December 21, 2024

William Rees-Mogg, Former Editor of The Times of London, Dies at 84

The cause was esophageal cancer, his family said. In a statement, Prime Minister David Cameron called him “a Fleet Street legend.”

Mr. Rees-Mogg was 38 when he was named editor of The Times in 1967, making him the youngest ever to hold the job. He was perhaps the last in that post to reasonably aspire to the formidable influence in Britain’s ruling circles that his predecessors at The Times had wielded for almost 200 years.

When Mr. Rees-Mogg took over the editorship, the paper’s circulation and profitability had slipped sharply in the face of stiff competition from The Daily Telegraph, a broadsheet, and The Daily Mail, a tabloid, both competing for the same, mostly conservative readers as the Times.

Under the Canadian press baron Roy Thomson, who bought the paper in 1967, Mr. Rees-Mogg worked to restore The Times’s fortunes and editorial authority, and to shed its fusty image. Innovations included a women’s page, a business section and bylines for the paper’s hitherto anonymous reporters and commentators, as well as expanded sports and arts coverage.

But when the innovations failed to reverse the declines, he presided over a return to some of the old ways at the paper. This was the state of affairs when  Lord Thomson’s son Kenneth R. Thomson decided to sell The Times and its sister paper, The Sunday Times, to Rupert Murdoch in 1981. At the time, Mr. Murdoch was moving News International, his British subsidiary, into a dominant position in Britain’s newspaper market.

In character and temperament, Mr. Murdoch and Mr. Rees-Mogg were poles apart. Mr. Murdoch, an Australian regarded by many in Britain’s upper classes as a colonial upstart, harbored a deep hostility toward the country’s ruling establishment, of which Mr. Rees-Mogg was a proud member. Mr. Rees-Mogg resigned shortly after the takeover and was soon replaced by Harold Evans, whose own tenure was ended after barely a year amid policy differences with Mr. Murdoch.

As a writer of editorials and columns, Mr. Rees-Mogg was as elegant in his prose as he was courteous in manner and conservative in attire, holding fast to pinstripe suits in the office as his colleagues shifted to shirt sleeves, even jeans. One younger staff member said Mr. Rees-Mogg was the only man he could imagine wearing double-breasted pajamas. Mr. Rees-Mogg shunned typewriters and computers, writing his articles and books in longhand.

He found little that was offensive in being called a fogy, or being satirized, as he was in journals like Private Eye and in the play “Pravda,” by Howard Brenton and David Hare, where his alter ego was the unforgettably named Elliot Fruit-Norton.

He expressed his passion in his columns. He defended President Nixon during the Watergate scandal (he later called it “a hysterical overreaction”) and argued for years for a return to the gold standard. In 1976 he entered a dispute between the Labour prime minister Harold Wilson against his more right-wing foreign secretary, George Brown, a man known for excessive drinking.

“Lord George Brown is a better man drunk than the prime minister is sober,” Mr. Rees-Mogg wrote.

He incensed some Times readers in 1967 with a lead editorial in which he attacked the severity of jail sentences imposed on the Rolling Stones’s Mick Jagger (three months) and Keith Richards (one year) for drug offenses.

“If we are going to make any case a symbol of the conflict between the sound traditional values of Britain and the new hedonism, then we must be sure that the sound traditional values include those of tolerance and equity,” Mr. Rees-Mogg wrote, under the headline “Who Breaks a Butterfly on a Wheel?”

The jail terms were soon quashed on appeal.

William Rees-Mogg was born in southwest England on July 14, 1928, the son of a wealthy farmer, Edmund Fletcher Rees-Mogg, and an American mother, the former Beatrice Warren. He was educated at Balliol College, Oxford, and began his journalism career in 1952 with The Financial Times before moving to The Sunday Times in 1960.

In retirement, Mr. Rees-Mogg served on the governing board of the BBC and was appointed by Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher to lead the British Broadcasting Council, monitoring standards on the country’s radio and television channels.

