Like most self described “self made” millionaires (such as Donald Trump), William Randolph Hearst was the son of a millionaire. When W.R. was kicked out of Harvard, where the boy had struggled to survive on a $500 a month allowance (the equivalence of $11,000 a month today), it seemed he was destined for failure – well, as failed as the pampered only son of a millionaire could be, because the only thing bigger than the fortune which W.R. would eventually gain control of, was his ego.
In 1887 W.R. took over the “San Francisco Examiner”, which Daddy had won in a gambling bet. W.R. then sank part of daddies’ fortune into making it the “Monarch of the Dailies”. He hired the best writers and editors that daddies’ money could buy, (such as Mark Twain and later Harriet Quimby) and built a publishing edifice based on the formula of sex+ rumor + jingoism + comic strips. The first of the Sunday comics printed in color was “The Yellow Kid”; thus the origin of the description of W.R.'s style of newspaper as “yellow journalism”. And what was yellow journalism? A. J. Pegler, a Hearst writer, described it this way: “A Hearst newspaper is like a screaming woman running down the street with her throat cut.” Think, Fox News.When daddy George Hearst died in 1891, W.R. convinced his dotting mother to sell off the mining properties on which the family fortune had been built to finance his acquisition of the “New York Morning Journal”, where W.R. repeated his recipe of success - which he had learned, by the way, during a summer internship under Joseph Pulitzer. And then W.R. began to buy newspapers and magazines, (eventually 42 newspapers with 30 million + readers) where he could syndicate his well paid writers and increase his advertising revenues, which he used to promote and publicize his runs for congressman (two terms) and as governor and mayor of N.Y.C. (three tries and no wins). Everything W.R. did was ultimately to promote and publicize W.R., including the Hearst Prize. W.R.’s interest in flying was typically mercenary. When his editors had approached him with the idea of offering a $50,000 prize for the first transcontinental flight experts like Glenn Curtiss and Wilbur Wright, warned W.R. that aviation was too young to achieve such a lofty goal. In 1910, when the prize was offered, no plane could stay airborne longer than two hours at a time, and none could travel faster than fifty miles an hour. Airplanes were still made out of wood and wire, for crying out loud. But W.R. was not particularly interested in promoting flying. He was interested in promoting himself. And offering the prize would fill his newspapers day after day, with articles about how it could it be done, who could do it, who didn’t think it could be done, and how many would die trying to do it. And speaking of publicity, W.R. was awarded a medal from the Aeronautical Society of America for even offering the prize. And W.R. loved to get medals. And that’s what offering the prize got for W.R. Whereas, actually awarding the prize would sell papers for one day only. And that was why the Hearst Prize had contained a time limit in the first place. The prize was set to expire on October 17, 1911. And when Cal Rogers’ telegram arrived begging for an extension, W.R. was in no rush to respond. Cal waited in Chicago for two days for the telegram from Hearst, and he began to suspect he had been had. Then, on October 10th he flew across the flatlands to Springfield, Illinois, then on to Marshall, Missouri. As he arrived in Marshall, far away from any Hearst newspapers, Cal found a telegram from Hearst waiting for him, letting him know there would be no extension. Cal had now flown 1,398 miles since leaving New York, which gave him the record for longest continuous flight. But there would be no pot of gold at the end of this rainbow, just a bottle of Vin Fiz - yuck.A mercenary element now entered Cal’s romantic soul. When the city of St. Louis withdrew its offer of a thousand dollars for landing there, Cal bypassed the town, and its Hearst newspaper. Instead he flew on to Kansas City, landing in Swope Park.
Experience was teaching Cal how to handle his plane. His decision to turn south, to avoid the barrier of the Rocky Mountains, and the fact that there were far fewer trees to run into on the Great Plains, reduced certain dramatic elements in Cal’s journey, and it also increased his average speed. There were fewer crashes, fewer late night repairs; everbody was happy. About 9 A.M. on October 19, 1911 the “Vin Fiz Flyer” crossed the Red River into Texas.
And on that same day, the race that was no longer a race, became a two man race once again.
TOMORROW; THE OTHER MAN RETURNS.
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