Walter Isaacson Great Innovators e-book boxed set

by Walter Isaacson

  The financial implications of that last observation were not lost on Franklin. He met with Whitefield and arranged a deal to be the primary publisher of his sermons and journals, which no doubt added to his zeal to publicize him. After Whitefield’s first visit, Franklin ran an advertisement soliciting orders for a series of Whitefield’s sermons at two shillings a volume. A few months later, he ran a notice that he had received so many orders that those “who have paid or who bring the money in their hands will have the preference.”

  Thousands were sold, which helped to make Franklin rich and Whitefield famous. Franklin also published ten editions of Whitefield’s journals, each five times more expensive than his almanac, and enlisted a sales force of eleven printers he knew throughout the colonies to make them bestsellers. His sister-in-law Anne Franklin of Newport took a shipment of 250. During 1739–41, more than half the books that Franklin printed were by or about Whitefield.

  Some historians have consequently concluded that Franklin’s passion for Whitefield was merely pecuniary. But that is too simplistic. As was often the case, Franklin was able to weave together seamlessly his financial interests with his civic desires and personal enthusiasms. He had a companionable personality, and he was genuinely attracted by Whitefield’s mesmerizing charisma and charitable bent. He invited Whitefield to stay at his home, and when the preacher praised the invitation as being “for Christ’s sake,” Franklin corrected him: “Don’t let me be mistaken; it was not for Christ’s sake, but for your sake.”

  In addition, despite their theological differences, Franklin was attracted to Whitefield because he was shaking up the local establishment. Franklin’s long-standing disdain for the religious elite led him to enjoy the discomfort and schisms caused by the intrusion of wildly popular itinerant preachers onto their turf. The tolerant Franklin was pleased that Whitefield’s supporters had erected, with Franklin’s financial support, a large new hall that, among other uses, could provide a pulpit to anyone of any belief, “so that even if the Mufti of Constantinople were to send a missionary to preach Mohammedanism to us, he would find a pulpit at his service.”10

  Franklin’s populist delight at the discomfort of the elite was evident in the way he stoked up a controversy about a letter sent to the Gazette by some of the town’s gentry, who wrote that Whitefield had not “met with great success among the better sort of people.” The next week, using the pen name “Obadiah Plainman,” Franklin ridiculed the use of the phrase “the better sort of people” and its implication that Whitefield’s supporters were “the meaner sort, the mob or the rabble.” Mr. Plainman said that he and his friends were proud to call themselves part of the rabble, but they hated it when people who styled themselves “better sort” used such terms and implied that common folks were “a stupid herd.”

  A haughty-sounding gentleman named Tom Trueman (or perhaps, given the name, Franklin pretending to be such a gentleman) wrote the next week to William Bradford’s more upscale newspaper to deny that such offense was intended and to accuse Mr. Plainman of fancying himself a leader of the town’s common folks. Franklin, again replying as Mr. Plainman, said he was merely “a poor ordinary” craftsman who, after his labors, “instead of going to the alehouse, I amuse myself with the books of the Library Company.” As such, he rankled at those who proclaimed themselves to be of the better sort and “look on the rest of their fellow subjects with contempt.” Though he was rising in the world in a way that would have allowed him, if he were so inclined, to put on aristocratic airs, Franklin was still allergic to snobbery and proud to be a Plainman defending the middling people.11

  By the fall of 1740, Franklin showed signs of cooling slightly toward Whitefield, though not toward the profits that came from publishing him. The preacher’s efforts to make him a “new born” believer in Calvinist orthodoxy wore thin, and valuable patrons among the Philadelphia gentry began to denounce the Gazette’s ardent flackery. In response to such criticism, Franklin printed an editorial denying (unconvincingly) any bias and restating his philosophy, first propounded in his 1731 “Apology for Printers,” that “when truth has fair play, it will always prevail over falsehood.” But he also included in the issue a letter from a preacher who criticized Whitefield’s “enthusiastic ravings,” and he subsequently published two pamphlets harshly attacking Whitefield as well as one giving Whitefield’s response. The letters in Franklin’s Gazette, 90 percent of which had been favorable to Whitefield in the first nine months of 1740, tipped mostly negative beginning in September, though the pieces written by Franklin remained positive.

