SOURCE: Badaracco, Claire. “The Influence of Publicity Typologies on Sherwood Anderson's News Values.” Journalism Quarterly 66, no. 4 (winter 1989): 979-86.

[In the following essay, Badaracco analyzes the influence of advertising and marketing techniques on Anderson's early-twentieth-century news columns in which he explored the development of the emerging American business class.]

The rise of journalistic mass markets and commercial language trades, as the advertising journal writer Sherwood Anderson predicted, would so saturate the future American Public's appetite for news that its understanding of publicity would become second nature.¹ Advertisements, political propaganda, business pamphlets, brochures, catalogs and trade journals (what Frank Luther Mott² classified as synonymous with “house organs”) were so abundant, according to Lawrence Romaine, that a catalogue of this type of printing in America between 1744-1900 would comprise 50 volumes.³ Mott's categorization bears re-examination: there is greater differentiation among this classification of commercial writing than has been suggested to date, and less distinction between “house organs” and “legitimate journalism” than might at first blush appear. Journalism historians will find ample evidence in the 1895-1920 trade journals of bona-fide news coverage.

Roland Marchand's recent iconographic analysis of how The American Dream was advertised in 1920-1940 includes evidence from leading trade journals.⁴ My analysis is focused on the 1880-1920 period, and my method has been to employ economic and content analysis of the news, opinion columns, trend analyses and editorials in 20 of the more than 200 publicity and allied trade journals of this period. I include small literary journals with other types of commercial and trade journals: this is not merely a bibliographical or academic nuance. To exclude small literary journals from the marketplace of commercial literature during this period, or to separate trade journalism from mass market commercial literature, is to overlook a critical transformation in American cultural values at the turn of the century that was influenced by the rise of mass markets, news and publicity trades. That development is the subject of this article, and I have used Sherwood Anderson's work in the publicity trade press as a representative case study.

The modern public's saturation with dramatic events, Anderson predicted, would produce “efficient public men.” They would lead “what the newspapers call an exemplary life,” and from among their ranks the nation's journalists would pick those to “write up” as celebrities,⁵ becoming “best known for their well-knowness,” as Daniel Boorstin put it in his 1961 classic The Image: A Guide to Pseudo-Events in America.⁶ In Anderson's time, he reported on the early demographic indicators of the emerging class of professional propagandists in an economy where public opinion climates, newspapers, publicity, manufactured products, reputation and faith were co-dependent and meshed imperceptibly.

Men had learned to put their faith in … publicity. This had become the central, the true faith. … Have I not myself seen how every year machinery becomes more and more efficient? Does not efficiency in machinery mean less men employed? … it is no longer a question of how much wages … but of whether or not men are to be employed at all. … More and more goods, with less and less people employed. That is prosperity … how can you manage that? By publicity. By publicity. Advertise. Advertise. What a strange childish faith! … Words. Declare we are a prosperous people. Keep declaring it. Have all of the newspaper editors declare it loudly. Have all the leaders of industry give out interviews. A strange faith in words. We writers should not object to that faith. Most of us get on very well.⁷

In his later life as a rural newspaper editor, Anderson's “faith” in words vascillated between “imagination” and “realism,” and their respective value for a commercial writer. Part of the 18th century textual tradition that Romaine, Charles Evans and Will Ransom catalogued, trade journals carried “stories” of all types, from what William Dean Howells termed in 1888 “barnumized” facts, to legitimate business news.⁸ Anderson was never ambivalent about the reciprocal influence exerted on culture by human character in commerce, even when he was immersed in it in Chicago, circa 1903-13, where the trade press flourished, and where modern publicity techniques originated. Anderson never mistrusted his boyish instincts about how news value in the 20th century would be profoundly influenced by publicity.

As a consequence of his early trade journalism experience, Anderson never had to learn what the writers of previous generations fought to understand: he knew his audience, their interests and how to target readers so they would buy what he wrote. Yet as a popular writer, the argument could be made, Anderson was bettered by the succeeding generation—journalists like Hemingway—who expected commercial success without questioning that their realistic style might be compromised by the exercise of imaginative fiction writing.⁹ As a copywriter, Anderson in his columns for Agricultural Advertising helped frame the problem of news value for the modern journalist as an aesthetic as well as ethical debate. He was a private man recording realistically the traffic of events called “news,” conversing in a commercial language designed to capture the interest of the broadest segment of the American Public in a democracy of goods.¹⁰

