Word: richardson
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...candidate for city editor of Hearst's No. 3 paper (after the New York Mirror, New York Journal-American) within a year. Department heads protested in unison against promoting "that old s.o.b.," but the Examiner's Publisher George Young pronounced: "It's Richardson. That's what that job down there needs...
...this day. oldtime graduates of Richardson's don't-come-back-without-it school tremble at his name. Says Richardson Alumnus Robert W. Kenny, former California Attorney General: "The palms of my hands still sweat when I talk to that man on the phone." Though his rages often tied the city room in knots. Richardson's intuitive ability to smell out sensational news and get it covered has given "the Examiner's news columns a high luster. In the still unsolved Black Dahlia killing and the Overell murder, Richardson was usually a leap ahead...
Lifelong Democrat Richardson gave only halfhearted support to such Hearst causes as I Am An American Day and the career of Marion Davies. But when Marion's brother-in-law was slugged one night, Cop Hater Richardson gleefully pounced on Hearst's notion that law-abiding Los Angeles was in the grip of a crime wave. As a result of City Editor Richardson's fearsome crime statistics (including the number of sidewalk spitters), the Los Angeles police department was doubled at a cost of millions a year. When Hearst talked of promoting him to managing editor, Richardson...
True to the Front Page stereotype, Jimmy Richardson's salty hide has never wholly concealed the sugar-cured ham inside. Says one old Examiner hand: "He's half oaf, half elf." One of the greatest thrills in his life was when Author (and longtime friend) Harlan Ware wrote a movie about four-times-married Richardson (Come, Fill the Cup), dedicated it to the "Last of the Terrible Men." And after swearing off liquor himself (he has not had a drink in 20 years), City Editor Richardson helped many another capable newsman fight his way out of the bottle...
...More Hop. In conversation and in his autobiography, For the Life of Me, Richardson bitterly decries the mellowing of newspapers and newsmen over the years. "In my day." he muses, "all reporters were single. They lived in a rooming house near the paper, and they drank themselves to sleep every night and went to bed with their socks on." But now he, too, has reluctantly begun to mellow. "I've lost the hop on my fast one," he said last week, "and I've lost the will to fool 'em with junk any more. I guess, really...