April Fool's Day, circa 1850
The following April Fool's Day jokes were perpetrated by the Boston Post sometime during the 1840s or 1850s (the Post was founded in 1842, so it could not have been before that year). We know of them because they were referred to in an 1877 article in the New York Times. The discovery of their exact date awaits someone willing to go through old issues of the Post to determine it.
The Great Cave Sell
A story appeared in the Boston
Post announcing that a cave full of treasure had been discovered beneath Boston Common. Apparently it had been uncovered by workmen as they removed a tree from the Common. As the tree fell, it revealed a stone trap-door with a large iron ring set in it. Beneath the door was a stone stairway that led to an underground cave. In this cave lay piles of jewels, old coins, and weapons with jeweled handles. Word of the discovery quickly spread throughout Boston, and soon parties of excited curiosity-seekers were marching out across the Common to view the treasure. A witness later described the scene: "It was rainy, that 1st of April, the Legislature was in session, and it was an animated scene that the Common presented, roofed with umbrellas, sheltering pilgrims on their way to the new-found sell. A procession of grave legislators marched solemnly down under their green gingham, while philosophers, archaeologists, numismatists, antiquarians of all qualities, and the public generally paid tribute to the Post's ingenuity." Of course, the Common was empty of all jewel-bearing caverns, as the crowd of treasure seekers discovered to its disappointment.
Franklin's Statue
The Boston legislature had been considering erecting a statue to honor Benjamin Franklin. With that in mind, on April 1 the Post announced that a clay statue had been erected in front of City Hall where the finished statue would eventually stand. The article went on to severely criticize the statue, saying that it was an imperfect likeness of the man, the pose was awkward, etc. The public, curious to judge the statue for themselves, flocked to city hall, only to be disappointed by the absence of a statue when they arrived there. Back at the Post, one of the publishers reportedly burst into the office in the morning with a copy of the paper in his hand. "'What does this mean?' he cried excitedly; 'who gave out that account of the statue? 'Tis a lie—a wicked lie. I've been on all sides of City Hall, and there's no statue there.'" The reporters, laughing, told the publisher that it was an April Fool's Day joke, and upon hearing that "the irate publisher plunged down stairs, murmuring as he went, 'Schenck's Balsam crowded out by _______ April fool hoax!"
The Atlas Extra Hoax
Early on April 1 a large crowd gathered outside the office of the Boston Atlas to read an "extra" edition, a copy of which had been posted on a wall. The extra offered news that had supposedly arrived on a late ship from Europe during the night, and the news was terrible. Apparently there were riots in Ireland, the ministry in England had been overthrown, a revolution had occurred in France, Mount Vesuvius had erupted in Italy, there was a massive flood in Switzerland, a massacre in Turkey, and general chaos and confusion all over the world. As a consequence the financial markets were said to be in shambles. The editor of the neighboring Post came out to see what the large crowd was reading. He read the news and was quite distrubed, but was then assured by his employees that it was probably a hoax. At that point the editor of the Atlas stormed out of his office and declared that he had never printed such an extra. He accused the Post of having printed it, a charge which the editor of the Post vociferously denied. The quarrel between the two editors went on for a while, but was generally inconclusive, neither one willing to back down from his position. Years later, it was finally revealed that the employees of the Post had been responsible for running off the bogus edition of the Atlas without their editor's knowledge. As was later described, "The conspirators watched for the disappearance of the lights in the Post office after midnight, when they returned, and each took a part to set up as it came to him, and each one took that part which was most familiar to him. The result was as described. All was distributed after it was printed, quite a number of the extras were sent off by mail, and the balance posted up for the morning."
Text copyright © 2002 Alex Boese