Practical jokes were art form

By James L. Smith
Journal Staff Writer

When Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer William M. Gallagher, a Flint Journal legend, reached for the bottle of developer, he was careful not to confuse it with the developer bottle that stored his Wild Turkey.

Lou Giampetroni dressed as a woman to make a film for the retirement party of Women�s Editor Joyce Cook.

Times were different in the pre-politically correct Flint Journal newsroom.

Work never got in the way of a good time at The Journal, and a good time never got in the way of work.

While Gallagher was the master of the practical joke, he was by no means alone. Gallagher worked at The Journal from 1947 until his death in 1975.

Mixed in the frantic daily push to create a newspaper were practical jokes, cigarette smoke and bad words.

Today, the cigarette smoke is confined to the parking lot, the liquor is banned and the jokes and foul language are strongly discouraged.

The Journal of the past was a mirror of the classic movie �The Front Page.� The Journal of today is a mirror of any professional business office.

Ringing telephones and clacking typewriters that built to a crescendo before daily deadlines have been replaced by quietly clicking computer keyboards and muted telephone tones.

Reporters who used to frantically cut and glue together sections of a story and mark changes with a thick black pencil now send them to an editor with the click of a mouse.

What hasn�t changed: The frantic hours leading up to the production of a newspaper.

David Graham, a 30-year Journal reporter and a character in his own right, continues to greet the first edition of the newspaper in his unique way:

�The Daily Miracle is here,� Graham says.

Some things never change.

No one story could ever include all the characters who have filed stories for The Journal.

In the days before pagers and cellphones, Gallagher had enough sources who knew how to find him to tip him to breaking news in five counties.

�Work came first, paramount in everyone�s mind,� said longtime sports writer and editor Len Hoyes, who continues a 50-plus year career in The Journal�s sports department.

Whether the drinking, pranks and parties were a necessary release from the daily deadline pressure no one can say for sure, but The Journal has always been home to group of people who knew how to work and play.

It wasn�t just The Journal that was different. Flint itself had a thriving downtown with plenty of drinking destinations within walking distance.

Each pay day, the race would be on to see who could get the first table or stool at a variety of downtown watering holes.

Prince of pranksters

It would take a book to outline the volumes of Gallagher pranks. Some of his jokes would not be suitable reading for minors.

Anyone who worked with or knew Gallagher can recite one, two or dozens of stories.

After undergoing open-heart surgery in Ann Arbor, Gallagher convinced a nurse he needed to sit outside on the hospital grounds and soak in some sunshine.

�He walked downtown, ate a steak, drank two beers and walked back to the hospital,� Hoyes recalled.

But Gallagher could be inventive in getting his work done, as well.

At a high school football game, Gallagher was having trouble getting an action shot because of the light.

He talked to one of the coaches and convinced him to run a series of plays toward the side of the field where he was standing so he could get a good photograph.

Another Gallagher legend was the time he showed up too late for a basketball game and convinced a couple of players in the dressing room to return to the court and jump up and down for a �game� photo.

Lou Giampetroni, a retired reporter, columnist and editor, recalled filming a home movie with Gallagher to mark the retirement of Joyce Cook, The Journal�s women�s editor.

With Gallagher�s infinite local contacts, they included as one of the stars philanthropist Charles Stewart Mott.

Part of the movie called for Giampetroni, dressed as Cook, to come out of a house.

Gallagher picked what he believed was an abandoned house on Flint�s south side, but during the filming, the owner of the �abandoned� house showed up and was understandably agitated about the trespass.

Slipping the man a small bill as compensation, Gallagher sped off with Giampetroni in tow.

Doug Mintline, another well-known Journal character, once got an exclusive interview with golf legend Ben Hogan at the U.S. Open by buying the golfer�s favorite alcoholic beverage, then holding it up behind a crush of reporters encircling Hogan.

�Let that man through,� Hogan reportedly said, ushering Mintline to his side.

One Journal legend involved both Mintline and Gallagher.

Hearing a report of a fire at the IMA Auditorium over the police scanner, the two men raced to the scene in Gallagher�s car. Jumping out, they asked the fire chief what was happening.

�Get your car off my fire hose and I�ll tell you,� was the chief�s angry response.

�Gigantic family�

Reporter William T. �Bill� Noble created a stir in 1950 when he cut short his career at The Journal to seek his fortune in California.

�Nobody ever left The Flint Journal in those days,� Hoyes said. �We were in a state of shock. Why would anybody leave The Flint Journal?

�We were a gigantic family,� said Giampetroni, who retired in 1997.

Today, The Journal newsroom, with some notable exceptions, mirrors the transient nature of many businesses.

When Giampetroni started in 1954, the editor was Michael A. Gorman.

Some of Gorman�s practical jokes were elaborate � like the time he hosted a dinner at the Durant Hotel for a bride-to-be, the daughter of friends.

Wilted flowers were ordered from a local florist and a mock dining room was set up with the tacky centerpieces.

Once all the guests had arrived and an uncomfortable moment had passed, Gorman led the guests to another dining room with fresh flowers.

Going-away or retirement parties were always opportunities for pranksters. When reporter Michael L. Kiefer left the paper in 1971, he was given a live rooster in a box at his party.

Sometimes the jokes ended up in print � accidentally, of course.

Giampetroni recalled calling in the verdict of a murder case to a new rewrite reporter on deadline.

In describing the background of the case, Giampetroni told the rewrite person that the guy had been shot three times and then added jokingly, �He died of lead poisoning.�

The final printed story didn�t mention the shooting, just that the man had died of lead poisoning.

The composing room was fertile grounds for jokes that included putting strips of paper into the hat bands of supervisors until after two or three weeks, the hats sat uncomfortably on the owner�s head.

Bob DeLand, a retired Journal copy editor who also worked as a printer, recalled that ink would sometimes be painted on a telephone earpiece and then a victim would be called to the phone with the predictable results.

Staff writer James L. Smith started at The Journal in 1989. He can be reached at (810) 766-6365, in Lapeer at (810) 441-0926 or jmsmith@flintjournal.com.