HUGHES WON CLOSEST ELECTION IN YEARS

Followed in two days, after California came in, by

Wilser Probably Elected

It was a good year for straw polls. First the endorsement of Hughes, then in December, the announcement that "1918 Votes for Soft Drinks." A great story, but, unfortunately for The Crimson, one in which the actual results were reversed. The Class of 1918 had heartily endorsed liquor.

With Wilson back in the White House again, the war seemed further away than ever. But the editorial campaign for military training gained momentum, repeating over and over again the argument that not enough undergraduates had signed up for Military Science courses. The January straw ballot was on the subject of universal military training, and The Crimson proudly reported that 860 Harvard students favored the idea, while only 330 were opposed. Shortly after this revelation, the roar of the great Bull Moose was heard on the front page:

To the Editors of the Crimson:

I'am delighted to hear that Harvard voted for universal military service nearly three to one. If we do not prepare our giant, but soft and lazy, strength, we shall become the Clrina of the Occident, and meet the disaster we shall have richly earned. THEODORE ROOSEVELT '80

Roosevelt's letter and The Crimson's militance brought sharp criticism in the letter column, but the policies of the 1917 editors grew more hawkish until April, when war was declared. The only regret expressed it, the editorial on the declaration was the delay of a "timid" government in jumping into battle. Three inch wooden block letters announced simply "WAR" in the two middle columns. The fourth column announced that Harvard Athletics were suspended; the first that the new Hockey captain had gone to Exeter.

The War to End All Wars depleted The Crimson as well as the College Training camps sprung up to process men into soldiers, and Crimson editors volunteered in droves. Only the invalid and underaged remained within half a year after April, and the paper stumbled along with a changing staff. To the modern observer, the quality of the paper in the early part of the academic year 1917-1918 seems not too much worse than the previous year's version, but turning out a daily sheet became a tougher proposition as Harvard shrank to 60 per cent of its former enrollment. David M. Little '18, the future Secretary of the University, acted as President while stationed at the Naval Training Station in Cambridge, and reach of the rest of the stall squeezed, in work on I'm Crimson after a day of drilling. No great advances in journalism came out of The Crimson during the war years, but the fact that it survived was enough of an accomplishment. We know next to nothing about the characters and personalities of this period but the editors manifested an immense determination just to keep the paper coming out.

Tragically and ironically, one of the first casualties of the War was W. H. Meeker '17, during whose term as President the pressure for War had reached its peak. Meeker had given his life for his convictions, volunteering at the outbreak of hostilities to light for when he described as "the forces of democracy." His sad and early death was one of 15 fatalities sustained by The Crimson in the trenches of France and his name was commemorated by the dedication of a library in his honor, unveiled in the Sanctum in the Spring of 1918.

Liberty Loans, Red Cross and ROTC took up space in the paper during the War along with a suggestion that the University conserve fuel by scheduling all appointments and official functions an hour earlier. The not-quite-original idea was never implemented--another straw ballot allowed that students opposed it, 680-383--but the same effect was achieved throughout the country by the Congressional adoption Daylight Savings Time in 1918. When the draft age was lowered in the spring of 1918, the stall was even more drastically depleted, and the paper gave up publication on June.

When September arrived, the normal daily publication schedule was resumed, then abandoned on October 4 with the announcement that publication would be suspended until the end of the War. On October 24, however, with the aid of graduate editors the paper began appearing as a weekly. Even this arrangement was hard to sustain the second Acting President of the Fall had taken office, and almost all of the editors on the masthead were listed as "in Service." Only the Armistice kept operations moving, because the College had announced that a special College year would begin in January for returning veterans. The Crimson limped through December as a weekly, and reappeared in January as a daily.

THE FINAL HALF of the 1918-1919 academic year was a rebuilding period, with the Business Board gradually pulling out of the red, and the stall painfully readjusting itself to civilian life. It was nothing to compare with the long, agonizing readjustment that would follow. World War II, but the Spring of 1919 saw dozens of Crimson editors trying to reconcile the more or less carefree undergraduate life with the organized brutality they had just escaped. As the adjustments were magic, and as new blood was added to the staff, the paper gradually improved in news and editorial quality, but the first issues of that term were rarely up to pre-war standards.

The most important move of the post-war period was the decision to buy the Harvard Illustrated Magazine. Life was still 17 years in the future, and the term "photojournalism" has not yet been coined. But there was an increasing realization throughout the newspaper industry that photographs had become indispensable to a modern newspaper, and practically every Sunday paper in the country was groping its way toward the new age of photography with a rotogravure section. This particular phenomenon was more often than not an innocuous, somewhat bland showcase for less than brilliant photographs. The Harvard Illustrated was no exception. Since its beginning in 1899, it had given itself largely to posed, rather staid photographs of events at Harvard, group shots of teams and extracurricular activities, and portraits of important Harvard personages.

The absorption of the Illustrated by The Crimson provided the nucleus of what is now the Photographic Board. The Illustrated was issued bi-weekly, its photographic equipment became the property of The Crimson, and most of its editors became Crimson photographers. So, in the decade 1910-1920. The Crimson acquired its two youngest departments, the Editorial and Photographics Boards, and became essentially the modern Crimson.