American History Tellers - Hearst vs Pulitzer | The Headless Torso | 2

Episode Date: June 20, 2018

If you lived in an American city at the turn of the century, you got all of your news from a single source: the daily newspapers. No where was that more true than New York City; in the City, two papers ruled them all. You had the World and the Journal. And then men behind them were the most famous newsmen in American History.William Randolph Hearst headed up the Journal and Hungarian immigrant Joseph Pulitzer ran the World.In their mad scramble for readers, they’d pioneer daring technologies and set new precedents for aggressive investigative coverage. They poured millions of dollars into the fight even when their advisors warned it could push them over the brink.And in the end, it very nearly did. This is just the beginning of this story. You can listen to the rest on Business Wars.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's 1897 in New York City. It's a sweltering summer day. Like other city dwellers, you get all your news from a single source, the daily newspapers. New York has more than a dozen papers, all cranking out new editions day and night. The two fastest growing papers are The World and The Journal. That summer in 1897, the two big rivals are battling for scoops on one of

the city's most sensational and lurid crimes ever. And in Gilded Age New York, that's saying something. The case is known as the Headless Torso Murder. Lower leg found in the East River. Perfect match to the torso. Get it in the New York world. To promote the latest headlines about the Grizzly Saga, the papers use newsies. These are kids, some as young as six years old, who work each street corner waving fresh, hot copies and hocking the papers with salacious headlines. Walking down the street, you can't avoid a throng of them in their knickers and caps. They crisscross in front of you as you make your way to work. Jailhouse confession from Augusta Knack, only in the New York Journal. Murder suspect tells

tales of love triangle gone wrong. Read all about it. The Headless Torso Mystery involves a jilted husband, a German-born midwife, a mysterious muscle man, and a colorful cast of other characters. The city's been mesmerized for months, and too often, like today, you can't resist pressing your two pennies into a newsboy's ink-stained palm to find out the latest. One copy of The World, please. There on the front page is another jaw-dropping development in this story. The discovery of a pair of dismembered human legs wrapped in stained oilcloth. Folding the paper under your arm, you hustle toward work to talk through the latest gruesome details with your co-workers. But today, your pace slows.

You walk a little further down the street to a different boy and fish two more pennies out of your pocket. The journal has been trouncing the world lately with its scoops. The only way to get the whole truth is to buy both. Better give me the journal too. Best paper in the city. Well, you don't know about that, but you're not going to argue with a newsie about which paper is the best. You're not even sure. Every day, one paper one-ups the other. Is that what makes a good newspaper?

The Headless Torso Case would put a bright spotlight on the epic battle between the two rival publishers and the two most famous newsmen in American history. William Randolph Hearst, the tall, gregarious Californian from a wealthy family, headed up the journal. The 50-year-old Hungarian immigrant Joseph Pulitzer ran the world. Their duel over the headless torso and other stories like it would shape the world of media, politics, culture, and celebrity. In their mad scramble for readers, they'd pioneered daring technologies and set new precedents for aggressive investigative coverage. They poured millions of dollars into the fight, even when their advisors warned it

could push them over the brink. And in the end, it nearly did. From Wondery, this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. I'm Lindsey Graham. On this show, we look at the events, the times, and the people that shape our country. Wondery's podcast, Business Wars, explores the greatest rivalries in business history. DC versus Marvel. Ford versus Chevrolet. Today, we're doing something a little different. We're bringing our two podcasts together for a special crossover episode. I'm here with the host of Business Wars, David Brown.

Hey, David. Hi, Lindsay. This is the start of a six-part series on business wars that'll go back further into history than we've ever gone before. And it's to look at one of the great business rivalries of American history, too. Hearst versus Pulitzer. It's a big, bold story that actually arches across both shows. So for this episode of American History Tellers, Lindsay and I are going to be telling this story together. Take it away, Lindsay. Well, this story should be told together because Hearst and Pulitzer not only fought each other ruthlessly in business on the streets of New York, they also had an outsized influence on American history. In fact, their rivalry wasn't just a business war, but led to an actual military war between the U.S. and Spain in Cuba. It turns out that the road to that war runs straight through the Journal and World Newsrooms.

