Brooklyn is aggrieved. News stories of murders, bank robberies and transit line accidents in that city are sent out under New York date lines, robbing Brooklyn of its just share or notoriety. But Mr. H. E. Bullis of the Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce is aroused to the peril in which the fair name of Brooklyn stands, and he is leading a crusade to "put Brooklyn back into the news."
To anyone not a native of New York, it would seem that city would be more than willing to pass on to other places news items which do not reflect creditably on itself, but it is not so. New York has a singular and inordinate appetite for self-advertising, preferably of an unfavorable sort, and evidently Brooklyn has become infected with the virus. The city of Walt Whitman and Henry Ward Beecher, not content with being known as the terminus of the subway, wants its own little murders duly credited to Brooklyn. A journalistic plot to make Brooklyn into an obscure hamlet of two and one half million souls must certainly exist. The Chamber of Commerce is out to frustrate that conspiracy.
Tired of having her crimes and achievements sent out under New York date lines, the aroused citizens of Brooklyn will doubtless be inspired to commit more bizarre crimes, bring about more remarkable achievements, until New York grows quite insignificant in the news. The ultimate end, although it is now scarcely whispered, is complete annihilation of New York, and incorporation of the remnants into a Bigger and Better Brooklyn.