Real Lace by Stephen; Birmingham Page B

reasons. One editor commented that he felt that the Digest had become “punch-drunk,” and had begun to believe too completely in the myth of Digest infallibility which it had sponsored. (“When better polls are built …”) Others said that the Digest had gone wrong by failing to reach “the lower economic brackets” of the voting population. There had been other ominous notes. During the early Depression years, Digest circulation had dropped more than the Digest cared to admit, and profits were down accordingly. The Digest had also begun to feel the competition of newer, sprightlier weeklies such as Time, Newsweek , and The New Yorker . The Digest’s own explanation was a somewhat mysterious one: Republicans, it said, answered questionnaires more readily than Democrats. This left the reason in the realm of the occult. But one thing was absolutely certain: The Literary Digest , which had a few days earlier been a great and trusted American institution, was suddenly a national laughingstock, and all over the world “Literary Digest jokes” proliferated, rather the way Polish jokes spread in the early 1970’s. On the day of the debacle, Mr. Funk and the three Cuddihy sons either avoided the office altogether or else put in only momentary appearances. Mr. Robert J. Cuddihy, however, came into the office at the usual hour and went about his business as though nothing had happened.
    H. Lester Cuddihy, who had been for Landon, wired his young son Jack at Portsmouth Priory, saying simply, “Ha ha.” But Lester Cuddihy’s wife, Julia, sent another telegram to Jack, saying, “Don’t write anything fresh to Grandpa. He feels very badly. Mom.”
    By the issue of July 17, 1937, things at the Digest were in such dire shape that Funk & Wagnalls actually gave the Digest away—to the publisher of Review of Reviews , and the combined result was called by the unwieldy title of The Digest: Review of Reviews Incorporating the Literary Digest . It did not do well. By October of the same year, this amalgam was sold, and the name Literary Digest was reapplied to the new result. This attempt at a resuscitation was also a failure, and with the issue of February 19, 1938, publication was suspended—temporarily, it was hoped—and a pathetic letter was sent out to ten thousand subscribers which begged:
    Literary Digest is not just another magazine; it is an American Institution of major importance. It cannot be allowed to die .… We ask you to put a dollar in the enclosed return envelope.… Your dollar will be credited to your subscription as an increase in rate.
    Quite a number of dollars floated in, along with several outright gifts. But for soliciting and accepting this sort of charity, and tampering in an irregular way with rates and circulation methods, the Digest attracted the attention of the newly created Audit Bureau of Circulations. Funk and Cuddihy had fought against the creation of the Bureau, and its goal to create a standard and uniform method of tabulating magazine circulations, throughout their entire professional lives. Now it was the ABC that would administer the coup de grâce to the Digest . The ABC demanded that the cash gifts be returned, and petitioned the court to reorganize the magazine under the Bankruptcy Act. Time gleefully reported the death statistics:
    Against liabilities of $1,492,056 (including a $60,000 demand note to Funk & Wagnalls—original Literary Digest publishers—$63,000 for paper, $30,000 for printing, $612,000 to readers for paid up subscriptions), the Digest listed assets of $850,923: cash on hand, $222,293; mailing lists, furniture, machinery, $377,794; deferred charges, $160,821; goodwill, $90,015.
    This last figure sounds the saddest of all. After three months’ suspension, Time took over the Digest’s 250,000 unexpired subscriptions.
    Funk & Wagnalls—and the Cuddihys—at least still had Emily