The first complete, though unprinted, total dummy of what
would become Lifewas produced in February 1936 ; it was designed to be a
sixteen-page picture supplement for Time. The contents included features on
skating champion Sonja Henie, Mexican politics, Czech president Eduard
Benes, young Katharine Hepburn, the queen of England, and a variety of
other views. This was the first clear definition of what would become Life.
The dummy was not greeted with praise. Paul Hollister, a top
advertising executive at Macy’s and self-described graphics expert, was
disappointed with the design of the dummy. When he received a copy he
had the temerity to write Luce a harsh critique: “It is inconceivable that
even an avowed dress-rehearsal just for ‘fun’ should have turned out so far
short... Great God—that a magazine should make even a tentative peek
looking like this.... The dangerous thing is you have good raw material; it
must not be butchered.” Instead of earning Luce’s rancor, Hollister’s candor
earned him the job of revamping the dummy. “My task,” he later related
“was to make a better pattern of each page, conforming to a total ‘basic
format’ character: to ‘sell’ each page for itself, each picture within that
pattern; to suggest changes of pace; to clean up margins and gutters; to
eliminate sloppy disturbances and tricks from the page.” After spending the
ten days of his vacation cutting and pasting, he delivered an accordion-
folded dummy that when spread out revealed the entire format at a glance.
Luce did not respond for two weeks, but when he did he invited Hollister
to lunch and reportedly said in front of his executives: “Good! Now we
have an editorial prospectus! Now we have a basic format....Now what do
we do?” Hollister’s reply was a profoundly condescending characterization
of art directors:
What you do is get an art director and put him at a drawing board. Put
tire tape over his mouth, because whatever he has to state should drain off
through his fingers onto paper. Never let an art director talk.
On a table at his left put your basic format dummy for reference.
On a table at his right feed him batches of photographs, with a note
saying you want one, two, four, eight—any number of pictures you need,
for each batch, and any suggestions you have for playing up any particular
angles of the picture story.
So he makes layouts from the pictures.
If they are right, you pat him on the head. If they have strayed from
the mood of the basic format, you take a small hammer, which you have
chained to the wall for the purpose, rap him smartly over the skull, point
severely to the basic format dummy—cry “No, no, no! Naughty!” He then
repents and makes the layout right, or you get yourself a new art director.