The Young Man and Journalism

by Chester Sanders Lord

The New York Times is perhaps our most gratifying exhibit of a newspaper advanced to supreme success by conservative methods. Free from exaggeration of statement, or typographical appearance, or hysteria of any sort, it has grown to great circulation and influence. Mr. Ochs planned this result on the theory of giving to each reader the things in which he was personally interested, printing the news in such volume as to attract a great variety of interests. The lawyer found the full court calendar, the real estate man a record of every sale, the sporting enthusiast the result of every game.

Reversal of political policy has damaged the prosperity of many a newspaper. In 1872 the New York Tribune, the Chicago Tribune, and the Cincinnati Commercial Tribune, that had built up large circulations and had secured a profitable business as Republican newspapers, bolted the nomination of the Republican candidate, President Grant, and supported Horace Greeley, the Liberal Democratic nominee, for the presidency. They lost more than half of their readers.

In 1884, the New York Times, that always had been unflinchingly Republican, bolted the nomination of James G. Blaine and supported the candidacy of Grover Cleveland, the Democratic standard bearer. It lost half of its readers. In the same campaign, the Sun, of New York, that heretofore had favored the Democratic cause, bolted Cleveland. It lost more than half of its readers.

Many other instances of loss of circulation in consequence of change of political policy might be given. Newspaper editors of long memories expect popular resentment of a turn-coat policy and they give great consideration to any change before making it. No amount or degree of caressing talk or pussy-paw argument seems to soothe the man whose politics or religion has been attacked. Also, if you attack a man’s politics or his religion you are likely to make that man your enemy—and almost every man has a trace of politics or religion in his makeup. He regards it as a personal assault on himself. He also resents criticism of a friend or of the object of his hero worship. The newspaper that attacked General Grant when Grant was the idol of the nation, when he was worshiped because he had led our armies to victory, that newspaper lost thousands of readers and its editor lost a host of his personal friends. The newspaper that attacked the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher with more violence than did any other newspaper, at the time of the famous Beecher trial, lost three or four thousand of its readers a day while the attacks continued. The public had become greatly excited and divided over the question of Mr. Beecher’s guilt or innocence. Neighbors shook fists in each other’s faces on Brooklyn street corners and the angry controversy spread all over the country. The church people in general championed the pastor and their defense of him came at length, in a way, to be regarded as a defense of religion as well, and the newspaper assaults as an attack on religion.

We have said that it behooves the editor who has the confidence of his constituents to nurse that confidence—that a circulation based on confidence is not easily lost. Nevertheless, it is fatal to mislead the public. It is dangerous to circulation to go against public sentiment. A knowledge of public sentiment and the ability to anticipate public sentiment are brilliants, indeed, in the editor’s jewelbox of sagacity.

The absolutely fearless editor who values his opinion more than he values his income, will slam into the public’s most cherished notions if he thinks he is right. He will take a violent attitude on all public questions. The timid editor shuns controversy. His policy is to praise rather than to condemn. He fears unpopularity. He knows that to lambaste the city government is to lose the city printing. He strives to please everybody, to avoid antagonizing any large part of the community. The fearless editor disregards consequences; the timid editor avoids them.

Mr. Dana used to say: “We must make the paper talked about. We must make it more interesting. The people will not buy it if it is dull.” Concerning a piece of inconsequential news that he had clipped from its columns he wrote: “This is not good. It is too commonplace. There is no poetry in it. A blockhead might have written it.” He abhorred the commonplace. He urged constantly that minor routine news be put aside for anything bright or unusual, that verbal tediousness be hooted out of the place. He loved literature. He appreciated and praised good writing and he inspired his staff to enthusiasm for it, and to superexcellence of workmanship. Mr. Dana chose to lead public opinion rather than be led by it. He wrote with extraordinary forcefulness and with entire disregard, with absolute unconcern, as to the effect of his utterances on the circulation of the paper. Repeatedly he printed articles that he knew must cost him thousands of readers.

Greeley’s idea was to print a newspaper of national importance and national influence; and that meant of course the printing of a lot of national politics. He sought to be a great political leader, to be the champion of his party. He was little interested as a journalist in the ordinary run of news.

Whitelaw Reid, who succeeded Greeley as editor of the New York Tribune, once said: “The thing always forgotten by the closest critics of the newspapers is that the newspapers must be measurably what their readers make them, what their constituents call for and sustain.” Reid wished the Tribune to be of national importance. His remark naturally recalls the continuous performance discussion as to whether the newspapers lead the people or whether public opinion leads the newspapers. But we must agree, I am sure, that it is useless to give the people what they do not want.

How can we best interest the reader? People enjoy reading about the things in which they have participated. If you have attended a public meeting you follow with pleasure the newspaper report of that meeting. You are grateful to recognize things you remember the speaker to have said. If you have been to the theater you want to read a report or a criticism of the performance. You are pleased especially if the critic mentions some good or poor feature that you had noticed. It is a sort of verification of your judgment. You feel a sense of personal participation in the article. The same is true of the opera or a music event. All these things are constantly recurring, and reporters and critics are likely to become so familiar with them that their importance becomes obscured. This is true of opera and theater notices. The opera critic who has been listening to Faust for thirty years ceases to write much about it; but the young person who hears the opera for the first time is disappointed because so little is printed about the performance.