yellow journalism

The Yellow Kid, by R.F. Outcault, 1 January 1897

The Yellow Kid, by R.F. Outcault, 1 January 1897

14 May 2020

Yellow journalism denotes lurid and sensationalist news reporting, that which today we would associate with tabloids and click-bait headlines. It’s especially associated with the turn of the twentieth century news reporting and with jingoistic support for the Spanish-American War in 1898. It is epitomized by Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World and the papers of his rival, William Randolph Hearst.

But why yellow?

The name is a confluence of two cultural trends, the availability of cheap, popular literature and the newspaper comic strip.

The first trend is the popularity of lurid and sensational novels in the mid-to-late nineteenth century and the moral panic that this literature generated. Such literature and associated panics have been a regular feature in literary history. Every new technological development brings a new wave. In my own lifetime, I’ve seen such panics over comic books, television, Dungeons and Dragons, video games, and the internet. In the eighteenth century, it was the novel that was corrupting people’s, especially young women’s, minds. In the nineteenth century, it was the advent of cheap paper and printing that allowed pulp fiction to be churned out at low cost, often printed with garish yellow and red colors to catch the eye. Yellowback books was a term that was often used.

An early reference to such yellow literature is by poet and journalist William Cullen Bryant and others of the American Copyright Club in 1843:

Cheap literature, scattered through the country, saps the provincial press, and supplants it by degrees in the popular favor: paper after paper decays and withers, breathing a blessing upon its deadliest enemy. The general flood of pamphlets sweeps the land, and puts at nought all petty distinctions of district and neighborhood, and settles down, at its leisure, into a dark, slimy, universal pond. It is for you, the American people, to judge what fruit has grown of this planting. You have seen this crimson and yellow literature triumphant on every hand: bought every where—read every where.

Ten years later, on 3 March 1853, the New York Daily Tribune blamed yellow-covered literature for corrupting the minds of young women and causing them to elope with “adventurers”:

The popular notions on the subject, fomented by the “yellow-covered” literature of the day are exceedingly lax and mistaken. The young Miss who elopes from the parental roof to marry some adventurer who was probably unknown to her last year, is often represented as a girl of rare spirit, who does a remarkably clever and admirable thing. We hold, on the contrary, that, in a great majority of cases, her elopement is unwise, giddy, ungrateful, immodest, and evinces a lascivious appetite and reckless disposition.

And by 4 June 1857, the Chicago Daily Tribune was lamenting that such lurid content had made its way into journalism:

The land is perfectly flooded with yellow-covered literature of the French school, only the yellow covers are left off; the magazine form is abandoned, and it now appears in the more popular and respectable dress of newspapers, embellished with pictures to catch the eye.

And the panic is summed up in a piece in Pennsylvania’s Tyrone Star of 8 March 1859:

An “out and out” sewer of the lowest obscenities [...] whose presence is less safe to family virtue than the foulest “yellow backs” that ever emanated from the “hell-holes” of impurity in a New York or a Paris.

Such complaints about yellow literature persisted into the twentieth century.

The second trend that led to the creation of the phrase yellow journalism is that of the comic strip, or more particularly, one of the first comic strips. In 1895, cartoonist Richard F. Outcault began drawing the first newspaper comic strip, titled Hogan’s Alley, for Pulitzer’s New York World. (See also Hogan’s Goat.) The strip quickly became better known by its iconic character, the Yellow Kid, sort of the Bart Simpson of his day, and was quickly renamed after the character. In 1896, Hearst hired Outcault away from Pulitzer and the strip began appearing in Hearst’s New York Journal American. Since the strip wasn’t copyrighted, Pulitzer continued to publish a competing Yellow Kid strip in the World, drawn by George Luks. So, for a time, two sensationalist New York newspapers used the Yellow Kid to compete with one another.

