Chapter C: Fire Stories with More Than One Feature (5)

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The human interest story has grown out of a number of causes. Up to a very recent time newspapers have been content with printing news in its barest possible form--facts and nothing but facts. Their appeal has been only to the brain. But gradually editors have come to realize that, if many monthly magazines can exist on a diet of fiction that appeals only to the emotions, a newspaper may well make use of some of the material for true stories of emotion that comes to its office. They have realized that newsiness is not the only essential, that a story does not always have to possess true news value to be worth printing--it may be interesting because it appeals to the reader's sympathy or simply because it entertains him. Hence they began to print stories that had little value as news but, however trivial their subject, were so well written that they presented the humor and pathos of everyday life in a very entertaining way. The sensational newspapers took advantage of the opportunity but they shocked their readers in that they tried to appeal to the emotions through the kind of facts that they printed, rather than through the presentation of the facts. They did not see that the effectiveness of the emotional appeal depends upon the way in which a human interest story is written, rather than upon the story itself. Therefore they shocked their readers with extremely pathetic facts presented in the usual newspaper way, while the journals which stood for high literary excellence were able to handle trivial human interest material very effectively. Now all the newspapers of the land have learned the form and are printing effective human interest stories every day.

Another reason behind the growth of the human interest story is the curse of cynicism which newspaper work imprints upon so many of its followers. Every editor knows that no ordinary reporter can work a police court or hospital run day after day for any length of time without losing his sensibilities and becoming hardened to the sterner facts in human life. Misfortune and bitterness become so common to him that he no longer looks upon them as misfortune and misery, but just as news. Gradually his stories lose all sympathy and kindliness and he writes of suffering men as of so many wooden ten-pins. When he has reached this attitude of cynicism, his usefulness to his paper is almost gone, for a reporter must always see and write the news from the reader's sympathetic point of view. To keep their reporters' sensibilities awake editors have tried various expedients which have been more or less successful. One of these is the "up-lift run" for cub reporters--a round of philanthropic news sources to teach them the business of reporting before they become cynical. Another is the human interest story. If a reporter knows that his paper is always ready and glad to print human interest stories full of kindliness and human sympathy, he is ever on the watch for human interest subjects and consequently forces himself to see things in a sympathetic way. Thus he unconsciously wards off cynicism. The search for human interest material is a modification of the "sob squad" work of the sensational papers, on more delicate lines.

A human interest story is primarily an attempt to portray human feeling--to talk about men as men and not as names or things. It is an attempt to look upon life with sympathetic human eyes and to put living people into the reports of the day's news. If a man falls and breaks his neck, a bald recital of the facts deals with him only as an animal or an inanimate name. The fact is interesting as one item in the list of human misfortunes, but no more. And yet there are many people to whom this man's accident is more than an interesting incident--it is a very serious matter, perhaps a calamity. To his family he was everything in the world; more than a mere means of support, he was a living human being whom they loved. The bald report of his death does not consider them; it does not consider the man's own previous existence. But if we could get into the hearts of his wife and his mother and his children, we could feel something of the real significance of the accident. This is what the human interest story tries to do. It does not necessarily strive for any effect, pathetic or otherwise, but tries simply to treat the victim of the misfortune as a human being. The reporter endeavors to see what in the story made people cry and then tries to reproduce it. In the same way in another minor occurrence, he attempts to reproduce the side of an incident that made people laugh. Either incident may or may not have had news value in its baldest aspect, but the sympathetic treatment makes the resulting human interest story worth printing.

There are various kinds of human interest stories. The common ground in them all is usually their lack of any intrinsic news value. Many a successful human interest story has been printed although it contained no one of the elements of news values that were outlined earlier in this book. In fact, one of the uses of the human interest story is to utilize newspaper by-products that have no news value in themselves. Hence the human interest story has no news feature to be played up and, since it does not contain any real news, it does not have to answer any customary questions. In form it is much like a short story of fiction, since it depends on style and the ordinary rules of narration. The absence of a lead, more than any other characteristic, distinguishes the human interest story from the news story, in form. We have worked hard to learn to play up the gist of the news in our news stories; now we come to a story which makes no attempt to play up its news--in fact, it may leave its most interesting content until the end and spring it as a surprise in the last line. To be sure, most human interest stories have and indicate a timeliness. The story may have no news value but it is always concerned with a recent event and usually tells at the outset when the event occurred. Almost without exception, the examples quoted in this chapter show their timeliness by telling in the first sentence when the event occurred. So much for the outward form of the human interest story.

