How Joseph Pulitzer Saved the Statue of Liberty

Fox Photos/Getty Images
Fox Photos/Getty Images

It’s hard to imagine what New York City would look like without the Statue of Liberty. Yet there was a time in American history, over a century ago, when Lady Liberty nearly wound up in Philadelphia or San Francisco. The fact that she still holds her torch aloft on Liberty Island in New York Harbor is a testament to the will of the American people—though the call to action came from Joseph Pulitzer, a Hungarian immigrant who came to this country penniless and remade himself into a successful newspaper publisher.

Pulitzer’s name is associated with many things: the sensationalized style of reporting his newspaper sometimes employed, called yellow journalism; the bitter rivalry he had with William Randolph Hearst, another newspaper mogul; and of course the Pulitzer Prize, which Pulitzer established via an endowment in his will.

He was also a galvanizer who believed print media could be used to influence people for the betterment of society. Perhaps the best example of this "journalism of action," as his rival Hearst called it, is how Pulitzer handled the news that the Statue of Liberty was in jeopardy.

In 1885, the dismantled statue was shipped to America as a gift from France. It was intended to be a symbol of American liberty and democracy, as well as a token of the bond forged between the two allies during the American Revolution. France had paid for the statue in its entirety; all it needed was a pedestal to stand on. America was on the hook for designing and constructing the pedestal at an expense of about $250,000 (about $6.55 million in 2019 dollars).

The American Committee for the Statue of Liberty, which was tasked with raising funds for the construction of the monument, raised a little over half of the funds. Both the state of New York and U.S. Congress refused to cover the remainder. The pieces of Lady Liberty ended up sitting in a warehouse, and at one point, the fundraising committee threatened to send the statue back to France if it didn't get the necessary funds.

Joseph Pulitzer
Hulton Archive/Getty Images

This was before the advent of American philanthropy, which began around the time that Andrew Carnegie published his 1889 "The Gospel of Wealth"—an article urging other Gilded Age millionaires to give away a portion of their wealth for the common good. So if the committee was going to get the money for its pedestal, they were going to have to get it from average Americans. The committee made public appeals across the country for donations of "any amount, however large and however small." In exchange for their subscription to the statue fund, donors were promised an illustrated certificate.

But it proved difficult to convince Americans outside of New York to open their pocketbooks. As one Indianan put it, the monument was seen as a “New York affair,” rather than “a national matter.” Another person questioned why the fundraising committee was trying to get “the people of Chicago and Connecticut … to pay the expense that those of New York would like to avoid," according to newspaper accounts.

Several cities offered to pay for the pedestal in exchange for the exclusive rights to erect the statue on their territory. An article published by the Philadelphia Press said the city would welcome the statue to its Fairmount Park. San Francisco said Lady Liberty would look lovely standing in front of the Golden Gate strait (the bridge that would bear the strait's name had not yet been built). Boston and Baltimore also made bids for the statue.

That’s when Pulitzer stepped in. He sponsored small fundraisers, which included boxing matches, theater productions, art shows, and the sale of mini Statues of Liberty, and published multiple editorials in his newspaper, The New York World (later shortened to The World), in an attempt to garner sympathy for the plight of the statue.

In his most famous editorial, Pulitzer wrote, “We must raise the money! The World is the people's paper, and now it appeals to the people to come forward and raise the money.”

He went on to add:

“The $250,000 that the making of the Statue cost was paid in by the masses of the French people—by the working men, the tradesmen, the shop girls, the artisans—by all, irrespective of class or condition. Let us respond in like manner. Let us not wait for the millionaires to give us this money. It is not a gift from the millionaires of France to the millionaires of America, but a gift of the whole people of France to the whole people of America.”

Remarkably, it worked. Pulitzer received small donations from 125,000 people, which amounted to a sum of $102,000 (or roughly $2.7 million in today’s dollars). The money was sent to the Statue of Liberty’s fundraising committee, and the monument’s future in New York was secured.

Construction of the pedestal
Construction of the Statue of Liberty's pedestal
StatueLibrtyNPS, Flickr // CC BY 2.0

As a way of thanking the donors, Pulitzer printed their names in his newspaper, regardless of whether they had contributed a dime or a dollar. This early experiment in pre-internet crowdfunding proved to be a pioneering example of what average Americans could accomplish without the backing of the rich.