A 13 December 1896 review of the staider New York Herald in Georgia’s Macon Telegraph sums up the character of Pulitzer’s and Hearst’s papers:

There is no appeal made to low taste; there is no assumption that the average reader is a person of vulgar mind; there is no catering to an alleged “demand” for the spice of lubricity; there is no concession to the “yellow kid” abomination.

And by 1897 we see the term yellow journalism appear. The New York Press ran the headline “Victory for Yellow Journalism” on 31 January 1897. This appears to be the first use of the phrase, although I cannot locate a copy of the article to determine the exact context.

The next month, on 18 February 1897, the New York Tribune referenced the Press’s use of the term in an article on the increasing hostilities between Spain and the United States and how Pulitzer’s and Hearst’s papers were fomenting war fever:

Here, for instance, are the two representatives of what our neighbor, “The New York Press,” so felicitously calls “yellow journalism”; one of them would declare war against Spain because one of its correspondents—who wasn’t doing anything to Spain except maintaining communication and confidential relations with the Cuban insurgents with whom Spain is at war—has been arrested by the Spanish authorities and held for trial; the other would also declare war against Spain because one of the highest-priced, and consequently most trustworthy, correspondents discovered that a woman related to one of the insurgent chiefs was stripped and examined three times in the presence of men by the Spanish authorities, the third time on an American steamer.

And ten days later, the Macon Telegraph ran an editorial on the same subject:

Yellow Journalism and War.

The country has already seen and felt the absurdity of the sand-lot agitation which shook the senate on Thursday. Like an aspen leaf, it trembled with excitement at the touch of yellow journalism.

So, we have a long-standing practice of referring to lurid and sensational literature as yellow, and we have two sensationalist and jingoistic papers, both of which publish versions of the comic strip the Yellow Kid, throw in some patriotic fervor, and yellow journalism emerges.

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Sources:

“Black Mail Editors.” Chicago Daily Tribune. 4 June 1857, 2. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

Bryant, William Cullen, et al. An Address to the People of the United States. New York: American Copyright Club, 1843, 11. Gale Primary Sources: Sabin Americana.

“New and True Journalism.” Macon Telegraph (Georgia). 13 December 1896, 20. Gale Primary Sources: Nineteenth Century U.S. Newspapers.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, January 2018, s.v. yellow, adj. and n., yellowback, n.

“Runaway Marriages.” New York Daily Tribune. 3 March 1853, 4. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“Wise Limitations of the War Power.” New York Tribune. 18 February 1897, 6. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“Yellow Journalism and War.” Macon Telegraph (Georgia). 28 February 1897, 12. Gale Primary Sources: Nineteenth Century U.S. Newspapers.

q.t., on the

14 May 2020

The phrase on the q.t. means in secret, confidentially. The q.t. is an abbreviation for quiet.

The phrase dates to the late nineteenth century. It’s first clearly attested to in 1885. It appears that year in George Moore’s novel A Mummer’s Wife:

Oh, I'm so glad; for perhaps this time it will be possible to have one spree on the strict q.t.

It also appears in the Sydney Bulletin on 18 July 1885:

Oh, my! what a pious world it is,
And how very good they all seem to be –
But what a ’duffing’ lot you’d find
If you would only raise the blind,
And see ’em on the strict Q.T.

The fact that it appears in both a British and Australian source in the same year, indicates that the phrase was already widespread by the time it first appears in print.

Farmer and Henley’s slang dictionary includes a citation that is supposedly from c. 1870 in the broadside ballad “The Talkative Man from Poplar,” by James McEvoy:

Whatever I tell you is on the Q.T.

But as far as I can tell, that song was not written until 1885, and the copy online at the British Library doesn’t contain the phrase. So, this citation appears to be inaccurate.

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Sources:

Farmer, J.S. and W.E. Henley. Slang and Its Analogues, vol. 5, 1902, s.v. Q.T.

Green’s Dictionary of Slang, 2020, s.v. q.t. n.

McEvoy, James, “The Talkative Man from Poplar,” 1886. London, British Library MS H.1260.g.(41.). 

