"Bookman" Sold

"At no time has its publisher or its editor felt entirely free to edit the magazine in that spirit of complete independence which is so necessary to a critical literary magazine."

This graceful confession came last week from Publisher George H. Doran of Manhattan. His magazine is the Bookman (monthly). His editor is John Chipman Farrar. The purpose of the confession was to explain the sale of the Bookman to Burton Rascoe and Eeward B. Collins, for an unannounced sum. The new owners will commence with the September issue.

Doran-Farrar. The Bookman since 1921 has been amiable, even pollyannaish. Ladies' literary clubs like it. Mr. Doran, long a friend to young novelists, found a kindly young disciple in Editor Farrar, redheaded, chipper, who could gently pat the backs of hopeful literati. To many, Critic Farrar is a promising second edition of Critic William Lyon Phelps. Mr. Farrar will continue to function as editorial director of the Doran book business, will also contribute to the Rascoefied Bookman "a department somewhat like Dr. Phelps's in Scribner's--only different."*

Rascoe-Collins. The new owner-editors of the Bookman promise a magazine that will be enlarged to include "general ideas and culture." Burton Rascoe is not new on the U. S. literary scene. Born in Kentucky, he began to read Socrates and Kant at the age of 12. He was a reporter before becoming book critic for the Chicago Tribune and the New York Tribune. In 1924, the Bookman said of him: "As a human being, he possesses not even rudimentary principles; and as a critic he hasn't any esthetic standards." The Bookman accused him of commercialism, credited him with an uncanny flair for perceiving genius in unknown writers. "No one else in the world could have anticipated Jurgen by reading The Cream of the Jest." His wife, however, had this to say: "Well, he snores, grinds his teeth and moans in his sleep; but otherwise he is perfect." Mr. Rascoe likes to hear young writers' troubles, is enthusiastic, sociable, voluble. He has the long nose of intelligence; curly hair, bright eyes, rare words.

Seward Collins, Princeton ex-'22, a thin-lipped, urbane, high-strung, young man of wide reading and literary acquaintance, has been a colyumist for the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. He has tried his hand at novel writing, has peeked into psychoanalysis.

Tabloids Flayed

Before the Canadian House of Commons, at Ottawa, the Speaker, Rodolphe Lemieux, created a mild sensation last week by descending from the Chair and speaking as follows from the floor: "The Postmaster General and the Minister of Customs are both Christian gentlemen, and I hope they will confer together and devise some means to exclude from Canada the numerous pornographic newspapers and so-called 'tabloids' which are now being imported from the United States and sold on every street corner in the large Canadian cities. . . .

"These papers are a menace to Canadian youth. . . ."

Porno-Petard

Bernarr Macfadden publishes in his tabloid newspaper, the New York pornoGraphic, full, front page pictures of Rudolph Valentino's "ghost" in pajamas. He publishes composite faked pictures of old lechers, young miscegenators, alleged murderers, undressed girls. But Publisher Macfadden rises in dudgeon when similar liberties are taken with his own, more robust physique.

The New Yorkers, a revue presented last month (TIME, March 21) at the Edyth Totten Theatre, Manhattan, included a skit entitled "Bernarr Hires a Stenographer." Therein it was demonstrated how a youthful office attendant, apparently of the male sex, flits about in a bathing suit, making ready the desk of his potent employer who is to arrive presently for the purpose of hiring a stenographer. Enter a stage version of Bernarr, also in a one-piece bathing suit, with pronounced features. After setting-up exercises, he calls for the applicants to enter. As they file in, in scanty costume, each is measured by the bird-like youth for hip, breast, ankle, calf dimensions. The evidence having been accumulated, the publisher ponders the records, the while his young attendant implores him to write his memoirs. The girl with the most perfect measurements is just about to be appointed to fill the position when in marches a woman in an old-fashioned bathing suit that reaches to her knees. She presents documents from the Messrs. Morgan, Rockefeller, Gary, Schwab, et al., testifying that she is the most efficient stenographer in the U. S. After glancing at the recommendations, Bernarr glances at the applicant. Forthwith she is thrown out of the window.

This, held Attorney John Schultz, retainer of Publisher Macfadden, constituted out-and-out libel against his employer. Letters were sent bidding The New Yorkers to remove this blot on the figure of physical culture. The revuers pertly refused to comply. Attorney Schultz threatened to sue. The New Yorkers wished he would, for if there was a show in Manhattan which needed publicity, it was theirs. They had a suspicion that the constituency of the second largest and indisputably grossest tabloid in Manhattan was not of such a high order of humanity but that it would applaud the spectacle of its pastor and master, hoist with his own porno-petard.

*Dr. Phelps's book-chat department in Scribner's is entitled "As I Like It."