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The double triumphs of 1886—the statue stood in the harbor, and Roosevelt had fallen in defeat—did not diminish the pressures on Pulitzer. The management of the World continued to consume his time and sap his energy. He had hired a personal secretary to cope with the flow of mail, but that put hardly a dent in the problem. “Hundreds of letters come into this office every day that I never see,” Pulitzer told one correspondent who complained of not getting a reply.

Most vexing was Pulitzer’s spreading fame as a financial success. Masy le Doll, a widow in Martinsburg, West Virginia, read that Pulitzer “was up to his neck in money, had so much he did not know what to do with it.” She hoped for some to buy a bucket of coal, some flour, and maybe a turkey for Christmas. The New Yorker Walter Hammond appealed for a donation from Pulitzer because the organized charities denied him relief, believing him to be promiscuous. During a medical exam it was determined that one of Hammond’s testicles was larger than the other, and the charity workers took this as proof that he had been sexually active. Hammond denied the charge, giving his word to Pulitzer that he had had sex only with his wife, who had burned to death in a fire six years earlier, and had been celibate since. Such was welfare in 1886.

Work and tension continued to wear Pulitzer down. He began to turn down social invitations, preferring to steal what rest he could at home in the evenings. When he did get out, it was now more often to visit an out-of-town friend such as the newspaper publisher George Childs of Philadelphia, who had a country house. Sitting by a blazing wood fire, Childs (who was older than Pulitzer) often counseled Pulitzer to ease up on his workload. In fact, Childs took it upon himself to deliver the same message to Pulitzer’s wife. He wrote anxiously to Kate that Joseph was endangering his health. “He must be careful and remember that he has a wife and children who have a claim on him,” Childs wrote. “He must try to learn to take things more rationally, he is under too great a pressure, and is doing more than anyone can do and retain his health. We all think too much of him to let him go on without a word of caution.”

When Kate shared Childs’s message with Joseph, he was in no mood to listen.

Chapter Nineteen

A BLIND CROESUS

Joe Howard, one of the World’s leading reporters, was preparing to depart for Montreal on the evening of February 9, 1887, to cover the city’s famous winter carnival. The idea had been Pulitzer’s, and it was a plum assignment. Howard would spend several days visiting a monolithic illuminated ice palace and attending the carnival’s many festivities. As he talked over his plans with editors in the newsroom, Pulitzer came out from his office and walked over to him.

“What have you been doing today, Joe?” asked Pulitzer.

“Nothing. I’m preparing, you know, to go to Montreal,” replied Howard.

Upon hearing this, Pulitzer remembered he had also given permission and $100 to Walt McDougall to go to Montreal. Pulitzer had no interest in having—in his words—“two high-priced men off on one job.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Pulitzer brusquely told Howard.

“But,” said Howard, “I’ve bought my tickets and engaged berths for the people who are going with me. One must do that early. There are crowds going to Canada right now.”

Pulitzer’s face reddened. He raised his right hand and, waving his index finger close to Howard’s face, said, “I tell you I don’t want you to go.”

“Don’t you point that at me,” Howard snapped back, hurling an insult, later reported as one that described Pulitzer as “a sordid, grasping, covetous Israelite.”

Howard’s revilement kindled Pulitzer’s notorious temper. The publisher, who at six feet two inches towered over the squat reporter, struck Howard on the neck with his fist, sending him to the floor. As Howard fumbled for his eyeglasses, knocked off by the blow, Pulitzer told him he was fired. Rising from the floor, Howard tried to return the assault.