Hearst also ordered a handful of his most talented
Examiner
writers and artists to board a train to New York without mentioning the purpose of the trip. They were already two days out of San Francisco before they figured out that their boss had bought a new paper and that they would not be returning home for a while. Winifred Black was a former chorus girl who wrote under the name Annie Laurie. A Chamberlain discovery, she had begun her career in imitation of Pulitzer’s star Nellie Bly but had soon developed into a first-rate reporter in her own right. She had once gained an interview with President Harrison by sneaking into his private railcar and popping up from under a table to introduce herself. Charles Dryden was perhaps America’s first great baseball writer and a man whose gifts awed even the unimpressable Ring Lardner. It was Dryden who described Washington as “first in war, first in peace, and last in the American League.”
7
Homer Davenport, a former circus hand on his way to becoming the most important American caricaturist since Thomas Nast, was the staff hick. He had been raised in tiny Silverton, Oregon, and Dryden claimed he had to be blindfolded and backed into elevators. Also aboard the eastbound train were Sunday editor Frank Noble and the volatile Scots editorialist Arthur McEwan.
Arriving on track from Chicago was Willis J. Abbot, who, although slightly younger than Hearst, had already seen as much journalistic action. Starting as a reporter in New Orleans, he had worked his way through New York to Kansas City, where, at the age of twenty-three, he was a partner in the launch of a new daily. After its failure, he turned up as managing editor of the
Chicago Times.
When that paper’s owner, the mayor of Chicago, was assassinated in 1893, Abbot gained control of the paper and quickly effected a merger with the
Chicago Herald.
That merger led to another, and another, culminating in the preposterously named Chicago
Times-Herald, Record and Inter-Ocean.
Merged out of a job, Abbot signed on as editor-in-chief of Hearst’s
Morning Journal,
a grandiose title giving him responsibility for the editorial page. Although he would finish up as editor of the
Christian Science Monitor
and write a dignified memoir of his career, he was at the time a flaming radical.
8
Together with McEwan, Abbot gave Hearst the most progressive and provocative editorial team in newspapers.
As New York media circles were staunchly parochial even in the nineteenth century, Chamberlain’s was the only name on the above roster to raise a murmur on Park Row. Hearst’s biggest catch, as far as the trades were concerned, was Julian Ralph, lured over from the
Sun.
Dana used him as his paper’s lead writer on such momentous occasions as the funeral of Ulysses S. Grant, for which Ralph wrote ten thousand words of evocative prose in seven hours flat. Because Dana did not allow bylines, Ralph owed his popular following to his freelance work for
Harper’s
. He arrived at the
Morning Journal
a bona fide star.
The notable acquisitions from Pulitzer’s stable were the ailing humorist Bill Nye, who would die in a matter of weeks, and the arts writer Alan Dale of the
Evening World.
Dale was the best drama critic in the country. Droll and fearless, he is believed to have been the first of countless journalists barred from New York theaters over unfavorable reviews. Hearst did make an early run at Ballard Smith, tracking the dynamic, young Pulitzer editor to England and telegraphing a job offer, but it was refused.
9
It is likely that Hearst paid above-market rates for the talent he hired away from other papers. He was following the example of Pulitzer, who had been skimming the cream from Dana’s staff for the better part of two decades. The governing assumption was that hiring the best people would produce the most compelling paper and that sales would jump accordingly. In addition to paying premiums, Hearst ran against the industry practice of “hire and fire” by offering his better recruits multi-year contracts. Job security was then virtually unknown at metropolitan dailies, and long-term deals brought a look of solidity to Hearst’s fledgling organization and made him a safer bet for journalists reluctant to leave “secure positions for shaky ones,” as
The Fourth Estate
said.
10
Expensive as these outside recruits may have been, they numbered no more than a dozen or two in these early months. Hearst held on to many of McLean’s people and opened the vault only for individuals whose unusual talents or popular appeal could be expected to make an impact on the paper. “Wars are won by generals,” he liked to say, “not merely by armies.”
