Two of these papers had definite political leanings. The Telegram supported the Conservative Party. It seemed the same people bought it all the time. Unfortunately, there weren't enough of them to make the Telegram a success, and it stopped publishing in October of 1920. The Free Press was the Liberal paper and sold the best (as it does today). On the other hand, the Tribune took a neutral stance. It did not discuss politics often, but when it did, it was usually to blast one of the other papers for some stand it considered "not in the public interest". During election campaigns all papers sold briskly; many people bought all three.
Newsboys developed a special instinct for distinguishing between the clientele of the three papers, and usually held out just the right paper when a customer approached. Just before six o'clock, when most offices and stores closed for the day, we would start the game of "pick out the man for his paper''. We would stand together at an intersection and study people as they approached us. A briskly walking, snappy-looking man would be handed the Tribune. An older man, sauntering slowly along, perhaps deep in thought, would take the Free Press. A serious individual would be sure to get the Telegram.
Should there be any doubt, we'd hand the customer a Tribune. We had a reason for this - the men who passed out our papers at the Tribune were the kindest to us. They always suggested a good pitch for us to use. "Extra, extra! San Francisco on fire, everybody dead!" was typical of the kind of pitch we used to sell papers. If we did not manage to sell out an evening edition, the Tribune would refund the money and let us keep the leftover papers. And as I explained earlier, those extra papers had a special value for us.
At the Telegram we got our newspapers from two brothers named Moe and Tiny Goldstein. They worked there a long time, as I recall, and were always kind. Tiny, the younger brother, was deaf. But Moe often asked about my family, and was always sympathetic and encouraging.
Sometimes a few of the boys would help Moe and Tiny stuff inserts in the papers. And once in a while they even invited me in to see the presses. I found the whole operation fascinating, especially on one occasion when the presses broke down and ripped the paper roll, so that the pressmen had to re-roll it.
In contrast to Moe and Tiny and the men at the Tribune, those who handed out our papers at the Free Press were all business. There were no tours, no advice on pitches, no refunds on unsold papers.
The Free Press seemed to be the most active paper at election time, always in support of the "Grits" (I could never figure out why Liberals were called that). Two personalities on the Free Press staff made a big impression on Winnipeg: the agricultural expert, E. Cora Hind, and the editor, John Dafoe.
All the newsboys knew and liked Mr. Dafoe. He was a big red-haired man - a rugged, no-nonsense individual. But he was always genial with us. We judged all men of his type as Liberals. On the other hand, when we first saw Sir Rodmond Roblin, the Premier of Manitoba, we figured by his appearance and manner that he too was a Liberal. He seemed very much like John Dafoe. We felt so let down when we learned he was a Tory; he fooled us, as he fooled many others in later years.
Cora Hind was one Winnipegger who became an international figure. Newsboys often shouted her name along the streets, and it always created a stir. Miss Hind came to Winnipeg in 1882. She tried to get a job with the Free Press, but the idea of a female reporter was too radical for the times. Instead, she worked as a typist, the first in western Canada. Several years later she started her own secretarial bureau, also a first for the West.
She got her foot in the door of the newspaper business by writing agricultural reports and articles on behalf of certain farming organizations. When John Dafoe became editor of the Free Press in 1901, he immediately hired Miss Hind to start up an agriculture department on the paper. She was on her way.
Her estimates of the western Canadian wheat crop were remarkably accurate. She used her own methods of predicting yields, and spent many days walking in grain fields, talking to farmers and studying the growing crops. Her accuracy, though, caused many headaches in the grain trade.
In those days, Chicago traders were the most influential in the industry. They would estimate the progress of grain crops, using their own scientific methods, and would set prices accordingly. They would publish their report. Then Cora Hind would come out with hers. Because her estimates were generally closer to the actual yields, she invariably created an uproar in the market and affected prices. No wonder the grain traders dubbed her "Calamity Cora".
Miss Hind was popular with newsboys, though, for nothing sold newspapers faster than her name in the headlines. I remember well those times when the Free Press, with bold blaring headlines, published a Cora Hind crop report. I would pick up about 50 papers and scamper off toward the Grain Exchange Building, shouting, "Extra! Extra! Cora Hind report!" When I reached the Exchange i shouted my loudest. In no time, the clerks and grain traders would rush out to the street and eagerly snap up the papers. I sold out my bundle very quickly, every time.
