Week 6 Lecture notes

I was reading the New York Times web site. I’m an early riser -- you might want to put “absurdly” in front of the word early -- so this was nothing unusual.

I always check my e-mail first, and then I usually surf over to the Times web site for my first portion of news for the day.

On this day, I saw to my delight that the op-ed page featured a column by William Safire. Although I disagree with a lot of what Safire has to say, I enjoy reading him because of his humor and his careful and intelligent writing style.

(If you’re not in the habit of reading Safire’s New York Times Sunday Magazine column “On Language,” you should be. You’ll learn something and get a laugh every week.)

Eagerly I clicked, waited for my slower-than-slow computer to load and then began to read. At the end of the first paragraph, I saw it: a glaring, inexcusable inaccuracy. I considered it inexcusable because I knew on first reading that it was wrong.

Here’s the paragraph:

Senator Henry (The Great Compromiser) Clay was all set to get the Whig nomination to challenge President Martin Van Buren. Thurlow Weed, a New York political boss in 1840, came up with a strategy to undermine Clay's wide support among Whigs. His sorrowful message: "Clay can't win." It worked, and the Whigs went on to defeat the sitting president with Benjamin Harrison and not Henry Clay.

Benjamin Harrison? 1840?

I didn’t even have to look that one up. What Safire had mean was William Henry Harrison, Benjamin Harrison’s grandfather.

I read through the rest of the column. No more obvious errors. And I even found myself in rare agreement with what Safire was saying. He was giving George W. Bush a hard time, just as he had done with Bush’s father in 1992. It was one of the few times (in my opinion) that Safire had gotten his politics right.

Safire achieved fame in 1969 as the speech writer for Vice President Spiro Agnew. The VP that year decided to distinguish himself by delivering a set of excoriating speeches on the press. In one he called the press and the nation’s intellectual elite “nattering nabobs of negativism.” It was Safire’s line, and politicos have been quoting it ever since.

After the Nixon Administration had spent itself in the 1970s, Safire hooked on with the New York Times as a columnist, showing -- at least initially -- that the Times executives had a sense of humor. But Safire proved to be an enduring and intelligent voice, taking on the likes of George Bush and Hillary Clinton.

So, the error in Safire’s column nagged at me for a little while. Safire should have known better. In fact, I was sure he did know better. He just made a mistake. It happens.

Editors should know

What I really couldn’t understand was how the error had gotten through the Times editing process. That column had to have been read by at least one if not two copy editors. Should copy editors be expected to know the difference between William Henry and Benjamin Harrison?

Sure.

Copy editors should know lots of obscure stuff. They should know that one of the Pope’s many titles is Bishop of Rome. They should know the correct spelling of the capital of China (Beijing). They should know that the plural of court-martial is courts-martial.

Somebody who read that column should have caught that error and fixed it. He or she should have done that, first and foremost, because of a sense of pride in getting things right.

But, too, the copy editor should have fixed it because there was somebody out there in their vast readership land who, like me, would see that as an obvious error. And what would we (I) think.

After chewing on that thought and washing it down with my second cup of coffee, I then told myself that sure, mistakes happen. And if it’s in print, there’s not much to be done until the next day. But since it’s on the web, it can be fixed almost immediately.

At a few minutes after 6 a.m., I e-mailed the Times and told the editors of the error. I received no response and didn’t expect to. I figured I wasn’t the first to inform them about the error. I was just adding my voice to the din.

What I really wanted to see was how quickly -- after I knew they had been informed of the error -- they would fix it.

The error watch

The Times is a morning newspaper, which means that there probably weren’t many people there at 6 a.m. (7 a.m. in New York) to get my messages. I decided to give them a few hours. At the Chicago Tribune -- also a morning newspaper where I spent the last couple of summers -- people didn’t start showing up until about 9 or 10 a.m., and some folks didn’t get in until about noon.

It wouldn’t be unreasonable to expect the error to be fixed by 11 a.m., I thought. After all, if anyone doubted me (or the thousands of others who caught it), the fact could be easily looked up.

At 11 a.m., it was still Benjamin Harrison.

So it was at 1 p.m. and 2 p.m.

I checked frequently throughout the afternoon, but after about 3:30 p.m., I was distracted with appointments and phone calls.

A little after 5 p.m., I decided to call it a day. But before I left, I checked one last time.

William Henry Harrison.

Sometime late in the afternoon, at least 10 hours after they had been informed of the error, the denizens of the Times web site had corrected the error.

I took some satisfaction that the New York Times had finally acknowledged my attempts to help the paper “get it right.” But it still bothered me that the Times -- a newspaper that commands great and deserved respect -- should have waited so long. And that Safire and the copy staff should have missed an obscure but obvious error.

Inaccuracy, even eventually corrected, is never satisfactory.



