The Front Page Page #2

You've already

been married.

Some marriage that was.

I never even got to Niagara Falls

'cause you made me get off the train

to cover the torch murder.

That's what makes you

a first-class reporter.

You're always in the right place

at the right time.

But never at home, Walter.

Not for Christmas,

not for our anniversary.

When she was sick

in the hospital and nearly died,

I was stuck in Tennessee

covering that goddamn Monkey Trial.

It's not gonna happen again, Walter.

Not this time.

Okay, Hildy.

You want to take

the plunge again,

all right.

Tell you what we do.

First you cover the hanging,

then you can get married.

Take the

whole weekend off.

Don't come into the office

till Monday.

Monday I'll be

in Philadelphia.

Philadelphia?

We're taking the midnight train,

tomorrow afternoon

we get married

with her family and everything

and everybody.

Monday I start working for her uncle

in the advertising business.

The advertising business?

You heard me. I'm goin' straight.

I'm quittin' this racket.

You mean you're going to be

writing crap like,

"I'd walk a mile for a Camel"

or "Quick, Henry, the Flit"?

You bet.

For $150 a week.

Jesus, Hildy.

You're a newspaperman,

not some f*ggot

writing poetry

about brassieres

and laxatives.

It's all set. We got 300 extra newsboys

for tomorrow morning.

St. Paul's Parochial School

is gonna be playin' hooky.

We'll cover Chicago

like a blizzard.

Goodbye, Duffy.

Watch the diabetes.

Walter, it's been fun.

What does he mean

by that?

He's leavin' us.

Gettin' married.

Yeah?

That hostess

at the Hotsy Totsy Club?

You're not even close.

This is

a very classy dame.

Philadelphia. Studied to be

a concert pianist.

Where the hell would you meet

a concert pianist?

Well, actually,

she's a widow.

Husband cracked up

in a brand-new Packard.

Only had 18 miles on it.

So, to support herself

she's playing the organ

at the Balaban & Katz Theatre.

The one in the Loop?

Yeah. We've been

dating three months.

Jeez, why didn't you

tell me?

I would've thrown you

a little farewell party.

Oh, no, no.

I know your farewell parties.

When Ben Hecht was

leaving for Hollywood,

you slipped a Mickey

in his gin fizz.

It took four of us to get him

on the California Limited.

Well, look at him now.

Sitting under those goddamn palm trees,

writing dialogue

for Rin Tin Tin.

What's the matter

with you guys?

You're traitors,

all of you.

If it isn't Hollywood,

it's Broadway or Paris.

Write the great

American novel.

Be Scott Fitzgerald. Christ!

And now,

you're gonna sell out.

The last real newspaperman

I got on this sheet.

Don't give me

that Vaseline, Jocko.

When you did that interview

with Earl Williams in the death house,

our circulation

went up 75,000.

It's been your story

right from the beginning.

You can't run out now.

Can't I? Watch me.

Because, hot or cold,

rain or shine,

I'm gonna be on the midnight train

to Philadelphia.

Okay, you ungrateful

son of a b*tch.

I picked you up

when you were a nothing,

covering Polack weddings

on the South side.

I taught you

everything I knew.

And now when I need you,

you stab me in the back.

Well, I can take

the greenest cub out there

and turn him into

a better reporter than you ever were.

Fix him another Bromo.

Get out of here, you lousy,

double-crossing heel.

Well, as long as

there's no hard feelings.

You really gonna

let him go?

In a pig's eye.

Marrying some dame

that plays the organ

from Philadelphia,

for Christ's sake.

# Button up your overcoat #

# When the wind is free #

# Take good care of yourself #

# You belong to me #

# Eat an apple every day #

# Get to bed by 03:00 #

# Take good care of yourself #

# You belong to me! #

# Be careful

crossing streets #

# Ooh, ooh, don't eat meats #

# Ooh, ooh, cut out sweets #

# Ooh, ooh, you'll get a pain

and ruin your tum-tum #

# Keep away

from bootleg hootch #

# when you're on a spree #

# Take good care of yourself #

# You belong to me! ##

On his return

from the South Pole,

Cdr. Richard E. Byrd

gets a tumultuous welcome

in New York Harbor.

Party boss Joseph Stalin

reviews Russia's military might

marching past Lenin's tomb

in Red Square.

Miss Grant?

Yes?

Can I have a word

with you?

My name is Fishbein,

Otto Fishbein.

Oh, if you're a booking agent,

don't bother.

I am getting out

of show business.

Well, nothing like that.

I'm a probation officer.

Probation officer?

What's this all about?

Well, it's come

to our attention

that you're planning

to marry one Hildebrand Johnson

also known

as Hildy Johnson.

So?

Well, that's okay.

But we understand

you're planning

to move to Philadelphia.

Is there anything

wrong with that?

Plenty.

He can't leave Chicago.

He has to report

to us every week.

Why?

Because

he's on probation.

For what?

You mean

he didn't tell you?

Well, I can

hardly blame him.

What are you

talking about?

Now don't get panicky.

He's not really a criminal,

he's just sick.

Sick?

Well, not all the time.

But every so often

he gets this crazy urge.

Mr. Fishbein,

I'm not a naive young thing.

I've been married before.

Now, just what did

Hildy do?

As long as he was

doing it in dark alleys

and deserted parks, well,

we in the department

have some compassion.

But this last time,

it happened in broad daylight

in the

Chicago Art Institute.

For God's sake,

what happened?

Well, there were

those 16 high-school girls on a tour

and there he was at the top

of the staircase

wearing a raincoat,

and it wasn't even raining.

Is that

some sort of a crime?

You know what he was wearing underneath?

Shoes and socks.

And?

That's it.

We get those exhibitionists

all the time. "Hey, lady, look!"

I-- I don't believe it.

We got a file

on him this thick.

Poor Hildy.

Poor Hildy.

He'd be in jail

right now,

if it weren't for that editor of his,

that Walter something.

Walter Burns?

That's it.

Pulled a lot of strings

with the state's attorney and the judge.

That's what I call

a real friend.

That'll be Hildy.

What can I say

to him?

Save your breath.

He'll just deny

everything, anyway.

If I were you,I'd go back to

Philadelphia and forget all about him.

And not even say goodbye?

Hello?

Hi, baby.

This is your dream lover,

bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

I just thought

I'd check in.

Boy, have I had

a busy afternoon.

Where were you?

At the Art Museum?

Art Museum?

What Art Museum?

I went to the office

and told Walter Burns

he could take his job and...

Then I picked up the rings,

the train tickets,

and I've almost

finished packin'.

Did you remember

to pack your raincoat?

Well, who packs a raincoat?

I'm gonna carry it

over my arm, just in case.

Just in case?

Oh, Hildy, You don't need

a wife, you need a doctor.

Look, I feel

very sorry for you,

but I just couldn't live

with that kind of a problem.

That's tellin' him.

Now, just hang up.

Uh, honey,

w-w-what's the matter?

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