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, December 2007, s.v. q.t., n.3 and adj.

light at the end of the tunnel

A railway tunnel with sun shining at one end, Bath, UK, 2017.

A railway tunnel with sun shining at one end, Bath, UK, 2017.

13 May 2020

The phrase the light at the end of the tunnel is a metaphor used to refer to signs that a long period of adversity is coming to an end. The metaphor, if not exact phrasing, dates to at least 1879 when it appears in a letter by writer George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans) about a recent bout with an illness:

On Saturday I had a rather severe relapse and though I am getting out of the tunnel into daylight, this renewal of weakness taken with the dreary prospects of the weather under which nothing ripens and fruits hardly escape rotting, makes it seem as if we should be wiser to defer the visit till the 19th when the promised Rubicon of the 16th will have been passed.

The familiar phrasing is in place by 1891, when this book review criticizing the long-windedness of some nature writing appears in the Saturday Review:

You sentimentalize about autumn in the abstract (200 words), about autumn in Somersetshire (150 words), and about the “orchard-lawns” of Avilion (50 words). This is rather below the mark, so you hurry on to the apple-crop (100 words) and “the story of an apple-orchard” (500 words), throwing in the cricket—that “musician of the autumn”—wasps, and the “unnumbered hosts of other insects” (400 words). You now see light at the end of the tunnel, and a vigorous attack on the hibernation of these insects (250 words) prepares for a final burst on winters of unusual severity (150 words), and the thing is done before you know where you are.

There are earlier appearances of the phrase in various wordings, but all the ones I have found have been quite literal, referring to traveling through a railway tunnel.

In the 1960s, the light at the end of the tunnel became associated with the confidence (to be proven misplaced) that the U.S. would quickly win the Vietnam War. Journalist Joseph Alsop wrote on 13 September 1965:

The importance of this change that is now going on can hardly be exaggerated. It does not mean, alas, that the war is being won now, or will be won later without great effort and sacrifice. But it does mean that at last there is light at the end of the tunnel.

And the next day he penned:

You can see the transformation in the faces of American leaders like General Westmoreland, who looks like a man who suddenly sees light at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel.

The phrase would be picked up by many others writing and speaking about the war.

Of course, the U.S. continued to fight until 1973, and Saigon would fall two years after that. As a result, the phrase took on a cynical connotation, and by 1975 an addition was made to the wording of the phrase. Canadian journalist Richard Gwyn, writing about the economy in March 1975 said:

Today the predictions of U.S. government experts have begun to sound like the “light at the end of the tunnel” promises of Vietnam. Forecasts of “recovery by mid-summer” have changed to “recovery by the end of the year.” Sometimes a light in a tunnel can be that of an oncoming train.”

The light at the end of the tunnel continues to be used to convey optimism, but since the debacle of the Vietnam War its reception has always included a note of pessimism.

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Sources:

Alsop, Joseph. “Big Change in Vietnam.” San Francisco Examiner, 13 September 1965, 32.

Alsop, Joseph. “Light at End of Tunnel in Viet War.” Chillicothe Gazette (Ohio), 14 September 1965, 6.

Fallows, James. “2020 Time Capsule #8: ‘Light at the End of the Tunnel.’” The Atlantic, 25 March 2020.

Gwyn, Richard. “Restraint a ‘Farce,’ Controls a Must.” Vancouver Sun, 8 March 1975, 4.

Oxford English Dictionary, second edition, 1989, s.v. tunnel, n.

“The Rambles of a Dominie.” The Saturday Review, 18 July 1891, 93.

Photo credit: Great Western Railway, 2017.

balls to the wall / balls out

An aircraft throttle assembly with ball grips.

An aircraft throttle assembly with ball grips.

13 May 2020

The phrase balls to the wall refers to an all-out, maximum effort. The metaphor underlying this meaning isn’t clear until you understand that it got its start in the U.S. Air Force. The balls in question are the round caps on the throttle of many aircraft, and when they are pushed all the way forward, close to the front wall of the cockpit, the aircraft is generating maximum thrust.

