brothel-keepers, and that his chief confederate is Horace Karr, former political editor of the "Times." Next day you read in the "Times" about this same Horace Karr—only he isn't a former political editor of the "Times," he is a former reporter for the "Examiner"! This particular civic scandal is spread over a page of both papers for a month, the "Examiner" playing it up, the "Times" playing it down, both of them telling patent falsehoods, and both of them continuing, day after day, to describe Horace Karr as a former employe of the other!
One of the funniest instances of this rivalry occurred recently upon the death of Mrs. Phoebe Hearst, mother of William Randolph Hearst, owner of the "Examiner." I made a study of the "Examiner" and the "Times" next morning. The "Examiner" gave three columns on the first page and five columns on the third page to accounts of Mrs. Hearst and her virtues. There were two pictures, one a picture of Mrs. Hearst, occupying fifty-eight square inches, and the other a picture of "the family of William Randolph Hearst visiting their grandmother," this occupying forty square inches.
The "Times," of course, was not so much interested in Mrs. Hearst. It gave her only the amount of space which it would give to any California millionaire who died—that is, two columns. The picture of Mrs. Hearst occupied only twenty-four square inches, and the contrast with the picture in the "Examiner" was most diverting. The picture in the "Examiner" showed a magnificent and stately lady, some duchess by Gainsborough. How the picture in the "Times" originated I do not know, but it appeared as if the editor of the "Times" had said to his artist: "Find me a picture of the ugliest old woman you have on file; or better yet, get me a picture of a grim old man with a double chin, and draw me a woman's bonnet on top of him, and a woman's dress over his shoulders, and label it 'Mrs. Phoebe Apperson Hearst'."
Also there are three afternoon papers in Los Angeles—all three sensational, all three commercial, with hardly the pretense of a public policy. There was brought to my attention the case of Raoul Palma, a young Mexican Socialist of an especially fine type, who had earned the enmity of the Los Angeles police by persisting in speaking on the Plaza. They had brought against him a charge of murder, as perfect a case of "frame-up" as I ever saw. I spent much time investigating the case, which failed for lack of evidence when
