Pulitzer_ A Life in Politics, Print, and Power - James McGrath Morris [219]
Williams took an immediate liking to the tall, broad-shouldered thirty-four-year-old Cobb. He had a mop of hair that hung down his forehead, sparkling eyes, and powerful hands and arms from working for years in a sawmill. “At the table, Cobb proved himself a brilliant conversationalist, an omnivorous reader, a shrewd observer, a forceful talker, and a keen analyzer of men and affairs. He had vitality of brain and body, yet was so simple in manner, so modest, so lovable, that I knew immediately I had found the Ideal Editor.”
After dinner, Williams telegraphed Pulitzer. In the morning, he received his instructions from the publisher. He was to learn everything he could about Cobb and to provide a complete account, including the color of Cobb’s eyes, shape of his forehead, and his table manners. Williams grilled Cobb, who by now realized he was being considered for some post. He had read the right books, he opposed Bryan and free silver, and liked Roosevelt but had attacked him editorially, Williams reported. “As to personal appearance, cheerfulness, tone of voice and table manners—highly commendable! He ate soup without a gurgle.”
Cobb was not entirely sure he wanted to leave his job at the Detroit Free Press. But after a visit with Pulitzer on Jekyll Island, he was persuaded to join the World. In the spring, he reported to Merrill. In no time his crisp writing and his persistent requests for information from others drew the attention of the editorial staff. “He would end each inquiry with a sort of grunt that sounded like ubn but was really a question mark,” Williams said.
Once again Pulitzer had a young man to mold, and this time one who would not leave him or betray him. Over time, the relationship between the older publisher and the young writer grew into the kind of collaborative, though tumultuous, partnership Pulitzer had long sought. Cobb became the most trusted, most loyal, most effective, and longest-serving among Pulitzer’s editorial lieutenants. His tenure was exceeded only by that of John Cockerill, Pulitzer’s first adjutant for twelve years.
For Kate, the winter of 1903–1904 had been especially depressing. She was sick for most of January, and many of their friends had died during the cold months. She felt that all she had done was send notes and cards of condolence. Though she despised Jekyll Island and had not been there in eight years, she tentatively asked Joseph if she could come for a visit. “I shall not be the least offended,” she wrote, “if you think you have not room enough.”
Her plea reflected a change of heart. Though the pair continued to squabble over money, Kate increasingly took pity on her husband. She had grown to accept his ailments, phobias, and eccentricities as permanent attributes. The Joseph she had fallen in love with was gone. She occasionally spoke wistfully about the early years of their marriage. Gazing at a photo from many, many years ago, she remarked to a visitor about the sweet expression her husband had in the picture.
“Shall be engrossed with work and the quarters are not comfortable but I shall be glad to see you if you come,” Joseph replied. As if this were a courtship and she had won her prey too quickly, Kate held back. “Am very sorry but think it best not to go Jekyll,” she wired, “as sure should be in your way you being engrossed in work would be an irritation to you feeling you must give me time. I quite understand and appreciate condition.” Her message forced Joseph to be more emphatic in asking her to come. As soon as he was, Kate replied with alacrity that she consented. “Expect you to welcome me with joy or will leave on first raft,” she teased.
Remaining in New York was nineteen-year-old Joe. “The house seems very empty