LAST YEARS IN NEW YORK
From his boyhood days (up to the present writing) Bok was a pronounced
baseball "fan," and there was, too, a baseball team among the Scribner
young men of which he was a part. This team played, each Saturday
afternoon, a team from another publishing house, and for two seasons it
was unbeatable. Not only was this baseball aggregation close to the
hearts of the Scribner employees, but, in an important game, the junior
member of the firm played on it and the senior member was a spectator.
Frank N. Doubleday played on first base; William D. Moffat, later of
Moffat, Yard & Company, and now editor of _The Mentor_, was behind the
bat; Bok pitched; Ernest Dressel North, the present authority on rare
editions of books, was in the field, as were also Ray Safford, now a
director in the Scribner corporation, and Owen W. Brewer, at present a
prominent figure in Chicago's book world. It was a happy group, all
closely banded together in their business interests and in their human
relations as well.
With Scribner's Magazine now in the periodical field, Bok would be
asked on his trips to the publishing houses to have an eye open for
advertisements for that periodical as well. Hence his education in the
solicitation of advertisements became general, and gave him a
sympathetic understanding of the problems of the advertising solicitor
which was to stand him in good stead when, in his later experience, he
was called upon to view the business problems of a magazine from the
editor's position. His knowledge of the manufacture of the two
magazines in his charge was likewise educative, as was the fascinating
study of typography which always had, and has today, a wonderful
attraction for him.
It was, however, in connection with the advertising of the general
books of the house, and in his relations with their authors, that Bok
found his greatest interest. It was for him to find the best manner in
which to introduce to the public the books issued by the house, and the
general study of the psychology of publicity which this called for
attracted Bok greatly.
Although the Scribners did not publish Mark Twain's books, the humorist
was a frequent visitor to the retail store, and occasionally he would
wander back to the publishing department located at the rear of the
store, which was then at 743 Broadway.
Smoking was not permitted in the Scribner offices, and, of course, Mark
Twain was always smoking. He generally smoked a granulated tobacco
which he kept in a long check bag made of silk and rubber. When he
sauntered to the back of the Scribner store, he would generally knock
the residue from the bowl of the pipe, take out the stem, place it in
his vest pocket, like a pencil, and drop the bowl into the bag
containing the granulated tobacco. When he wanted to smoke again
(which was usually five minutes later) he would fish out the bowl, now
automatically filled with tobacco, insert the stem, and strike a light.
One afternoon as he wandered into Bok's office, he was just putting his
pipe away. The pipe, of the corncob variety, was very aged and black.
Bok asked him whether it was the only pipe he had.
"Oh, no," Mark answered, "I have several. But they're all like this.
I never smoke a new corncob pipe. A new pipe irritates the throat. No
corncob pipe is fit for anything until it has been used at least a
fortnight."
"How do you break in a pipe, then?" asked Bok.
"That's the trick," answered Mark Twain. "I get a cheap man--a man who
doesn't amount to much, anyhow: who would be as well, or better,
dead--and pay him a dollar to break in the pipe for me. I get him to
smoke the pipe for a couple of weeks, then put in a new stem, and
continue operations as long as the pipe holds together."
Bok's newspaper syndicate work had brought him into contact with Fanny
Davenport, then at the zenith of her career as an actress. Miss
Davenport, or Mrs. Melbourne McDowell as she was in private life, had
never written for print; but Bok, seeing that she had something to say
about her art and the ability to say it, induced her to write for the
newspapers through his syndicate. The actress was overjoyed to have
revealed to her a hitherto unsuspected gift; Bok published her articles
successfully, and gave her a publicity that her press agent had never
dreamed of. Miss Davenport became interested in the young publisher,
and after watching the methods which he employed in successfully
publishing her writings, decided to try to obtain his services as her
assistant manager. She broached the subject, offered him a five years'
contract for forty weeks' service, with a minimum of fifteen weeks each
year to spend in or near New York, at a salary, for the first year, of
three thousand dollars, increasing annually until the fifth year, when
he was to receive sixty-four hundred dollars.
Bok was attracted to the work: he had never seen the United States, was
anxious to do so, and looked upon the chance as a good opportunity.
Miss Davenport had the contract made out, executed it, and then, in
high glee, Bok took it home to show it to his mother. He had reckoned
without question upon her approval, only to meet with an immediate and
decided negative to the proposition as a whole, general and specific.
She argued that the theatrical business was not for him; and she saw
ahead and pointed out so strongly the mistake he was making that he
sought Miss Davenport the next day and told her of his mother's stand.
The actress suggested that she see the mother; she did, that day, and
she came away from the interview a wiser if a sadder woman. Miss
Davenport frankly told Bok that with such an instinctive objection as
his mother seemed to have, he was right to follow her advice and the
contract was not to be thought of.
