A Tale of Two Newspapers

By Paul Gray

GOOD TIMES, BAD TIMES by Harold Evans Atheneum; 430 pages; $17.95

Being jilted or fired rarely brings out the best in people. In addition to the natural reactions of pain and anger, the dismissee must cope with the nearly irresistible urge to whine. That injuring so-and-so will never get away with this: the whole, incriminating story must be told. Usually such narratives are limited in circulation to tolerant friends or impassive bartenders ("Set 'em up, Joe"). But a wider and possibly less sympathetic audience can be sought by those victims outraged and talented enough to write a book.

British Journalist Harold Evans is both, as Good Times, Bad Times entertainingly proves. His tale has just about everything required by the genre of self-vindication: a spurned teller, shifting affections, the whiff of conspiracy, and a villain who grows ever more interesting as the recital of his sins progresses.

In March 1982, Evans resigned after serving just a year as editor of the Times of London, one of the world's most eminent newspapers. But he did not leave voluntarily. He was shoved out by Rupert Murdoch, the Australian press baron who had bought the Times and its sister publication the Sunday Times in 1981. And, in a nice twist, it was Murdoch who had hired Evans in the first place, luring him away from the editorship of the Sunday Times, a post he had held for 14 years.

Those were the good times. Given free rein by Canadian Owner Roy Thomson, Evans turned the Sunday Times toward tough and thorough investigative reporting, assigning as many as 18 people to long-term projects. This challenge proved both expensive and risky. Evans calls the British press "half-free" in comparison with U.S. papers. It is easy to incur heavy penalties in England for printing information that the government considers secret; running stories that could prejudice court trials might land an editor in jail. Still, in spite of stiff official resistance, the Sunday Times managed to publish uncensored excerpts from the diaries of Richard Crossman, a former Cabinet minister. The paper also exposed the important position that Kim Philby had held in British intelligence before he defected to Moscow. Evans chanced contempt of court by publicizing the plight of Britain's some 450 Thalidomide children, afflicted with terrible birth defects because their mothers had taken the medicine during pregnancy. Litigation between parents and the drug's manufacturer had dragged on for a decade, in legally ordained secrecy. Evans' campaign spurred a wave of indignation on the victims' behalf and hastened an adequate settlement.

By 1981 the Thomson organization wanted to sell both papers. That was not surprising; labor unrest had led to soaring costs and deficits. But the choice of Murdoch was a shocker. He already owned the Sun, a morning tabloid featuring bare breasts and sensationalism, and the News of the World, a Sunday gossip. Evans says that Murdoch's editorial support of Margaret Thatcher saved him from facing a hearing before the Monopolies Commission: "Murdoch had stood by her in the dark days and she was going to stand by him." Instead, the sale was approved, provided Murdoch sign agreements guaranteeing the editorial freedom of the two papers. The new owner could not fire editors without the approval of independently appointed company directors. Urging Evans to switch over to the Times, Murdoch said, hyperbolically: "Hell, I'll go to prison if I speak a word to you."

In fact, nothing could stop Murdoch from meddling if he wanted to; the man, after all, owned the papers. Evans claims that interference from the top started almost at once. As he began hearing the new proprietor's complaints that the Times was being too harsh on the Thatcher government or that the paper had given too much space to events in Poland, Evans had a choice: he could complain to the directors, further provoking Murdoch, or he could hope things would get better. These bad times lasted twelve months, long enough for memory to lapse. Evans quotes Murdoch: "I give instructions to my editors all round the world, why shouldn't I in London?"

A disingenuous but good question. For all of its vehemence, Evans' brief against Murdoch is not wholly convincing. No evidence is presented that the owner ordered a story to run or dictated an editorial position. Evans complains that he was never given a clear budget and that this financial uncertainty affected his news judgment. But the Times was losing money when Murdoch bought it, a condition that did not keep him from urging Evans to hire the best journalists he could find. Evans also says that, near the end, his own secretary was spying on him, reporting on his visitors to the man Murdoch wanted as the next editor. This betrayal suggests a level of staff resentment against Evans that he does not explain.

Good Times, Bad Times is valuable for its picture of life at the apex of British journalism: the dinners at 10 Downing Street, the visits to Buckingham Palace, the daily struggle to put out what is still England's newspaper of record. The book also chronicles the inevitable conflict between two volatile men. Evans thought his distinguished record at the Sunday Times would force Murdoch to leave him alone; Murdoch did not like being ignored by an employee. There were chips on both shoulders, and they fell exactly where they had to.

--By Paul Gray