=1. Pathetic Story.=--One of the many kinds of human interest stories is the pathetic story. Although it does not openly strive for pathos, it is pathetic in that it tells the story of a human misfortune, simply and clearly, with all the details that made the incident sad. It is the story that attempts to put the reader into the very reality of the pain and sorrow of every human life. Sometimes it makes him cry, sometimes it makes him shudder, and sometimes it disgusts him, but it always shows him misfortune as it really is. It looks down behind the outward actions and words into the hearts of its actors and shows us motives and feelings rather than facts. But just as soon as any attempt at pathos becomes evident, the story loses its effectiveness. Its only means are clear perception and absolute truthfulness. Here is an example of a pathetic human interest story taken from a daily paper:

This is a pathetic human interest story in that it attempts to give the human significance of an incident which in itself would have little news value. Perhaps, in the matter of words, there is a slight straining for pathos. The form, it will be noted, is decidedly different from that of a news story on the same incident and, although the timeliness is given in the first line, there is no attempt to present the gist of the story in a formal lead. The source of the news is indicated in the last paragraph.

=2. Humorous Story.=--Another kind of human interest story is the humorous story. Its humor, like the pathos of a pathetic story, does not come from an attempt to be funny, but from the truthful presentation of a humorous incident, from the incongruity and ludicrousness of the incident itself. The writer tries to see what elements in a given incident made him laugh and then portrays them so clearly and truthfully that his readers cannot help laughing with him. The subject may be the most trivial thing in the world, not worth a line as a news story, and yet it may be told in such a way that it is worth a half-column write-up that will stand out as the gem of the whole edition. But after all the effectiveness depends upon the humor in the original subject and the truthfulness of the telling. The following humorous human interest story, which occupied a place on the front page, was built up out of an incident almost devoid of news value:

The student will notice how all the facts of the story and the answers to the reader's questions are worked in here and there, how the content of a news story lead is scattered throughout the entire account.

=3. Writing the Human Interest Story.=--It is one thing to be able to distinguish material for a human interest story and another to be able to write the story. The whole effectiveness of the story, as we have seen, depends upon the way it is written. Many a poorly written, ungrammatical news story is printed simply because it contains facts that are of interest, regardless of the way in which they are presented. But never is a poorly written human interest story printed; simply because the facts in it have little interest themselves and the story's usefulness depends entirely upon the presentation of the facts. Hence, the human interest story, more than any other newspaper story, must be well written. And yet there are no rules to assist in the writing of such a story. In fact, its very nature depends upon originality and newness in form and treatment.

In the first place, we cannot fall back upon the conventional lead for a beginning, because a lead would be out of place. As we have said before, the human interest story does not begin with a lead for the reason that it has no striking news content to present in the lead. In many cases the whole story depends upon cleverly arranged suspense; if the content is given in a lead at the beginning suspense is of course impossible. The human interest story has no more need of a lead than does a short story--in some ways a human interest story is very much like a short story--and a short story that gives its climax in the first paragraph would hardly be written or read. But, just like the short story, a human interest story must begin in an attractive way. In the study of short story writing almost half of the study is devoted to learning how to begin the story, on the theory that the reader is some sort of a fugitive animal that must be lassoed by an attractive and interesting beginning. The theory is of course a true one and it holds good in the case of human interest stories.

But no rules can be laid down to govern the beginning of human interest or short stories. Each story must begin in its own way--and each must begin in a different way. Some writers of short stories begin with dialogue, others with a clean-cut witticism, others with attractive explanation or description, others with a clever apology. The list is endless. This endless list is ready for the reporter who is trying to write human interest stories. But the choosing must be his own. He must select the beginning that seems best adapted to his story. As an inspiration to reporters who are trying to write human interest stories, a few beginnings clipped from daily papers are given here. Some are good and some are bad; the goodness or badness in each case depends upon individual taste. They can hardly be classified in more than a general way for originality is opposed to all classifications. They are merely suggestions.