Above all he remained a prolific writer, turning out volumes on economics and rare books — a passion that led to his purchase of one of London’s best-known antiquarian bookshops, Pickering and Chatto — and contributing commentaries to The Times and other newspapers until shortly before his death.

His survivors include his wife, the former Gillian Shakespeare Morris, and the couple’s two sons, Thomas and Jacob, and three daughters, Emma, Charlotte and Annunziata. Jacob was elected to Parliament as a Conservative in 2010.

Mr. Rees-Mogg, who was defeated badly in two attempts to win a seat in Parliament for the Conservatives in the 1950s,  made no secret of his ambition to emulate his Times predecessors in occupying a seat in the councils of power.

Answering critics who called him haughty, snobbish and a pillar of the Establishment, he declined to apologize, especially for the last one.

“It seems to me, provided one doesn’t allow oneself to become pompous and opinionated, a useful and helpful thing to be,” he once said in an interview. “I think it’s a good thing, the Establishment.”

Article source: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/05/world/europe/william-rees-mogg-former-editor-of-the-times-of-london-dies-at-84.html?partner=rss&emc=rss

Essay: The Great Fleet Street Novel

The scandal that started at The News of the World and is now threatening to spread to the rest of Rupert Murdoch’s global media empire and beyond, appears, on the face of it, to have more in common with a British remake of “24” than with “Scoop,” Evelyn Waugh’s 1938 “Novel about Journalists,” still widely acknowledged as the unrivaled masterpiece of Fleet Street satire. Its plot turns not on criminal wrongdoing but on a classically farcical case of mistaken identity. Instead of sending John Courteney Boot, fashionable novelist and travel writer, to cover “a very promising little war” in the East African republic of Ishmaelia, The Daily Beast dispatches William Boot, the mild-mannered and absent-minded author of the paper’s “biweekly half-column devoted to nature.” His complete lack of journalistic experience comes in handy when, instead of charging up a false trail with the rest of the international press corps, he stays behind in the Ishmaelian capital, Jacksonburg, and scoops the lot of them.

The journalists’ herd mentality and disregard for anything so tedious as “the truth” is partly what Christopher Hitchens had in mind when, in his introduction to the 2000 Penguin Classics edition, he called it (and he should know) “a novel of pitiless realism; the mirror of satire held up to catch the Caliban of the press corps, as no other narrative has ever done save Hecht and MacArthur’s ‘Front Page’ and, to a smaller extent, Michael Frayn’s ‘Towards the End of the Morning.’ ”

Frayn’s novel, published in 1967, the year before Murdoch bought The News of the World, can be seen as foreshadowing the transformation of the British press that Murdoch brought about. It’s based on Frayn’s experiences at The Guardian and The Observer, left-of-center broadsheets as far from The News of the World as British newspapers can be. The manageable chaos of a quiet corner of an unnamed paper where the “nature notes” (shades of William Boot), obituaries and crossword puzzles are put together is disturbed by the arrival of a terrifyingly efficient young man. “You really see yourself working on a paper for the rest of your life?” another character asks him. “I see myself owning one,” he replies.

The transformation was more fully registered in Martin Amis’s “Yellow Dog” (2003), whose psychotic tabloid journalist, Clint Smoker, makes almost any other fictional Fleet Street Caliban look like Ariel. Smoker, “a very fine journalist indeed,” works for The Morning Lark, where the staffers refer to readers with an unprintable epithet and “no global cataclysm had yet had the power to push the pinup off the front page.” He is racist, misogynist, hideously ugly and fixated on his tiny penis. He concocts stories by setting up liaisons between soccer players and models. “You might think that the contempt shown by the reporters for both their subjects and their readers is overdone,” Hitchens has written of his friend Amis’s novel, “but you would be wrong.” No doubt. But Amis’s chthonic hatred for the functionaries of the gutter press is so overwhelming that he misses a trick: Smoker’s depravity stands in murky isolation from the rest of society.

Thomas Jones is a contributing editor at The London Review of Books.

Article source: http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=a2aafc8f68f83c6e1d2a8890eee56e23