The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst (75 page)

BOOK: The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst
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The queues of prospective war correspondents were equally long at other addresses on Park Row. Approximately three hundred American journalists would win assignment to the Spanish-American conflict, including such unlikely figures as Alexander Kenealy, humor writer for the
World,
and Acton Davies, drama editor of the
Evening Sun.
8
Even before Congress had declared war, dozens of reporters gathered with the likes of Richard Harding Davis, Stephen Crane, and the novelist Frank Norris on the piazzas of Key West, where the North Atlantic Squadron was stationed. They paid exorbitant rates to sleep on iron cots in the hallways of crowded hotels, bobbed around the harbor in their dispatch boats, and fought among themselves for telegraph time and privileged access to admirals and battleships. They waited impatiently at the cable office for their turn on the single wire not reserved for government use, “their copy growing stale in their hands,” according to one observer, “as the sweat beaded on their necks.”
9
That the fighting was many weeks away and there was precious little news to report did nothing to dampen their excitement.
 
Not all of the New York papers initially shared the enthusiasm of their correspondents. The conservative dailies fought the call to arms until the last minute. The
Herald
dismissed the war as an impulsive, illogical, and “sentimental” adventure.
10
The pro-McKinley
Tribune
made the clearest antiwar statement of any New York daily in this period: “War is not purification. It is debauchery. War is not an uplifting. It is a degradation. War does not lend the national mind to higher thoughts, but to lower and less worthy ones.”
11
But all of the conservative papers, with the notable exception of Godkin’s
Evening Post,
reluctantly buried their misgivings once war became inevitable. As the
Tribune
’s Reid advised his managing editor, “it would be unwise for us to be the last persons to assent to it, or to seem to be dragged into the support of it.”
12
With an enthusiasm bordering on funereal, they adopted the line that America was fighting for humanity and liberty in the face of Spain’s obstinacy and the oppression of the Cuban people. Their spirits lifted, however, with the first whiff of gun smoke. Within a week of Congress’s declaration, these papers would leap to the front ranks of what they had previously called the jingo brigades.
 
The most startling changes occurred at the venerable
Herald.
James Gordon Bennett, no longer boasting that he could acquire all the talent he needed at $25 a week, was now employing and granting bylines to Richard Harding Davis at $400 a week plus expenses. With his earlier failure to reach the Cuban insurgents for the
Journal
still on his conscience, Davis embraced this new assignment as completely as any he had undertaken in his life. He arranged contracts not only with the
Herald
but with
The Times
of London,
Scribner’s
magazine, and a book publisher. “I expect to make myself rich on this campaign,” he wrote his family.
13
As per his custom, he assembled a new quasi-military costume for the adventure—canvas shooting jacket, holster and cartridge belt, leather flask, gloves, and top boots—and distributed a new photo of himself to the press. (“There will be terrific ink shed when he reaches the front,” winked the
Springfield Republican
).
14
He also equipped himself with a letter of introduction to Rear Admiral William T. Sampson of the North Atlantic Squadron from his acquaintance Teddy Roosevelt, assistant secretary of the navy. Roosevelt didn’t much like Davis. He describes him in private correspondence as an “everlasting cad,” but the publicity-happy Roosevelt knew how to work the papers.
15
His letter was a factor in Davis’s gaining access to Sampson’s flagship, the
New York.
“It is like a luxurious yacht, with none of the ennui of a yacht,” Davis wrote home. “The other night, when we were heading off a steamer and firing six-pounders across her bows, the band was playing the ‘star’ song from
Meistersinger.
Wagner and War struck me as the most
fin de siècle
idea of war that I had ever heard of.”
16
 
It was aboard the
New York
on April 27 that Davis witnessed one of the first actions of the war, the U.S. naval bombardment of Matanzas on the northern coast of Cuba. A long-range artillery salvo does not make for scintillating copy, and this one was of little consequence (the Spanish reported the loss of a single mule) but thanks to the
Herald
’s system of dispatch boats, Davis was able to file his breathless account ahead of any competitors. “The guns seemed to be ripping out the steel sides of the ship,” he wrote. “The thick deck of the superstructure jumped with the concussions and vibrated like a suspension bridge when an express train thunders over it.” His scoop was splashed on the paper’s first news page under what was by the
Herald
’s standards an enormous, double-decker, four-column, all-caps headline, illustrated with a sprawling artist ’s conception of the shelling prepared in New York. An account of how Davis reported the incident and then boarded a dispatch boat to file his story received almost as much space on the page as the bombardment itself. The
Herald
milked its exclusive for several editions under such headings as “Take That For the
Maine!
” It continued to celebrate in lead stories and editorials its “brilliant achievement” in newsgathering. It exulted at length over the paucity of coverage in rival papers: “The only news our morning contemporaries were able to give on going to press was a bare bulletin of the bombardment gathered from hearsay at Key West after the arrival of the
Herald
’s dispatch boat.
17
 
The zeal of the
Herald
’s Matanzas coverage was nothing compared to what followed a few days later. The paper was fortunate enough to be one of few witnesses to the single-most critical battle of the Spanish-American War. At first light on May 1 on the other side of the globe, Commodore George Dewey’s Asiatic squadron attacked Admiral Patricio Montojo’s Spanish fleet in Manila Bay and in just over six hours had destroyed or captured every one of Spain’s ships without the loss of a single American life.
18
It was a crushing blow to the enemy in almost the first week of war, and the
Herald
couldn’t contain itself. This “Glorious American Victory,” declared the paper, was the reward of Providence to Spain for having trifled with the American people and for “the unspeakable crime of the destruction of the
Maine.