A striking quotation or a bit of apt dialogue is commonly used to attract attention to a story. Here are some examples:

A well-written first sentence in a human interest story often purports to tell the whole story, like a news story lead, and really tells only enough to make you want to read further. Here are a few examples:

Some human interest stories begin, and effectively, too, with a direct personal appeal to the reader; thus:

A question is often used at the beginning of a human interest story:

Many of these stories, animal or otherwise, begin with a name:

The beginning of a human interest story is always the most important part; just like a news story, it must attract attention with its first line. In the same way, a good beginning is something more than half done. But here the similarity between the two ends. The news story, after the lead is written, may slump in technique so that the end is almost devoid of interest; the human interest story, on the other hand, must keep up its standard of excellence to the very last sentence and the last line must have as much snap as the first. It is never in danger of losing its last paragraph and so it may be more rounded and complete; it must follow a definite plan to the very end and then stop. In this it is like the short story, although it seldom has a plot. There are no rules to help us in writing any part of the human interest story. Each attempt has a different purpose and must be done in a different way. Yet the reporter must know before he begins just exactly how he is going to work out the whole story. He must plan it as carefully as a short story. A few minutes of careful thought before he begins to write are better than much reworking and alteration after the thing is done. This applies to all newspaper writing.

Much of the effectiveness of the human interest story depends upon the reporter's style. When we try to write human interest stories we are no longer interested in facts, as much as in words. Our readers are not following us to be informed, but to be entertained. And we can please them only by our style and the fineness of our perception. Although we have been told to write news stories in the common every-day words of conversation, we are not so limited in the human interest story. The elegance of our style depends very largely upon the size of our vocabulary, and elegance is not out of place in this kind of story. Although we have been told to use dialogue sparingly in news stories, our human interest story may be composed entirely of dialogue. In fact, we are hampered by no restrictions except the restrictions of English grammar and literary composition. Although we have sought simplicity of expression before, we may now strive for subtlety and for effect; we may write suggestively and even obscurely. We are dealing with the only part of the newspaper that makes any effort toward literary excellence and only our originality and cleverness can guide us.

It is hardly necessary to repeat that one cannot write human interest stories in a cynical tone. They are a reaction against cynicism. They require one to feel keenly, as a human being, and to write sympathetically, as a human being. The reporter must see behind the facts and get the personal side of the matter--and feel it. Then he must tell the story just as he sees and feels it. Absolute truthfulness in the telling is as necessary as keen perception in the seeing. Humor must be sought through the simple, truthful presentation of an incongruous or humorous idea or situation; pathos must be sought by the truthful presentation of a pathetic picture. Just as soon as the reporter tries to be funny or to be pathetic he fails, for the reader is not looking to the reporter for fun or pathos--but to the story that the reporter is telling. That is, the story must be written objectively; the writer must forget himself in his attempt to impress the story upon his reader's mind. If the story itself is fundamentally humorous or sad and the story is clearly and truthfully told with all the details that make it humorous or sad, it cannot help being effective.

The best way to learn how to write human interest stories is to study human interest stories. Most papers print them nowadays--they can easily be distinguished by their lack of news value, and of a lead--and the finest example is just as likely to crop out in a little weekly as in a metropolitan daily.

=4. The Animal Story.=--The examples printed earlier in this chapter are specimens of the truest type of human interest story because they deal with human beings. They derive their joy or sorrow from things that happen to men and women. But all the sketches that are classed as human interest stories are not so carefully confined to the limits of the title. From the original human interest story the type has grown until it includes many other things--almost any piece of copy that has no intrinsic news value. Every possible subject that may suit itself to a pathetic or humorous treatment and thus be interesting, although it has no news value, is roughly classed as a human interest story.

