One afternoon last week, newsmen on the New York Star were called to a hastily planned staff meeting. They knew that things had been going badly for the tabloid; as they filed into the fifth-floor advertising office they feared the worst. Dapper little Publisher Bartley C. Crum, looking worn and grim, climbed atop a desk.
"I have something," he said, "that I regret very much having to say . . . Tonight's issue will be our last one. We have made every effort to raise new capital, and get this paper refinanced, and it is just not possible." When Crum...
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