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Hildy Johnson is a star newspaper reporter with the Herald-Examiner
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I'll talk to that maniac—with pleasure. (Into phone, with mock formality) Hello, Mr. Burns. What's that, Mr. Burns? Why your language is shocking, Mr. Burns…now, listen, you lousy baboon. Get a pencil and paper and take this down: Get this straight because this is important. It's the Hildy Johnson curse. The next time I see you—no matter where I am or what I'm doing—I'm going to walk right up to you and hammer on that monkey skull of yours until it rings like a Chinese gong...no, I ain't going to cover the hanging! I wouldn't cover the last supper for you! Not if they held it all over again in the middle of Clark Street…never mind the Vaseline, Jocko! It won't do you any good this time ! Because I'm going to New York like I told you, and if you know what's good for you you'll stay West of Gary, Indiana! A Johnson never forgets! (He hangs up.) And that, boys, is what is known as telling the managing editor.
Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur, The Front Page, Covici-Friede, 1928, pp. 32-33.
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