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By then, most of McClure's muckraking fervor was spent, and his health was failing. In 1914, he suspended McClure's. Later he revived it briefly and unsuccessfully, sold out and virtually retired. While McClure's degenerated into a snappy-stories magazine—and folded for good in 1933—McClure lived on at Manhattan's elegant, decaying Murray Hill Hotel (TIME, May 5, 1947). He spent long hours at the Union League Club writing a history of freedom and other forgotten books, and was almost forgotten himself. Last week, at 92, S. S. McClure died.
* In John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress, the man with the Muckrake is too busy raking the "dust of the floor" to look up when offered a celestial crown.