This is really crazy, an actual military war. And we're going to be looking at that war in straight through the journal and world newsrooms. This is really crazy, an actual military war. And we're going to be looking at that war in a later episode. We'll also revisit the newsboy strike that literally changed organized labor and nearly cost Hearst and Pulitzer their empires. But today, we're going to learn about how their publishing rivalry came to a head over a particularly salacious case, the mystery of the headless torso. We'll also look at what the business of newspapers was like when they were really the only source of news there was. Of course, besides your neighbors, right? I don't listen to my neighbors. Here's David. It's June, 1897.

In the journal newsroom, William Randolph Hearst, the paper's flamboyant rich kid boss, paces the floor with a swagger in his step. He's the son of a California senator and mining tycoon, and he dresses the part, too. For a tie pin, he uses a $20 gold piece. Hearst stands more than six foot two, booming out instructions to the city desk, even though they're well within earshot. I want that butcher's diagram on page one. We're going to show readers exactly how Knack and her helpers carved up one William Gulden Zupa. But the coroner didn't say how he was cut up. Are we really basing this drawing on what an actual butcher told us?

He knows beef and poultry, not human anatomy. Remember, boys, the public likes entertainment better than it likes information. A few blocks down Park Row from the Journal, on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge, is the World's Newsroom. Just like his rival down the block, Pulitzer is determined not to get beaten on this story. is the world's newsroom. Just like his rival down the block, Pulitzer is determined not to get beaten on this story.

As the summer has progressed, he's sometimes fled for health reasons to the south of France or to his 300-foot yacht, the Liberty. When he is in the newsroom, he often clutches a hand to his abdomen. Each broadside from Hearst triggers his list of chronic ailments. Asthma, neuralgia, insomnia, exhaustion. Through it all, Pulitzer fights back and finds new ways to retaliate. Let the journal concoct whatever half-truths they want.

We're going straight to our readers instead. We want to get them personally involved in this case. How are we going to do that? Here's the headline, and I want it to run the width of the page. $500 reward. 500? Hoo-wee. Hope there's enough left the payroll. The world will pay $500 in gold for the correct solution to the mystery of the remnants of a man's body found in the East River and Harlem must be exclusively for the world. Uh, boss, what if the journal scoops us? Add to that, appearance of the solution in any other paper will cancel this offer.

That's a staggering sum. A year's salary for whoever has a good enough tip. But just when it looks like Pulitzer has the edge, one of Hearst's spies from down the block gets wind of the world's plan. The spy hustles down the block to the journal and tells Hearst. Hearst immediately orders his front page to be ripped up. A final evening edition will now hit the streets right after the world's. One last chance for a scoop. In this brand new game of mass media,

scoops aren't always bagged by great reporting. The owners of the papers can make their own scoops. The late edition of the journal hits the streets. The lead headline is just two words long, but they're big enough to almost fill the page. The message signals just how badly Hearst wants to win this war. A thousand dollar reward only in the New York Journal. It was the opening volley in a war of words that would rivet the city. Joseph Pulitzer, a self-made Hungarian immigrant, is nearly a generation older than Hearst.

Bespectacled, bearded, anxious, a sharp contrast from Hearst in age, temperament, experience, and motivation. Pulitzer came from a family with Magyar Jewish roots. His father was a grain merchant in Budapest, which is where Joseph grew up. At the age of 19, he emigrated to America, settling in St. Louis after the Civil War. He worked a series of menial jobs and learned English. Eventually, he earned a law degree and developed a passion for civic life. He went into politics, first as a campaign worker and then as a successful candidate for the Missouri legislature. Politics was satisfying, but its victories were fleeting. The job that resonated most with Pulitzer was working as a reporter for the German-language daily newspaper,

which reached a sizable audience of fellow immigrants. Later, he moved to the city's largest English-language daily, the Post-Dispatch. He showed unusual hustle and tenacity in exposing fraud and misdeeds by city officials. In a letter to his parents, Pulitzer once detailed his exploits in America. I'm working from early morning until midnight. I want to immerse myself in every single detail. Newspapers shouldn't just be mouthpieces aimed at the elite. We can champion the cause of average citizens. This is my covenant with my readers.

