A novel twist of one of the oldest existing publicity ideas—the lottery scheme—recently occurred, simultaneously, to the editors of certain vulgar U. S. newspapers. To issue lottery tickets redeemable for cash is, of course, forbidden by law. But, since all paper bills are numbered, why not, thought the editors, make currency itself the lottery tickets? Every day certain newspapers began to publish the serial numbers of $1 and $2 bills. Persons who found lucky-number bills in their possession could redeem them for substantial prizes. Cashiers began to spend hours reading the numbers of all the bills that passed under their deft, sallow fingers; delinquent-minded creatures spent days having ten dollars changed in shop after shop in the hope of getting a lucky number.
Last week in Washington Solicitor Donnelly of the Postoffice Department declared the scheme to be a "distribution of prizes by chance," and barred "lucky bill" newspapers from the mails.
Dignity
When the Shenandoah, disemboweled like a silver minnow, fell into the Ohio valley, every newspaper in the U. S.—with one exception—shrieked in huge disaster headlines the record of that happening. Not since election day had such exclamatory "spreads" appeared on front pages. But one newspaper realized that constraint, in the face of enormous happenings, is more startling than noise; that gravity appalls more than exclamation points. This sheet, the Miami Herald, give the Shenandoah story a simple "one column" head and followed this clipped announcement with an account which ran without a break for 16 columns (two pages). Initial letters were used at the beginning of paragraphs. There were no subheads. Rarely does any paper achieve such a dignity in journalism—still more rarely the Miami Herald.*
"Loud"
When a somewhat blatant advertisement of the intellectual prowess of Mr. Glenn Frank, President of the University of Wisconsin, whilom editor of the Century, appeared in a recent issue of the Editor and Publisher (TIME, Sept. 21) many people were ready to excuse the poor taste of such ballyhooing on the score: 1) that Mr. Frank's abilities were no whit diminished by the undue noise being made over them, and 2) that he, quite possibly, knew nothing whatever about the advertisement. Last week, however, the Washington Post issued a quarter-page thesis which sought to "sell" President be equally lenient in our judgment of this one. Exceeding even the suggestion contained in his very name, Mr. Frank seems to be definitely, 'Loud'."
"Mirror" v. Thaw
Newspapers entertain a medieval fervor for crusades. Happy the editor who can turn sensational "copy" into proof of his devotion to the welfare of the commonalty. Last week the New York Daily Mirror found such an opportunity in the doings of Harry K. Thaw, famed murderer.
Mr. Thaw, it is true, had done little to command newspaper attention beyond escorting a young woman to a cabaret—a procedure technically innocent. But out of the sinister personality of the aging rake, the Mirror's editors drew material for a startling story: