The Press: Lucky Number

A novel twist of one of the oldest existing publicity ideas—the lottery scheme—recently occurred, simultaneously, to the editors of certain vulgar U. S. newspapers. To issue lottery tickets redeemable for cash is, of course, forbidden by law. But, since all paper bills are numbered, why not, thought the editors, make currency itself the lottery tickets? Every day certain newspapers began to publish the serial numbers of $1 and $2 bills. Persons who found lucky-number bills in their possession could redeem them for substantial prizes. Cashiers began to spend hours reading the numbers of all the bills that passed under their deft, sallow fingers; delinquent-minded creatures spent days having ten dollars changed in shop after shop in the hope of getting a lucky number.

Last week in Washington Solicitor Donnelly of the Postoffice Department declared the scheme to be a “distribution of prizes by chance,” and barred “lucky bill” newspapers from the mails.

Dignity

When the Shenandoah, disemboweled like a silver minnow, fell into the Ohio valley, every newspaper in the U. S.—with one exception—shrieked in huge disaster headlines the record of that happening. Not since election day had such exclamatory “spreads” appeared on front pages. But one newspaper realized that constraint, in the face of enormous happenings, is more startling than noise; that gravity appalls more than exclamation points. This sheet, the Miami Herald, give the Shenandoah story a simple “one column” head and followed this clipped announcement with an account which ran without a break for 16 columns (two pages). Initial letters were used at the beginning of paragraphs. There were no subheads. Rarely does any paper achieve such a dignity in journalism—still more rarely the Miami Herald.*

“Loud”

When a somewhat blatant advertisement of the intellectual prowess of Mr. Glenn Frank, President of the University of Wisconsin, whilom editor of the Century, appeared in a recent issue of the Editor and Publisher (TIME, Sept. 21) many people were ready to excuse the poor taste of such ballyhooing on the score: 1) that Mr. Frank’s abilities were no whit diminished by the undue noise being made over them, and 2) that he, quite possibly, knew nothing whatever about the advertisement. Last week, however, the Washington Post issued a quarter-page thesis which sought to “sell” President be equally lenient in our judgment of this one. Exceeding even the suggestion contained in his very name, Mr. Frank seems to be definitely, ‘Loud’.”

“Mirror” v. Thaw

Newspapers entertain a medieval fervor for crusades. Happy the editor who can turn sensational “copy” into proof of his devotion to the welfare of the commonalty. Last week the New York Daily Mirror found such an opportunity in the doings of Harry K. Thaw, famed murderer.

Mr. Thaw, it is true, had done little to command newspaper attention beyond escorting a young woman to a cabaret—a procedure technically innocent. But out of the sinister personality of the aging rake, the Mirror’s editors drew material for a startling story:

WHY IS HARRY THAW FREE? roared a headline that straddled the Mirror’s front page. Underneath was reproduced Thaw’s disordered countenance and iron-grey hair with the caption: “Harry K. Thaw, nationally known murderer, is burning up Broadway again. Nightly, with bloated face, he makes the rounds of the night clubs.”

On an inside page five pictures of Mr. Thaw were published: AS DANDY, AS SLAYER, AS FUGITIVE, AS BOY BEATER, AS FIREMAN. Two more photographs meaningly compared his features with those of Harrison Noel, mentally delinquent protagonist of a murder trial now occupying national attention. A chronological table of Thaw’s misdemeanors bore the title: “Highlights in the story of wealth, mental decay, vicious living, murder and insane asylums, depicting the life of Harry K. Thaw. . . The Rip Van Winkle of the Bright Light District is hitting it up again. . . His bloated face and protruding eyes mark him as he reels about the night clubs of the roaring forties. . . Some twelve girls have held for a short time the fickle favor and glittering gifts of the torturer of rabbits.”-

Followed a description of a Manhattan night club (the Del Fey— formerly the El Fey) in which, among others, sat Michael Arlen, Ethel Barrymore, Gloria Goull Bishop. “There entered,” said the Mirror, “a haggard looking and white haired man, his bloated face wreathed in smiles. It was Harry K. Thaw. . . Harry looked long and rudely at Michael Arlen. . . Then the chastiser of little rabbits . . . screeched.”

Next day Thaw left for Pittsburgh. Said the Mirror: “Harry has suddenly decided to visit his sick mother, whose illness had not hitherto caused any of the many wrinkles in his bloated face. . . The Mirror has won. If he comes back to New York the Mirror will renew its campaign to get him away.” With this valedictory, the Mirror published a picture of a small brunette, “winsome little Virginia Frank,” and credited her with having spurned the wealthy slayer’s suit. ” ‘Let other girls wear his jewelry,’ she said, ‘but not me.’ . .”

Whether Mr. Thaw is, after all, a slobbering degenerate or merely an old man infected with a disgusting and pathetic lust for pleasures which youth alone can make charming; whether or not the Mirror had any higher purpose in its denunciations than the enlargement of an already huge circulation—matters little. The whole episode merely furnished one more example of how a smart editor can make sensationalism the light that illumines his paper’s exceeding morality.

May and September

Skeptics cursed themselves last week.

Late in May, four months ago, E. Haldeman-Julius of Girard, Kas., published in the press a grave advertisement :

“I QUIT: On June 30, / shall quit publishing Little Blue Books! Order till then at 5c.

“I am going to stop because I must give my full attention to my immensely successful Haldeman-Julius Monthly—The Enterprise of Bringing out 842 Good Books has been Sensational — over 75,000,000 sold in Five Years— “Here is sound advice: Do not buy a mere 25 or 30 books—Do as most are doing by ordering 100 or 200 titles, or bttter still, an entire set of 842 titles. Invest today in your future reading. This is your final opportunity.”

Skeptics muttered. “Can it be?” said they, “With 842 books edited, set up in type—only needing advertising and the grinding of the printing press to sell the output— can it be that Mr. Haldeman-Julius cannot spare the time to sell them? Can it be that the Haldeman-Julius 60-page monthly magazine with a circulation of 400,000 must have all cf Mr. Haldeman-Julius’ time? Can it be that the Little Blue Books —of which 75,000,000 have been sold in five years—can no longer be profitable?”

Said apostles of Mr. Haldeman-Julius: “Some publishers, with a less high standard than that of Mr. Haldeman-Julius, might succumb to the more or less persistent supplications of the public. But not Mr. Haldeman-Julius! It is unthinkable.”

Last week skeptics cursed themselves; for there appeared in the press an advertisement:

AMAZING BARGAIN! 900 LITTLE BLUE BOOKS AT THE ASTOUNDINGLY LOW PRICE OF 5¢

During a Little Over Five Years We Have Sold 100,000,000 Little Blue Books—the Greatest Publishing Record in All History—How Many Millions of Little Blue Books Will We Distribute During the Next Five Years?

Skeptics gnawed their nails in bitterness. “Why, oh why,” they railed, “did not we think of that line in May? ‘How Many Millions of Little Blue Books Will He Distribute During the Next Five Years? In May that line would have been—genius!”

Apostles of Mr. Haldeman-Julius were silent.

* The Herald makes public boast of its 75-page bulk.

* These rabbits, male and female, known as “Tootsie” and “Tweedledum” respectively, brightened the duller moments of Thaw’s life at Matteawan. He pinched them until they squealed, bit them with his yellow teech, chased them with a pole, tossed them 40 feet in air and let them fall on the ground “to see if it would hurt them.”