He made good on that promise, delivering exposés of wealthy tax dodgers and perpetrators of government corruption. The stories weren't just earnest do-gooder stuff, either. They had plenty of hooks for the reader, too. He was so committed to the mission that he scraped together $3,000 to buy the paper. In just a couple of years, Pulitzer had turned his investment, worth about $48,000 in today's money, into $80,000 in annual revenue. By the time he made his way to New York, Pulitzer's knack for packaging the news had made him one of the first media moguls. William Randolph Hearst, meanwhile, traveled a very different path from Pulitzer. Born into luxury, he had one main challenge in life,

escaping his father's long shadow. The elder Hearst had the good fortune to invest $450 in copper and silver mines. That stake turned out to be worth millions, and that wealth propelled him to the U.S. Senate. But the younger Hearst's efforts to make his own name did not make a promising start. At 18, after graduating from St. Paul's, an elite and stuffy prep school in New Hampshire, he landed at Harvard. Newspapers, far more than any other area of academic study, had already begun to exert their pull on young Will Hurst. As business manager of the Harvard Lampoon, Hurst increased circulation by 50% and revenue by 300%, turning a money-losing operation into a profitable one. Outside of the newspaper

office, though, Hearst was adrift. He was wary of drinking, the main pastime for many on campus, having seen alcohol ravage his own father and some of his friends. Even so, he gained a reputation for hosting the school's best drinking parties. They began in his dorm room, but soon the parties expanded, multiple kegs, and even whole bars set up in Harvard Yard. Hearst learned to stay sober while every one ounce drank, an advantage he would use for the rest of his life. But it didn't stop the Harvard dean from putting him on probation for partying. The rebuke did nothing. Instead of straightening up and flying right, Hearst decided to drive the final stake through his Harvard career.

It's morning in Harvard Yard. You're the president of Harvard College. Like most of the presidents before you, you live in one of the student houses, Massachusetts Hall, right above students. Now, they can be noisy at night sometimes, but this early, most are still asleep. So it's unusual that someone might be at your door. Still in your nightgown, you head downstairs to see who it could be. When you get there, whoever knocked is gone. But when you look down, you see a gift box on the stoop. You bring it upstairs to your wife.

Look what was at the door. Who's it from? You begin to open it. What in the world, Charles? It's a chamber pot, Ellen. No, it's you. Look at the underside. There's a portrait of you.

Me? What? What? That's disgraceful. It's a reasonable likeness. It's an insult is what it is, and it won't go unanswered. Sure enough, sending personalized chamber pots to the faculty got Hearst kicked out of Harvard. He returned home to San Francisco. But by the age of 23, he was appointed editor of the San Francisco Examiner, which his father owned. While nepotism landed him the job, genuine talent made him great at it. Upending the paper's tradition of sober, safe reporting, Hearst liked to shape stories as

lurid page-turners. He liberally spiked his front page with crime, adultery, and scantily clad women. Despite those prurient instincts, Hearst also craved prestige and devoted the resources to obtain it. He ran a slogan on the paper's front page, anointing it Monarch of the Dailies. He stocked the staff with premier talent, hiring some of America's best writers, including Jack London, Ambrose Bierce, and Mark Twain as examiner contributors. By the time they collided in New York, the journal and the world had both become known for peddling yellow journalism. The term came from a cartoon the world published called Hogan's Alley, about a barefoot little boy with a wide, toothy grin. He was known as the Yellow Kid. But Hearst poached the Hogan's Alley cartoonists from the world and

