America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

The New York Daily News, boss's office.

Hearst sat behind his desk, with a copy of the New York Herald in front of him.

"Interesting. This Kennedy is quite capable."

Thomas Duane asked, "Mr. Hearst, what do you think of this article?"

"Well written. It exposes bureaucracy in a humorous way, and because it's fictional, there's no real evidence to hold it against you. That's a brilliant technique."

"Should we...?"

"No," Hearst interrupted, waving his hand.

"Now is not the time. The stock market crashed today, and everyone is panicking. If we attack Kennedy now, our readers will think that the New York Daily is helping the city government divert attention, which is incredibly stupid."

He took a Cuban cigar from the cigar box, calmly cut it open, lit it, and the smoke slowly rose.

"Panic-stricken people need two things: information and entertainment. We have already provided the information; we printed three extra editions today, all detailing the stock market crash."

"Secondly, it's a pastime, a pastime that allows them to temporarily forget that they don't have a single penny left in their pockets. This piece, 'Yes, Mayor,' provides that kind of pastime, and it's very popular, but ultimately it's just a pastime."

Thomas frowned:

"So we're just going to watch him keep writing? Let a small newspaper like the New York Herald steal the spotlight?"

Hearst scoffed, as if he had heard the most childish thing.

"Of course not. When a gold mine is discovered, the first miner may be able to find a few nuggets, but in the end, the company with the most capital and the best equipment will always be the one that owns the entire mine."

"We write too. We write about the same topics, in the same style, even more incisive and humorous. We find the best columnists, show them Kennedy's articles, let them learn from him, let them imitate him, let them surpass him."

Thomas hesitated for a moment, but still voiced his concerns:

"Mr. Hearst, I showed it to some of the most incisive writers in the editorial department, and they admitted that this kind of lighthearted tone is difficult to achieve."

Hearst paused for a few seconds, then relaxed and continued:

"If our writers can't write for a while, that's okay. Thomas, have you forgotten what we own? We own newspapers and magazines in over a dozen major cities. Our distribution network reaches millions of people."

"We could use three times the length, five times the number of columnists, and ten times the circulation to fill readers' breakfast tables every day. In this wave of news, who will remember the ripples Kennedy created?"

"Those who speak softly go unheard, no matter how reasonable they are. Those who speak loudly, whatever they say sounds like the truth. That's the world of public opinion, Thomas."

"Janice discovered a spring by chance, but we own the entire riverbed. Once people get used to drinking the water from our riverbed, who cares whether that spring water is sweet or bitter?"

Thomas had just turned to leave when he stopped.

"Mr. Hearst, there's another question. What if Mayor Walker's side makes the first move? We've received information that the mayor's office was furious this morning."

Hearst scoffed:

"Jimmy Walker is like a cat that's been scalded by boiling water, jumping around but not hurting anyone. The stock market crash has tied his hands and feet. He'll wait until the crisis calms down a bit."

"But the crisis won't be over anytime soon, Thomas. The news I've received is worse than what's in the newspapers; cracks are already appearing in the banking system."

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at Wall Street in the distance with his hands behind his back.

"This storm has only just begun. And when it truly rages, people will need more entertainment, more irony, and more voices that can explain their suffering."

"Janice accidentally discovered a gold mine. And now, we're going to dig an even bigger mine next to it."

……

at the same time.

Isabella was tallying today's sales figures in the editorial department, the numbers in her hands making her both excited and burdened.

"Twelve thousand servings. We sold twelve thousand servings today."

This is the best sales figure ever for the New York Herald.

But she couldn't be happy. Because she knew that this sales figure was built on the suffering of countless people.

Today, someone jumped off a building; today, someone went bankrupt; today, the lives of countless families were completely changed.

Suddenly the phone on the table rang, and Arthur's voice came through.

"Isabella, I just finished writing the second one. I'll bring it to you tomorrow."

"Good. Arthur, today's sales are great. Twelve thousand copies."

"I know. But that's not enough. We need more readers."

Why?

"Because the storm has only just begun. The stock market crash is just the first step. Next, there will be bank failures, factory closures, and mass unemployment. It's unrealistic to rely on today's politicians; we have an obligation to speak out about this."

Isabella remained silent for a moment.

"Arthur, do you think we can change anything?"

Arthur said sincerely:

"Maybe nothing can be changed. But at least we can make people laugh. In this dark time, laughter is a power."

After hanging up the phone, Isabella went to her desk. There were three times as many letters as usual today. Most of them were about the article "Yes, Mayor."

A primary school teacher wrote:

"This article should be included in textbooks so that students know what real government operations are like. We teach children the ideals of democracy, but rarely tell them about the rust within the democratic machine. Thank you for speaking the truth."

A retired civil servant wrote:

"I've worked here for thirty years, and this Humphrey reminds me of countless colleagues. This is how bureaucratic systems stifle all reform."

A housewife wrote:

"My husband lost his job, and we don't know what to do tomorrow. But before dinner, I read your article, and it was the first time in months that we laughed together. Thank you for giving us a little laughter and a moment to forget the pain on this terrible day."

Isabella read the letters one by one, her eyes gradually welling up with tears.

She never imagined that a satirical article could have such an impact.

Isabella remembered what her father had once said:

"Newspapers are both a mirror and a hammer of society. They reflect reality and also confront it."

Just then, the phone on the table rang again, and Arthur's voice came through.

"Isabella, I received a telegram from your aunt, Ms. Elizabeth, inviting us to her house for tea tomorrow afternoon."

"Tea? At a time like this?" Isabella asked, somewhat surprised.

"The telegram said that several friends also wanted to meet me. I think this might be more than just having tea."

Isabella understood immediately. "I understand. I'll go with you tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay. Then get some rest, see you tomorrow."