Realistic sketches of politicians, society leaders, and courtroom figures also began to appear regularly on page one. Hearst’s critics have accused him of using art to pander to dullards and foreigners, as though attracting new readers to newspapers were a reprehensible activity. Illustrated material probably did expand his audience, but it also drew attention to stories, aided in their telling, heightened their dramatic presentation, and appealed to the eye. Like halftone photographs, which were just beginning to appear in periodicals, illustrations were a fabulous journalistic tool, attractive to the broadest range of readers, and they were increasingly common even in the three-cent
Herald.
Hearst probably withheld his name from the masthead until November 7 in order to get his staff in place and an initial round of improvements underway, and to have a big story at his disposal before he announced to his competitors that his charge was on. November 7 certainly provided the big story: a beautiful eighteen-year-old railroad heiress had just been married against her will to the reckless bicyclist, the cash-strapped duke of Marlborough.
The
Journal
’s coverage of the Vanderbilt-Marlborough nuptials is not mentioned in either of the major Hearst biographies—Nasaw sees nothing but “rather pedestrian” news in Hearst’s first week. Yet the wedding was a popular sensation, one of the social occasions of the decade, and a significant news event besides. The
Journal
’s coverage was appropriately massive. Almost the entire front page was given over to a richly detailed illustration of the couple leaving the altar of flower-strewn Saint Thomas Church as attendants, family, and distinguished well-wishers looked on. Julian Ralph, hired because he could write more copy faster and better than anyone else in town, authored the main article. His report started on front and continued over three pages inside, and was accompanied by a play-by-play from “a lady of the Four Hundred,” reproductions of the menu and musical program, and illustrations of the bride’s triumphant mother, of prominent guests, and of police holding back the great throngs outside.
There were several factors that lifted the Vanderbilt-Marlborough wedding out of the ordinary, including the stature of the families, the commercial dimension of the marriage, the bride’s known opposition to the match, and her mother’s insane social ambition. Writers as diverse as Henry James and Mark Twain had treated the spectacle of rich American parents dealing their sons and daughters for European titles, and Mrs. Vanderbilt, in engineering this match, had brought the practice to its apogee. It was a story that reached near the heart of American cultural identity, and everyone in New York had an opinion on it. Newspaper readers, whether enraptured by the story or outraged by it, wanted every available detail. The upmarket
Herald,
celebrated then and now for its news judgment, also gave the event enormous coverage, running it over three pages, with seven illustrations.
Immediately on the heels of the Marlborough-Vanderbilt extravaganza came two stories even more seriously misrepresented in the Hearst biographies. On November 10, the
Journal
led with the arrest of two men in connection with a deadly saloon robbery. Nasaw cites this as the “first front page of Hearstian proportions,” a prime example of the new proprietor’s dedication to cheap and irresponsible fearmongering. Gussied up with a near full-page drawing of “two lugubrious criminals” under a “large type bold headline,” the story, writes Nasaw, “was not covered by the other dailies and vanished from the
Journal
as miraculously as it appeared.”
19
In fairness, the saloon attack wasn’t the Great Train Robbery, but neither was it plucked from thin air. The
Journal
had given it great play the day before, in large part because police were fascinated by the crime. Investigators had developed a theory that the culprits, who had burst into the saloon and fired shots into the ceiling, were performers in Buffalo Bill’s visiting Wild West Show. Police had also linked the crime to similar armed robberies in Baltimore, Chicago, and Hoboken. The violent, multi-city crime spree was a far fresher narrative at the end of the nineteenth century than it is in our time, and New York’s finest devoted extraordinary resources to their investigation.
20
The drawings of the alleged criminals ran at less than a fifth of the page, and the headline was actually the standard one-column minimum the
Journal
used for top copy on both the front and inside pages. Nor did the story quickly disappear. When new information emerged two weeks later, one of the lugubrious duo was back on front.
21
Upmarket papers like the
Tribune
and the
Sun
didn’t give much space to the saloon attack: they were more interested in the intoxicated warden of the Ludlow Street jail and whether or not Warren Palmer would be held responsible for the debts of his runaway wife. The
Herald,
however, gave it good play and also found space for “Yale Students Steal a Mail Box .”
22
The second
Journal
story to be looked at askance in the biographies was a yachting dispute. The earl of Dunraven’s
Valkyrie III
had recently lost an America’s Cup series to the American
Defender.
Returning to England, Dunraven wrote a long letter to the London
Field
accusing the
Defender
of cheating. The New York yachting community, which had hosted the race, was outraged at the charge but unable to defend itself, as only bits and pieces of the letter had been cabled across the Atlantic. Hearst paid to have the entire letter cabled to the
Journal.
He splashed it over seven columns without illustration, under the first full-page banner headline he would run in New York: “Full Text of Lord Dunraven’s Charges. . . .”
23
Hearst’s enthusiasm for this controversy has been criticized as evidence of his losing his bearings and of suddenly pitching his penny paper at the yachting set. In fact, the Dunraven story was a coup for the
Journal.
Yachting may have been a rich man’s sport, but it had an immense popular following in the late nineteenth century, taking up more space in the sports pages than baseball. The America’s Cup was particularly appealing, attracting tens of thousands of spectators including strong representation from New York’s vast Irish community, which could be counted on to jeer the British entries. International contests of any kind were infrequent before the start of the modern Olympics in 1896. Patriotic passions typically ran high, and they might be said to have hit a peak in 1895, with the United States and Great Britain rattling sabers over the border between Venezuela and British Guiana. London refused to submit the matter to arbitration on terms satisfactory to the Venezuelans and their Washington allies. President Cleveland was a short five weeks from advising Congress that Britain represented a threat to his country’s “peace and safety,” a speech that left many (including Hearst) convinced of the inevitability of war. In this atmosphere, questions of fair dealing between the United States and Britain took on unusual significance.
