then you don’t have to take any crap from anybody.”

Two weeks later, Murdoch summoned Felker to his office on Third Avenue to discuss purchasing the company for $6 a share, with the proviso that Felker could retain ownership of
New West
—that is, if he agreed to buy it from Murdoch for a million dollars. Two days later, Felker called Murdoch to inform him that there was no deal.

“
New York
had a different meaning to Clay than it did to me,” said Milton Glaser, who had continued to run Push Pin Studios while working on
New York
. “It was his child and the center of his life. To me, it wasn’t, even though I loved the magazine. I just felt very sorry for Clay.”

Felker was under siege. Murdoch was closing in on a hostile takeover,
and Felker didn’t have the financial resources to counter it. The company had only one other resource at its disposal, a right-of-first-refusal clause in the shareholder’s agreement that would give Felker fifteen days to match any third-party offer made for Burden’s stock. But he had to move fast:
New York’s
stock was trading heavily, which raised suspicions that Murdoch might already be maneuvering for control.

Felker sought council from his friend Felix Rohatyn, a mergers-and-acquisition specialist who had made a fortune for his firm, Lazard Frères. Rohatyn suggested that perhaps
Washington Post
owner Katharine Graham might be interested in helping out. Rohatyn, Felker, and Graham worked up an offer of $7 a share for Burden’s stock, which Burden’s lawyer, Peter Tufo, agreed to in principle. It seemed like a perfect fit: Graham would put up the capital and the company would be folded into the
Washington Post
, with Felker retaining complete editorial control.

But what Felker failed to understand was that Burden was not in it for the money, and a high bid couldn’t salve his desire to become a media mogul. Murdoch instinctively understood that a few careful ego strokes would make Burden submissive to him, and so he offered him a job and a salary in the to-be-revamped
New York
magazine after Murdoch took over. “Clay could have been a bit more diplomatic with Burden, but he had no patience,” said former contributing writer Ken Auletta. “But that was one of his more endearing qualities—his inability to suffer any bullshit. I think Clay’s biggest mistake was inviting people on the board that would become his enemies.”

Burden had already negotiated a deal with Murdoch to sell out to him for $8.25 a share while Felker, Graham, and Rohatyn sat on their hands in Graham’s
Newsweek
office on New Year’s Eve, waiting for Burden, who was vacationing in Sun Valley, Idaho, to ratify the verbal agreement they had hammered out the day before. Burden was skiing, Tufo told them, and couldn’t be reached. But there was no snow on the ground in Idaho, and Burden hadn’t purchased any lift tickets. Instead, he was waiting for Murdoch to arrive on his Gulfstream and hand Burden a check for $3.5 million to receive outright control of
New York, New West
, and the
Village Voice
.

On New Year’s Day, Felker called his attorney, Reginald Duff, and told him to play his last remaining hand, the right-of-first-refusal clause that Burden had violated by going with Murdoch prior to fielding
Felker’s offer. Judge Thomas P. Griesa agreed that Burden had not followed the terms of the clause and granted a temporary restraining order, enjoining the sale of the stock.

While Murdoch’s money sat in an escrow account, Felker scrambled mightily for his company, marshaling every resource he could find, including the
New York
staff, who had sat on the sidelines while Murdoch and Felker jousted for their beloved magazine. The battle was joined; Felker’s earnest and pious loyalists versus the crass media colonizers, a battle that would play itself out in the press and on the local TV news, no less.
New York
magazine, which had sustained itself in lean times with stories that foregrounded scandal, was now the subject of tabloid headlines.

A few
New York
contributors took the initiative to function as de facto mediators between the staff and the board of directors. Political writers Ken Auletta and Richard Reeves, who were practiced in the art of speaking truth to power, met with Patricof Bob Towbin, and Thomas Kempner, who assured Auletta and Reeves that they had the best interests of the magazine at heart and that they would be happy to meet with the staff during the next board meeting to try to clean up this mess. To Byron Dobell, the board’s overtures at reconciliation were just strategic maneuvers, and perhaps a way to assuage their guilt over going behind Felker’s back. If they retained Auletta and Reeves in an editorial capacity after Murdoch took over, then
New York
might not lose its editorial continuity or integrity.