Cora Hind wrote many articles for the Free Press. She travelled quite a bit throughout the prairies. She wrote about country fairs, conventions, livestock, dairies and many other things. But it was her crop reports that sold the paper for me.
Whenever a sporting event of international interest took place, such as a World Series baseball game or championship boxing match, the Free Press would erect a huge billboard in front of their building on McDermot Avenue. Several men with megaphones would lean out of the upper-story windows and announce the progress of the event, as they received the news over the wire. Others would post bulletins containing more details on the billboard. Often these events attracted huge crowds, completely blocking traffic.
I well recall one such event-the heavyweight boxing championship match of July 1910, in Reno, Nevada. The champion, Jack Johnson, a Negro, was fighting Jim Jeffries, billed as the "Great White Hope".
The publicity build-up started about a month before the fight. The newspapers ran many stories about it, calling it "the fight of the century" and "the battle of the giants". It was a popular topic in the bars; men constantly argued the merits of both fighters, and many betting pools were organized.
Although Johnson was the champ, Jeffries was the 10 to 6 favourite. On the day of the fight a large crowd gathered outside the Free Press to listen to the round-by-round description announced over the megaphones. Whenever Jeffries gained the advantage, the crowd cheered. When Johnson scored, the crowd groaned. Finally Johnson won by a knock-out in the 15th round to the dismay of most of the crowd, especially the gamblers. The gloom in the bars and hotels was awful. But despite the disappointing result, everyone wanted to read the details of the fight.
Shortly after the fight an extra edition was rushed out of the newsroom. The newsboys were ready and waiting, and soon had spread out all over the area, running and yelling our pitches. We soon covered every section of the downtown district.
Such was the excitement generated by the fight that I had no trouble selling all the papers I could carry. It was a profitable day; when I got home that evening and dumped all my earnings on the table, my family just stood and stared in amazement.
What made big news in those days? In 1910, a year I remember well, the biggest story was the illness and death of King Edward VII. He was a much beloved monarch, known as Edward the Peacemaker. All Canada mourned his death. Churches all over Winnipeg were jammed for the memorial services. The Decoration Day parade, biggest of the year in Winnipeg, was postponed because of the funeral.
"All creeds and sects lament Edward the Peacemaker," rang the headlines. Stories about the late king and his family ran for weeks in the papers, and the people bought them up as fast as they were printed.
Another big event was the coming of Halley's Comet in May 1910. The Free Press set up a large telescope on its roof so people could observe it. But once located in the sky, the "heavenly visitor", as the papers called it, could be seen with the naked eye. The comet was in the news for some time in anticipation of its arrival. When the Free Press finally published the full details of its visit, it aroused a lot of interest and, of course, extra demand for papers.
Crop reports were always big news because of the importance of farming to Winnipeg business. Throughout August the papers ran up-to-date reports, sometimes a new one every day. And every time, additional papers had to be printed to cover the demand.
Crime was not so prevalent in those days, but once in a while something would happen. On one occasion I recall the Moose Club, a gambling establishment on Market Street, was r-aided and 35 men were arrested. "Police Put Rude End to Gambling," announced one headline. There was a big demand downtown for that edition, mostly because all 35 names were listed.
Comics started to become a popular part of the paper around this time. The Free Press began running them in about 1910. it's surprising how many people, after buying a paper, first scanned the front page, then Eaton's ad on the back page, and then turned to the comics to see what Buster Brown was up to.
Newspaper advertising was a lot different, particularly with regard to prices. Sweet Cap cigarettes were advertised at 10 for 10Q, a Tudhope-McIntyre automobile could be had for $550.00, and the New Method Dental Parlours offered complete gold dentures for just $50.00.
But the most interesting ads were those for patent medicines. All newspapers were jammed with them. Most people couldn't afford to see a doctor for every complaint, and hospitals were only a last resort. A 25Q bottle of patent medicine, however, was a "sure cure" for anything.
There was Grasshopper ointment for leg ulcers, Eno's fruit salts for belly aches, gin pills for the kidney, Lydia Pinkham Vegetable Compound for what ails women, and Peruna for anything that ails anybody, not to mention Williams Pink Pills for pale people, Mercolized wax for freckles, Adlerica for appendicitis, Kellog's Asthma Cure, and that old favourite cure-all, Aspirin. Most of these remedies were "absolutely guaranteed", of course, but I never heard of anybody getting their money back.
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