  Albeit with less ardor, Franklin continued to support Whitefield over the ensuing years, and they maintained an affectionate correspondence until the preacher’s death in 1770. In his autobiography, written after Whitefield died, Franklin added a dose of ironic detachment to his warm recollections. He recounted one sermon he attended where, rather than being moved by Whitefield’s words, Franklin spent the time calculating how far his voice carried. And as for Whitefield’s effect on his spiritual life, Franklin wryly recalled, “He used, indeed, sometimes to pray for my conversion, but never had the satisfaction of believing that his prayers were heard.”12

  Publishing Wars

  As Franklin’s publishing business grew, his competition with the town’s other printer, Andrew Bradford, intensified. Throughout the early 1730s, they had poked fun at errors in each other’s papers and sparred over such matters as the death of the aspiring young Freemason and the preachings of Samuel Hemphill. There was a political and social basis to the rivalry. The well-born Bradford and his American Weekly Mercury were aligned with Pennsylvania’s “Proprietary faction,” which supported the Penn family and their appointed governors. The leather-aproned Franklin and his Pennsylvania Gazette were more antiestablishment and tended to support the rights of the elected Assembly.

  Their politics clashed during the 1733 reelection campaign of the Assembly’s speaker, Andrew Hamilton, an anti-Proprietary leader who had helped Franklin wrest the government printing job from Bradford. Franklin admired Hamilton’s antiaristocratic populism. “He was no friend to power,” Franklin wrote. “He was the poor man’s friend.” Bradford, on the other hand, printed fervent attacks on Hamilton. Among them was an essay “On Infidelity,” which was aimed at Hamilton but designed to wound Franklin as well. Another accused Hamilton of insulting the Penn family and abusing his power as head of the loan office.

  Franklin came to Hamilton’s defense with a dignified yet damning rebuttal. Cast as an account of a “Half-Hour’s Conversation” with Hamilton, the piece skewered Bradford for sins ranging from malapropism (using “contemptibly” when he meant “contemptuously”) to hiding behind the cloak of anonymity (“seeing it was commonly agreed to be wrote by nobody, he thought nobody should regard it”). Hamilton comes across as a polite Junto visitor with a touch of Poor Richard. “Throw enough dirt,” he laments, “and some will stick.”13

  Hamilton won reelection, and in 1736 he got Franklin chosen as the clerk of the Assembly. Again, public service and private profit were combined. The clerkship, Franklin freely admitted, “gave me a better opportunity of keeping up an interest among the members, which secured to me the business of printing the votes, laws, paper money, and other occasional jobs for the public, that, on the whole, were very profitable.”

  It also taught him a useful trick for seducing opponents. After one rich and well-bred member spoke against him, Franklin decided to win him over:

  I did not, however, aim at gaining his favor by paying any servile respect to him, but, after some time, took this other method. Having heard that he had in his library a certain very scarce and curious book, I wrote a note to him, expressing my desire of perusing that book, and requesting he would do me the favor of lending it to me for a few days. He sent it immediately, and I returned it in about a week with another note, expressing strongly my sense of the favor. When we next met in the House, he spoke to me (which he had never done before), and
with great civility; and he ever after manifested a readiness to serve me on all occasions, so that we became great friends, and our friendship continued to his death. This is another instance of the truth of an old maxim I had learned, which says, “He that has once done you a kindness will be more ready to do you another, than he whom you yourself have obliged.”14

  Franklin’s competition with Bradford had one interesting aspect that might seem unusual but was, then as now, somewhat common. Even as they competed against each other in some areas, like modern media barons they cooperated in others. For example, in 1733, even as they were bitter opponents in the Hamilton election, they formed a joint venture to share the risk of publishing an expensive Psalm book. At Bradford’s suggestion, Franklin handled the printing, Bradford supplied the paper, they split the costs, and each got half of the five hundred copies that were made.15

  In his competition with Bradford, Franklin had one big disadvantage. Bradford was the postmaster of Philadelphia, and he used that position to deny Franklin the right, at least officially, to send his Gazette through the mail. Their ensuing struggle over the issue of open carriage was an early example of the tension that often still exists between those who create content and those who control distribution systems.