One of these outgrowths of the true human interest sketch is the animal story. In the large cities, the "zoo" and the parks have become a fruitful source of "news." Anything interesting that may happen to the monkeys, or the elephant, the sparrows or the squirrels in the parks, horses or dogs in the street, is used as the excuse for a human interest story. Sometimes the purpose is pathos and sometimes it is humor, but, whatever it may be, if it is clever and interesting it gets its place in the paper, a place entirely out of proportion to its true news value. The results sometimes verge very close upon nature faking, but after all they are only the result of the "up-lift" idea of looking at all life in a more sympathetic way. Several of the beginnings quoted earlier in this chapter belong to animal stories and the following is a complete one:

=5. The Special Feature Story.=--One step beyond the animal story is the special feature story. This kind of story is classed with the human interest story because it has no news value and because its only purpose is to entertain or to inform in a general way; and yet it rarely contains any human interest. There is no space in this book for a complete discussion of the special feature story--an entire volume might be devoted to the subject--but this form of story is often seen in the news columns of the daily papers and deserves a mention here. Ordinarily the special feature story is not written by reporters, although there is no reason why reporters should not use in this way many of the facts that come to them. The story usually comes from outside the newspaper office, from a contributor, from a syndicate, or from some other daily, weekly, or monthly publication; however a word or two here may suggest to the reporter the possibility of adding to his usefulness by writing such stories for his paper.

The special feature story may be almost anything. The name is used to designate timely magazine articles, timely write-ups for the Sunday edition, and timely squibs for the columns of the daily papers. The last use is the one that interests us and it interests us because it is very closely related to the human interest story. The editors usually call it a feature story because it is worth printing in spite of the fact that it has no news value. In this and in its timeliness it is like the human interest story. But it is not written for humor or pathos; its purpose is to entertain the reader. Its method is largely expository and its style may be anything; it may explain or it may simply comment in a witty way. The utilizing of otherwise useless by-products of the news is its purpose--in this it is very much like the animal story.

Subjects for feature stories may come from anywhere and may be almost anything. A very common kind of feature story is the weather story that many newspapers print every day. The weather is taken as the excuse for two or three stickfuls of print which explain and comment upon weather conditions, past, present and future. Growing out of this, there is the season story which deals with any subject that the season may suggest: the closing of Coney Island, the spring styles in men's hats, the first fur overcoat, Commencement presents, Easter eggs--anything in season. Further removed from the human interest story is the timely write-up which has no other purpose than to explain, in a more or less serious or sensible way, any interesting subject that comes to hand. The story purports not only to entertain but to inform as well. It has no news value and yet it is usually timely. Here are a few subjects selected at random from the daily papers: "He'll pay no tax on cake," explaining in a humorous way the customs methods that held up the importation of an Italian Christmas cake; "Clearing House for Brains," a description of the new employment bureau of the Princeton Club of New York; "Ideal man picked by the Barnard girl," a humorous resumé of some Barnard College class statistics; "Winning a Varsity Letter," telling what a varsity letter stands for, how it is won, and what the customs of the various colleges in regard to letters are; "Jerry Moore raises a record corn crop," telling how a fifteen-year-old boy won prizes with a little patch of corn.

These are just a few suggestions to open up to the reporter the vast field for special feature articles. To be sure, many of them are submitted by outsiders, but there is no reason why a reporter should not write these stories as well as human interest stories for his paper, since he is in the best position to get the material. Whenever a special feature story becomes too large for the daily edition there is always a possibility of selling it to the Sunday section or to a monthly magazine. The writing of special feature stories is directly in line with the reporter's work, because the ordinary method of gathering facts for a feature article and arranging them in an interesting, newsy way follows closely the method by which a reporter covers and writes a news story. Hence almost without exception the most successful magazine feature writers are, or have been, newspaper reporters.

XVI

DRAMATIC REPORTING

Dramatic reporting is one of the most misused of the newspaper reporter's activities. To many reporters, as well as to their editors, it is just an easy way of getting free admission to the theater in return for a half column of copy. Hence it is treated in an unjustly trivial way; the reports of theatrical productions are printed most often as space fillers or as a small advertisement in return for free tickets. But after all the work is an important one and should be done only by skillful and expert hands. Dramatic reporting is included in this book, not because it is thought possible to give the subject an adequate treatment, but because theatrical reporting is a branch of the newspaper trade that may fall to the hands of the youngest reporter. In mere justice to the stage the reporter who writes up a play should know something about the real significance of what he is doing. It is much easier to tell the beginner what not to do than to tell him exactly what to do. The faults in dramatic reporting are far more evident than the virtues; and yet there are some positive things that may be said on the subject.