The distinctions between “high” and “low” culture, once very clear in the 19th Century, became less certain in the early decades of the 20th. Whether or not writing from the imagination was a “higher” good than writing from observation and experience concerned both journalists and fiction writers. Trade journals, newspapers and magazines were co-dependent, with the rise in popularity of one genre influencing the demise of another, and the emergence of one trade having a spin-off effect, creating new markets for allied professional groups. Commercial writers worked in several niches of the language-products economy simultaneously, as did Anderson, or moved from one language trade to another. Trade literature was “a well established development” in journalism, “very complete and barely distinguishable from ‘legitimate’ publications” as early as 1910.¹¹ These publications “moved beyond mere trade information and became vehicles for … discussing [and] … debating professional qualifications … and methods,” in the opinion of contemporaneous commentators.¹² The journalism marketplace became, in the hands of trade columnists like Anderson, another “great moral show,” where advertisements competed with bona-fide news events, as Roland Marchand and Frank Presbury have implied.¹³

Throughout his life as an advertising copywriter, occasional poet, then popular novelist, then rural newspaper editor, Anderson's style retained its definition from the interests of his early audience.¹⁴ The subjects of his “Rot and Reason,” and “Business Types” columns written for Agricultural Advertising between 1903 and 1913, became prototypes for his later literary work, including poems published in Harriett Monroe's Poetry (1917), and his first novel, Winesburg, Ohio (1919).

A PHILOSOPHY OF PUBLICS

It might be argued that “news,” the product that epitomized the uncommon, the deviation from daily life as usual, was the catalyst that transformed American Romanticism of the late 19th century into the Realism of the early 20th. The public's attention was redirected from news about the humanity of heroes to uncovering what was heroic about being human. This latter circumstance took certain powers of invention, of course, yet the same motivation of journalists to seek out stories with uncommon human interest also precipitated the rise of publicists, who sought coverage and “write-ups” of the products and individuals they aimed to make well known by inventing a place for them above the ordinary.

Evolutionists, such as John Fiske, and philosophers such as William James debated the point publicly in several consecutive issues of the North American Review as early as 1881.¹⁵ Between the philosophical questions raised by social Darwinism, and Jamesian philosophy about the relationship of environment to genius, whether or not biology provided a paradigm for human selection, the argument developed about what idiosyncratic attributes typified an American Public.

Does not the American continent produce certain modifications of character … ? May not these modifications be transmitted to descendants, and be gradually accumulated so as to bring about a new type?

[Grant Allen]

… the average height of men in the United States may be about five feet and eight inches, very few men being shorter than five feet and four inches, or taller than six feet; but in the side-tents which accompany the “great moral exhibition,” the circus, one may for a quarter of a dollar, see giants eight feet in height, or dwarfs like General Tom Thumb. It is just the same with men's intellectual capacities. …

[John Fiske]¹⁶

The lack of sentimentality, appreciation of realism, and devotion to journalistic objectivity in writing about the average American Public, as news, and authentic human interest in characterization, formed a values base for the emerging professional codes of the allied language trades.

ANDERSON'S TYPOLOGY OF PUBLICS

In 1903, Sherwood Anderson, as advertising solicitor and copywriter for the Long Critchfield agency, publishers of Agricultural Advertising (1901-1917), attracted immediate popular interest, and an offer to write for the Saturday Evening Post, which Anderson turned down to stay at his trade desk.¹⁷ As Anderson developed his column, he adapted the conversational realism and pictorial style to the interests of his business audiences. In analyzing “Business Types,” he mixed realistic character study with imaginative moralism.

In one of Anderson's most important columns for Agricultural Advertising titled “The Sales Master and The Selling Organization” Anderson asserted that in America “all men are salesmen,” and the “beau ideal of the average businessman” was a “moralized Standard Oil Company.”¹⁸ He also saw the relationship between the “organization man” and the advertising agency as one in flux, with the growth of “the organization man” placing demands on the publicist for more than publicity, “for sound, practical business advice,” functioning more like a lawyer than a salesman. Persuasive language, in other words, was evolving from “pitch” to “counsel.”

