Ida Tarbell Page #12

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Rogers examines the document. His entire face darkens.

ROGERS:

(coldly)

Where the hell did you get this?

60.

IDA:

It’s a bookkeeping record. I found it.

(beat)

Lying to me in your office is one thing,

Mr. Rogers. Lying under oath to the ICC is

another.

(beat)

Of course, I don’t have to write about the

Buffalo plant explosion. If you let me see

the company shipping records.

Rogers doesn’t move a muscle. A silent rage building inside

him.

ROGERS:

How dare you come in here and call me a

liar. You’re trying to blackmail me.

IDA:

I’m trying to help you.

ROGERS:

You help me! Oh, that’s rich. From the

first moment you walked in here, you have

wanted to condemn me, and destroy this

company. That’s not journalism, that’s

anarchy. And it stops right here. Get out

of my office.

IDA:

If I could just ask one more thing...

ROGERS:

(explodes)

Get out. Get out! GET OUT!!

IDA:

(crisply)

Thank you for your time, Mr. Rogers. I’ll

be in touch.

Ida leaves. Rogers slams the door on her, seething.

CUT TO:

THE PRINTING PRESSES ROLLING -

Ida’s latest story coming out. We see the headline:

“CUTTING TO KILL: STANDARD OIL CONTEMPT OF LAW”

SUPERIMPOSE:
February 1903.

61.

INT. KYKUIT - KITCHEN - DAY

Cettie Rockefeller comes into the kitchen, surprising two

KITCHEN MAIDS who are reading McClure’s Magazine.

She approaches silently, catching them both off guard.

CETTIE:

What are you reading?

The maid lowers the magazine, casts her eyes downward.

MAID:

I’m sorry, m’am. It was sitting right

there.

CETTIE:

Haven’t you got work to be doing?

MAID:

Yes, m’am.

CETTIE:

Then I suggest you get to it.

The two maids scuttle away. Cettie picks up the magazine.

Looks at it. And seeing her husband’s face on the cover, a

look of horror washes over her...

INT. KYKUIT - MASTER SUITE - DAY

Rockefeller is putting on his shoes, getting dressed for the

day. A lazy Irish Wolfhound lounges at his feet. Cettie

enters, holding the magazine. Her face drained of color.

CETTIE:

Have you read this?

ROCKEFELLER:

(not looking up)

No.

CETTIE:

Well, your entire staff has. Thought you

might like to read it too.

ROCKEFELLER:

Why should I?

CETTIE:

Perhaps you might learn something about

yourself.

ROCKEFELLER:

People are free to write whatever they want

about me. It doesn’t change anything.

62.

CETTIE:

(sharply)

Except...public perception!

Rockefeller stands to his full height. Adjusts his braces.

ROCKEFELLER:

As long as I’ve been in business, people

have sought to destroy me. But they never

could. So some journalist wants to have a

go at me, get in line. Half the world wants

to lynch me just for being successful, the

other half wants a loan. And I say, to hell

with them all!

He goes into the bathroom. Cettie looms in the doorway,

watching him. Her face and tone softens a little.

CETTIE:

I know how hard you’ve worked to build the

company, and I know how hard you’ve tried

to protect me from understanding it. But I

know this much:
the times are changing,

John. You lose the public trust, and you

may not be able to get it back.

(re:
the magazine)

This...this is only the beginning.

ROCKEFELLER:

(bitterly)

Nobody complained when I brought light into

their homes, or provided thousands of men

with jobs. Oil is what this country runs

on, Cettie, and I gave it to them. I have

nobody to answer to but my creator.

CETTIE:

(quietly)

And...Ida Tarbell.

Rockefeller slowly raises one hand to silence her.

ROCKEFELLER:

I don’t want to hear that woman’s name

mentioned in this house again.

He sweeps past her, pulling on his jacket. Cettie looks at

him, something she desperately needs to ask him.

CETTIE:

Is it true, John?

ROCKEFELLER:

Is what true?

CETTIE:

All of this.

63.

His silence fills the room, giving her the answer.

CETTIE:

(pained)

It’s not just your reputation, you know.

It’s our reputation. Your son’s reputation.

I don’t want this going on. I want it

stopped, John. I want it stopped.

She nods and leaves the room. We hold on Rockefeller’s face,

his expression dark and dangerous.

INT. MCCLURE’S OFFICE - DAY

McClure is sitting opposite two conservative-looking

EXECUTIVES, both of them looking very unhappy.

SAM MCCLURE:

I don’t understand, why the sudden change

of heart?

EXECUTIVE #1

Have you seen the New York Times today?

He slides the newspaper across the table at Sam.

INSERT CARTOON:
It shows Ida wielding a huge bow and arrow

(in the shape of a pen) trained right at Rockefeller’s Heart.

McClure smiles, pretends like he hasn’t seen it.

SAM MCCLURE:

Isn’t that something!

EXECUTIVE #1

I’ll be honest with you, Mr. McClure, we

just don’t like the direction this is going.

SAM MCCLURE:

(cheery, upbeat)

Well, I’m sorry that you feel that way, but

obviously, I think you’re making a big

mistake. Our sales are booming. Circulation

is up 50% in the last month alone.

The execs are unmoved. Their body language says it all.

EXECUTIVE #2

Look Sam, we sell sheet metal. Standard Oil

is our biggest customer. Now what would we

do if they were to boycott us?

Sam taps a pencil on his desk. But he has no answer.

64.

INT. OFFICES OF MCCLURE’S MAGAZINE - DAY

Elsewhere in the office, PIERCE and LOWRY, (the two junior

writers) are reading aloud some of their notices...

LOWRY:

Listen to this:
“...as racy as any novel,

with more romance than the usual business

profile, Miss Tarbell has once again beaten

upon facts, rather than a gong...”

PIERCE:

The New York Times: “Is the Pen mightier

than the Moneybag? Ida Tarbell of McClures

Magazine seems to think so...”

As if on cue, Ida wanders past, just arriving at the office.

LOWRY:

Hey Ida. Congratulations, you’re famous!

Even got your own cartoon.

But before she can even answer, MCCLURE pokes his head out of

his door. He doesn’t look happy.

SAM MCCLURE:

Miss Tarbell! In my office.

INT. MCCLURE’S OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER

Ida enters, sees: five large sacks of mail on the floor.

IDA:

What’s all this?

SAM MCCLURE:

They’re for you. And there’s three more of

‘em down in basement. The porter refuses to

carry any more up here.

A beat. Sam rubs his neck, stressed.

SAM MCCLURE:

I’ve lost three advertisers already this

month, another one just now. All of them

scared of offending the big tycoon.

IDA:

So what? We’ll find others.

SAM MCCLURE:

Oh, will we now? Just like that? Like

pulling apples off a tree.

(beat)

Listen. I have personally invested

everything I own into this magazine.

65.

IDA:

And you think I haven’t?

SAM MCCLURE:

I’m talking about business here. Profit and

loss. Even Robin Hood had to pay his merry

men. What the hell do you even know about

publishing anyway? You’re just a writer!

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