The first important question in the whole matter is "Who does dramatic reporting?" One would like to answer, "Skilled critics of broad knowledge and experience." But unfortunately almost anybody does it--any one about the office who is willing to give up his evening to go to the theater. To be sure, many metropolitan papers employ skilled critics to write their dramatic copy and run the theatrical news over the critic's name. Some editors of smaller papers have the decency to do the work themselves. But in most cases the work is given to an ordinary reporter--and not infrequently to the greenest reporter on the staff. Worse than that, the work is seldom given to the same reporter continuously, but is passed around among all the members of the staff. Even a green cub may learn by experience how to report plays, but if the work falls to him only once a month his training is very meager. It would seem in these days of much discussion of the theater that editors would realize the power which they have over the stage through their favorable or unfavorable criticism. But they do not, perhaps because they know little about the stage, and the appeal must be made to their reporters. Every reporter, except upon the largest papers, has the opportunity sooner or later to give his opinion on a play. In anticipation of that opportunity these few words of advice are offered.

The first requisite in dramatic criticism is a background of knowledge of the drama and the stage. To children, and to some grown people, too, the stage is a little dream world of absolute realities. Their imaginations turn the picture that is placed before them into real, throbbing life. They do not see the unreality of the art, the suggestive effects, the flimsy delusions; to them the play is real life, the stage is a real drawing room or a real wood, and they cannot conceive of the actors existing outside their parts. But the critic must look deeper; he must understand the machinery that produces the effects and he must weigh the success of the effects. He must get behind the play and see the actors outside the cast and the stage without its scenery; the dramatic art must be to him a highly technical profession. For this reason, he must know something about dramatic technique; he must have some background of knowledge. He must study the theater from every point of view, from an orchestra seat, from behind the scenes, from a peekhole in the playwright's study, and from the pages of stage history. All the tricks and effects must be evident to him. The only thing that will teach him this is constant, intelligent theater-going. He must be familiar with all of the plays of the season and with all of the prominent plays of all seasons. A child cannot criticize the first play that he sees because he has nothing with which to compare it. In the same way a reporter cannot justly judge any kind of play until he has seen another of the same kind with which to compare it. Hence he must know many plays and must know something about the history of the theater. Dramatic criticism is relative and the critic must have a basis for his comparison.

This background of knowledge may seem a difficult thing to acquire. It is; and it can best be acquired by watching many plays with an eye for the technique of the art. The critic may judge a play from its effect upon him, but his judgment will be superficial. He must try to see what the playwright is trying to do, how well he succeeds, what tricks he employs. He must judge the work of the stage carpenter and of the costumer. He must try to realize what problem the leading lady has to face and how well she solves it. The same carefulness of judgment must be given to each member of the cast. Only when the critic is able to see past the footlights and to understand the technique of the art, can he judge intelligently. And as his judgment can be at best only relative, he must have a background of many plays and much stage knowledge upon which to base his estimate of any one production.

The ideal criticism, based upon this background of knowledge, would be absolutely fair and unprejudiced. But unfortunately this ideal cannot always be followed. Much dramatic criticism is colored by the policy of the paper that prints it. Very few critics are so fortunate as to be able to say exactly what they think about a play; they must say what the editor wants them to say. Some theatrical copy, especially write-ups of vaudeville shows, is paid for and must contain nothing but praise. Sometimes it is necessary to praise the poorest production simply because the paper is receiving so much a column for the praise. In many other cases, when the copy is not paid for, the editor often considers it only fair to give the production a little puff in return for the free press tickets. And so a large share of any reporter's dramatic criticism is reduced to selecting things that he can praise. Yet, one cannot praise in a way that is too evident; he cannot simply say "The play was good; the staging was good; the acting was good; in fact, everything was good." He must praise more cleverly and give his copy the appearance of honest criticism. Perhaps the principle is wrong, but nevertheless it exists and happy is the dramatic critic whose paper allows him to say exactly what he thinks. However, whether one may say what he thinks or must say what his editor wants him to say, he must have as his background a thorough knowledge of the stage upon which he may base a comparison or a contrast and with which he may make intelligent statements. The following illustrates what may be done with a paid report of a mediocre vaudeville show in which every act must be praised--the report was written on Monday of a week's run and is intended to induce people to see the show:

