Pulitzer_ A Life in Politics, Print, and Power - James McGrath Morris [149]
“When I picked up the sheets,” said Pulitzer, “I was astonished to find that I could hardly see the writing, let alone read it.” It was if a dark curtain had been pulled entirely across his right eye and partially across the left. Having long suffered from bad eyesight, frequently aggravated by reading late into the night under harsh gaslight, Pulitzer decided that this was simply a temporary affliction. He left the building without saying a word about it. The next morning, his vision still not improved, Pulitzer stopped in to consult a doctor on his way to work.
In 1887, optometrists, a term then only a year old, had the use of an ophthalmoscope, which permitted a clear view of the retina and the vitreous body separating it from the lens. When the doctor peered into Pulitzer’s eyes it was clear in an instant what had gone wrong. The retina in the right eye had become detached, and the left retina was in danger of detaching. The prognosis was grim. “In a great majority of cases the natural course of the disease is slowly but surely progressive, leading finally to total blindness,” wrote one expert at the time. The chief remedies at the time were the application of artificial leeches, a tool that drew blood or other fluids from the patient; mercury drops; or extended bed rest. Pulitzer was ordered home to remain in a darkened room for six weeks.
Pulitzer’s doctors were summoned. His primary physician, James W. McLane, was worried that the vision failure was only one manifestation of Pulitzer’s health problems, which he listed as insomnia, asthmatic lungs, and almost continuous indigestion. It was as if Pulitzer was having a breakdown.
“I am absolutely and totally unable to read or write, or have any use of my sight,” Pulitzer said plaintively, dictating a letter. “I am in the hands of the oculist, who has put me to bed, stripped me of all occupation, and enforces a course of treatment which he says, with care on my part, may give me back my sight in about six weeks. If I am not careful, he also says, I am quite apt to lose my sight altogether.”
For six weeks, Cockerill, Merrill, and Smith ran the World, coming occasionally to the dark confines of Pulitzer’s room for advice. The children were kept at bay, and when Kate’s father died, she attended the funeral in Washington alone. Almost as if he were engaged in mortal combat, Dana did not even have the good manners to lessen his attacks. Instead, he continuously reprinted the editorial about the “Jew who does want to be a Jew” under the headline, MOVE ON, PULITZER!—REPUDIATED BY HIS RACE.
At the end of the bed rest, Pulitzer’s sight was no better. McLane prescribed a new course of treatment: Pulitzer was to cease all work and go to California for a six-month rest. On January 14, 1888, Joseph, Kate, and Ralph, along with a personal staff, boarded a private railcar in Jersey City. Lucille, Joseph Jr., and Edith were left in the care of nannies.
Congressman Walter Phelps came to see them off. Pulitzer was pessimistic about the plan and prophesied that the climate of California and the fresh air would do him no good. While he was becoming a Croesus, he told Phelps, he would eventually be a blind one.
“That,” said Pulitzer, “was the beginning of the end.”
Part III
1888–1911
Chapter Twenty
SAMSON AGONISTES
On a moonlit evening in late February 1888, Pulitzer stood on the veranda of San Diego’s legendary Hotel del Coronado. Puffing on a cigar, he gazed out at the beach. In the pale soft light, he could discern the contours of the beach and the crashing waves tipped with white foam. “That is beautiful,” Pulitzer said to a young reporter who had accompanied him out into the night air.
“I am not blind by any means,” he continued, as they