Every man must have his opinion … and then sit back to be admired. Beardless youths write strong sentences, print them on little colored placards and mail them about in offices, and the man who cannot “make good” in a $2,000 position must write his book or pamphlet, setting down in serial rows all of the infallible precepts- … like honest old Ben Franklin ruling his little note book that he might write down from day to day his inspired rules for living a perfect life. … This is evident in the pages of the magazines, where the old, cock-sure, “absolutely pure” advertiser is being replaced by the man who, in a clear, pleasing way, tells the people “the reasons why.”¹⁹

The strength of the publicist, Anderson argued, was in his position, being “on the outside of” the corporation, and beyond the reach of the organization man, “The Sales Master.”²⁰ This was the moral equivalent of objectivity for journalists. Once inside an organization, “safely seated,” “behind rows of desks,” that journalistic quality of objectivity about events that previously had allowed him to be “a clear-headed, wide awake outside Type” would be lost.

There is a growing demand for the advertising man of a quick sympathy and appreciation of the ends sought by the sales manager; men who, because of their wide acquaintanceship and their study of many problems, are able to keep the inside man alive to the other side of the story, and who help him to see the effects of his work upon the public … a class of business physicians. …²¹

With the development of Anderson's trade journal column, the variations on “Types” of men he analyzed became increasingly individualized. Their habits explained why they failed or succeeded in business. Human character, if it caused a man to fail, could be regarded as bonafide news if printed in the newspapers, or as a moral fable if printed in the trade press.

Each of Anderson's “Types” could be found among those working in the commercial language trades: some, like the “Fussy Man,” “everlastingly busy,” who would button-hole and glad-hand his way through life while the “Trimmer” worked noiselessly, “like a finely balanced machine,” the epitome of the editorial mind which “cuts things out.”²² As “rare as a toad at a live stock show,” The Trimmer, Anderson noted, could be found “in any business.”

“The Trimmer” … “uses his brain. He is mentally busy. The rest of you work hard enough with your hands—altogether too hard—that is one of your troubles. … Look at the common attitude of the president of almost any of your business institutions. The moment he sees a man sitting calmly looking out of a window, he jumps to the conclusion that the man is idling. It never occurs to him that the man may be working with his brain. … [If] You must be a fussy American … walk feverishly up and down; swear when your train does not arrive; make a great show … in the end you won't get much of anything done, but, at least, you won't … get talked about in the newspapers and the magazines … as queer and indifferent … when you die … that is for the Trimmer.”²³

The optimistic, forever “Boyish” man, had the talent to make negative news sound positive, a fundamental “spin doctor” techniques of the propagandist.

… when a man turns forty and there are a lot of raw places where his harness doesn't fit just right, it takes courage, boyishness and almost heroism to laugh and be a boy.²⁴

The “Discouraged Man,” who begins to believe in his own myth, the tales he spins to sell others on things he himself knows are untrue, take on a quality of reality to him through constant repetition.

… Paint the front of your shop [the Discouraged Man says]. Hire a good-looking lady cashier. Throw out those Louisiana Exposition cigars and get in line. You're lying in Nearville, my man. Nearville the unknown and unheralded, the reticent, but, behold! a month passeth and the memory of man gladly forgets, and the Whirlwind Washer gets its picture in the newspapers from Maine to California.²⁵

The “Undeveloped Man,” is naturally talented, someone who “knows the value of words,” but is “wasted” in an industrial job, who “in six months” could be making people believe he “could pull their teeth by mail.”²⁶ In “The Lightweight,”²⁷ and “The Born Quitter,”²⁸ Anderson saw the ordinary workingman with “no philosopher” in him, who gets beat to the punch repeatedly in a competitive, “pell-mell” life, who “will make the news if he isn't careful,” as a suicide:

Business wants … more newspaper editors, more editors, more workers who can shut their eyes to the main chance occasionally and work for the game itself. Let's … stick to the … general hurrah for things … take a look at the heads we hit and stop occasionally to engender a little ginger and hope into the limber-legged fellow beside us, the “lightweight.”²⁹

Anderson was an advertising solicitor, a travelling salesman as well as copywriter. His occupational trend report circa 1905, on the disappearance of “The Travelling Man,”³⁰ a “Noisy Johnny,” in loud clothes, diamonds, and “a grip on the affections of dining room girls,” was accurate, if somewhat self-serving. Yet the news of the disappearance of the old-style agent, and the emergence of a commercial language-merchant class of professional business propagandists, bourgeoise moderns, “clean, well-read, and clever,” was accurately reported.³¹

In a world where “the Napoleons are dead,” and Americans settled into “buying and selling and eating three meals a day,” and commercial writers claimed that by “eating a certain kind of breakfast food we could next week paint a great picture, write a poem or lead an army to victory,” “The Silent Man”³² represented natural, even heroic wisdom, the “real power of silence,” “the ability to get things done” in a celebrity-saturated market. Occasionally, a true genius would emerge, the hero whose actions spoke louder than his words, a man like Lindbergh, as Anderson later wrote.