It is difficult to say whether this was or was not for Bok the
turning-point which comes in the life of every young man. Where the
venture into theatrical life would have led him no one can, of course,
say. One thing is certain: Bok's instinct and reason both failed him
in this instance. He believes now that had his venture into the
theatrical field been temporary or permanent, the experiment, either
way, would have been disastrous.
Looking back and viewing the theatrical profession even as it was in
that day (of a much higher order than now), he is convinced he would
never have been happy in it. He might have found this out in a year or
more, after the novelty of travelling had worn off, and asked release
from his contract; in that case he would have broken his line of
progress in the publishing business. From whatever viewpoint he has
looked back upon this, which he now believes to have been the crisis in
his life, he is convinced that his mother's instinct saved him from a
grievous mistake.
The Scribner house, in its foreign-book department, had imported some
copies of Bourrienne's _Life of Napoleon_, and a set had found its way
to Bok's desk for advertising purposes. He took the books home to
glance them ever, found himself interested, and sat up half the night
to read them. Then he took the set to the editor of the New York Star,
and suggested that such a book warranted a special review, and offered
to leave the work for the literary editor.
"You have read the books?" asked the editor.
"Every word," returned Bok.
"Then, why don't you write the review?" suggested the editor.
This was a new thought to Bok. "Never wrote a review," he said.
"Try it," answered the editor. "Write a column."
"A column wouldn't scratch the surface of this book," suggested the
embryo reviewer.
"Well, give it what it is worth," returned the editor.
Bok did. He wrote a page of the paper.
"Too much, too much," said the editor. "Heavens, man, we've got to get
some news into this paper."
"Very well," returned the reviewer. "Read it, and cut it where you
like. That's the way I see the book."
And next Sunday the review appeared, word for word, as Bok had written
it. His first review had successfully passed!
But Bok was really happiest in that part of his work which concerned
itself with the writing of advertisements. The science of
advertisement writing, which meant to him the capacity to say much in
little space, appealed strongly. He found himself more honestly
attracted to this than to the writing of his literary letter, his
editorials, or his book reviewing, of which he was now doing a good
deal. He determined to follow where his bent led; he studied the
mechanics of unusual advertisements wherever he saw them; he eagerly
sought a knowledge of typography and its best handling in an
advertisement, and of the value and relation of illustrations to text.
He perceived that his work along these lines seemed to give
satisfaction to his employers, since they placed more of it in his
hands to do; and he sought in every way to become proficient in the art.
To publishers whose advertisements he secured for the periodicals in
his charge, he made suggestions for the improvement of their
announcements, and found his suggestions accepted. He early saw the
value of white space as one of the most effective factors in
advertising; but this was a difficult argument, he soon found, to
convey successfully to others. A white space in an advertisement was
to the average publisher something to fill up; Bok saw in it something
to cherish for its effectiveness. But he never got very far with his
idea: he could not convince (perhaps because he failed to express his
ideas convincingly) his advertisers of what he felt and believed so
strongly.
An occasion came in which he was permitted to prove his contention.
The Scribners had published Andrew Carnegie's volume, _Triumphant
Democracy_, and the author desired that some special advertising should
be done in addition to that allowed by the appropriation made by the
house. To Bok's grateful ears came the injunction from the steel
magnate: "Use plenty of white space." In conjunction with Mr.
Doubleday, Bok prepared and issued this extra advertising, and for
once, at least, the wisdom of using white space was demonstrated. But
it was only a flash in the pan. Publishers were unwilling to pay for
"unused space," as they termed it. Each book was a separate unit,
others argued: it was not like advertising one article continuously in
which money could be invested; and only a limited amount could be spent
on a book which ran its course, even at its best, in a very short time.
And, rightly or wrongly, book advertising has continued much along the
same lines until the present day. In fact, in no department of
manufacturing or selling activity has there been so little progress
during the past fifty years as in bringing books to the notice of the
public. In all other lines, the producer has brought his wares to the
public, making it easier and still easier for it to obtain his goods,
while the public, if it wants a book, must still seek the book instead
of being sought by it.
That there is a tremendous unsupplied book demand in this country there
is no doubt: the wider distribution and easier access given to
periodicals prove this point. Now and then there has been tried an
unsupported or not well-thought-out plan for bringing books to a public
not now reading them, but there seems little or no understanding of the
fact that there lies an uncultivated field of tremendous promise to the
publisher who will strike out on a new line and market his books, so
that the public will not have to ferret out a book-store or wind
through the maze of a department store. The American reading public is
not the book-reading public that it should be or could be made to be;
but the habit must be made easy for it to acquire. Books must be
placed where the public can readily get at them. It will not, of its
own volition, seek them. It did not do so with magazines; it will not
do so with books.