set them up at the journal. What did Pulitzer do? He hired another artist to create a second Yellow Kid. The dueling cartoons captivated the public. Meanwhile, a third New York publisher had been looking for a term to describe the brand of sensationalism peddled by his crosstown rivals. The appearance of the rival comics supplied the catchy name he'd been looking for. In 1897, he published an editorial complaining about yellow kid journalism. The editorial caught on. Other papers took up the expression. Eventually, the phrase was shortened to just yellow journalism, and the name stuck. In November 1991, media tycoon Robert Maxwell mysteriously vanished from his luxury yacht in the Canary Islands. But it wasn't just his body that would come to the surface in the days that followed. It soon emerged that Robert's business was on the brink of collapse, and behind his facade

of wealth and success was a litany of bad investments, mounting debt, and multi-million dollar fraud. Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, the host of Wondery Show Business Movers. We tell the true stories of business leaders who risked it all, the critical moments that define their journey, and the ideas that transform the way we live our lives. In our latest series, a young refugee fleeing the Nazis arrives in Britain determined to make something of his life. Taking the name Robert Maxwell, he builds a publishing and newspaper empire that spans the globe. But ambition eventually curdles into desperation, and Robert's determination to succeed turns into a willingness to do anything to get ahead. Follow Business Movers wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. For years, American Scandal has taken you deep inside

the biggest controversies and shocking events in U.S. history. And now you can listen to exclusive seasons on Wondery+. Go beyond the headlines with jaw-dropping stories and immersive reporting that unveils the complex truth behind these scandals. In our exclusive season, The Hare Krishna Murders, dive into the twisted world of a rogue sect of Hare Krishnas. When devotees mysteriously disappear, the trail leads to a dark web of deceit, greed, and even murder. Or explore the sordid tale of Enron, as we reveal the shocking depths of corporate fraud

that led to one of the biggest bankruptcies in American history. From political conspiracies to corporate corruption, these in-depth investigations will keep you on the edge of your seat. Experience American scandal like never before, with exclusive seasons that you won't find anywhere else. And on Wondery Plus, you can binge entire new seasons before they're publicly available. Start your free trial of Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify to start listening today and uncover the real story behind America's most notorious scandals. In turn-of-the-century New York, both the Journal and The World are cutting a lot of corners and relying on anonymous sources and gimmicks. They generally have little regard for the truth, unless the truth can bring

them another scoop. Newspapers used to be aimed at elite readers with money, and they were written in a dry, arcane style. But now, Hearst and Pulitzer are leading the drive to reach a mass audience. They want to engage people emotionally. Spare fussy items about dry civic matters will not cut it for the journal or the world. Crime and the human condition are what most fascinate the masses. In a city like New York, there's a never-ending supply of both. House fires tear families apart. Factory accidents kill immigrants fresh off steamships from Europe. Brazen robberies leave merchants penniless as the perpetrators remain at large. Both the World and the Journal learned that the fastest way to grab readers is to publish

lurid stories about sex crimes. With the Headless Tor torso case, they've hit a goldmine. The case is a genuine whodunit. It begins with the discovery of the eponymous torso floating in the East River. Then, a midsection with upper legs attached, cropped up in a field in Harlem. After police literally pieced together the evidence, they discovered the vicious murder had all the trappings of a classic love triangle gone wrong. Augusta Knack, a German midwife with a penchant for dressing all in black, was in a relationship with William Guldenzuppe, a tall, muscular man with a kind of well-groomed mustache that has come back into fashion.

He made his living pounding knots out of customers' backs in the bathhouses of New York City. A couple of years earlier, Guldenzupa had broken up Knack's marriage to her husband. Knack, eventually tired of her lover, she took up with a new man, a Caddish barber named Martin Thorn. And before long, Gulenzupa learned about their tryst. He beat the barber and threatened to strangle him.