The phrase is first recorded in William C. Anderson’s 1965 science fiction novel Adam M-1:

That’s the attitude, Captain [...] No more anxieties. Balls to the wall!

Anderson was a retired U.S. Air Force officer who had served from World War II through to the Vietnam War.

It also appears in Frank Harvey’s Air War: Vietnam from 1967:

That first Doomsday Mission (as the boys call a big balls-to-the-wall raid) against Hanoi.

There are claims that the term was in use as early as the Korean War. While these claims are plausible and even likely to be true, no one has yet produced contemporary evidence of the term’s use prior to 1965.

P-47 Thunderbolt fighter plane with nose art of a charging bull with the words “balls out,” flown by Capt. Milton Thompson of the 509th Fighter Squadron, 405th Fighter Group, 1945.

P-47 Thunderbolt fighter plane with nose art of a charging bull with the words “balls out,” flown by Capt. Milton Thompson of the 509th Fighter Squadron, 405th Fighter Group, 1945.

Of course, the term also carries a connotation of the male genitals, and this undoubtedly contributed to its appeal from the start—and its omission from early published sources—even if it isn’t the metaphor originally underlying the phrase. In this respect, it’s related to the phrase balls out, which also means unrestrained, completely committed. This phrase probably got its start as a play on all out that includes a reference to the testicles.

Balls out also got its start in the U.S. Air Force, or more accurately the U.S. Army Air Forces, but it’s older than balls to the wall. Its first known appearance is in 1945 on the nose of a P-47 fighter flown by Captain Milt Thompson.

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Sources:

Green’s Dictionary of Slang, 2020, s.v. balls, n.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, June 2007, s.v. balls-to-the-wall, adj. (and adv.), balls-out, adv. and adj.

Sheidlower, Jesse. “Balls in the Air.” Slate.com, 10 February 2006.

coronavirus / COVID-19

Transmission electron micrograph of a coronavirus, 1975.

Transmission electron micrograph of a coronavirus, 1975.

12 May 2020

Coronavirus is the name for a genus of viruses that infect mammals—including humans—and birds and can cause gastrointestinal, respiratory, and neurological disease. Corona is the Latin word for crown or wreathe, and the surface projections of the viruses resemble a solar corona when viewed under an electron microscope. The name was coined in conjunction with their classification as a separate genus in 1968. From the 16 November 1968 issue of the journal Nature:

In the opinion of the eight virologists these viruses are members of a previously unrecognized group which they suggest should be called the coronaviruses, to recall the characteristic appearance by which these viruses are identified in the electron microscope.

The coronavirus that started the global pandemic in December 2019 is called SARS-CoV-2, for Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome, CoronaVirus-2, the second coronavirus that causes SARS. (The first one being the 2002–03 outbreak.) The disease it causes is Covid-19, for Coronavirus Disease 2019. These names were in place by 21 January 2020.

The virus is also often referred to as novel coronavirus, which simply means that it is newly discovered. Novel can refer to any new virus, as seen in this quotation from a July 2004 article in the Journal of Medical Virology about the 2002–03 SARS outbreak:

Severe acute respiratory syndrome (SARS) is a newly emerged human disease caused by a novel coronavirus (SARS-CoV).

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Sources:

Chan, Paul K.S., et al. “Persistent Infection of SARS Coronavirus in Colonic Cells in Vitro.” Journal of Medical Virology, 74.1, July 2004, 1–7.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, June 2008, s.v. coronavirus, n.

Sheikh, Knvul and Roni Caryn Rabin. “The Coronavirus: What Scientists Have Learned So Far,” New York Times, 21 January 2020.

“Virology: Coronaviruses.” Nature, 220, 16 November 1968, 650.

Photo credit: U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) / Dr. Fred Murphy, 1975.