Newspaperman

As he stalked the earth last week, Death visited Monrovia Bay off the coast of Liberia, Africa. There he found a man who had lived almost two years beyond the scriptural three score and ten, a bristly-bearded old man in horn-rimmed spectacles on board a quiet yacht. Death took him, took Edward Wyllis Scripps, founder of the Scripps-Howard chain of newspapers, whose address during his failing last years had been, "On Board S. S. Ohio, abroad on the waters of the world."

His land home was at Miramar, Calif., a 10,000-acre ranch, the natural rugged beauty of which he had been careful to preserve much as he preserved his own natural strength and powers from the debility that riches and refinement often breed. He had started life as a poor boy, an English book-binder's 13th child. He had gone to the public schools of Rushville, Ill., worked on the family farm, then gone, at 18, to be his half-brothers' office boy on the Detroit Tribune for $3 a week.

There was a strong journalistic tradition in the Scripps family. The boy's grandfather had published the London Literary Gazette. His great-uncle had published one of Illinois' first weekly newspapers. A cousin of his father's, John Locke Scripps, had founded the Chicago Tribune with Joseph Medill.

In 1873, the Detroit Tribune was burned out, and the outspoken tabloid News rose from its ashes. Edward Scripps worked up in three years from newsboy to legislative reporter. His sister Ellen Browning Scripps (TIME, Feb. 22, EDUCATION) joined the family group as rewriter and condenser. In after years, Edward was to remain very close to this sister throughout all his activities.

By 1878 he felt enough of a journalist to ask his half-brothers for $10,000 to start a paper in Cleveland, and they thought enough of him to produce it. With a dinky little engine, a few boxes of type, a small hand-me-down press, an $18 editorial writer, $20 business man, $15 humorist, two reporters and $12 for himself, he started the first U. S. newspaper that a laborer or mechanic could buy for a cent, a condensed sheet for business men, a complete sheet for business men's wives-the Penny Press of Cleveland. He resolved to "keep close to the people" and ever afterward did so, not by sensational pandering, crocodile tears or condescension, but by keeping himself clear of things not near the people, and by remaining a gentleman. When he handed over 24 newspapers that he had built up in 15 states, to his son, Robert P., four years ago, he asked him to do likewise.

These papers were: Akron Press, Baltimore Post, Birmingham, Post, Cincinnati Post, Cleveland Press, Columbus Citizen, Denver Express, El Paso Post, Evansville Press, Fort Worth Press, Houston Press, Knoxville News, Indianapolis Times, Memphis Press, New Mexico State Tribune, Oklahoma News, Pittsburgh Press, San Diego Sun, San Francisco Daily News, Terre Haute Post, Toledo News Bee, Washington Daily News, Youngstown Telegram, Kentucky Post.

Mr. Scripps' method of building newspapers was to lend money to promising men-young men-desirous of entering new publishing territory. If they made good, he had control of their property and policies. If they failed, they might pay him back whenever they could. He was not an insistent creditor. He counted his judgment as much a part of the investment as their honor. And it was against his instincts to "sell out"; once he had built something, he kept it. He did not barter, destroy, amalgamate and otherwise treat newspapers and newspapermen as impersonal bits of merchandise in the manner of his late contemporary, Publisher Munsey. A publisher of the highest order, he remained always a newspaperman himself, sticking to the platform that he wrote for the first issue of the Penny Press: "We shall tell no lies about persons or policies for love, malice or money ... or fight, lie or wrangle.... The newspaper should simply present all the facts."

In Alaska

Up in Alaska on a snow-covered field just outside of Fairbanks, with its railroad and clustered wooden buildings, two Fokker monoplanes were finally assembled last week. Captain George H. Wilkins, leader of the U. S. aero expedition which is to fly over the Polar blindspot to Spitsbergen (TIME, March 15, SCIENCE), called to his aides. They were Major Thomas G. Lanphier and Lieutenant Carl B. Eielson, the pilots, and A. M. ("Sandy") Smith. All was set for the first tests. But Captain Wilkins would not commence until the crowd of spectators-newspapermen, townsmen and women of Fairbanks-dispersed. He was afraid of killing someone. So they scattered and the propellers were turned over for the first time.

