The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst (72 page)

BOOK: The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst
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The
Tribune
demonstrated that a paper need not be pro-Cuban to be rash, wrong, or wildly partisan. It had been on press with an editorial pronouncing Spanish-American relations healed at the very moment the
Maine
was burning in Havana harbor, and having invested heavily in McKinley’s diplomatic mastery, it remained anxious that the Havana riots, Dupuy de Lôme’s revelations, and a single sunken battleship not count as setbacks. On February 17, the second day of coverage, the
Tribune
championed the theory of a spontaneous explosion in one of the ship’s magazines and claimed that informed opinion was unanimously and unequivocally on its side: “It appears to be practically the consensus of the highest naval expert opinion that . . . the deplorable occurrence will become historical as a mysterious accident in which blame can never be positively attached. . . .” The paper continued to insist that the explosion was “inexplicable” even as it absolved the navy and the ship’s officers of negligence, assembled forensic experts to argue against an external blast, and pointed to earlier explosions and fires aboard American naval vessels as examples of what must have happened to the
Maine.
 
The
Tribune
was so eager to protect the supposed peace between Washington and Madrid that it argued Spain had no obligation to disavow or even regret the sinking of the
Maine.
If the ship had been deliberately blown up, the culprit would have to be a “Cuban madman, hoping thus to embroil the United States and Spain to the advantage of the insurgent cause.”
62
Who could blame friendly Spain for a lone madman?
 
The most striking aspect of the
Tribune
’s coverage was its insistence that the American people accept the administration’s views as gospel. President McKinley and his cabinet had repudiated all theories of foul play and it remained for the public to fall in line: “It is the manifest duty of every American to trust [McKinley] in the present tragic crisis, to sustain him in the onerous tasks by emulating his own fortitude and forbearance, and above all scrupulously to refrain from any deed or words that may add to his burdens.”
63
It is unusual for a newspaper to call for strict allegiance to the chief executive, especially outside of wartime. It is remarkable in this instance because the
Tribune
was calling for obedience while still insisting that McKinley had everything under control and that there was no crisis. Both the
Tribune
and the
Times
advocated legislative action against newspapers inclined to disagree with them on the
Maine
disaster.
64
 
The
Herald
followed a similar line, but the most radical expressions of the conservative position came from the
Commercial Advertiser:
“The less said about the
Maine
the better. Apparently we have blown up a fine ship, killed several hundred sailors and sent $3,000,000 worth of property to the bottom of the sea by sheer carelessness. We have come to grief like a boy trusted with a real pistol after drilling and parading and fighting imaginary Indians with wooden dummies. The incident will be worth the cost if it teaches us humility and abates our thirst for war.”
 
The fact is that newspapers up and down Park Row—whatever their political inclination—were as riddled with rumor and falsehood in the aftermath of the
Maine
as they had been since the start of the Cuban story. There was so much disinformation flowing from so many sources within forty-eight hours of the explosion that the Associated Press called for a time-out: “The cruiser
New York
has not been ordered to Havana; Consul General Lee has not been assassinated; there is no conference of the Cabinet; Congress is not in session tonight, both Houses having adjourned at the usual hour until tomorrow; President McKinley did not go to the Capitol, and the situation is decidedly quiet.”
65
Hearst probably did publish more sloppy and inaccurate news than other papers, not to foment war but because he published more news than his rivals, good and bad. He had made a conscious choice to run the most aggressive news operation in New York. That put speed and comprehensiveness in competition with the paper’s commitment to absolute accuracy. The
Herald,
reputed to be the best news operation in the country, played by the same rules.
 
As for Hearst’s quickness to pronounce on the cause of the blast, no one in America—not even William McKinley—was waiting for the naval court to submit its report before voicing an opinion. Every major daily on Park Row staked out a position on the cause and defended it aggressively. Whether an editor believed the
Maine
was sunk by accident or by treachery wasn’t determined by circulation concerns, journalistic standards, or the emotions of proprietors: it was largely a political decision. “Those who favored a peaceful settlement of the Cuban problem,” writes John Offner, “believed [the explosion] was an accident, whereas those who wanted direct and immediate intervention in Cuba suspected foul play.”
66
It is probably more accurate to draw the line between those who believed diplomacy would work and those who did not but, otherwise, Offner’s formulation holds.
 
