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The Devil and Mr. Hearst | The Nation

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The Devil and Mr. Hearst

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William Randolph Hearst is one of those people we all know was very, very famous but are never quite sure why, or what we are to think of him. We know he built a huge castle, San Simeon, on the central California coast, and are dutifully if dubiously impressed by its palatial kitsch. We know he owned a swarm of newspapers, practiced "yellow journalism" and had something fishy to do with starting the Spanish-American War. Mostly we know he was the model for Orson Welles's Citizen Kane.

About the Author

Dana Frank
Dana Frank is a professor of History at the University of California, Santa Cruz, and the author of Bananeras: Women...

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The coup government's brutal campaign against the opposition elicits barely a peep of criticism from the United States.  

But who, exactly, Hearst was has slipped in large part out of popular memory, along with the understanding of why quite so many American people hated him--and with such a cold and lifelong passion.

Now David Nasaw thrusts Hearst back onto historical center stage in a rich and subtle new biography, The Chief, challenging us to rethink Hearst's legacy. The first biographer to have access to the Hearst family archives, Nasaw uses an ocean of new material to drown half-truths, quash rumors and take us much closer to Hearst's concrete persona and activities than any previous study, deliberately eschewing the muckraking outrage of his predecessors to take a "just the facts, ma'am" approach.

Not that he's quite neutral. We get a clue as to Nasaw's position in the quote from Winston Churchill with which he concludes the book's preface. After visiting Hearst at San Simeon in 1929, Churchill reported, "I got to like him--a grave simple child--with no doubt a nasty temper." Such was not the view in Los Angeles, by contrast, where Churchill sojourned afterward: "These Californian swells do not of course know Hearst.... They regard him as the Devil."

Who was William Randolph Hearst, then--simple child or the Devil? Should we hate him? And does it matter? Just the facts, ma'am:

William Randolph Hearst was born in 1863 in San Francisco, the only child of George Hearst, a barely literate mining speculator who rarely changed his shirt and liked to hang around with mining-camp rowdies, however rich he became, and Phoebe Apperson Hearst, a small-town music teacher and proper lady. George eventually made millions investing in hard-rock mines all over the United States and Mexico. He first used his money to buy a newspaper, the San Francisco Examiner, and then used the paper to buy himself a US Senate seat from California in 1887. William took note.

For a while young Will attended Harvard, where he seems to have majored in buying friends and social position with expensive, boozy parties; he was eventually kicked out for never studying. In 1887 he persuaded his daddy to let him run the Examiner, and he promptly began to make journalism history. Stealing tricks from Joseph Pulitzer's New York World, Hearst pioneered at the Examiner and soon thereafter at the New York Journal what would come to be known as "yellow journalism." His papers baldly submerged fact with fiction, splaying daily crime stories across their pages with headlines set amid large, lurid, titillating illustrations. ("Screams and scandals," as Time would later describe the Hearst press.)

Thus the first reason people hated him: His papers lied like a rug. But they were a great read, and the working-class immigrant readers to whom he was catering sent circulations through the roof.

Then Hearst began a lifetime of experimentation with what control of the press might buy him politically. With characteristically unchecked egomania, by 1896 he had decided he should be President. A first step would be support for that year's Democratic presidential nominee, William Jennings Bryan. To insure victory in the Midwest, Hearst bought a third paper, the Chicago American.

For the next three decades, Hearst would buy more and more papers so that he could deploy them repeatedly, in fruitless but spectacularly spirited political campaigns for his own election--as mayor and governor of New York as well as President. He almost always lost, but usually carried enough of the electorate to remain a threat and continue to build his power. (He did serve two lackluster terms in Congress, elected in 1903 and 1905 as a New York Representative, but only because he was in cahoots with the Tammany Hall machine at the time.)

Throwing off his Harvard party-boy style, Hearst dumped his loud ties and began, in Nasaw's lovely phrase, to dress like an undertaker. Part of what's fascinating about Hearst is that in contrast to Orson Welles's ebullient charm in Citizen Kane, as a personality he had zero charisma. His handshake was limp, his voice high and squeaky, his eyes a steely cold blue and his smile rare as the truth in a Hearst news story. He still managed to pick up showgirls, though, with whom he practiced serial extramonogamy, in 1903 finally marrying one, Millicent Willson, whom he had kept as a mistress for six years.

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