… was he not all poetry once? … for a day and a night, out there alone over the Atlantic—the American eagle come to life—flown off the American dollar for the time.³³

“The Man of Affairs,” Anderson based on his own autobiography, a potentially tragic man, someone “clean, frugal” whose “morals are right.” Once he learns, however, about “the weakness of humanity,” this type of man plays upon it for his own profit, slipping easily into becoming someone who is “a product of the times and the opportunities.”³⁴ By not playing on those opportunities, Anderson raised the value of his craft, what he later called “taking control,” and elevated his own social position above both publicists and journalists, or so it might be argued that he felt. Anderson was trying to avoid becoming this “Type,” a worldly man who manipulates others through language, for him the essence of the modern writer's tragedy.

In the midst of bourgeois American business life, Anderson saw a place for the “only real gentlemen,” whom he dubbed “The Good Fellow”; genial, “born, not made,” an aristocrat among technocrats.

The real good fellow, like the real poet, is born, not made. He [makes a man realize] that he is a man on the earth with other men; that he has a right to breathing room; to an opinion. …³⁵

President Roosevelt was the epitome of Anderson's “Sales Master,” extending business principles into the political arena. Roosevelt was first of all a salesman to the American Public; secondarily, he himself was capable of “making news.”

The first Roosevelt administration was an advertising campaign for the square deal. The people of America stood for the appropriation and followed it up with a new four years' contract for the big bodied, earnest man who engineered things … if within the past decade America has got into its rightful place in the councils of the nations … isn't it because we have had the right kind of an advertising man to make for us our front before the world? … We believe that the dignity of the office this man fills is not injured by his appreciation of publicity … in our conception of the word, good advertising carries with it good goods, good intentions, making good; and in the present trip of the President or any of his impulsive actions of the past may be classed as advertising campaigns, he has at least carried with him the goods. He not only got the mountain lions he went after, but he got the good will of the people, all through the West, who heard him talk of the square deal; and he renewed again their faith in the good intentions of the government he represents.³⁶

“Advertising a Nation,” Anderson's column devoted to Roosevelt's Westward expansion campaign, featured a full page photograph of the President in cowboy attire, “on his way to the Colorado wilderness,” sitting astride his horse with rifle at the ready and a belt of bullets under his rough trail coat. Roosevelt, Anderson intended his audience to note, was, not unlike Anderson, a travelling salesman, a solicitor for America, a metaphor for so much of the west and the rough ways of commercial language trades, which had yet to arrive, but were “on their way.” Roosevelt was not only a political and public hero, in Anderson's view, but an intuitive publicist, authentic and credible.

In some of the older states of this Union, where civilization is supposed to have been carried to a higher and more perfect plane, there has developed a cynical type of man who get his chief pleasure out of life by laughing at the pretensions and the advertising activities of such public men as President Roosevelt … Roosevelt … fits naturally into the life of the country where men are in the raw and know not the glories of the frock coat … [though he was] born amid the roar of Broadway.³⁷

In the same neighborhood where Anderson wrote his “Business Types” columns for Agricultural Advertising, Harriet Monroe began to market Poetry in 1912, attempting to get the public to think of the tight, metrical or rhymed language as a performing art, “like the city symphony,” which she hoped would put Chicago “in the news.”

We feel that the magazine is the most important aesthetic advertisement Chicago ever had … our work is of more far-reaching influence. … Our matter of course dependence upon New York for all its intellectual initiative is a blight at the heart of our national life.³⁸

In the period when many of the proliferating trade journals barely survived, Monroe's financial success was significant. Based on her conviction about “the necessity of better circulation through all the members of this giant country,” Monroe tried to “make news” with poetry.

Monroe called the types of Americans who “made tradition,” that is, who made news by their actions, however common or heroic, “living realities.”³⁹ Roosevelt accomplished that admirably for the West and the Cowboy. President Roosevelt's westward expansion campaign had brought cowboys to the front page of newspapers. In the summer of 1917, Associate Editor Alice Corbin Henderson wrote an editorial about the cowboy songs of the west and southwest; she did not believe “that the American public is as puritanical as the press would have us believe.”⁴⁰

In that issue, Monroe featured a number of western songs, including selections from John Lomax's “The Old Chisholm Trail.” Among Anderson's six poems, for which he received $75, was “Song of Stephen The Westerner,” featured on Page 1 of the following issue. In addition, the series contained several spinoffs from his “Business Types” columns, titled “Song of the Drunken Businessman,” and “Song of Industrial America.”⁴¹

At a time when all literature, both that which could be called “serious,” part of the high culture, and that which was commercial, part of the popular culture, struggled for a mass market niche, publicity offered an audience the language of something uncommon—not unlike news—in an increasingly standardized economy of undifferentiated goods.