In the meanwhile, Bok's literary letter had prospered until it was now
published in some forty-five newspapers, One of these was the
_Philadelphia Times_. In that paper, each week, the letter had been
read by Mr. Cyrus H. K. Curtis, the owner and publisher of _The Ladies'
Home Journal_. Mr. Curtis had decided that he needed an editor for his
magazine, in order to relieve his wife, who was then editing it, and he
fixed upon the writer of _Literary Leaves_ as his man. He came to New
York, consulted Will Carleton, the poet, and found that while the
letter was signed by William J. Bok, it was actually written by his
brother who was with the Scribners. So he sought Bok out there.
The publishing house had been advertising in the Philadelphia magazine,
so that the visit of Mr. Curtis was not an occasion for surprise. Mr.
Curtis told Bok he had read his literary letter in the _Philadelphia
Times_, and suggested that perhaps he might write a similar department
for _The Ladies' Home Journal_. Bok saw no reason why he should not,
and told Mr. Curtis so, and promised to send over a trial instalment.
The Philadelphia publisher then deftly went on, explained editorial
conditions in his magazine, and, recognizing the ethics of the occasion
by not offering Bok another position while he was already occupying
one, asked him if he knew the man for the place.
"Are you talking at me or through me?" asked Bok.
"Both," replied Mr. Curtis.
This was in April of 1889.
Bok promised Mr. Curtis he would look over the field, and meanwhile he
sent over to Philadelphia the promised trial "literary gossip"
instalment. It pleased Mr. Curtis, who suggested a monthly department,
to which Bok consented. He also turned over in his mind the wisdom of
interrupting his line of progress with the Scribners, and in New York,
and began to contemplate the possibilities in Philadelphia and the work
there.
He gathered a collection of domestic magazines then published, and
looked them over to see what was already in the field. Then he began
to study himself, his capacity for the work, and the possibility of
finding it congenial. He realized that it was absolutely foreign to
his Scribner work; that it meant a radical departure. But his work
with his newspaper syndicate naturally occurred to him, and he studied
it with a view of its adaptation to the field of the Philadelphia
magazine.
His next step was to take into his confidence two or three friends
whose judgment he trusted and discuss the possible change. Without an
exception, they advised against it. The periodical had no standing,
they argued; Bok would be out of sympathy with its general atmosphere
after his Scribner environment; he was now in the direct line of
progress in New York publishing houses; and, to cap the climax, they
each argued in turn, he would be buried in Philadelphia: New York was
the centre, etc., etc.
More than any other single argument, this last point destroyed Bok's
faith in the judgment of his friends. He had had experience enough to
realize that a man could not be buried in any city, provided he had the
ability to stand out from his fellow-men. He knew from his
biographical reading that cream will rise to the surface anywhere, in
Philadelphia as well as in New York: it all depended on whether the
cream was there: it was up to the man. Had he within him that
peculiar, subtle something that, for the want of a better phrase, we
call the editorial instinct? That was all there was to it, and that
decision had to be his and his alone!
A business trip for the Scribners now calling him West, Bok decided to
stop at Philadelphia, have a talk with Mr. Curtis, and look over his
business plant. He did this, and found Mr. Curtis even more desirous
than before to have him consider the position. Bok's instinct was
strongly in favor of an acceptance. A natural impulse moved him,
without reasoning, to action. Reasoning led only to a cautious mental
state, and caution is a strong factor in the Dutch character. The
longer he pursued a conscious process of reasoning, the farther he got
from the position. But the instinct remained strong.
On his way back from the West, he stopped in Philadelphia again to
consult his friend, George W. Childs; and here he found the only person
who was ready to encourage him to make the change.
Bok now laid the matter before his mother, in whose feminine instinct
he had supreme confidence. With her, he met with instant
discouragement. But in subsequent talks he found that her opposition
was based not upon the possibilities inherent in the position, but on a
mother's natural disinclination to be separated from one of her sons.
In the case of Fanny Davenport's offer the mother's instinct was strong
against the proposition itself. But in the present instance it was the
mother's love that was speaking; not her instinct or judgment.
Bok now consulted his business associates, and, to a man, they
discouraged the step, but almost invariably upon the argument that it
was suicidal to leave New York. He had now a glimpse of the truth that
there is no man so provincially narrow as the untravelled New Yorker
who believes in his heart that the sun rises in the East River and sets
in the North River.
He realized more keenly than ever before that the decision rested with
him alone. On September 1, 1889, Bok wrote to Mr. Curtis, accepting
the position in Philadelphia; and on October 13 following he left the
Scribners, where he had been so fortunate and so happy, and, after a
week's vacation, followed where his instinct so strongly led, but where
his reason wavered.
On October 20, 1889, Edward Bok became the editor of _The Ladies' Home
Journal_.