One reporter wrote out a hurried despatch:

"Fairbanks, Alaska, March 11.-The thunder of high-powered airplane motors rolled across the little town of Fairbanks this afternoon and gave audible proof that Captain Wilkins and his fellow aviators. . . .

"The two big monoplanes of the expedition were christened this afternoon while 2,000 persons watched and cheered. The larger ship was christened the Detroiter, while its smaller sister received the name Alaskan.

"After the christening ceremony the engines on the larger plane were started for the first time since they left Wright factory. They responded to the starter with a rataplan of cylinder explosions that soon mellowed into a roar. The mechanics said they were satisfied. Captain Wilkins announced he would not attempt any more ambitious tests, such as taxiing across the field, until the crowd had dispersed.

"The christening was done by two local young women, Miss Genevieve Parker, champion dog team driver, and Mrs. Emma Delavergne, wife of the Mayor. A beribboned bottle was broken against the nose of each machine, but the bottle did not contain champagne, which is a lost word in Alaska. The odor that came from the ruck of glass and red, white and blue silk was the odor of aviation gasoline, raw and pungent."

The reporter was Palmer Hutchinson, correspondent for the North American Newspaper Alliance. He was 28 years old and had already created an excellent reputation for adventurous reporting and for writing ability. During the War he had served as Gunnery Officer on the Connecticut and the Arkansas, was present at the surrender of the German high seas fleet in November, 1918. This was after his studies in Erie, Pa., where his father is President of the Erie City Manufacturing Co., and at the University of Pennsylvania and Masschusetts Institute of Technology. After the War he wrote extensively on naval subjects, hunting and fishing, over which he was a recognized authority. The Detroit News took him on its staff, where for the past two years he had been the political correspondent.

When the Polar flyers went to Alaska he went too. Every one liked him because they knew he would report events accurately and vividly, because he was always willing to pitch in helpfully at no matter what job.

At the landing field at Fairbanks he was among the 2,000 overcoated men and fur-clad women he wrote about. With them he cheered as the Detroit, larger of the two Fokkers, roared and taxied slowly across the snow. Major Lanphier was at the controls, Captain Wilkins in the cockpit. But the machine went only a few feet when the wheels stuck in the soft snow. Major Lanphier retarded the engines, as mechanics ran forward to clear the clinging mass away. Reporter Hutchinson, eager to help, ran up also to kick the snow away from the starboard wheel. As he worked he held on to the landing gear for support, his back to the propeller. The wheel was free; he waved an "all clear". The motors changed from a drone to a roar. They were at half speed, tracting a powerful current of freezing air. The sudden blast struck Hutchinson, dazed him. He should have stepped forward, away from the propeller blades. Instead he turned and swayed towards them. A blade crunched against his left arm, almost severing it at the shoulder. The man fell forward. The propeller slashed against the right side of his neck. At the sound of the blows Major Lanphier instantly cut off the engine. Hutchinson was dead, his jugular vein and carotid arteries cut through.

Young Editors

Into Manhattan and up the island to Columbia University trooped some 600 boys and girls from high and junior high schools of 16 states, Canada, the District of Columbia and the Canal Zone. They trooped to the second annual convention of the Columbia Scholastic Press Association, and all were editors-editors of The Quest, Homespun, The Broadcaster, The Lit, The Echoes, The Missile, The Review, The Magnet, The Torch, The Beacon, The Norm, The Mercury, The Life, The Arrow, The Standard, etc., etc.-school magazines and newspapers of all sizes, kinds, qualities, creeds, colors. Five boys had driven all the way from Greensboro, S. C., in a small car of celebrated make, and before they went back they won two prizes as proof for their Chamber of Commerce that they had not wasted gasoline. Marie Louise Reeder of Easton, Pa., had the satisfaction of being the youngest delegate, aged 11.

They all had copies of their publication on hand; displayed them, entered them in prize competitions. They listened to speeches, went to banquets, rode on sight-seeing busses, explored metropolitan newspaper plants, went home after two days feeling more than ever like knowledgeable journalists. Delegates from the prize winning schools even had the experience of editing, in part, one issue of a college newspaper (the Columbia Spectator).