11
Hearst, moreover, was paying above-market salaries for his top talent at a time when the going rates were low. Journalists had seen little improvement in their pay over the previous decade; even Pulitzer’s largesse was by now a thing of the past. Publishers were benefiting from falling costs for paper and typesetting, yet they weren’t sharing the wealth, choosing instead to form publishers’ associations aimed at fixing salaries and other costs. Their intransigence was Hearst’s opportunity. He denounced publishers’ associations shortly after he arrived in New York: “A newspaper is not only in competition with other newspapers, but with all other business. It wants the best brains there are. It’s got to offer them inducements, so they won’t go into other lines of business.”
12
Such comments raised expectations on Park Row of an orgy of competitive spending but, as
The Fourth Estate
noted, while Hearst was known to have money to burn, “He went about his business in a way that proved there was to be no bonfire.”
13
The most surprising thing Hearst did with his money at this point was to decline to spend it on real estate. In the course of negotiating with McLean to purchase the paper, and a matter of days after dragging Stump out to see a building he thought could be purchased and refurbished for a million or two, he dropped the idea of the “nucleus.” Stump explained this change of heart in a letter to Phoebe. The
San Francisco Examiner
was then piling on circulation, despite the
Chronicle
’s flashy new headquarters: “Will says it does not appear that fine buildings are necessary to build up a paper, from which I would infer that he is not very anxious to spend a large amount of money on the ‘Nucleus.’ He is acting with deliberation and caution on the newspaper proposition in New York, & does not feel disposed to jump until he sees where he is going to land.”
14
Given his earlier panic at the
Chronicle
’s new offices and his high regard for Pulitzer’s methods, Hearst’s abandonment of the nucleus idea was no small decision—he was developing his own ideas about what was necessary for a publishing success.
Instead of a fancy new building, Hearst and his new recruits reported for work in the
Morning Journal
’s rented space on the second and third floors of the Tribune Building at Park Row and Spruce, a block from Pulitzer’s tower. The main newsroom, among the shabbiest on the street, was a large, open space with innumerable flat and rolltop desks crowded back to back and side by side as though the goal of the exercise were to create as cramped, noisy, and sweaty a milieu as possible. Gas lighting had recently given way in the offices to electric, which blazed at all hours to supplement the dull glow from the dingy windows. The floor was littered with scrap paper and brass spittoons. The air was dense with cigar and pipe smoke and the stale odors of working men. During business hours, editors, reporters, copy boys, clerks, librarians, and artists could be found bent over their tasks or milling about, most of them in shirtsleeves and suspenders and, as a general rule, the older the journalist, the more hair on his face. Most of the younger set preferred only a mustache, and a few were entirely clean-shaven. Hearst arrived in New York sporting a wispy blonde mustache but sheared it off in a matter of weeks.
One of the best descriptions we have of Hearst’s newsroom comes from fiction. Stephen Crane, an occasional contributor, used the
Journal
as a model for his daily in the novel
Active Service
:
For the most part they bore the unmistakeable stamp of the American college. They had that confident poise which is easily brought from the athletic field. Moreover, their clothes were quite in the way of being of the newest fashion. There was an air of precision about their cravats and linen. . . . The men coming one and one, or two and two, flung badinage to all corners of the room. Afterward, as the wheeled from time to time in their chairs, they bitterly-insulted each other with the utmost good-nature, taking unerring aim at faults and riddling personalities with the quaint and cynical humor of a newspaper office. Throughout this banter, it was strange to note how infrequently the men smiled . . .”