Pulitzer’s paper continued to print news of the statue’s development, and did so in a most peculiar way. “In one editorial after another, the publisher spoke of the statue as if it were a human being and, at the time of her inauguration, went so far as to ‘interview’ her about the New York mayoral campaign of 1886,” Edward Berenson writes in The Statue of Liberty: A Transatlantic Story (she picked eventual winner Abram Hewitt over future U.S. president Theodore Roosevelt).

The Statue of Liberty ultimately became a symbol of America and American values, which extend far beyond the New York Harbor. And for that, we can thank Pulitzer and his powers of persuasion.

10,000 People Gathered at Stonehenge to Welcome the Summer Solstice

Finnbarr Webster, Getty Images
Finnbarr Webster, Getty Images

There are plenty of reasons to welcome the start of summer. Today, people visiting Stonehenge took that celebration to a whole new level.

The BBC reported that an estimated 10,000 people made the pilgrimage to the 5000-year-old site to partake in summer solstice festivities. "Stonehenge was built to align with the Sun, and to Neolithic people, the skies were arguably as important as the surrounding landscape," Susan Greaney, a senior historian at English Heritage, said in a statement. "At solstice we remember the changing daylight hours, but the changing seasons, the cycles of the Moon, and movements of the Sun are likely to have underpinned many practical spiritual aspects of Neolithic life."

These spiritual aspects are just one of the many fascinating facts about the summer solstice; the day is an extremely old calendar event recognized by ancient cultures across the globe. They include the Druids and other pagans, whose tradition of observing the solstice at Stonehenge has long been upheld by modern revelers.

Scientifically speaking, Stonehenge is an optimal viewing place for the solstice due to its structure. According to TIME, the site’s architects appeared to have kept both the summer and winter solstices in mind during its construction, as the positions of the stones are specifically tuned to complement the sky on both occasions.

The solstices were sacred to the pagans, whose modern-day followers continue to honor their rituals. Pagans in particular refer to the day as Litha, and mark it with activities such as meditation, fire rites, and outdoor yoga.

“What you’re celebrating on a mystical level is that you’re looking at light at its strongest," Frank Somers, a member of the Amesbury and Stonehenge Druids, said in 2014. "It represents things like the triumph of the king, the power of light over darkness, and just life—life at its fullest."

Those who were unable to make the journey can head over to the Stonehenge Skyscape project's website, where English Heritage’s interactive live feed fully captured the experience.

Tourists Are Picking Apart Britain's Oldest Tree

Paul Hermans, Wikimedia Commons // CC BY-SA 3.0

The Fortingall Yew in the Fortingall churchyard in Perthshire, Scotland has seen a lot. Since it started growing at least 2000 years ago, it's been present for the Roman settlement of Scotland, the shift from paganism to Christianity, and the country's induction into the United Kingdom. But after standing for millennia, the ancient tree is facing its greatest threat yet. Tourists are removing twigs and branches from the tree to take home as souvenirs, and the tree is under so much stress that it's spontaneously changing sexes, Atlas Obscura reports.

Because of how the tree grows, it's hard to date the Fortingall Yew precisely. It comprises several separate trunks that have hollowed out over the years, making it easier for the tree to support itself in its old age. Based on historical measurements and 19th-century ring counts, the yew has been around for at least two millennia, but it could date back as far as 5000 years. That makes it the oldest tree in Britain and one of the oldest living things in Europe.

That impressive title means the tree gets a lot of visitors, not all of whom are concerned with extending its lifespan even longer. A stone and iron wall built in the Victorian era encloses the tree, but that hasn't stopped people from climbing over it to break off pieces or leave behind keepsakes like beads and ribbons.

As the abuse adds up, the tree has responded in concerning ways. It sprouted red berries this spring, a sign that the tree is transitioning to a different sex for the first time in its life. Yew trees are either male or female, and sex changes among the species are incredibly rare and misunderstood. Some botanists believe it's a reaction to stress. The change may be a survival mechanism intended to increase the specimen's chances of reproducing.

Scientists aren't sure why this particular yew, which was formerly male, sprouted berries on its upper branches, an exclusively female characteristic, but they've collected the berries to study them. The seeds from the berries will be preserved as part of a project to protect the genetic diversity of yew trees across the globe.

In the mean time, caretakers of the Fortingall Yew are imploring visitors to be respectful of the tree and keep their hands to themselves.

[h/t Atlas Obscura]

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