We had got into a new age almost over night. What had happened to us? Standardization, for one thing. … As anyone will understand, the man who owns a factory for the making of women's dresses, chewing gum, cigars, automobiles, men's hats, must … create in the public mind a widespread demand for one kind of cigar … one make of automobile. As a natural result of the demand for standardization of taste and material desires came the modern magazine. The real purpose, as everyone understands, was to create through advertising, a nation-wide demand for certain commodities. The magazines were business institutions run by business men … as propaganda instruments for business expansion. … Our minds will not become standardized. They fly from the machine to the man. There remains a curious interest in one another.⁴²

Publicity language offered an exaggerated faith in its own reality, a self-conscious need to announce its credibility, its verisimilitude, an “effect produced by all the … photographic reproductions of life,” according to Anderson. But that realism would always be undermined, in his view, by the needs to meet the demands of the larger reality, the American Public.

There is always that huge, self-satisfied American audience made up of all kinds of people with little prejudices, hates and fears that must not be offended. …⁴³

By the time Anderson became a full time newspaper editor in his later years, he had moved through several stages of faith and subsequent disbelief. As a young copywriter and trade journalist in 1903, he had described how the lessons of character types found in the publicity trades were applicable to the manner in which all men conducted their commercial affairs. Anderson's appreciation of human interest led him into increasingly realistic portrayals of characters for the next 20 years. Within a decade after publishing his first poetry and novels, and “moving up” as a writer, Anderson believed that America had changed the locus of its faith, from publicity to machines. The young engineer in Perhaps Women (1931), Anderson sees as “the type of American young men in whom our faith is placed now.”

The young man … dreams … of some day seeing a mill built that would employ no people at all. … They will all be highly paid specialists. They will stroll through the mill, listening and looking. The cotton will come in at one end of the mill and the cloth flow out at the other. No human hand will touch it.⁴⁴

Finally, as a working journalist in 1941, Anderson came full circle, putting his own faith not in realism but in the imagination.

My own belief is that the writer with a notebook in his hand is always a bad workman, a man who distrusts his own imagination. Such a man describes actual scenes accurately, he put down actual conversations … realism, in so far as the word means real to life, is always bad art, although it may possibly be very good journalism.⁴⁵

In the end, his faith landed somewhere closer to the realism, “Barnumized,” from his early publicity trade days than to the objectivity inherent in “news.”

I do not know what reality is. I do not think any of us quite know how much our point of view, and, in fact all of our touch with life, is influenced by our imaginations. … The whole matter of what we think of as realism is pretty tricky … no man can make himself a camera.⁴⁶

Anderson's is a representative case history of this period, illustrating how commercial writers moved through several stages in the course of one career, writing in every genre from poetry to news. Rather than define himself as a journalist, publicist, poet, or novelist, Anderson was all four. Typical of many other writers of this period less celebrated, Anderson formed his professional identity by what he valued more than what he did.

Anderson's case represents the transformation of cultural values that occurred in the shift from the 19th Century sensibility that saw writing as a private prayer to the 20th Century consciousness that saw writing as a public good in a “democracy of goods.”⁴⁷ That change is what William Dean Howells alluded to as something “as radical as the American Revolution in politics,”⁴⁸ so profoundly did it shape our collective values about how distinctions could be drawn during the rest of this century, between news that really happened and news that was manufactured.

Notes

1. Sherwood Anderson Manuscripts, Special Collections, Newberry Library. See also Kim Townsend, Sherwood Anderson (New York: Houghton, 1987); George Daughtery, “Anderson, Advertising Man,” Newberry Library Bulletin, Series 2, No. 2 (Dec. 1948) 30-38; Norman Holmes Pearson, “Anderson and the New Puritanism,” Newberry Library Bulletin, Series 2, No. 2 (Dec. 1948), pp. 52-63.

2. Frank Luther Mott, A History of American Magazines 1885-1905 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1907) Vol. 4, pp. 246-7.