For the purpose of a more complete study of the subject, however, we shall consider only dramatic criticism that is not restricted by editorial dictum or by the requirements of paid-space. That is, we shall imagine that we can praise or condemn or say anything we please concerning the dramatic production which we are to report. When we look at the subject in this way there are some positive things that may be said about theatrical reporting, but there are many more negative rules, that may be reduced to mere "Don'ts." The same principles hold good in dramatic criticism that is hampered by policy, but to a less degree.

In the first place, the one thing that a dramatic reporter must have when he begins to write his copy after the performance is some positive idea about the play, some definite criticism, upon which to base his whole report. It is impossible to write a coherent report from chance jottings and to confine the report to saying "This was good; that was bad, the other was mediocre." The critic must have a positive central idea upon which to hang his criticism. This central idea plays the same part in his report as the feature in a news story--it is the feature of his report which he brings into the first sentence, to which he attaches every item, and with which he ends his report. To secure this idea, the reporter must watch the play closely with the purpose of crystallizing his judgment in a single conception, thought, or impression. Sometimes this impression comes as an inspiration, sometimes it is the result of hard thought during or after the play. It may be concerned with the theme of the play, the playwright's work, the lines, the staging, the effects, the tricks, the acting as a whole, the acting of single persons, the music, the dancing, the costumes--anything connected with the production--but the idea must be big enough to carry the entire report and to be the gist of what the critic has to say about the play. It must be his complete, concise opinion of the performance.

When, as the critic watches the play, some idea comes to him for his report he should jot it down. As the play progresses he should develop this idea and watch for details that carry it out. There is no reason to be ashamed of taking notes in the theater and the notes will prove very useful at the office afterward. Perhaps after the play is over the critic finds that his jottings contain another idea that is of greater importance than the first; then he may incorporate the second into the first or discard the first altogether. Even after one has crystallized his judgment into a concise opinion he must elaborate and illustrate it and the program of the play is always of value in enabling one to refer definitely to the individual actors, characters, and other persons, by name. But, however complete the final judgment and the notes may be, it is always well to write the report immediately. When one leaves the theater his mind is teeming with things to say about the play, thousands of them, but after a night's sleep it is doubtful if a single full-grown idea will remain and the jottings will be absolutely lifeless and unsuggestive.

This is the positive instruction that may be given to young dramatic critics. It is so important and is unknown to so many young theatrical reporters, that it may be well to sum it up again. A dramatic criticism must be coherent; it must be unified. It must be the embodiment of a single idea about the play and every detail in the report must be attached to that idea. It is not sufficient to state the idea in a clever way; it must be expanded and elaborated with examples and reasons and must show careful thought. It is well to outline the report before it is written and to arrange a logical sequence of thought so that the result may be well-rounded and coherent.

The following is an example of a dramatic criticism in which this course is followed. It neither praises nor condemns but it points out gently wherein the play is strong or weak--and every sentence is attached to one central idea:

The first admonition in theatrical reporting is "Don't resumé the plot or tell the story of the play." This is almost all that many dramatic reporters try to do, because it is the easiest thing to do and requires the least thought. But, after all, it is usually valueless. The story of the play does not interest readers who have already seen the play and it spoils the enjoyment of the play for those who intend to see it. The usual purpose of any theatrical report is to criticize, but a report that simply resumés the story of the play is not a criticism; hence space devoted to the story is usually wasted. To be sure, this admonition must be qualified. If the development of the critic's judgment of the play requires a resumé of the story, there is then a reason for outlining the action. However, even then, the outline should be very brief.

The following is a typical example of the usual dramatic reporting which is satisfied when it has told the story of the play. In this, the first two sentences are a very bald attempt to repay the manager for his tickets. The resumé of the story, given very obviously to fill space, is not of any critical value. The only real criticism is at the end and is inadequate because the praise is given without reason.

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