Hearst did wrap himself in the flag. He did preach a form of chauvinistic Americanism, and he belittled those of his rivals not native-born. But given the public mood, he was at worst encouraging sentiments that were already blazing. Today’s journalist is likely to be offended by the idea of an editor seeking to ride or incite public sentiment rather than standing aloof from it or challenging it, but this was accepted practice in the Gilded Age. All of Hearst’s principal competitors flattered the prejudices of either a popular audience or the better classes. Within weeks of these events, most of them would join Hearst in red, white, and blue, for, as Dana said, “You must be for the Stars and Stripes every time . . . [or] you won’t sell enough papers to pay your expenses.”
67
 
The majority of the error and recklessness assigned to Hearst’s coverage of the
Maine
is either overstated or unremarkable in light of prevailing journalistic standards. It is perhaps hard to believe that so many biographers and historians could have so profoundly misread Hearst’s coverage, but most begin from the same point of reference: E.L. Godkin, the first and most vociferous critic of Hearst and the yellow press. Godkin himself has been profoundly misread, and that in turn has led to a serious misapprehension of Hearst.
 
E.L. GODKIN WAS BRILLIANT, witty, and influential, one of the more battle-hardened controversialists of the Gilded Age. He was anything but a voice of steady reason and cool judgment amid the Cuban crisis, as one might gather from his various descriptions of Hearst and the yellow press as lunatic, diabolical, eternally damned, and Satanic.
 
Godkin was the great reactionary of late-nineteenth-century American journalism—elitist and gloomy. He was sickened by the social and political trajectory of his adopted country, and he frankly admitted that all his hopes and ideals for America had been dashed. He was emerging as the arch-critic of popular government, writing a series of screeds against democracy, referring to the American people as “howling savages” and “lunatics” and “maniacs,” and reserving his utmost disgust for the varieties of populism favored by the
Journal.
68
According to his biographer, Godkin also wasted “an unconscionable amount of precious time envying young people,” and he reserved the hardest corner of his heart for the western United States, despising California in particular.
69
It is no wonder that he seized upon Hearst, the young Californian, as the focus of his enmities.
 
Godkin wasn’t much for war, either. A follower of Richard Cobden, he opposed armed conflict as injurious to the nation’s finances. He considered patriotism and pro-Americanism unfortunate distractions from the business of life and, as such, “species of madness.”
70
He feared U.S. involvement in Cuba would lead to annexation of a land of mongrel peoples who might corrupt American industriousness (perhaps the closest he came to a popular opinion).
 
Godkin’s journalistic standards, against which Hearst is routinely and unfavorably measured, wilt under scrutiny. The
Evening Post
did less original reporting on the Cuban crisis than any other major daily on Park Row. Almost all of its news on the subject was gathered from administration sources in Washington. As a result, it did not cover the crisis so much as it covered the McKinley team’s response to the crisis. In his initial editorial on the
Maine,
Godkin was surer than either Hearst or Pulitzer as to the cause of the explosion: “Taking it for granted that the explosion on the
Maine
was an accident pure and simple, we have only to remember that such things are among the risks which those taking service in the navy have to face. . . .”
71
Subsequent editorials argued the accident theory dogmatically and vociferously while belittling the coverage of Hearst and Pulitzer and wondering how they might be suppressed by “the hand of the law.”
72
Godkin not only wanted yellow newspapers held criminally accountable for their libels of noble Spain but thought their readers should be considered accessories to their crimes: “In the well-governed and highly civilized communities of the future, they will be arrested at the newsstands and locked up.”
73
 
In yet another editorial, Godkin himself hit what might have been the single-most diabolical note in all of Park Row’s
Maine
coverage. Seizing on the rumor that a wounded sailor had seen a small boat carrying a lit fuse toward the ship seconds before it blew, he ventured the following:
It is well known that [the
New York Journal
] sent a yacht down to Havana not long since. . . . Now, our theory is that it was a small boat from this yacht that was seen by the wounded sailor approaching the
Maine
with a lighted fuse. Of course much greater excitement could be made by the blowing up of a ship, and much larger sales of newspapers would result there from, than from the mere seizure of a yacht. We think that the naval court of inquiry should interrogate this sailor at once and find out whether he is sure that the boat and the fuse in question were not a part of the outfit of this American yacht.
74
 