15
With his staff coming together, Hearst turned his attention to the newspaper itself. McLean’s
Morning Journal
had been an uninspired product. It ran eight pages on most days, with a dull, formulaic front page. The first, leftmost, of its seven columns, considered the lead position, was reserved for Democratic Party news, even if the editors had to stoop to coverage of inconsequential state or county affairs to fill it (other parties rarely rated coverage). Often a second column in the middle of the front page was devoted to the Democrats as well. A political cartoon, crudely drawn and reliably unfunny, ran almost daily at the top of the page over three or four of the middle columns. Shortly before Hearst took over, one of these cartoons portrayed a pair of Republicans on a beach about to be swamped by a Democratic tidal wave, unsubtly labeled “Dem. Tidal Wave.” In case anyone missed the point, a caption read, “What the Wild Waves are Saying.”
16
The old
Morning Journal
did have its moments, usually in its human-interest coverage. In the last week of McLean’s reign, the paper carried a fascinating report of a rivalry between two butchers, each claiming to be the best in New York, who had determined to settle the matter with a public contest. A large, noisy crowd gathered in Harlem River Park as each butcher in turn picked up his cleaver and raced against the clock to kill and slaughter a young bull. The winner finished in three minutes, twenty-one seconds.
That piece notwithstanding, most of what passed for human interest in McLean’s paper simply was not interesting. Too much of it was trivial (police chase mad dog, none injured) or simply tragic (two men die in freight-yard accident) or told without sensitivity or insight. The point of human interest is to stimulate, challenge, delight, outrage, or otherwise engage the hearts and minds of readers. A litany of misfortunes befalling otherwise anonymous people triggers little but sadness. It is no surprise that the
Morning Journal
’s audience was dwindling, even at a penny a copy.
HEARST’S BIOGRAPHERS ARE CORRECT that his name first appeared on the
Journal
on November 7, 1895. He also dropped
Morning
from the paper’s title that day.
17
But Hearst ’s relaunch of the
Journal
was by then already a month old. He had come to terms with McLean on October 3. Four days later Stump gave McLean $30,000 in cash (with the balance due in thirty days), and Hearst assumed control of the paper.
18
He wasted no time in making changes. The lame front-page cartoon disappeared from the October 8 edition, never to return. On October 9, the lead story on Democratic politics migrated from the extreme left of the page to the extreme right. Running in the former lead slot was the story of a young woman who had trained a circus horse to pull her small carriage around town in response to voice command, without benefit of reins or bridle. She had run down an undertaker in the street. The paper’s staid front-page template had been broken, the first step toward a more energetic presentation of news.
The
Journal
continued to evolve through the month of October. While still selling for a penny, it was some days expanded to twelve pages. New strategies were evident in the realm of human-interest coverage. The
Journal
began to dwell less on the miseries and hard luck of ordinary people and more on the antics and misfortunes of extraordinary individuals. The death of telegraph tycoon John W. Mackay Jr. hit the front page October 20. He had been thrown headlong into the trunk of a tree while riding at his French estate. He shared page one that week with Colonel Samuel Colt, of the gun-manufacturing Colts, who was suing his wife for divorce after she had disappeared for a three-hour buggy ride with the dashing James J. Van Alen. And the duke of Marlborough, in town for his much-anticipated nuptials with Consuelo Vanderbilt, graced the
Journal
’s pages almost every day for the last two weeks of the month, never more prominently than after his arrest by New York police for reckless bicycle riding in Central Park. All of these stories were milked over several editions, creating narratives intended to draw readers back day after day.
Political stories now sometimes dominated the front page and sometimes went missing entirely, depending on their perceived importance and on whatever else was happening in the world. While still giving reams of space to internal Democratic maneuverings, the
Journal
began to show interest in the affairs of other parties and it began to press its own priorities and issues, including campaigns against collusion and price-fixing in railroads and liquor industries. On October 27, a remarkably detailed cartoon of the Republican elephant, drawn by the former circus hand Homer Davenport, ran at a striking five columns. The beast’s trunk tickles the bearded chin of prospective Republican presidential nominee Benjamin Harrison. Davenport was one of several artists whose work now ran on page one, in place of the old unfunny
Journal
cartoon. The clear and simple elegance of his work immediately established a new tone of visual sophistication for the paper.