So Nack and Thorn plotted to kill Gulenzupa. Love might not have been their only motivation. Rumor had it that alongside her midwife practice, Knack was performing illegal abortions. When Guldenzupa discovered her with Thorn, the theory went, he threatened to turn her in to the authorities. Knack lured her former lover to a shack in a rural section of Queens. Thorn was lying in wait.

He shot Gulenzuba in the face and then slit his rival's throat, nearly taking his head off in the process. Thankfully, the small clapboard house had a bathtub, perfect for collecting spillover blood from the messy operation. But Knack and Thorne proved to be incompetent criminal masterminds. Knack and Thorne decided to cut up the body. They bundled the parts with rope and cheesecloth and deposited them all over the city. They also unwittingly left clues all over town from where they purchased the cheesecloth to loose-lipped chats in saloons.

It would only be a matter of time before the authorities caught on to them, but not before a greedy public had poured over every last detail. Their appetite for the headlessso case was insatiable, and Hurst and Pulitzer were determined to meet it. It's October 7, 1897, in New York, and the Headless Torso trial has begun. A professional artist for William Randolph Hurst's New York Journal sketches the scene in the courtroom, his pen moving furiously across the page. It's his first time working with birds.

Not as subjects. No birds are on trial here. We're talking about carrier pigeons, a world-class breed. Hearst has spent thousands to rig up a system of birds to feed his paper the latest trial news. The artist draws witnesses testifying, lawyers laying out arguments, spectators fainting, anything newsworthy. Then he rolls the paper up, slips it into a leather-bound tube, and sets it in the claws of the pigeon, and off it flies. On the stand this crisp fall day is Augusta Knack, or Gussie as she's often called. The district attorney has been asking her why the day before the murders, she cleaned the bathtub in Woodside with ammonia. Is it also true that you hired an undertaker's carriage to transport

several heavy parcels you had wrapped up with cheesecloth? I just want to make my peace with the people and with God. Answer the question. Carrier or passenger pigeons would be hunted to extinction by 1914. But at the end of the 19th century, they're a common sight around New York. The sound of their wings flapping during takeoffs and landings has become familiar in the courtroom. Now the pigeon flies with its cargo across the East River from the courthouse in Queens to the Journal newsroom in Lower Manhattan. The trip takes the bird just two minutes at its top speed of 90 miles an hour. Hurst, after all, has insisted on champion racing pigeons.

Anything to give the Journal a better chance at a scoop. As each pigeon arrives at the newsroom, copy boys unroll their cargo and editors huddle eagerly around the pages. These images of the day's courtroom action will be reproduced in multiple editions of the paper. These are the money shots that keep customers plunking down their two cents per copy. Got it! Oh, just look at the expression on her face. Hurst loves it. Run it above the fold, life-size. I want it like she's standing right next to our readers, almost haunting them.

As she's holding up the sketch to simulate how it will look on the front page, a secretary passes by and glances in. Seeing the image even across the room, she lets out a gasp. Hurst and his editor exchange a grin. Just a few more hours before the next edition captivates the city once again. It's more than just pigeons. Hearst and Pulitzer are creating something brand new across the board. Color printing, use of forensics, even the combative, opinionated writing style of the two papers as they break new ground every day. Hearst and Pulitzer are pushing for every possible advantage, knowing that the more sensational they can make the coverage, the more papers they will sell. They don't want to just cover what the authorities say about the case.

They want to beat the cops to the punch by solving it themselves. As the headless torso murder turns to a courtroom drama, William Randolph Hearst's journal doesn't want to miss a second in the trial. No anguished witness testimony, no bare-knuckled attorney cross-examination, or any gruesome new piece of evidence. Since William Randolph Hearst comes from money, the journal's resources seem infinite. Hearst's mother had inherited $7.5 million from her husband.

