In 1950, a Jesuit priest sat across from a screenwriter at Billy the Oysterman on 20th Street in Manhattan. Father John Corridan agreed to meet Budd Schulberg at the restaurant to talk about what some considered his obsession, but what the priest called a vocation: breaking a crime ring that bilked longshoremen out of millions of dollars a year in Hoboken, New Jersey.
At nearby Xavier Institute of Industrial Relations, where he was associate director, Father Corridan’s office desk was piled with article clippings, and file cabinets teemed with research papers. Although the fish at Billy’s was delicious—“I make them literally swim in butter,” the owner said—the loquacious Father Corridan barely touched his meal. Schulberg had heard rumors about the priest, and couldn’t believe that his eyes and ears confirmed the reality. The priest’s speech “was a fascinating blend of Hell’s Kitchen jargon, baseball slang, the facts and figures of a master in economics, and the undeniable humanity of Christ.” His laugh was “hearty, slightly malicious,” and he was “fit enough to swing a hook with the best of them.” The priest seemed like he should be a character in a movie.
Soon, he would be—and it was one of the best movies ever made.
On the Waterfront turned 70 earlier this summer, and it still stands as a great film. I might be biased; I’m a lifelong Jersey guy and Catholic, with family who have worked at the port, and my dad was a Golden Gloves boxer. But I watched it again as a skeptic—lately, I’ve been disappointed with rewatches of some classic films. Too slow, too maudlin (and I say this as a fan of contemporary films like Godland, about a 19th-century Lutheran priest trekking across Icelandic countryside).
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