  At one point, Franklin got Col. Alexander Spotswood, the postmaster for the colonies, to order Bradford to run an open system that would carry rival papers. But Bradford continued to make it difficult for Franklin’s papers to get carriage, forcing Franklin to bribe the postal riders. Franklin worried not only about the expense but also about the public perception. Because Bradford controlled the Philadelphia post, Franklin wrote, “it was imagined he had better opportunities of obtaining news, [and] his paper was thought a better distributor of advertisements than mine.”

  Franklin was able to wrest the Philadelphia postmastership away when it was discovered that Bradford had been sloppy in his bookkeeping. Colonel Spotswood, with Franklin’s encouragement, withdrew Bradford’s commission in 1737 and offered the job to Franklin. “I accepted it readily,” Franklin noted, “and found it of great advantage, for though the salary was small, it facilitated the correspondence that improved my newspaper, increased the number demanded, as well as the advertisements to be inserted, so that it came to afford me a very considerable income.” Bradford’s paper declined accordingly.

  Instead of retaliating, Franklin allowed Bradford’s Mercury to be carried through the mails along with the Gazette and others—at least initially. In his autobiography, Franklin congratulated himself for being so open. In fact, however, that policy lasted just two years. Because Bradford never settled the accounts from his tenure as Philadelphia postmaster, Spotswood sent Franklin an order to “commence suit against him” and “no longer suffer to be carried by the Post any of his newspapers.”

  Bradford had to resort to Franklin’s old habit of bribing the postal riders to deliver his papers unofficially. Franklin knew this and tolerated it, just as Bradford had earlier tolerated it for Franklin. But even this partial indulgence by Franklin was not to last.16

  In 1740, he and Bradford became involved in a race to start the first general-interest magazine in America. Franklin came up with the idea, but once again he was betrayed by a confidant, just as happened when he first planned to launch a newspaper. As a wiser Poor Richard would pointedly proclaim in his 1741 almanac, “If you would keep your secret from an enemy, tell it not to a friend.”

  This time the turncoat was a lawyer named John Webbe, who had contributed essays to the Gazette and had been chosen by Franklin to file the suit against Bradford that Colonel Spotswood ordered. Franklin described the magazine to Webbe and offered him the job of editor. But Webbe took the idea to Bradford and struck a better deal. On November 6, 1740, Bradford announced plans for The American Magazine. One week later, Franklin published his own plans for The General Magazine.

  In his announcement, Franklin denounced Webbe’s betrayal. “This Magazine…was long since projected,” he wrote. “It would not, indeed, have been published quite so soon, were it not that a Person, to whom the scheme was communicated in confidence, has thought fit to advertise it in the last Mercury…and reap the Advantage of it wholly to himself.” The ensuing spat led Franklin to ban completely Bradford’s paper from the mails. It also turned the question of postal access into a public issue.

  Webbe responded in the Mercury the next week with a sharp counterattack of his own. He particularly objected to one of Franklin’s less endearing traits: his clever and often sly way of implying allegations rather than saying them outright. Franklin’s indirection, “like the slyness of a pickpocket,” was more “dastardly” than the audacity of a “direct liar,” Webbe wrote. “The strokes being oblique and indirect, a man cannot so easily defend himself against them.” Franklin liked to believe that his method of using indirect insinuation was less offensive than confrontational argument, but it sometimes led to even greater enmity and a reputation for crafty deceit.

  Franklin did not respond. With an exquisite sense of how to goad Webbe and Bradford, he merely reprinted his original notice in his next issue of the Gazette, including the same allegation of Webbe’s duplicity. This led Webbe to publish another screed in the Mercury. Once again, Franklin showed infuriating restraint: he did not respond, but again reprinted his original notice and allegation.

