Digital Extra: The Journal's 175th Anniversary

07.21.2004

1920. Poetic license or poetic justice?

Did Journal editor John Rathom once call the editor of a competing paper a "dirty blackmailing son of a bitch"? In print? In the competitor's own newspaper?

Like much of John Rathom's life, the answer is a mix of mystery and confirmable truth. What is certain is that, on May 3, 1920, the Providence News published a poem titled "On the Pan," that had been sent in by someone claiming to be from East Greenwich with the initials "W.L.G." Afterward, no person with those initials could be found in East Greenwich, and it has long been an accepted -- though unproven -- fact that W.L.G. was actually Rathom.

The poem appeared in the Listening Post column by James C. Garrison, a former editorial writer and drama critic at The Journal who was part owner of the Providence News. The poem poked fun at the corrupt political establishment of the time and took swipes at Rathom, who was also known by the nickname John Bull. Garrison loved to needle Rathom and The Journal, so the bit of verse was a natural for him to print.

It was not until the News had hit the streets that anyone noticed a secret message in the poem, deciphered by reading the first letter of each line, upward from the bottom.

Hear, friends, the story of a state

Caught in the net of those who prate

That their sole thought is public weal

In all they do and all they feel.

Blatant and cowardly their way

And plotting tricks from day to day.

Foremost in this most holy ring

Of patriots, our Pawtucket king.

Not in the limelight, but in still

Or muddied waters works Ike Gill.

Sitting in state he shuns the light,

Giving his orders left and right,

Nor hesitates to call upon

In time of trouble John Bull John.

Livvy, the great society light,

In days of stress takes rapid flight

And in his private palace car

Makes off for where the thick steaks are,

Knowing nought and caring less,

Content to leave things in a mess

And let Rhode Island stew alone

Leaving San Souci on the "throne."

Behold "Hen" Lippitt, tariff king.

Year in, year out, his story sing;

Tells of the tariff, sacred screed,

Revealing all the hosts of greed

In every word, you know the breed.

Dear Nathan Wright, a boss in name,

Upon the wreck with Burlingame.

On every hand they note with pride

Your state and mine disgraced, defied;

No pledges kept, no single act

Of statesmanship, the cards all stacked;

Stolid and callous to our need

Intent on serving private greed.

Rathom and Eaton, -- all the crew

Reckless of anything but YOU.

And how they squirm at each new roast,--

Grilled by our good old Listening Post.