 
 
Godkin was only half-serious about his allegation but it has been accepted as credible by subsequent writers, including biographer Ferdinand Lundberg whose
Imperial Hearst
was published with a ringing endorsement from Charles A. Beard, a president of the American Historical Association (it was also the primary text for Orson Welles’
Citizen Kane
.
75
) A surprising amount of the discussion of Godkin’s lofty standards revolves around newspaper style. Critics have always been impressed by the
Evening Post
’s high tone: its tight focus on politics, finance, and literature; its factual and succinct reporting; the formality of its language; the restraint of its layout. There is something impressive about the
Evening Post
’s style, even though (or perhaps because) it was as reactionary as Godkin’s opinions, but it reflected less his standards, than his tastes and those of his audience. His ethics were unremarkable; he was as concerned as any other editor on Park Row that his views find readers and support his sales. Much as he complained of the circulation antics of the yellow papers, he boasted to a colleague that his antiwar crusade during the 1895 Venezuelan boundary dispute brought him “oral applause of every description, and our circulation rose 1,000 a day.”
76
 
WITHIN TWO WEEKS OF THE EXPLOSION, there was unanimity on Park Row that an external explosion had destroyed the
Maine.
Swanberg and others have suggested that Hearst browbeat his rivals into adopting his point of view, but it was leaks to the Havana press corps from the naval court of inquiry that prompted the shift in opinion. Among other clues, investigators had found that the ship’s keel had been bent upward, which they interpreted as evidence of a blast from below. After this revelation, the papers turned their attentions to debating whether or not Spain could be held responsible for failing to protect a visiting ship in Havana’s harbor.
 
McKinley was still unwilling to give up on diplomacy, but Congress and public opinion were now firmly for intervention. Fearing for his own relevance, the president asked the chair of the House Appropriations Committee for $50 million for national defense. On March 9, Congress approved the funds by votes of 311 to 0 in the House (after 73 individual speeches), and 76 to 0 in the Senate. “Before it was over,” one Senate clerk noted in his diary, “it seemed as though a hundred Fourth of Julys had been let loose in the House.”
77
The
Journal
’s headline the next morning was “$50 Million For War!” Those words are sometimes criticized as being technically inaccurate because the money was designated for defense spending but the chairman of the House Committee on Appropriations recalled McKinley asking for the funds “for war.”
78
 
Another signal that the administration was about to capitulate to the interventionists came a week later in Washington. There had been regular reports to Congress from a variety of sources on the still-deteriorating situation in Cuba, some landing with more force than others. Senator Redfield Proctor was a Civil War veteran, a secretary of war in the Harrison administration, and a personal friend of William McKinley. He had toured Cuba of his own accord to gauge the progress of the insurgency and the welfare of the civilian population. On March 17, he told Congress that he had gone to the island convinced that “a few cases of starvation and suffering” had been subjected to the highly-cultivated imaginations of press correspondents and blown out of all proportion. He found that their reports were not overdrawn, that Cuba was in the ruinous grip of “desolation and distress, misery and starvation.” Spain controlled only four western provinces, and every man, woman, and child in those parts was under guard in reconcentration camps. “Their huts are about ten by fifteen feet in size; and for want of space are usually crowded together very closely. . . . Conditions are unmentionable in this respect. Torn from their homes, with foul earth, foul air, foul water, and foul food or none, what wonder that one-half have died and that one-quarter of the living are so diseased that they cannot be saved? . . . Little children are still walking about with arms and chest terribly emaciated, eyes swollen, and abdomen bloated to three times the natural size.” Proctor compared the human tragedy to the French Wars of Religion and the Spanish Inquisition. Because Spain could not defeat the insurgency and the rebels would not accept autonomy, Proctor saw no alternative to U.S. intervention.
79

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