“I was tremendously loyal to Clay, and the board was the enemy,” said Dobell. “I just felt Auletta and Reeves shouldn’t dicker around with these people, as if they might stay on afterwards. It was terribly naive on their part.” Dobell’s skepticism was borne out on January 2, when Patricof and Kempner signed their stock over to Murdoch. Towbin followed soon after, and Murdoch had it all sewn up, at least until Judge Greisa’s final ruling on the temporary restraining order. “The investment bankers on my board sold me out,” said Felker, “and Murdoch was a prick.”

About the only salutary thing that emerged from the takeover, according to Felker, was the tremendous display of solidarity that his staff demonstrated in the wake of the sale. “The troops really rallied when Murdoch made his move,” he said. “It was very heartening to me.”

On the morning after Murdoch held a cocktail party in his Fifth
Avenue apartment to celebrate his victory, 125 full-time staffers and freelancers gathered at
New York’s
office on Second Avenue. With Felker and Glaser tied up in meetings with lawyers, Byron Dobell read a prepared statement from their beleaguered leader. “Despite recent developments,” it read in part, “I intend to fight as hard as I can to keep what we have all built from being damaged.” It was meant to be a battle cry, but it had the desperate ring of an SOS.

The nonunionized staff planned a work stoppage if Murdoch shanghaied the magazine from Felker. The indignation was rising to a hysterical pitch; it was all beginning to take on the tenor of a moral crusade. “Clay has been very good to me,” Dobell told the reporters who had amassed in the office’s dining room for a press conference. “I think of him as my brother—and sometimes he may be wrong—but I’ve always felt I needed Clay. That’s why the passion is so enormous. I want to save my brother.” Ken Auletta put a finer point on it: “We protest being treated like lumps of meat or widgets—being bartered and traded around.”

But
New York’s
crew had no legal recourse, not a single bargaining chip, except their sweat equity. Felker was trying to appeal to the empathy of the board, but no one knew better than Murdoch that financial self-interest always trumped good intentions. “When push came to shove, the investors were interested in getting their money out,” said Glaser. “They behaved as one would expect them to behave. Clay thought he could make them see the importance of his journalistic crusade—that they would stay on board for the sake of the editorial product—but why in the world would anyone think that was gonna happen?”

Despite Tom Kempner’s assurances that the writers would have a significant role in the board meeting that would formalize the stock sale that night,
New York’s
minions were confined to a holding room adjacent to the boardroom in labor negotiator Ted Kheel’s office. As staff members sipped from the half-gallon bottle of Chivas Regal that Kheel had provided, Auletta, Reeves, and writer Steven Brill decamped to the men’s room, only to find Murdoch sitting on the sink, briefing Towbin and Stanley Shuman on strategy. They all regarded each other nervously, then Murdoch and his crew ducked out uneasily without a word exchanged between them. Pious indignation would no longer suffice; the script was being written by Murdoch now.

Felker and Glaser entered the boardroom at a little past seven o’clock to face their antagonists. Alan Patricof wasted little time in shifting the balance of power to Murdoch, proposing that Joan Glynn and James Q. Wilson, two Felker loyalists, be removed from the board, effective immediately. No sooner did Glynn and Wilson leave than Patricof conducted a roll-call vote for the removal of Kheel as company counsel. Towbin, Patricof, Tufo, Kempner, Bull, and Burden all raised their hands. Kheel was out. Felker and Glaser were poleaxed but did their level best to keep themselves in check.

Now the coup de grâce was at hand, and Patricof was on a roll: “I now propose that we put two new members on the board.” Enter Murdoch and Shuman, who without ceremony seated themselves in the chairs vacated by Glynn and Wilson. The proxies were passed around the table, and the meeting was adjourned. The shareholders would now convene in private.