  Webbe escalated the dispute in the December 4 Mercury with an allegation guaranteed to draw a response from Franklin. “Since my first letter,” Webbe wrote, Franklin had “taken upon him to deprive the Mercury of the benefit of the Post.” Franklin replied the following week with a somewhat disingenuous explanation. It had been a year, he said, since Bradford’s Mercury had been barred free use of the mails. This had nothing to do with the dispute over the magazines. Instead, it was at the direct order of Colonel Spotswood. To prove his point, Franklin printed Spotswood’s letter. He said that Bradford and Webbe knew this to be the case, Webbe in particular, as he had been the lawyer Franklin retained to file the suit.

  Webbe replied by laying out the history of the postal practices. Yes, he conceded, Spotswood had ordered Franklin to stop carrying Bradford’s paper. But, as Franklin well knew, the riders had continued to carry it unofficially. Moreover, Webbe charged, Franklin himself had confided to people that he permitted this arrangement because it helped assure that Bradford would take care not to print anything too harmful to Franklin. “He had declared,” wrote Webbe, “that as he favored Mr. Bradford by permitting the Postman to distribute his Papers, he had him therefore under his thumb.”

  The public debate over postal practices quieted down as each side raced to put out its magazine. In the end, Bradford and Webbe won by three days. Their American Magazine came off the press February 13, 1741, and Franklin’s General Magazine appeared on the 16th.

  The word magazine, as then used, tended to mean a collection drawn from newspapers and other places. The contents of Franklin’s, patterned after London’s ten-year-old Gentleman’s Magazine, were surprisingly dry: official proclamations, reports on government proceedings, discussion of paper currency issues, some smatterings of poetry, and a report about Whitefield’s orphanage.

  The formula failed. Bradford’s magazine folded in three months, Franklin’s in six. No memorable writing from Franklin came out of this process, except a poem he wrote parodying in Irish dialect one of the advertisements in Bradford’s magazine. But the competition to launch the magazine did kindle Franklin’s interest in the power of the postal system.17

  Sally Franklin

  In 1743, eleven years after the birth of their short-lived son, Franky, the Franklins had a baby girl. Named Sarah after Deborah’s mother, and called Sally, she delighted and charmed both of her parents. When she was 4, Franklin wrote his mother that “your granddaughter is the greatest lover of her book and school of any child I ever knew.” Two years later, he provided a similar report: “Sally grows a fine girl, and is extremely industrious with her needle and deligh
ts in her books. She is of most affectionate temper, and perfectly dutiful and obliging, to her parents and to all. Perhaps I flatter myself too much, but I have hopes that she will prove an ingenious, sensible, notable and worthy woman.”

  Franklin half-seriously pushed the notion that his young daughter might someday marry the son of William Strahan, a London printer who was one of his English correspondents. (In this he was not sexist: he also tried to fix up his son, William, and later his two grandsons with children of his English and French friends, all to no avail.) His descriptions of Sally in his letters to Strahan reveal both his affection for her and the traits he looked for in a daughter. “She discovers daily the seeds and tokens of industry and economy, and in short, of every female virtue,” he wrote when she was 7. Six years later, he wrote, “Sally is indeed a very good girl, affectionate, dutiful, and industrious, has one of the best hearts, and though not a wit, is for one of her years by no means deficient in understanding.”

  In one of his childhood debates with John Collins, Franklin had argued in favor of giving girls as well as boys an education, a case he reiterated as Silence Dogood. He practiced these preachings to some degree with Sally, with a predictable emphasis on practical subjects. He made sure she was taught reading, writing, and arithmetic. At her request, he got her French lessons, though her interest soon waned. He also insisted that she learn accounting; when a publishing partner he had in Charleston died and his wife had to take over the business, it reinforced in Franklin the practical view that girls should be taught accounting “as likely to be of more use to them and their children in case of widowhood than either music or dancing.”

  When Sally was only 8, Franklin imported from England a large shipment of books for her. The idea was that she would be in charge of selling them at his print shop, but presumably she might also learn something from them herself. Included in the order were three dozen manuals from the Winchester School, four dictionaries, and two dozen copies of a collection of “tales and fables with prudential maxims.”