The Press: Clipping Business

In 1916 those persons who paid The Original Henry Romeike Press Clipping Bureau for the service of seeing their names in print, began to observe a new slogan on the little colored slips to which each clipping is pasted. It read: “Be Sure It’s Henry. Other Romeikes May Disappoint.” Contrary to the implication, there was not a long list of Romeikes to confuse the unwary clipping client. The bitter warning was raised solely against the late Henry’s brother Albert who had gone into business for himself two years earlier following sharp disagreements with Henry’s son Georges. Time softened the slogan in 1926 to “No Connection with any other ROMEIKE.” Last week it could have been dropped completely. Brother Albert, 73, had closed out his business, which had never been highly profitable. About 20 of his best accounts were bought by Public Service Clipping Bureau, an affiliate of the Henry Romeike company. For the first time since 1881 when Henry established the world’s first clipping service in London, there is no Romeike connected with the business anywhere. Henry’s son Georges died at 31 seven years ago.

Regional clipping bureaus are numerous but about 80% of the business in the U. S. is shared by the Henry Romeike company and its next largest competitor, Luce’s Press Clipping Bureau, of New York, owned by Congressman Robert Luce of Massachusetts. As everyone knows, the function of a clipping bureau is to supply customers with clippings from newspapers everywhere mentioning either their names, manufactured products or any designated subject. How the Original Henry, a native of Russia and a drygoods clerk in Germany, got the idea for the business is a subject of doubtful legend.

Popularly accepted is the story that in Paris he saw an artist pay high prices for back numbers of a newspaper mentioning an exhibition of his works. In London Brother Henry sought out one Curtice, a large newsdealer, convinced him that he could reap profits from the back numbers of publications which were left on his hands every day. Together they formed Romeike & Curtice, a clipping service which continues in the hands of Curtice’s heirs. In 1884 Brother Henry opened shop in the old Judge Building in lower Manhattan. Practically from the start the business prospered on the personal vanity of socialites, nouveaux riches, politicians, tycoons and stage folk. For a time “romeiked” was a common word meaning “compiled in scrapbooks.” If Brother Henry was not rich when he died in 1903, it was due to his lavish scale of living.

Personal vanity now accounts for only about one-fourth of a clipping bureau’s revenue. Big Business supplies the rest. Constantly shifting, the current order of leading consumers is 1) broadcasting, 2) aviation, 3) theatre and cinema, 4) automobiles, 5) public utilities & trade associations.

Not one pair of shears is visible when the Henry Romeike clipping crew is at work full blast in its Manhattan loft. About 60 young women sit at benches, expertly scanning the 1,900 dailies and 5,000 weeklies which have been sorted from great stacks of mail bags. (Newspaper subscriptions are a bureau’s largest expense excepting labor.) Pasted on a wall before each girl’s eyes is a typewritten list of clients and subjects most difficult to remember. The bulk of the 7,000 names and words for which she must watch is carried in her head. All girls watch for all clients. Twice each day a forewoman clangs a bell, summons the staff for “classwork” to a bulletin board on which are spread proofsheets of new items sent to the press by client publicity men. The forewoman pronounces carefully the names of new clients. Each new name is thus declaimed twice every day for a week. A girl does not clip, only pencils clients’ items. The whole paper is then passed to a group of boys who slash deftly with razor-sharp knives, paste the clippings on dated slips. A second staff of girls sorts the clippings into pigeonholes for mailing.

Extra large pigeonholes bear the names of General Electric, R. C. A., N. B. C, Owen D. Young, Edward A. Filene, Cornelius Vanderbilt Jr., cigarets, oranges, electric lights. Old Dan Beard has had a pigeonhole since Henry Romeike’s time. Sir Thomas Lipton was a client until his death, received packing-boxes full of clippings after the last Gold Cup race. Col. Lindbergh was a client of a small agency before his takeoff for Paris. When the bureau sued him for payment last year he declared he had contracted only for the first $35 worth. Harry Kendall Thaw has long been a subscriber. Largest order handled by Romeike in a single month was that of the George Washington Bicentennial Commission to which it delivered 76,203 clippings since Jan. 1, 39,771 in February alone. At the minimum rate of 4¢, the bill to publicity-loving Congressman Sol Bloom, head of the Commission, would be $3,048.12.

The standard rate for clippings is 7½¢ each for lots up to 100 collected in a month, 5¢ for the first 2,000. Depression price-cutting has forced the charge for larger lots down to 4¢ and some agencies have been reported offering clippings for as low as 1½¢. Big accounts pay $500 to $600 a month. Occasionally a client keeps his name on the books for years without receiving a clipping. He merely wants to assure himself that his family is keeping out of print. That satisfaction costs him a $5 monthly service charge.

The marking girls, who earn about $20 a week, are a liability until they have about two years experience. Even then they are not infallible. A client named Levy was sent dozens of clippings about a tax levy. The Country Gentleman received various references to country gentlemen. An olive growers’ association got clippings about the death of Film Actress Olive Thomas. A man who wanted all items on batteries had to weed through stories about arrests for assault and battery. Matters improved after the girls were paid a straight wage instead of piece work.