The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst by Kenneth Whyte
Authors: Kenneth Whyte
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tallest building in New York—6 stories taller than any other commercial building in the city. It was the tallest building in the United States, and the tallest commercial structure anywhere. Most importantly, it was so tall that it blocked the Sun ’s exposure to its namesake. Darkness indeed.
The opening ceremonies of the Pulitzer Building were attended by thousands of eminent New Yorkers, including twelve governors, ex-governors, and governors elect, the mayor, and virtually every municipal politician of note. A special train brought a carload of cabinet members, senators, and congressmen from Washington for the day. Tour guides spirited these eminences from the World ’s printing works in the basement up six elevators to its newsroom and commercial offices above. The visitors learned that the building’s 142,000 square feet of floor space were constructed from 5 million pounds of steel and wrought iron and over 6 million bricks, that its corridors were lined with marble and its walls with 3 million feet of hardwood. They were allowed a glimpse under the burnished-copper dome on the 16th floor where Pulitzer kept opulent semicircular offices with frescoes on the ceiling, embossed leather wainscoting, and windows overlooking Governor’s Island, Brooklyn, and Long Island. The decor was impressive, but it was the sheer height of the building that staggered visitors. One gentleman rode the elevator as high as it would go and emerged to ask, “Is God in?” 54
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about the Pulitzer Building is that the man who built it felt no obligation to show up for its opening. The day before the ceremonies, Pulitzer sailed for Europe aboard the White Star steamship Teutonic. His lame explanation was that the excitement of the opening might overwhelm him. That his guests might feel slighted appears to have been of no concern. Such were the privileges of being the foremost newspaperman in the world’s leading media market at a time when dailies were king.
Ironically, no one had so clearly articulated the majesty of Pulitzer’s position as the man who most resented his success. Dana liked to give lectures on the newspaper as an almighty force in American life. The power of the press, he believed was “the power of speaking out the sentiment of the people, the voice of justice, the inspiration of wisdom, the determinations of patriotism, and the heart of the whole people.” Newspapers, he said, would always be the most reliable expression of the public will because they had to earn their mandates from their readers, one sale at a time, every morning. 55 (The degree to which editors sought to speak “the sentiment of the people,” rather than study or direct it, is a crucial difference between nineteenth- and twentieth-century journalism.)
Dana further argued that the press was uniquely suited to its high purpose by virtue of its collective genius, “not exceeded in any branch of human effort.” Every day, an army of supremely intelligent and specially trained reporters reached around the globe to gather in “the treasures of intellectual wealth that are stored up there, and a photograph of the occurrences of life that are there taking place.” Their findings were printed and distributed by some of the richest and most complex business organizations known to man, employing heroic amounts of labor and material, not to mention the best managerial talent and the latest technology: “What a wonder, what a marvel it is that here for one or two cents you buy a history of the entire globe of the day before! It is something that is miraculous, really, when you consider it. . . . All brought here by electricity, by means of the telegraph! So that the man who has knowledge enough to read, can tell what was done in France yesterday, or in Turkey. . . . That is a wonderful thing.” 56
Atop these grand journalistic enterprises, with their high purpose, enormous intelligence, and
The opening ceremonies of the Pulitzer Building were attended by thousands of eminent New Yorkers, including twelve governors, ex-governors, and governors elect, the mayor, and virtually every municipal politician of note. A special train brought a carload of cabinet members, senators, and congressmen from Washington for the day. Tour guides spirited these eminences from the World ’s printing works in the basement up six elevators to its newsroom and commercial offices above. The visitors learned that the building’s 142,000 square feet of floor space were constructed from 5 million pounds of steel and wrought iron and over 6 million bricks, that its corridors were lined with marble and its walls with 3 million feet of hardwood. They were allowed a glimpse under the burnished-copper dome on the 16th floor where Pulitzer kept opulent semicircular offices with frescoes on the ceiling, embossed leather wainscoting, and windows overlooking Governor’s Island, Brooklyn, and Long Island. The decor was impressive, but it was the sheer height of the building that staggered visitors. One gentleman rode the elevator as high as it would go and emerged to ask, “Is God in?” 54
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about the Pulitzer Building is that the man who built it felt no obligation to show up for its opening. The day before the ceremonies, Pulitzer sailed for Europe aboard the White Star steamship Teutonic. His lame explanation was that the excitement of the opening might overwhelm him. That his guests might feel slighted appears to have been of no concern. Such were the privileges of being the foremost newspaperman in the world’s leading media market at a time when dailies were king.
Ironically, no one had so clearly articulated the majesty of Pulitzer’s position as the man who most resented his success. Dana liked to give lectures on the newspaper as an almighty force in American life. The power of the press, he believed was “the power of speaking out the sentiment of the people, the voice of justice, the inspiration of wisdom, the determinations of patriotism, and the heart of the whole people.” Newspapers, he said, would always be the most reliable expression of the public will because they had to earn their mandates from their readers, one sale at a time, every morning. 55 (The degree to which editors sought to speak “the sentiment of the people,” rather than study or direct it, is a crucial difference between nineteenth- and twentieth-century journalism.)
Dana further argued that the press was uniquely suited to its high purpose by virtue of its collective genius, “not exceeded in any branch of human effort.” Every day, an army of supremely intelligent and specially trained reporters reached around the globe to gather in “the treasures of intellectual wealth that are stored up there, and a photograph of the occurrences of life that are there taking place.” Their findings were printed and distributed by some of the richest and most complex business organizations known to man, employing heroic amounts of labor and material, not to mention the best managerial talent and the latest technology: “What a wonder, what a marvel it is that here for one or two cents you buy a history of the entire globe of the day before! It is something that is miraculous, really, when you consider it. . . . All brought here by electricity, by means of the telegraph! So that the man who has knowledge enough to read, can tell what was done in France yesterday, or in Turkey. . . . That is a wonderful thing.” 56
Atop these grand journalistic enterprises, with their high purpose, enormous intelligence, and
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