Read Online The Gang That Wouldn't Write Straight: Wolfe, Thompson, Didion, Capote, and the New Journalism Revolution by Marc Weingarten - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marc Weingarten
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Biography & Autobiography, Literary Criticism, American, Language Arts & Disciplines, Journalism, Mailer; Norman - Criticism and Interpretation, Wolfe; Tom - Criticism and Interpretation, Didion; Joan - Criticism and Interpretation, American Prose Literature - 20th Century - History and Criticism, Capote; Truman - Criticism and Interpretation, Reportage Literature; American - History and Criticism, Journalism - United States - History - 20th Century
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tone for their subsequent professional relationship at
Esquire
, where Felker and Hayes battled for supremacy while they were shaping the most influential magazine of the 1960s.
The men had much in common. The son of a Southern Baptist minister, Harold T P. Hayes was born in Elkin, North Carolina, and briefly lived in Beckley, West Virginia, until his family moved to Winston-Salem, North Carolina, when Harold was eleven. A fan of jazz music and all the great twentieth-century American novelists—Hemingway, Fitzgerald, James T Farrell, John Steinbeck—Hayes fancied himself anovelist in training, and wrote short fiction during high school and as an undergraduate at Wake Forest.
Hayes was an indifferent student: “I floundered around for four or five years through a variety of courses, flunking some and passing enough to leave without total disgrace.” Shortly before graduating, Hayes endured a brief stint in the navy, where he was stationed at New-berry, South Carolina, and played trombone in the jazz band. Hayes enrolled in a short-story class and found to his delight that it brought him some academic approbation. Encouraged by his professor, Hayes joined
The Student
, Wake Forest’s literary magazine, where he became editor in short order. Hayes had found his métier, and he thrived at
The Student—
generating story ideas, working closely with the best writers on campus, making
The Student
one of the best college magazines in the South.
Hayes returned to military duty during the Korean War, serving two years as an infantry officer in the Marine reserve in 1950 and 1951. Shortly before his discharge, Hayes traveled to New York seeking job opportunities in the magazine business. He wrangled a meeting with
Pageant
editor Harris Shevelson, who suggested that Hayes submit a critique of the magazine. Hayes’s detailed, astute memorandum impressed Shevelson enough to hire the young southerner as an assistant editor of the magazine, a kind of benign general-interest publication for those who might also subscribe to
Reader’s Digest
and
Life
.
Years later, Hayes would look back upon his tenure at
Pageant
as a crucial apprenticeship. He had tremendous respect for the way Shevelson managed to pull together a quality magazine using limited financial resources. “His persistent refusal to accept an ordinary approach to conventional material caused his staff considerable discomfort,” Hayes wrote, “but managed, I believe, to improve the level of individual performance.” Hayes left
Pageant
in October 1954 and joined the staff of
Tempo
as a feature editor. During his off hours Hayes developed a concept for a new venture to be called
Picture Week
, a monthly news picture magazine. Working with a bare-bones staff, Hayes was given the go-ahead to start up the magazine, and it was here that he began to develop his taste for unconventional stories that would prick the prejudices of his readership and create a buzz. Among the stories Hayes assigned were “Twelve Southern Governors Answer the Question: When Will YouAllow Negroes in Your Schools?” “The Appeal of the Exposé Magazine,” and “Perón Can Fall,” all of which were picked up by the wire services for national distribution.
But Hayes’s daring editorial policy didn’t translate into healthy circulation numbers, and he and the entire staff were fired less than a year after launching the title.
Pageant
editor Laura Bergquist, who was friendly with
Esquire
publisher Arnold Gingrich, suggested that Gingrich interview Hayes as a possible editor. Armed with a portfolio book of the articles he had assigned for
Picture Week
and
Pageant
, Hayes impressed Gingrich, who put him in touch with Tom O’Connor, a friend of his from the
Flair
days. O’Connor hired Hayes to do some police reporting for a couple of small news digests he owned in Atlanta. For two years Hayes did the yeoman’s work of beat reporter but kept in touch with Gingrich, just in case something
Esquire
, where Felker and Hayes battled for supremacy while they were shaping the most influential magazine of the 1960s.
The men had much in common. The son of a Southern Baptist minister, Harold T P. Hayes was born in Elkin, North Carolina, and briefly lived in Beckley, West Virginia, until his family moved to Winston-Salem, North Carolina, when Harold was eleven. A fan of jazz music and all the great twentieth-century American novelists—Hemingway, Fitzgerald, James T Farrell, John Steinbeck—Hayes fancied himself anovelist in training, and wrote short fiction during high school and as an undergraduate at Wake Forest.
Hayes was an indifferent student: “I floundered around for four or five years through a variety of courses, flunking some and passing enough to leave without total disgrace.” Shortly before graduating, Hayes endured a brief stint in the navy, where he was stationed at New-berry, South Carolina, and played trombone in the jazz band. Hayes enrolled in a short-story class and found to his delight that it brought him some academic approbation. Encouraged by his professor, Hayes joined
The Student
, Wake Forest’s literary magazine, where he became editor in short order. Hayes had found his métier, and he thrived at
The Student—
generating story ideas, working closely with the best writers on campus, making
The Student
one of the best college magazines in the South.
Hayes returned to military duty during the Korean War, serving two years as an infantry officer in the Marine reserve in 1950 and 1951. Shortly before his discharge, Hayes traveled to New York seeking job opportunities in the magazine business. He wrangled a meeting with
Pageant
editor Harris Shevelson, who suggested that Hayes submit a critique of the magazine. Hayes’s detailed, astute memorandum impressed Shevelson enough to hire the young southerner as an assistant editor of the magazine, a kind of benign general-interest publication for those who might also subscribe to
Reader’s Digest
and
Life
.
Years later, Hayes would look back upon his tenure at
Pageant
as a crucial apprenticeship. He had tremendous respect for the way Shevelson managed to pull together a quality magazine using limited financial resources. “His persistent refusal to accept an ordinary approach to conventional material caused his staff considerable discomfort,” Hayes wrote, “but managed, I believe, to improve the level of individual performance.” Hayes left
Pageant
in October 1954 and joined the staff of
Tempo
as a feature editor. During his off hours Hayes developed a concept for a new venture to be called
Picture Week
, a monthly news picture magazine. Working with a bare-bones staff, Hayes was given the go-ahead to start up the magazine, and it was here that he began to develop his taste for unconventional stories that would prick the prejudices of his readership and create a buzz. Among the stories Hayes assigned were “Twelve Southern Governors Answer the Question: When Will YouAllow Negroes in Your Schools?” “The Appeal of the Exposé Magazine,” and “Perón Can Fall,” all of which were picked up by the wire services for national distribution.
But Hayes’s daring editorial policy didn’t translate into healthy circulation numbers, and he and the entire staff were fired less than a year after launching the title.
Pageant
editor Laura Bergquist, who was friendly with
Esquire
publisher Arnold Gingrich, suggested that Gingrich interview Hayes as a possible editor. Armed with a portfolio book of the articles he had assigned for
Picture Week
and
Pageant
, Hayes impressed Gingrich, who put him in touch with Tom O’Connor, a friend of his from the
Flair
days. O’Connor hired Hayes to do some police reporting for a couple of small news digests he owned in Atlanta. For two years Hayes did the yeoman’s work of beat reporter but kept in touch with Gingrich, just in case something
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