19
Dewey was hailed as a modern-day Columbus whose historic victory had opened a whole new world to the Stars and Stripes: “An event like this of Manila, which passes into history as among the decisive battles of the world, cannot be dismissed as an accident. Ours was a just cause. . . . every gun spoke the voice of humanity.”
20
 
The
Herald
’s ardor spilled over into other aspects of its war coverage. It jolted its readers with a menacing illustration of the Spanish armada and the startling headline “Spain’s Fleet Steaming Toward American Waters.”
21
It launched a series of cartoons mocking the Spanish war effort and shouting “Remember the Maine!”, and gave another set of bold headlines to wild (and false) rumors that both the Spanish colonial minister and former governor general of Cuba, Martínez Campos, had been assassinated.
22
It wrongly accused a clutch of U.S. congressmen and senators of being in the pay of a rival newspaper proprietor.
23
It boasted not only of its feats of journalism but of its “enormous increase in circulation” as well.
24
Giddy in the wake of Manila Bay, it published a recipe for a Dewey cocktail: “One of them will make you feel like a true American; two will cause you to wonder why you are not fighting for your country; and five or six will make you believe yourself to be as big a man as Dewey.”
25
At moments such as these the
Herald
reads like an E.L. Godkin caricature of yellow journalism, but on the whole the paper’s reportage on the Spanish-American War was thorough and, by the standards of the day, accurate.
 
The
Tribune,
too, let all its misgivings sink with Montojo’s fleet. The paper trumpeted Dewey’s “crushing blow” to the enemy with waving flags and multi-column, all-caps headlines—one reading “Remember the
Maine!

26
It decorated its front page with patriotic poetry and images of the wrecked Spanish ships. The city of New York, it reported, was “Ablaze with Joy,” and a spirit of “exaltation” filled “every American heart.” The paper boasted of having been first with news of the victory and of having informed the president and the secretary of the navy of Dewey’s battle. Even more boldly, with its protest against war as debauchery and degradation still hanging in the air, the
Tribune
now presented Dewey’s success as proof of the superior character of the American people: “That in such circumstances the Americans won is to be attributed to the simple fact that they are Americans. That is, they are intelligent, well disciplined and drilled, clear-sighted and steady of nerve, fully understanding their ships and guns, and able to use them in the most effective manner. . . .”
27
The
Tribune
topped all this with an early grab for the spoils of battle, troubling itself over which Philippine islands to keep and which to discard: “The nation that, for self-protection or in the cause of humanity, is compelled to go to war and bear its dreadful burdens, is entitled to enjoy the fruits of the victory it wins.”
28
(The
Herald,
similarly, could not send enough troops to the Philippines to hold the islands and demonstrate to the world the methods of responsible imperial power.)
29
 
Decisive moments are uncommon in newspaper wars: there is no adjudication; no one keeps score; all parties claim victory at every turn; no one admits defeat. Such performance metrics as exist—circulation and advertising numbers—are easily inflated, manipulated, and challenged. The winners and losers are generally sorted out years later when one title or another falls into obvious decline, or is shut down or sold or merged with a rival. But if there was a definite point at which Hearst clearly emerged as the leading voice on Park Row, it is in these very first days of the war with Spain. The evidence of his editorial, operational, and stylistic influence on his peers, for good and bad, is overwhelming. For almost three years, Hearst’s newspaper had been lambasted as a warmonger for urging U.S. intervention in Cuba. Its motives had been impugned, its techniques ridiculed. Now some of its fiercest critics were appropriating for themselves its adopted role as humanitarian avenger of oppressed peoples, and with it every big-spending, self-promoting, eye-catching, crowd-pleasing, circulation-building trick in the yellow arsenal. They had all dabbled in these methods before and at certain moments they had all blasted Spain for its sins, but this was different. This was a phenomenal reversal of judgment on the part of the gray papers, executed without hesitation or the slightest blush.
 
Hearst did not miss his opportunity to declare victory. A May 6 editorial proclaimed “a time of full justification” for the paper and its proprietor: “This war has been called a war brought on by the
New York Journal
and the press which it leads. This is merely another way of saying that the war is the war of the American people, for it is only as a newspaper gives voice to the American spirit that it can be influential with the American masses. The
Journal
is powerful with the masses because it believes in them—because it believes that on large questions of right and wrong, on issues of national policy, their judgment is always likely to be sounder than that of the objecting few.”
30
 
On May 8, Hearst printed the slogan “How do you like the
Journal
’s War?” on either side of his front-page nameplate, a move that has been criticized as both tasteless gloating and the delusional raving of a man overstating his own importance to events. Hearst did believe his paper had done much to furnish the war but the slogan was, in fact, a riposte to critics of the paper’s editorial leadership. It first appeared in a headline on Hearst’s editorial page of May 2, the first day of reporting on Dewey’s heroics above a reprint of the
Evening Post
’s complaint that a “blackguard boy” with millions at his disposal was exercising too much influence over American foreign policy: “Some People Say the
Journal
Brought On the War. How Do You Like It So Far as It’s Gone?”
31
 
Intent on maintaining his leadership, Hearst spared no expense in coverage of the war, never mind that he was out of funds. He had run through his initial $1 million sometime in 1897 (probably early) and ever since he had been drawing on family money—drawing so deeply that Phoebe made him sign over to her the deed to the Babicora ranch. Her intention was to put a brake on his spending but she also wanted to protect the ranch in the event of a
Journal
bankruptcy. Will, confident of his ultimate success and anxious to keep spending, transferred the property, a gift from his father, on February 19, 1898.
32

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