The New Yorker Turns 100: From Poker to A Staple of New York City Publications
The New Yorker Hotel, built in 1929, which is known for its iconic art deco style and housing many famous celebrities in the 1940s and 1950s. Wally Gobetz via Flickr.
“THE NEW YORKER will be a reflection in word and picture of metropolitan life. It will be human. Its general tenor will be one of gaiety, wit and satire, but it will be more than a jester.”
In 1924, Harold Ross opened his prospectus to multiple investors with supreme confidence and a thorough understanding of what The New Yorker is and will be. He didn’t sugarcoat anything and was clearly ahead of the curve with his knowledge of the cultural foundations of 1920s New York City.
100 years later, the publication’s identity still remains wholly connected to Harold Ross’s original description.
On Feb. 21, 2025, The New Yorker celebrated its centennial, a magazine that originally was described as a “weekly comic magazine,” which would evolve into one of the most renowned and multifaceted magazines in the world.
New York City in the 1920s saw a change in economic, social, and specifically, cultural dynamics. At the time, the city was called the “cultural capital,” and was the best place in the world for artistic opportunity.
Harold Ross had a reputation at the time as a witty writer and thinker and was famously a part of the Algonquin Round Table – a group of some of New York City’s greatest writers, critics and scholars who met for lunch every day at the Algonquin Hotel. The list of members included Dorothy Parker, Alexander Woollcott, Robert Benchley, Harpo Marx and others.
Ross wanted to create something that blended together these witty, sophisticated, often intellectually stimulating meetings, that would also infuse a metropolitan voice alongside this. A magazine that would detail the cultural, social, and literary scene of New York City and its inhabitants. It’s fitting he decided to call it The New Yorker.
At one such meeting at the Algonquin Hotel, Ross happened to win $25,000 in a floating poker game. His winnings, as well as the financial backing of his poker partner, Raoul Fleischmann, were the catalyst for the creation of The New Yorker.
Ross wanted The New Yorker to be different. He had noticed the magazine business flourishing, and figured it would be a perfect time to launch something that strayed away from the typical “hard news” style, instead opting for more in-depth, literary-focused pieces that honed in on New York City-centric ideals.
His vision was concerned with intelligence. The New Yorker was going to be for younger, whip-smart urbanites who had spent time in Europe and were sick of the blasé voices they’d been reading in the majority of American publications.
That famous introduction of Ross’s prospectus was written at 25 West 44th St., an office of Raoul Fleischmann, and in it, he made sure to tell everyone that it’s not “edited for the old lady in Dubuque.” Ross was making it clear: The New Yorker wasn’t concerned with Middle America or the regular news cycle.
He was betting on himself, deciding what was interesting and attempting to be a scout for genuine, raw talent.
Alongside his first wife Jane Grant, whom he met in Paris, and who would later become the first female reporter for The New Yorker, launched its first edition. Dated Feb. 21, 1925, the cover featured a watercolor painting, done by Ross’s friend Rea Irvin, of a figure staring through a monocle looking at a butterfly.
The image, nicknamed Eustace Tilly, not only became the defining figure of The New Yorker but also was the first indication that the magazine was playing by its own rules.
The magazine, which featured short comics, jokes, profiles, poems and book and play reviews, initially struggled. Mass audience believed The New Yorker’s first edition to be ostentatious, rather than the subtle sophistication Ross had been aiming for.
This scrutiny affected Ross, who in the months to follow almost lost the magazine in poker. However, Ross bargained with Fleischmann to help him pay off some of the debt and he’d work through the rest, much to his chagrin.
Fortunately, the magazine started to find an audience, quickly gaining an influx of readers. Ross’s bet on himself was beginning to pay off, and his keen eye for spotting ingenuity and original voices prompted an elevation of the magazine's credibility.
Ross knew how to cultivate talent. Katharine S. Angell, James Thurber and E.B. White were some of the first writers and editors of The New Yorker; they did various tasks, such as cartooning and writing commentary, captions and short satirical essays.
This initial group, as well as a multitude of new writers and editors, set the foundations for certain trademark features of the magazine. Deep profiles, nonfiction narratives, short stories, poetry, cartoons and humor fully encapsulated The New Yorker’s modus operandi.
Ross was a staunch proponent of complete accuracy. He’d often give back drafts with endless pencil marks and edits, asking for dates, sources and fact-checking.
The New Yorker gained some flack in the 1930s for being a breezy and sardonic read even during the economic downturn. However, The New Yorker gained significant relevance and integrity with its coverage of World War II. The magazine became more serious without losing its sense of identity.
Writers A.J. Liebling, Mollie Panter-Downes and John Hersey hopped on board at The New Yorker during this period and delivered some of the best pieces written during the war.
Without The New Yorker, American journalism would look completely different today. Ross has been credited as someone who cast aside the typical credentials and résumé for people who could think deeply, had strong assertions and could write clearly and concisely.
Harold Ross changed journalism with The New Yorker. His distinctive style of serious, hot-button issues mixed with satirical humor and cartoons became a mainstay in New York City’s metropolis and paved the way for other magazines to realize that you can be a reputable source while still having a laugh.