That's more than $200 million in today's dollars. She gave her son nearly half of that for a proper start in New York. The world is on a tighter budget, but it manages to come up with a response to the journal's pigeons, an expensive live telegraph system made for the headless torso trial. Instead of having to wait for reporters to file their copy, the entire editorial team can tune in and keep track of the action by listening to the crackly audio transmission. Pulitzer and his team crowd around it in the world newsroom. Turn it up. I can't hear what the judge is saying. He just said that he could cite everyone in the audience for contempt of court. They keep booing the witness.

Well, then why are you just standing there? That's a story. I'm on it, boss. Eat our dust, Hurst. File fast and make it sing. And remember, you have details from that telegraph that nobody else has. I want you to hook me from the first line or don't bother coming back. But both papers didn't believe they could beat the other if all they did was report on the case. They needed to

crack it. Solving the headless torso murder would not only be a point of pride, but a commercial bonanza. And in those days, police detectives had fewer tools and stood less of a chance than the papers did. The journal's pack of reporters was nicknamed the Wrecking Crew, and it was running circles around the detectives. In their mustaches and derby hats, they could run down leads, interview witnesses, and get evidence tested in labs, and even make arrests. The alpha member of the Wrecking Crew was editor Sam Selwyn Chamberlain. The son of a newspaperman, he was a veteran of many New York newsrooms. At 46, he had a decade of grizzled experience on Hearst,

but you wouldn't have known it from his boundless energy. He bellowed at reporters to chase down leads faster. Get excited, goddammit! Get excited! Occasionally, they did go over the top, offering bribes in exchange for hot tips. Early on in the Headless Torso case, two reporters thought police were letting the prime suspect get away. As his carriage was making its way down 9th Avenue, they took matters into their own hands. They leapt into the moving carriage and made a citizen's arrest. Unfortunately, for all that effort, the suspect was eventually released due to a lack of evidence. Even when they made mistakes, every ounce of hustle kept the journal

ahead of the police and the lawyers. It gave them credibility with the increasingly news-addicted public, and it brought them closer to vanquishing their rival. The world had its time in the sun. Now it was time for a new leader in the news business. I'm Tristan Redman, and as a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts. But when I discovered that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined.

Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambies and is a Best True Crime Nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcast Series Essential. Each month, Apple Podcast editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision. To recognize Ghost Story being chosen as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time, only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself. Richard Bandler revolutionized the world of self-help all thanks to an approach he developed

called neurolinguistic programming. Even though NLP worked for some, its methods have been criticized for being dangerous in the wrong hands. Throw in Richard's dark past as a cocaine addict and murder suspect, and you can't help but wonder what his true intentions were. I'm Saatchi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time,, Richard Bandler, whose methods inspired some of the most toxic and criminal self-help movements of the last two decades. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid and Kill List early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus.

Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening. It's October, 1897. The Headless Torso Trial hasn't yet produced a coherent theory as to how the murder was pulled off by Augusta Knack and Martin Thorne. Prosecutors have established motive, that is, the why, but not the procedure, the how. The journal is working every angle. Hearst tries to fire up his reporters. Remember, everyone, we're spending whatever it takes to show the journal it is superior to all rivals, so I want you to give me your very best material. We're learning a lot more about this William Guldenzupa, I can tell you that. His body,

well, pieces of it anyway, is on ice. I got a good look at it in the morgue. Big, strong fella, but smooth, silky hands. Got a tip he worked as a masseur at the Murray Hill Bass, which would make sense. I want every scrap of detail you have on this fellow. And why do we know so little about how it happened? I want our readers to be able to picture the scene. They're supposed to take the jury down to the shack in Queens. Give them a look around the place before they start talking about blood splatters over here, brain matter over there, you know, all that stuff. The reporters look at each other. Then it hurts. Hey, this can't leave this room, but we've got a good source on the jury. I took the guy for a beer the other night, and he slipped the guard

two bits to let him out of sequestration for an hour. You know, remember that scoop about how the jury wants the death penalty? That guy was my source. Now, I will deny telling you this, but I want you to do whatever it takes, quietly, but get us deep into those deliberations, as deep as we can get. Down Park Row, the world has been under intense assault. Pulitzer is eager to deliver some counterpunches. He looks the other way when reporters bribe medical examiners in the morgue. But he draws the line at the jury.

