A NEW BIOGRAPHY RESCUES A GREAT INNOVATOR FROM THE SHADOW OF CITIZEN KANE
HISTORY IS A SELF-CORrecting process. Every historian lives amid the culture of his or her own age and to a greater or lesser extent reflects that culture and its interests and assumptions. Every historian also has prejudices, personal interests, and blind spots. But over time one historian's failings are matched by another's strengths, so that a balanced, rounded portrait of an age and the people who lived in it can emerge.
No better example of this can be had than that of what the historian Stewart Holbrook called "the age of the moguls" and some of the major players of that time, the so-called robber barons. The first histories and biographies of the era tended to be highly tendentious (as first histories often are). Some, not infrequently funded by the people involved, were unctuously laudatory; others were equally condemning. In recent years, a string of newer biographies has redressed the balance. Maury Klein's The Life and Legend of Jay Gould and The Life & Legend of E. H. Harriman, Ron Chernow's Titan: The Life of John D. Rockefeller, Sr., and Jean Strouse's Morgan: American Financier all have drawn portraits of their subjects that are thorough and honest.
But history, like life, is not always fair. Sometimes even a work of fiction is so powerful that it obliterates in the public mind all attempts by historians to draw a more accurate picture. Consider the last Plantagenet king of England, Richard III. He was not a hunchback; it is quite possible that someone else ordered the killing of the little princes in the Tower; and he was a skilled general and administrator. He was no' more brutal than his contemporaries in a brutal age. His last words were "Treason! Treason!" not "A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!"
But the mere truth does not stand a chance against a portrait painted by Shakespeare. Richard III is, to be sure, a very great play, but as history, its depiction of a power-mad cripple from whose clutches England was rescued by Henry Tudor is no more than propaganda. No matter, that is the image that will surely reside forever in the folk memory of the English-speaking peoples, despite such marvelous works of real history as Paul Murray Kendall's 1955 biography Richard III.
William Randolph Hearst, a major figure of the age of the robber barons, has suffered a similar fate. A polarizing figure, to put it mildly, Hearst was lionized (often in his own newspapers) and vilified equally in his lifetime. But the portrait of him that survives today is the one painted by the actor and director Orson Welles and the screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz in the movie Citizen Kane.
That film, as a work of fiction, is deservedly on nearly everyone's ten-greatest-ever-made list. But while its creators maintained it was a work of fiction, no one believed them. When the left-leaning Ferdinand Lundberg, author of the fiercely anti-Hearst 1936 biography Imperial Hearst, sued for plagiarism, Mankiewicz denied ever having read Lundberg's book. This claim was somewhat undercut by the fact that three copies of it were found in his library. RKO settled the case for $15,000 plus several hundred thousand dollars in court costs and attorney's fees.
But if Charles Foster Kane holds an extraordinary place in the history of American cinema, the real, flesh-and-blood William Randolph Hearst is no less fascinating. Almost 50 years after his death at 88 in 1951, he finally has gotten a biography worthy of one of the most extraordinary lives in American history. Unlike Lundberg's hatchet job, or W. A. Swanberg's lively but superficial Citizen Hearst, published in 1961, The Chief: The Life of William Randolph Hearst, by David Nasaw (Houghton Mifflin), was written with the cooperation (hut not control) of the Hearst family and the Hearst Corporation. Thus the author had access to a vast trove of papers no historian had seen before. …