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Quick, the Needle. Pearson does not earn his pay by writing beautiful prose; his paragraphs read like jottings on an envelope in a lurching taxicab. His favorite leads are such old boob-catchers as "Although it will be denied . . ."; "Here's the inside story of . . ." It's not how he says it, but what he says: a brand of ruthless, theatrical, crusading, high-voltage, hypodermic journalism that has made him the most intensely feared and hated man in Washington. It is the kind of journalistic vigilance that keeps small men honest, and forces bigger men to work in an atmosphere of caution that frequently cramps their style. Many an official lives in constant fear of having the more delicate operations of diplomacy upset by Pearson's premature or partial disclosures.
Washington and Pearson were made for each other. Nowhere else could he operate as effectively, because nowhere else are there so many feudists out to get the , people higher up, or those of different political faith. Often the stories the schemers give him are true. Pearson, to his credit, prints them (unlike many fainter-hearted correspondents), regardless of whom the truth will hurt. But he has also written stories which are both untrue and damaging. Like oldtime Muckrakers Lincoln Steffens and Ida M. Tarbell, Pearson hates wickedness. But those reformers had more time to draw a bead on it, and never needed, or thought they needed, seven sensations a week to stay in business.
Unlike Winchell, who spits epithets like an angry alley cat when he is out to claw somebody, Pearson never stoops to name-calling. He simply presents his case and lets readers draw the obvious and epithetical conclusion.
The most recent of Pearson's victims was Congressman J. Parnell Thomas. While Thomas' Un-American Activities Committee was terrorizing moviemen, high Democratic politicos and lesser mortals, Pearson took Thomas on singlehanded, and got him indicted on charges of payroll kickbacks (TIME, Nov. 15). The evidence in the Merry-Go-Round could only have come out of the Congressman's letter files. As Pearson presumably does not go around lifting files from the House Office Building, someone obviously did it for him. He scoffs at the press corps rumor that the evidence cost him a $1,500 bribe. He rarely needs to tip his tipsters, he says; they are satisfied to see justice done, or an enemy done in. He believes that "if any two guys in town know a secret, we'll find it out."
Once, at a Cabinet meeting, Defense (then Navy) Secretary Forrestal glared around the table and gritted: "Are we talking for this room, or for Pearson?" The remark was reported to Pearson in due course, and started a Pearson-Forrestal feud.
Man of Distinction. Though Pearson has scored beat after beat, he has won no Pulitzer prizes nor Peabody radio awards. But he has had his accolades. One of the most respected Washington columnists has called him "a public servant of the very best kind." He holds two honorary degrees, Norway's Medal of St. Olaf, the French Legion of Honor, and the Star of Italian Solidarity. He was named Father of the Year 1948, has had a comic strip (Hap Hopper) created in his image, and is chairman of National Cat Week.