That's interfering with the American legal system, the fairest in the morgue. But he draws the line at the jury. That's interfering with the American legal system, the fairest in the free world. Pulitzer also has some ace reporters on his team, but he can't escape the shadow of his deep-pocketed counterpart. Hearst is the first serious threat you've faced since you got to New York. He's spending money like it's burning a hole in his pocket. Rhett. He's a kid. What can he do? The man he bought the paper from was a serious businessman. He knew the value of money. Hearst doesn't.

Out on the streets, the newsies are calling out the latest headlines. Shocking new murder twist. Read it in the world. Police can't find Gould and Supa's head. Suspect could walk if it doesn't turn up only in the journal. The race to crack this story is a dead heat. While the world and the journal battled each other, what were New York City's other major dailies up to? Imagine you are an editor at the New York Times. You and your competitors are all based on a single block called Park Row, conveniently

located across from City Hall and next door to the post office. Being an editor at the New York Times these days is a pretty impressive position to have. But in the late 1800s, not so much. You're being left in the dust by the world and the journal. Every day you show up for work, and every day, as soon as you go through the other papers on your desk, you feel defeated. At the Times, your liability is an unwavering commitment to playing things down the middle. You believe in objectivity. You want to tell the story, not become the story. You refuse to stoop to some of the other paper's dirty tricks. But squeeze in next to the Tribune, the Daily News, and all the others, your Times looks like an also-ran.

Not until 1902, when it opened its spectacular new tower at 42nd Street and Broadway, the building that gave Times Square its name, would the New York Times start to distinguish itself in the media world that Hearst and Pulitzer made. Despite these transparent gimmicks, the world and the journal were thriving because of America's circumstances at the time. The Gilded Age was also the ambiguous

age. The nation's identity was still being molded. Cities were being dramatically transformed by massive immigration. Corruption was rampant because the rulebook for many parts of society and commerce had yet to be written. In this environment, Hearst and Pulitzer succeeded because they were not afraid to try new things. Their own restless nature, not just their rivalry, drove them ever forward. It's August 1st, 1898. Among the 28 witnesses allowed inside the execution chamber, two, naturally, are reporters from the world and from the journal. Hayden Jones and Langdon Smith have both been chosen for this ominous assignment because of their lightning-fast telegraph skills. They're here because Martin Thorne is slated to die in the electric chair for his role in the murder of William Gouldensupa.

Right now, Thorne is waiting in his jail cell the murder of William Gulen Zupa. Right now, Thorne is waiting in his jail cell. It's his last day on earth. He has requested a final meal of roast beef, turnips, and rye bread to remind him of his childhood in Prussia. As he's finishing, the warden approaches. The hour has come. All right. I want to thank you for your kindness. As Thorne is led into the death chamber, his eyes meet the gaze of Jones and Smith. The journalist got to know the condemned man during his trial and time in prison as they turned out scoops. Thorne gives them a half smile and slides into the chair without any prompting. Even in death, the look seems to say he is a sure bet for the front page. Prison officials strap him into the chair and nod to the executioner in the next room to throw the switch.

Electricity surges through Thorne's body, throwing it against the leather straps. His limbs convulse and his neck bulges. But when the voltage stops and a doctor checks for a pulse, he finds Thorne is not dead. The electric chair is a new invention and it's not yet reliable. Thorne's botched execution would take hours. It created a smell witnesses compared to that of a hot iron on wet linen. As horrific as it is, the newsmen are jaded.