After a short interval, Patricof entered the writers’ room and told Glaser that the board would now hear the grievances of the
New York
representatives. Brill, Dobell, Felker, Reeves, Auletta, and Glaser entered the boardroom and proceeded to lob verbal buckshot at their tormenters. It was the only weapon they had left.

Dobell berated the board for dining out on Felker’s genius for years and then repaying him with a devastating betrayal. Towbin vociferously defended his behavior, telling Felker that he had called up Felix Rohatyn to get permission to sell his stock. “Bob,” Felker barked, “you’re a liar.” Ken Auletta wanted Towbin to explain why he had told Auletta he would be interested in doing business with the
Washington Post
and that he wouldn’t budge until he had met with the writers when in fact he had already initiated a deal with Murdoch. Towbin had no good answer for that.

But it was Carter Burden who bore the brunt of Felker and Dobell’s ire. “Carter was presumably a man of civic virtue,” said Dobell. “I thought he should be particularly ashamed, because
New York
magazine was a boon for the city, and by selling to Murdoch, he wasn’t acting in the best interests of the city.” At one point, Felker rose from his chair to address Burden, who all along had hoped that whoever owned the magazine would give him a proper title at the top of the masthead. “He [Murdoch] knows what you are,” he said. “An incompetent dilettante.
No one is going to give you what you want—a tin hat marked ‘publisher.’”

None of this seemed to faze Murdoch in the least. Even after Felker had browbeaten nearly everyone in the room, Murdoch calmly turned to him and said, “Clay, I think you’re an editorial genius. I want you to stay and run the magazine.”

“I, like you,” Felker responded, “am a publisher.”

Felker still had an ace in the hole, or so he thought: the right-of-first-refusal clause that Burden had abrogated. But Peter Tufo had spotted a loophole in the agreement. If the company showed an aggregate loss over four consecutive quarters, Felker’s right to purchase Burden’s shares would have expired on December 31, 1976.
New West’s
losses had seen to that. Game, set, and match, Murdoch.

The staff made good on their vow to walk out en masse when Murdoch took over, but Felker wanted to make sure that
New York’s
new owner at least protected the jobs of some of the senior members of the staff, and Murdoch complied, offering two-year guaranteed contracts for ten staffers as well as the top editors of
New York, New West
, and the
Voice
. In exchange, Murdoch’s lawyers released Felker from a non-compete clause in his contract that would have prevented him from working for or starting up any other publication in New York or Los Angeles, or any other national title. Murdoch also agreed to pay his $70,000 legal bill and gave him a year to pay off $250,000 in company debt.

After the contracts were drafted and all the papers were signed, Felker and Glaser made their way back to the office on Second Avenue, but the staff had gathered at a restaurant across the street, a few of them holding out the faint hope that Felker had pulled off a miracle. Instead, the scene took on the pallor of an Irish wake. In a cracking voice, Felker told his troops that “Rupert Murdoch’s ideas about friendship, about publishing and about people are very different than mine. He should know that he is breaking up a family, and he does so at his peril.”

No one was left to put out that week’s issue of
New York
. Byron Dobell, who was offered Felker’s job, resigned instead, while Ken Auletta demanded that his name be removed from
New York’s
masthead effective immediately. All of the other top editors and Glaser followed Auletta’s lead. It was left to Murdoch and a few News Ltd. directors to finish production. Murdoch edited some movie listings, while men in
three-piece suits who had never before seen a galley page pasted up layouts and line-edited stories.

When the smoke cleared, Felker made $750,000 on the sale; Burden came away with $4 million. James Brady, a News Ltd. vice president, took over as editor in chief of
New York
. Murdoch promptly fired
Village Voice
editor Marianne Partridge, then recanted over the vehement protestations of the paper’s staff.

When Felker walked out after the final staff meeting onto Second Avenue, a phalanx of reporters was waiting for him. He tried to elbow his way through the scrum, but the TV cameras had him in their crosshairs. “I haven’t been thinking about what I’m going to do next,” Felker said. “I’m a journalist and that’s what my life is.”

Someone asked, “What kind of day was today for you?”

“A terrible day. It’s also the best day of my life.”