The San Francisco Caper

It could have been an episode in a TV serial--one of those reminiscent bits about the lost romance of journalism, about the high old days when the best reporter was the brash guy who knew how to steal the opposition's story. But this was no act. These were TV newsmen warming up to play real-life reporters.

The scene was the Georgian room of San Francisco's St. Francis Hotel, where the Republican National Committee was conferring with network representatives about coverage of the Republican National Convention. "I'd been walking around the room," says Don Hewitt, a CBS producer and director. "Then I went back to my seat and looked down." There on the red and black carpeting, within easy reach, lay a black leather loose-leaf notebook that no CBS money could ever buy. "It was staring me right in the face," Hewitt remembers, "in great big gold letters four inches high: NBC'S CONVENTION PLANS FOR 1964. Who could resist? Like any red-blooded American boy, I picked it up."

The meeting droned on, but Don

Hewitt had lost all interest. With a covert nod to a CBS colleague, Robert Wussler, who had witnessed the heist, he sneaked out of the room and took a cab to the Fairmont Hotel. Soon afterward, he was joined by Wussler, and together the two men studied Hewitt's prize.

Blankety-Blank. It was only a matter of moments before Allen B. ("Scotty") Connal, an NBC unit manager in San Francisco, noted the absence of his notebook. Recalling the sudden departure of the man seated directly behind him, Connal performed an elementary deduction and tracked CBS's Hewitt to the tenth floor of the Fairmont. Accounts differ on what happened next.

According to the NBC version, Connal, a onetime semipro hockey player with a hockey player's propensity for violence, burst into the room and offered to defenestrate the thief.* "If I don't have that blankety-blank book back in five blankety-blank seconds," said Connal, "somebody's going out that blankety-blank window." Whereupon, Hewitt surrendered the notebook.

Hewitt demurs. "The guy was practically in tears when he came in," says the CBS director. "I tell you, I'd have been frightened to have lost a book like that. After I produced the book, Scotty said, 'There's nothing in it, fellows. Go ahead and read it.' "

All told, says Hewitt, he enjoyed illegal possession for half an hour. He passed over nonessential information, such as wastebasket requirements, to absorb the minutes of secret NBC meetings and any documents stamped CONFIDENTIAL in red ink. Scotty Connal, says Hewitt, was the soul of helpfulness. With Wussler kibitzing, Hewitt was allowed to scan NBC secrets all the way down the elevator and into the Fairmont garage. "By this time we were buddies," said Hewitt.

Light-fingered. Back in New York, both networks struck postures of cold disapproval. "Hardly the adult thing to do," sniffed Julian Goodman, vice president of NBC's news division. CBS hauled the light-fingered Hewitt in for a frosty session with the boss. "I made clear to Don that I thought this was not very bright," said Richard S. Salant, president of CBS's news division. "Don was advised to keep whatever he learned to himself, and never do it again. We're not very proud of this."

There was, perhaps, no reason to be proud. But by week's end, the guilty party was still vainly searching his soul for contrition. "If I had another chance like that," said Don Hewitt, "I honestly don't think I could resist." For that matter, neither could any other red-blooded American boy who calls himself a newsman.

* Thereby starting a CBS house joke to the effect that at the Republican convention next July, all CBS personnel will be required to take first-floor hotel rooms.

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