America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

Chapter 168 published

Brooklyn, New York.

The New York Herald's printing plant, which was destroyed by fire, has reopened and is currently in a state of near-frenzied activity.

The viral success of Arthur's "The Courage to Face the Morning" and several subsequent inspirational articles officially expanded the newspaper's influence beyond New York State.

Reprint requests poured in from Chicago, Philadelphia, and Boston, and some even called long-distance with California accents, asking to subscribe to the newspaper for the whole year.

Housewives across America are passing around that inspirational article, cutting it out and sticking it on their refrigerators.

Isabella Harrison sat behind her desk, looking at the reports sent by the finance department.

These days, newspapers can rake in $30,000 in just one week. It's practically a money-printing machine.

But Isabella didn't feel much happiness.

She looked at the letters that were pouring in from readers, all of them thanking Arthur for giving them "hope to live."

She knew how Arthur felt when he wrote that article.

That was the helplessness of being forced into a corner, forced to sell cheap hope to the public in exchange for travel expenses. It was something Arthur would never have deigned to do, yet he did it better than anyone else.

"If it were for money, he could write this stuff for a lifetime and become the richest columnist in America," Isabella murmured to herself.

Just then, the office door was suddenly pushed open.

Hemingway burst in, and Arthur had specifically notified Hemingway, who was still wandering the East Coast, before sending out the manuscript, so he waited in New York in advance.

The tough-guy writer, however, was as excited as a child, waving a brown paper bag still bearing traces of coal ash.

"It's here! That kid's goods have arrived!"

Hemingway slammed the paper bag on the table, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of a hunter spotting his prey.

"A railroad union guy just delivered it, told me to sign for it right away, and then he disappeared. It still smells like Indiana cow dung."

The left-wing playwright Lawson was also there, and he exclaimed, "This efficiency is incredible!"

Isabella immediately removed the sealing wax seal.

The Grapes of Wrath, Volume 1: Wheat Fields and Mines.

She took out the manuscript, shared a portion with Hemingway and Lawson, and the three of them stood in the office and began reading.

Outside the window, the printing press roared, printing out those sentimental "chicken soup for the soul" articles.

However, Arthur's writing in the office, or rather, the reality he reveals, is quite cold.

He cited data from the Dayton Ledger: the average cost of evicting a family of four was $12, while banks made a profit of $400 from reselling land.

He wrote about the mountain people of the Alabacia region and the uncollected remains buried in the mines.

This is completely different from the article "The Courage to Face the Morning".

If "chicken soup for the soul" tells people to be patient, then this book tells people: your patience is meaningless, because those who plunder you don't care about your life or death.

Half an hour later, Hemingway put down the manuscript in his hand and let out a long breath.

"That kid—"

Hemingway pulled a flask from his pocket and took a big gulp, a habitual gesture when he was excited. "He's playing with fire. He's declaring war on the entire system. Compared to this book, what I wrote in Paris is like a fairy tale."

Lawson took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. "But he wrote it really well. This is the kind of drama I want to write. No exaggeration needed, reality itself is dramatic enough."

"Look at this part, just this part. The miner's wife went to the company to claim her compensation, and the accountant did the math for her. It turned out that her husband still owed the company twenty-seven dollars."

"This is more powerful than any plot. Reality is more fleshed out and more powerful than fiction."

Isabella put down the last page of the manuscript.

Her hands were trembling slightly, a deep resonance.

As the daughter of the Harrison family, she grew up in a privileged environment with servants, carriages, and a summer villa.

Although she sympathized with the underprivileged, she had never seen such systemic evil so directly.

Arthur personified this evil.

He reduced those abstract sympathies to concrete hunger and death.

"Take away the inspirational quotes in the next episode," Isabella suddenly said.

The editor-in-chief, who had just walked in, was stunned: "What? Miss Harrison, that's our cash cow right now! Readers all over America are waiting for the next article! GG Magazine has already booked the page until next month!"

"I said, take it down!"

Isabella stood up; the once somewhat socially awkward rich girl now displayed decisiveness.

Her eyes burned with the same flame as Arthur's.

"Inform the printing press: for the next few days, don't print any inspirational quotes or jokes on the front page; publish the entire text of 'The Grapes of Wrath'!"

She turned to face the editor-in-chief, Hemingway, and Lawson, and said earnestly, "We must use the money we earn from selling inspirational stories to print this poison. Arthur is bleeding in front of us; we can't just sit here counting money."

The next day, at eight o'clock in the morning, long lines formed as usual in front of newsstands in Manhattan.

Half of them are housewives, office workers, and newly unemployed middle-class individuals waiting for a sequel to "Chicken Soup for the Soul".

On this awful morning, they longed for the cheap comfort of a line from that warm column: "As long as you keep a positive attitude, bad luck will go away."

However, when they received that thick stack of the New York Herald, which smelled of ink, everyone was stunned.

There were no warm messages. There was no soft, gentle handwriting.

Instead, a black-and-white photograph took up half the page on the front page:

A broken-down truck breaks down under the scorching sun, a group of ragged, vacant-eyed refugees, and a sandstorm raging in the background.

Below the photo is a headline in black capital letters:

The Grapes of Wrath: A Dedication to Every American Displaced from Their Home

Below the title is a quotation printed in bold:

In this country, some people's vineyards are laden with fruit, while others' lungs are filled with coal dust.

The stark contrast instantly evoked the reader's emotions. One second you're being taught to "face the world with gentleness," and the next you're told that "this world is devouring people."

Readers felt a sense of being deceived and anger.

"What's going on? Where's the next chapter of 'Embracing an Imperfect Life'?"

A middle-aged accountant wearing an old overcoat angrily waved a newspaper.

"I don't want to read these stories about poor people! I'm fed up with poor people, I'm poor myself! I want to see Mr. Kennedy tell me how to get rich! I want to hear him say that everything will be alright if you work hard!"