		*Week 6: Introduction • Lecture notes • Reading room* •**
	How long does it take the New York Times to correct an error?		4:30 a.m. Thursday. I was reading the New York Times web site. I’m an early riser -- you might want to put “absurdly” in front of the word early -- so this was nothing unusual. I always check my e-mail first, and then I usually surf over to the Times web site for my first portion of news for the day. On this day, I saw to my delight that the op-ed page featured a column by William Safire. Although I disagree with a lot of what Safire has to say, I enjoy reading him because of his humor and his careful and intelligent writing style. (If you’re not in the habit of reading Safire’s New York Times Sunday Magazine column “On Language,” you should be. You’ll learn something and get a laugh every week.) Eagerly I clicked, waited for my slower-than-slow computer to load and then began to read. At the end of the first paragraph, I saw it: a glaring, inexcusable inaccuracy. I considered it inexcusable because I knew on first reading that it was wrong. Here’s the paragraph: Senator Henry (The Great Compromiser) Clay was all set to get the Whig nomination to challenge President Martin Van Buren. Thurlow Weed, a New York political boss in 1840, came up with a strategy to undermine Clay's wide support among Whigs. His sorrowful message: "Clay can't win." It worked, and the Whigs went on to defeat the sitting president with Benjamin Harrison and not Henry Clay. Benjamin Harrison? 1840? I didn’t even have to look that one up. What Safire had mean was William Henry Harrison, Benjamin Harrison’s grandfather. I read through the rest of the column. No more obvious errors. And I even found myself in rare agreement with what Safire was saying. He was giving George W. Bush a hard time, just as he had done with Bush’s father in 1992. It was one of the few times (in my opinion) that Safire had gotten his politics right. Safire achieved fame in 1969 as the speech writer for Vice President Spiro Agnew. The VP that year decided to distinguish himself by delivering a set of excoriating speeches on the press. In one he called the press and the nation’s intellectual elite “nattering nabobs of negativism.” It was Safire’s line, and politicos have been quoting it ever since. After the Nixon Administration had spent itself in the 1970s, Safire hooked on with the New York Times as a columnist, showing -- at least initially -- that the Times executives had a sense of humor. But Safire proved to be an enduring and intelligent voice, taking on the likes of George Bush and Hillary Clinton. So, the error in Safire’s column nagged at me for a little while. Safire should have known better. In fact, I was sure he did know better. He just made a mistake. It happens. Editors should know What I really couldn’t understand was how the error had gotten through the Times editing process. That column had to have been read by at least one if not two copy editors. Should copy editors be expected to know the difference between William Henry and Benjamin Harrison? Sure. Copy editors should know lots of obscure stuff. They should know that one of the Pope’s many titles is Bishop of Rome. They should know the correct spelling of the capital of China (Beijing). They should know that the plural of court-martial is courts-martial. Somebody who read that column should have caught that error and fixed it. He or she should have done that, first and foremost, because of a sense of pride in getting things right. But, too, the copy editor should have fixed it because there was somebody out there in their vast readership land who, like me, would see that as an obvious error. And what would we (I) think. After chewing on that thought and washing it down with my second cup of coffee, I then told myself that sure, mistakes happen. And if it’s in print, there’s not much to be done until the next day. But since it’s on the web, it can be fixed almost immediately. At a few minutes after 6 a.m., I e-mailed the Times and told the editors of the error. I received no response and didn’t expect to. I figured I wasn’t the first to inform them about the error. I was just adding my voice to the din. What I really wanted to see was how quickly -- after I knew they had been informed of the error -- they would fix it. The error watch The Times is a morning newspaper, which means that there probably weren’t many people there at 6 a.m. (7 a.m. in New York) to get my messages. I decided to give them a few hours. At the Chicago Tribune -- also a morning newspaper where I spent the last couple of summers -- people didn’t start showing up until about 9 or 10 a.m., and some folks didn’t get in until about noon. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to expect the error to be fixed by 11 a.m., I thought. After all, if anyone doubted me (or the thousands of others who caught it), the fact could be easily looked up. At 11 a.m., it was still Benjamin Harrison. So it was at 1 p.m. and 2 p.m. I checked frequently throughout the afternoon, but after about 3:30 p.m., I was distracted with appointments and phone calls. A little after 5 p.m., I decided to call it a day. But before I left, I checked one last time. William Henry Harrison. Sometime late in the afternoon, at least 10 hours after they had been informed of the error, the denizens of the Times web site had corrected the error. I took some satisfaction that the New York Times had finally acknowledged my attempts to help the paper “get it right.” But it still bothered me that the Times -- a newspaper that commands great and deserved respect -- should have waited so long. And that Safire and the copy staff should have missed an obscure but obvious error. Inaccuracy, even eventually corrected, is never satisfactory. Jim Stovall posted Feb. 4, 2000
		And what does it matter if a New York Times columnist gets the name of the guy who was elected president in 1840 wrong? It matters.
William Safire achieved fame with the description of the press in a line a speech he wrote for Vice President Spiro Agnew. He called the nation’s media “nattering nabobs of negativism.” That sent a lot of mad-as-hell journalists scurrying for their dictionaries.
	William Henry Harrison (top) and his grandson Benjamin at first might seem like two of our more nondescript presidents. Far from it -- at least in the grandfather’s case. The elder Harrison was a war hero who ran under the slogan of “Tippecanoe and Tyler, Too,” referring to the battle of Tippecanoe in Indiana in 1811. Harrison commanded American forces that defeated a native American alliance under Chief Tecumseh. Harrison was inaugurated president on March 4, 1841. He was 68 years old, and he delivered his inaugural address outside in harsh winter weather. He immediately succumbed to pneumonia and died a month later. His term was the shortest of any president. More significantly, he was the first president to die in office. While the Constitution says the vice president will succeed a president, in 1841 it was unclear how long the vice president should hold that office. When Harrison died, many people thought Vice President John Tyler should be simply a caretaker president until a new election could be held. Tyler thought differently, however. He refused to call a new element and served out the term until the next elections were held in 1844. Tyler thus established one of America’s most important political precedents. Benjamin Harrison, like his grandfather, had both a military and political career. During the Civil War Harrison commanded a company of Union troop under Gen. William Sherman and fought in the battle of Atlanta. In 1888 he was the Republican nominee who challenged incumbent president Grover Cleveland. Although Harrison actually poll 100,000 votes fewer than Cleveland, he won because he had more vote in the Electoral College. His most important act in office was to sign the Sherman Antitrust Act, which said that companies cannot ban together to create a monopoly or keep other companies from doing business. In 1892 Harrison was soundly defeated by former president Grover Cleveland. For more information about William Henry Harrison, click here. For more information about Benjamin Harrison, click here.
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