Lord, it smells like a tannery in here. How is it possible Thorne still has a pulse? You got me. They haven't made it official yet. Poor bastard. Isn't this a final insult? Smith checks his watch. Well, I don't know about your shop, but mine is expecting a story. It's not like he's going to get up from that chair and walk out of here. On with it then. The urgency to get the last news out was so intense

that neither Jones nor Smith ended up waiting through the whole protracted affair. They started tapping out their dispatches as Thorne's body was carried to the autopsy room. Doctors had to cut Thorne open to make sure his heart had actually stopped. In the end, he wound up carved up on the exam table, bizarrely echoing the fate Guldenzupa met in that bathtub in Queens. Coverage in the afternoon editions of The World in the Journal mostly skipped over the chair malfunction. Instead, they spun one final yarn shot through with puritanical bloodlust. Sketches in the Journal showed anatomical close-ups of what the Journal called the dead man's degenerate ear and pugnacious nose.

It was the last time Martin Thorne would make the front page of the journal. Martin Thorne had been arrested a few months earlier by undercover detectives. The capture took place at Spears Drugstore on the busy corner of 125th Street and 8th Avenue in Harlem. The Journal and the World had tracked down a barber who worked with Thorne. He had later tipped off the detectives that Thorne had been running his mouth off about the murder. The papers had caught a break with the barber, but they also ran a series of stories saying that Thorne, who was considered a person of interest, may have left the country. Some of the paper's so-called experts even theorized that the headless victim may not even be William Guldenzupa at all. This was the constant frantic rhythm of the paper's reporting, some complete fabrications, along with provably true scoops.

Now the detectives, they knew their man had never fled the country, and they knew the victim was indeed Gulen Zupa. But they liked that the paper's flurry of speculation might tempt Thorne to get cocky and make a mistake. So they laid a trap. On a steamy summer night, as patrons fanned themselves at the soda fountain counter at Spears, the lawmen posed as laborers. Wearing soiled overalls, they lined the street in front of the drugstore as dusk fell. When Thorne approached, they seized him in a flash, hustling him inside and pinning him on the counter. They frisked him, pulled out his handgun, and slapped the cuffs on.

Martin Thorne, you're under arrest for the murder of William Guldenzuba. Yes, I am Martin Thorne. How did you find me? Let's just say I know a good tip when I hear one. Stephen O'Brien, the arresting officer, had been on the case from the beginning. He jockeyed with a journal in the world as he tried to collar the perpetrator. The newspapers blazed quite a trail, but they needed a real cop to get the collar. When he was apprehended, Thorne didn't run or even struggle. In fact, he seemed to melt into the floorboards.

He would put up a defense at trial, but for now, he was just exhausted. Augusta Knack would eventually give her full confession, which the jailed Thorn only learned about from reading The New York World. Knack, who manipulated the press like a puppeteer during her stay in prison, was spared Thorn's grim fate. She turned state's evidence on her accomplice, was released from prison after ten years, and quickly disappeared from public life.

The battle between the world and the journal over the Headless Torso case was essentially a draw. Each paper profited mightily from orchestrating interest in the case, even though they had poured millions of dollars into the effort. Their coverage created a new kind of reporting. The Headless Torso was one of the first truly mainstream news events that the entire nation shared via the media. Newspapers, not the police, were cracking the case and taking the entire nation along for the ride. But the Headless Torso case would end up being a relatively innocent phase for the world and the journal. In the coming years, both papers would play fast and loose with the facts in the name of a good story with far larger stakes.

If you like what you heard today, this series will continue on Business Wars with the third in their six-part series. The next episode includes the story of robber barons, the Statue of Liberty, and outsized characters like Nellie Bly. She was one of the reporters who popularized adventure journalism at a time in the late 19th century when readers couldn't get enough of it.

To hear the rest of the Business Wars series on the rivalry between Hearst and Pulitzer, subscribe to Business Wars and start with Episode 3 of the Hearst vs. Pulitzer series. You can find Business Wars on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, NPR, iHeartRadio, or wherever you're listening right now. You'll find a link in the episode notes. Simply tap or swipe over the cover art. Or if you're using an iPhone, just say, Hey Siri, subscribe to the Business Wars podcast. Thanks to David Brown for joining me today. I'm your host, Lindsey Graham.

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