But interest in war surpasses all other attention, as it has from the beginning of man’s mastery over man. It is difficult to recall any condition of human existence not affected by war. War is supreme as an agent of destruction. It destroys not only nations and governments, life and property, but also it blunts civilization, coarsens refinement, stops study and progress, prevents the fulfillment of life-cherished plans and ambitions, changes the life purpose of millions of men. It is entirely impossible to comprehend the multitudinous effects of war or to appreciate the condition of mind in which a stricken people emerge from war. The study of war gives the journalist exalted opportunity. His readers are interested in war more than in anything else.
Some folks delight in reading criticisms of their neighbors, attacks on public men or complaints of the conduct of mankind in general. This is a species of jealousy that rejoices in the discomfiture of others. They gloat over disclosures, get cynical over the downfall of public idols and the reversals of popular beliefs. Nothing pleases them more than to have a clergyman go astray or a church member get in jail. They are fond of investigations. Their pinhead perceptions find nourishment in the mistakes of others. They always take the negative side. They question. They doubt. They lament. They scold.
It is easy for an editor to acquire this attitude. Many editors have assumed it, beginning with the notion of catering to people who like this sort of reading; then they gradually absorb the flavor. We have had the examples of ill-natured newspapers nicknamed by the public the “Growler,” or the “Scold,” or the “Old Pessimist.” Not long ago several magazines sought fame and circulation by a conduct of criticism of public men called muckraking. The sale of thousands of copies attested general greed for that kind of reading. This public attitude certainly tempts the editor; but experience has taught that the public scold is vastly unpopular, be he editor, preacher, teacher or oracle of any sort.
And many are interested in reading about the weather. It is a universal topic of conversation. It governs our agricultural prosperity. It influences every kind of business. It stops the ball games. It parches our soil, interferes with our plans, disturbs our comfort, upsets mental processes, compels us to change our clothing when we do not want to. It makes us wear clumsy things on our feet. It raises the very mischief in a hundred different ways. Everybody thinks of it or speaks of it twenty times a day. The wise editor will print a fine fat paragraph about it, describing the weather over all this broad land, giving the practical, the scientific reasons for its varied changes, and explaining the indicated effect on trade, travel, and temperament.
What shall we print? A California newspaper sought through a questionnaire to learn from its readers how much of the sheet they actually read. It summarized the eighteen hundred replies. Seventy-five per cent attested that the reader looked at the headlines and rarely finished the article; only twenty-five per cent ever read an article through. One answer said, “I go beyond the headline once in ten times, perhaps, but when I do I read it through.” Still another, “I usually find all I want in the first paragraph.” The net result seemed to indicate that almost all simply scanned the sheet in search of something to interest them, and found little. The chief criticism was that the articles were too long.
The Paris daily publications before the war minimized the news and in its place presented discussion and comment, sketchy description, much fiction and literary matter. They achieved enormous circulations. The most successful were exceedingly well written, were distinctly literary; and they prospered greatly without the aid of news features of the American and English journalistic sort. They were made attractive and interesting by their excellence of workmanship.
The New York Evening Journal was carried to enormous circulation by editorial presentation rather than news exploiting. For many years it had neither the Associated Press nor any other news association service. Its editorial utterances attracted far reaching attention. What news it had was emphasized by exaggeration and breathless announcement, and typographical monstrosity.
The Evening Sun, which never had the Associated Press dispatches, attained great popularity and circulation through cheerful, bright, and witty illumination of things, and a minimum of profundity.
In a newspaper address before the Convocation of the University of the State of New York, Mr. Don Seitz, of the New York World, said:
Talent was the thing in the old days, but we have gotten over that, alas! Energy has taken the place of talent and the sudden fact has taken the place of the news. The modern editor has been misled somehow into using a great deal of display type to handle the few words he uses, and at first I had the thought that this was wrong. But somehow I have changed my mind. It is necessary to arouse interest. The vast number of readers are rudimentary in thought. They do not take easily to a dull solid column no matter how interesting it may be. In trying, therefore, to catch the largest number of readers the editor conceived the idea of putting in larger type. It has shown what the people wanted, and that they must have some quick way of learning what was going on, and mind you, we have shortened up our reading time a great deal, which is another fact.