3. Lawrence B. Romaine, A Guide To American Trade Catalogs 1744-1900 (New York: R.R. Bowker, 1960) i-ix. See also Will Ransom, Private Presses and Their Books (New York: R.R. Bowker, 1929); Charles Evans, American Bibliography: A Chronological Dictionary of Books, Pamphlets and Periodical Publications printed in US 1639-1820 (New York: 1903).

4. Roland Marchand, Advertising The American Dream/Making Way for Modernity, 1920-1940 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985).

5. Anderson MSS, Special Collections, Newberry; See also Sherwood Anderson, Perhaps Women (New York: Horace Liveright, 1931) pp. 66-74.

6. Daniel Boorstin, The Image: A Guide to Pseudo-Events in America (New York: Atheneum, 1987) pp. 57-58.

7. Anderson, Perhaps Women, pp. 72-74.

8. See William Dean Howells, A Hazard of New Fortunes, ed. Nordloh et al. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1976); Howells, “Editor's Study,” Harper's Monthly, November [Illegible Text], 159-160; Edwin Cady, The Realist at War (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1958); Christopher P. Wilson, “Markets and Fictions: Howell's Infernal Juggle,” American Literary Realism 1870-1910, vol. 20, no. 3, Spring 1988, pp. 2-22.

9. See Carlos Baker, Ernest Hemingway, (New York: Scribner, 1981).

10. “democracy of goods” is Daniel Boorstin's phrase.

11. “Beware the House Organ,” Profitable Advertising, August 1908, 216; “Building a House Organ to Last,” The Graphic Arts, March 1915, p. 75.

12. “House Organ Harmony,” Judicious Advertising, April 1909, np.; “The Graphic Arts House Organ Directory,” The Graphic Arts, February 1915, p. 34.

13. Marchand, op. cit.; Frank Presbury, The History and Development of Advertising (New York: Doubleday, 1929) p. 360.

14. Townsend, op. cit.

15. John Fiske, “Sociology and Hero-Worship,” American Mercury, Jan. 1881, pp. 75-84.

16. Fiske, loc cit.; Grant Allen, “The Genesis of Genius,” American Mercury, March 1881, 371-381; see also William James, “Great Men and Their Environment,” in The Will To Believe, 1899.

17. Marco Morrow, MSS Anderson papers; Townsend, Daugherty, loc. cit.

18. Sherwood Anderson, “The Sales Master and The Selling Organization,” AA, March/April 1905, pp. 306-308. Newberry Library Anderson Collection.

19. Anderson, “The Sales Master.”

20. Anderson, “The Sales Master.”

21. Anderson, “The Sales Master.”

22. Anderson, “The Fussy Man and the Trimmer,” AA, December 1905, pp. 79-81.

23. Anderson, “The Fussy. …”

24. Anderson, “The Boyish Man,” AA, October, 1905, p. 53.

25. Anderson, “The Discouraged Man,” AA, July, 1905, pp. 43-44.

26. Anderson, “The Undeveloped Man,” AA, May, 1904, pp. 31-32.

27. Anderson, “The Lightweight,” AA, March, 1903, p. 18.

28. Anderson, “The Born Quitter,” AA, March 1903, pp. 18-19.

29. Anderson, “The Lightweight.”

30. Anderson, “The Travelling Man,” AA, April 1904, p. 39.

31. Anderson, “The Travelling Man.”

32. Anderson, “The Silent Man,” AA, Feb. 1904, p. 19.

33. Anderson, Perhaps Women, loc. cit.

34. Anderson, “The Man of Affairs,” AA, March 1904, pp. 36-38.

35. Anderson, “The Good Fellow,” AA, January 1904, p. 36.

36. Anderson, “Advertising a Nation,” AA, May 1905, pp. 388-389.

37. Anderson, “Advertising.”

38. MSS Monroe Collection, Poetry Magazine Business Correspondence, Regenstein. Special Collection, University of Chicago Library.

39. MSS [Illegible Text] Collection.

40. Poetry, vol. 10, no. 5, August, 1917, editorial, pp. 255-6.

41. Poetry, vol. 10, no. 6, September, 1917, pp. 281-291.

42. Sherwood Anderson, The Modern Writer, San Francisco: The Lantern Press, 1925, p. 19.

43. Anderson, The Modern Writer, pp. 12-38.

44. Anderson, Perhaps Women, pp. 70-74.

45. Sherwood Anderson, “A Writer's Conception of Realism,” The Writer, Jan. 1941. Typescript, Anderson Collection.

46. Anderson, “A Writer's,” loc. cit.

47. Boorstin, op. cit.

48. Howells, Hazard, p. 213.