The Press: The King Is Dead

Veiled in palm trees, atop one of the lushest Beverly Hills, the great cream-tinted house was heavily guarded against intruders. But one who trespassed there this week was not to be stopped by guards. By appointment, Death had come calling on a guest in the house—an old adversary, one whose stubbornness he could not help admiring. In his 89th year, the end had finally come for William Randolph Hearst, the capricious, inspired, ruthless and sentimental, sybaritic press lord.

The bulletin that came out of Los Angeles was, of all news stories, the one he had dreaded most. Because of this fear, no one ever dared mention Death in Hearst's presence. For four years he had suffered from heart disease and had been confined to the sprawling, overdressed stucco home of his great and good friend and companion, Marion Davies.*

Almost to the end, his fertile, facile brain kept tabs on all his outposts of empire. He still spread his papers on the floor before his bedroom chair, turning the pages with one slipper and bending down to scrawl his piercing critiques, giving his editors lessons in Hearstian journalism. Deskmen at the Los Angeles Examiner, nerve center of the chain, received small or great commands as late as 3 a.m. More frequently in later years they were relayed over the phone by Miss Davies, and whether they called for an editorial blast against Secretary of State Acheson or for a box of Kleenex, they got action. It would be a long time before his editors got used to doing business without the messages that began "The Chief suggests . . ."

The Collection. The gaunt, wasted old man with the haunted eyes had given journalism a whole new set of techniques. But, in the minds of many newsmen, he had often misused those techniques to sensationalize journalism, seduce its public and debauch its practitioners. Good or bad, he had left his brand on four generations of U.S. life, in a multiple career as politician, publisher and plutocrat that stretched back beyond the memory of all but the oldest living Americans. At the end of it all, his earthly holdings included:

¶ 16 daily newspapers (total circ. 5,350,000); Sunday papers, including the supplement American Weekly, world's biggest (9,374,850) and eight monthly magazines in the U.S., ranging from Cosmopolitan and Good Housekeeping to American Druggist (total circ. 6 million).

¶ Ranches, including San Simeon, Wyntoon, others in Texas and Mexico. Mines and oil fields in the U.S., Mexico and Peru, including the famed Homestake Mine, rich gold-producer at Lead, S.D.,and fountainhead of his fortune.

¶ Incidentals: fabulous collections of armor, Georgian silver, paintings, sculptures, tapestries, antique furniture (all periods).

The whole collection added up to $200 million, maybe more. Even Mr. Hearst wasn't sure.

The Heirs. Who will get it all? Said Hearst's personal lawyer this week: "As will be shown by his last will and testament when it is filed for probate, he leaves the bulk of his estate for the benefit of his fellow Americans—for charitable, religious, educational, literary, scientific and public purposes." Other probable beneficiaries: his five sons; his widow, Mrs. Millicent Hearst of Manhattan, who never divorced W.R. though they were estranged for the last 29 years of his life.