She studied him a moment. “Humor me.”
In Oregon, Leslie called a staff meeting of the employees of the Sun.
“We’re going to operate a little differently from now on,” she informed them. “This is a two-newspaper town, and we’re going to own them both.”
Derek Zornes, the managing editor of the Sun, said, “Excuse me, Mrs. Chambers. I’m not sure you understand the situation. Our circulation is way below the Chronicle’s, and we’re slipping every month. There’s no way we can ever catch up to it.”
“We’re not only going to catch up to it,” Leslie assured him, “we’re going to put the Chronicle out of business.”
The men in the room looked at one another and they all had the same thought: Females and amateurs should stay the hell out of the newspaper business.
“How do you plan to do that?” Zornes asked politely.
“Have you ever watched a bullfight?” Leslie asked.
He blinked. “A bullfight? No…”
“Well, when the bull rushes into the ring, the matador doesn’t go for the kill right away. He bleeds the bull until it’s weak enough to be killed.”
Zornes was trying not to laugh. “And we’re going to bleed the Chronicle?”
“Exactly.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“Starting Monday, we’re cutting the price of the Sun from thirty-five cents to twenty cents. We’re cutting our advertising rates by thirty percent. Next week, we’re starting a giveaway contest where our readers can win free trips all over the world. We’ll begin publicizing the contest immediately.”
When the employees gathered later to discuss the meeting, the consensus was that their newspaper had been bought by a crazy woman.
The bleeding began, but it was the Sun that was being bled.
McAllister asked Leslie, “Do you have any idea how much money the Sun is losing?”
“I know exactly how much it’s losing,” Leslie said.
“How long do you plan to go on with this?”
“Until we win,” Leslie said. “Don’t worry. We will.”
But Leslie was worried. The losses were getting heavier every week. Circulation continued to dwindle, and advertisers’ reactions to the rate reduction had been lukewarm.
“Your theory’s not working,” McAllister said. “We’ve got to cut our losses. I suppose you can keep pumping in money, but what’s the point?”
The following week, the circulation stopped dropping.
It took eight weeks for the Sun to begin to rise.
The reduction in the price of the newspaper and in the cost of advertising was attractive, but what made the circulation of the Sun move up was the giveaway contest. It ran for twelve weeks, and entrants had to compete every week. The prizes were cruises to the South Seas and trips to London and Paris and Rio. As the prizes were handed out and publicized with front-page photographs of the winners, the circulation of the Sun began to explode.
“You took a hell of a gamble,” Craig McAllister said grudgingly, “but it’s working.”
“It wasn’t a gamble,” Leslie said. “People can’t resist getting something for nothing.”
When Walt Meriwether was handed the latest circulation figures, he was furious. For the first time in years, the Sun was ahead of the Chronicle.
“All right,” Meriwether said grimly. “Two can play that stupid game. I want you to cut our advertising rates and start some kind of contest.”
But it was too late. Eleven months after Leslie had bought the Sun, Walt Meriwether came to see her.
“I’m selling out,” he said curtly. “Do you want to buy the Chronicle?”
“Yes.”
The day the contract for the Chronicle was signed, Leslie called in her staff.
“Starting Monday,” she said, “we raise the price of the Sun, double our advertising rates, and stop the contest.”
One month later, Leslie said to Craig McAllister, “The Evening Standard in Detroit is up for sale. It owns a television station, too. I think we should make a deal.”
McAllister protested. “Mrs. Chambers, we don’t know anything about television, and—”
“Then we’ll have to learn, won’t we?”
The empire Leslie needed was beginning to build.
6
Oliver’s days were full, and he loved every minute of what he was doing. There were political appointments to be made, legislation to be put forward, appropriations to be approved, meetings and speeches and press interviews. The State Journal in Frankfort, the Herald-Leader in Lexington, and the Louisville Courier-Journal gave him glowing reports. He was earning the reputation of being a governor who got things done. Oliver was swept up in the social life of the superwealthy, and he knew that a large part of that was because he was married to the daughter of Senator Todd Davis.