All of the New York newspapers devoted space to Dunraven’s charges—the
Herald
had three reporters on the story—and all were waiting to receive Dunraven’s text by mail. There was no doubt on Park Row as to the value of the
Journal
’s enterprise. The November 20 edition of the trade journal
Printer’s Ink
reported that it was being discussed as “the journalistic triumph of the year.”
24
All in all, Hearst had set a hot pace in his first official week. More impressively, he maintained it. New publications generally tend to stockpile scoops and features in advance of their relaunch and then run dry after several issues. The
Journal
continued to knock out feats of journalistic enterprise once or twice a week for the rest of the year. A few days after Dunraven, for instance, Hearst tackled another major sporting event. Princeton versus Yale was the greatest rivalry in American football (the professional game was not yet off the ground). All the papers sent correspondents. Hearst sent something more.
Before there were matinee idols, there was Richard Harding Davis, the most dashing figure in Victorian New York. American journalism has not seen the likes of him since: strong-jawed and smoulderingly handsome, with a wardrobe that gave Sam Chamberlain a run for his money, Davis was rumored to be the model for the Gibson Boy, that debonair counterpart to the new American girls in Charles Dana Gibson’s magazine illustrations. At thirty-one years of age, he had published fiction in
Scribner’s,
developed a popular newspaper column, served as managing editor of
Harper’s Weekly,
and published six successful books. Hearst hired him to cover Princeton-Yale at the princely fee of $500 for the single piece.
At first blush, it might seem an odd match of writer and subject, but Davis was an ardent sports fan. He had covered prizefights as well as football, and he had once quit a reporting job in Philadelphia to follow an American cricket team on a tour of the British Isles. Even at $500, securing Davis was a clever move. His name was a guaranteed draw, a sure way to distinguish the
Journal
’s report of what would be a well-covered event. To get his money’s worth, Hearst paraded the story over two pages, including the whole of a Sunday front and ran the author’s byline almost an inch high. The text was accompanied by depictions of the action, the crowd, and the coaches, and a bird’s-eye view of Manhattan Field. Two intricate charts followed the ball through each half of the game. A former Yale coach offered a technical assessment of the action, and the famous boxer James Corbett weighed in with his thoughts on the outcome. The most interesting part of Davis’s story from today’s perspective is his reaction to the crowd of 40,000 packed into Manhattan Field. Mass audiences were clearly as new to sport as they were to newspapers:
It was like a great crater of living people, and those who were on a level with the players saw the blue sky above them as a man sees it from the bottom of a well. A circle a half of a mile in circumference, and composed of people rising one above the other as high as a three-story house, is a very remarkable sight, and when half of these people leap suddenly to their feet and wave blue flags and yell, and then sink back as the man they have been cheering is tackled and thrown, and the other half jump up in their turn and wave orange and black flags, the effect is something which cannot be duplicated in this country or in any other.
25
No story would loom larger in Hearst’s paper over the next five years than Cuba’s struggle for independence from Spain, and it too was front and center in these early weeks. On December 8, Hearst led his front page with a report from the Spanish front by Lieutenant Winston Churchill of the British army’s Fourth Hussars. On leave from his cavalry regiment, Churchill had crossed the Atlantic with a friend to collect “a great many Havana cigars” and observe the Spanish government’s spirited but increasingly futile efforts to stamp out an insurrection among the islanders. Churchill sent five reports back to the
Daily Graphic
in London. His article in the
Journal
was largely a summary of those pieces. Though he was only twenty years of age, Churchill was hardly an anonymous correspondent. The
Journal
introduced him as the eldest son of the noted Tory statesman Lord Randolph Churchill and, more intriguingly, as cousin and possible heir to the recently wed duke of Marlborough. Churchill traveled two weeks through the swamps and rugged hills of the Cuban countryside in the company of General Valdez—“the greatest man Spain had produced in latter days.” His report is a lively account of some minor skirmishes and Churchill’s own experiences under fire, once while bathing in a river.
26
A final story of note from these initial weeks involves the arrest of Miss Amelia Elizabeth Schauer, who occupied the
Journal
’s front page the same morning as Churchill’s report. This article, too, has been cited as an example of Hearst’s duping a credulous public with front-page “melodrama” manufactured out of “back-page filler,” but it was much more than that.
A few months prior to Miss Schauer’s arrest, New York police commissioner Theodore Roosevelt had ordered a crackdown on habitual criminals, making a particular target of prostitutes. In twelve months, 4 03 women were convicted of soliciting compared to 172 during the previous twelve.
27
Evidence of actual crime was often slight. Policemen and city magistrates considered the mere presence of an unescorted woman on the street late at night sufficient to warrant a conviction. Miss Schauer had been picked up for soliciting and was thrown in among the hardened criminals at the Blackwell’s Island workhouse. She claimed her only offense was to have asked a man for directions. A well-spoken woman, fetching in prison garb (or so the
Journal
’s artists presented her), Miss Schauer attracted an abundance of maudlin sympathy. Social activists took up her cause and brought her to the attention of the
Journal,
where she became the object of Hearst’s first New York advocacy campaign. The
Journal
gathered character witnesses, paid her legal bills, and published front-page illustrations of her menacing, thick-browed prison mates. The State Supreme Court reviewed the case and found Miss Schauer innocent of all charges. The
Journal
celebrated her release and its own role in the proceedings with almost equal enthusiasm.
28