Speeches. Before they left town, they laid eyes upon dapper Julian Starkweather Mason, editor of the New York Herald Tribune, heard him earnestly declare that their papers were "far better than college papers of a generation ago, and better than most of the newspapers throughout the country." They learned that it was "a heartening thing for us newspapermen to have such high school publications and students as you, who will come miles to hear practical newspaper people talk." They learned that there are exciting moments in newspaper offices and that, for Editor Mason, "these moments are full of loyalty, service and enterprise."

Louis Wiley, shrewd business manager of the New York Times, told them that "cooperation is the important reason for modern progress." Dr. Rollo G. Reynolds of Columbia Teachers' College told them that "America is the first country in the world that has dared to educate all of her people. . . . When I went to school I was educated so that I could get a good job and make a lot of money. You young folks today are educated instead to make your contributions to the great experiment of democracy. . . ."

Prizes. A committee of women teachers examined the 438 publications submitted and awarded silver loving cups-in various classes-to Central High School, Minneapolis; North High School. Minneapolis; Lawrenceville School, Lawrenceville, N. J.; Central High School, Greensboro, N. C. (two prizes-for newspaper, for magazines) ; Western Reserve Academy, Hudson, Ohio; Junior High School No. 2, Trenton, N. J.; Nashua Junior High School, Parkersburg, W. Va.; Philadelphia Normal School; Junior Teachers' College, St. Cloud, Minn.

The young editors' parents rejoiced to read a tabulation of part of a survey being conducted by Instructor Raymond D. Lawrence of the University of Oregon School of Journalism. He showed that of 25-odd thousand people who had been considered sufficiently eminent for inclusion in the 1924 Who's Who, 2,350 (or one-eleventh of the whole number) had come to fame and stayed there through the pursuit of journalism.

Treasure Hunt

Newspaper circulation managers sit up late thinking out schemes to pique public curiosity. Lately, the New York Evening World calmly and cleverly ripped a page out of society's playbook, announced a $1,000 "treasure hunt." The Evening World's democratic clientele had heard about Edward of Wales' crawling on hands and knees through alleys in London's Limehouse district, accompanied by gorgeously dight female companions, nosing out clues to pots of gold. They had heard of young swells and sylphs of upper Park Ave. riding hilariously about Manhattan in limousines, sending their chauffeurs into Pierre's or Tiffany's to inquire for neatly enveloped hints that had been left there by committees employed to entertain them.

When the Evening World's first treasure hunt edition sizzled off the presses, it was met in the street by an eager throng of typists, bank-runners, cigar clerks and jobless wanderers, whose curiosity and appetite for adventure were whetted still keener by a very actual lust for booty.

The first clues in the printed list were not difficult. Hundreds followed them across Park Row from the Pulitzer Building into trolley cars, taxis and subways bound for Union Square (Broadway and 14th St.). On the way they puzzled this clue: "Symbolical term for a branch of the government (five-letter word)."

Among the treasure-hunters was Charles W. Lind, an employe of the N. Y. Telephone Co. One of the men in the company had won a smaller treasure hunt the Evening World had held a fortnight before. Lind was bound not to be outdone and pondered hard over the clues. Reaching Union Square, he was still saying to himself, "Hmmmm, branch of the government . . . symbolical . . . army? Nope, not symbolical. . . . Pork barrel? Nope, too many letters. . . . Hmmmm . . ."

He guessed he would have his daily shoeshine (he is an engaged man). Hailing a bootblack, he seated himself on-a park bench. Thought waves began to dizzy him. Some strange association of ideas was rising up his spine. A man came and sat next to him-very agitated-on the park bench ... on the bench . . . bench. Of course, a "bench" was a symbolical term for a branch of the Government. He furtively slipped his hand under the seat, felt a piece of adhesive tape. The tape was supporting some small, cold, metallic object. He wrenched it loose, the Evening World's "magic key," and returned to the Pulitzer Building. There he explained to Douglas Fairbanks-who had been retained for the occasion to hand out the $1,000-what sheer luck it was that he had happened to be sitting on that particular bench, the tenth in the row, when he figured out the clue.