I, Libertine: The Hoax of Hoaxes

Jean Shepherd switched on the microphone to start his daily New York radio talk show on WOR-AM, an iconic radio station. It was 1956, long before the age of the internet. The time was one at night and he would be on air until five-thirty in the morning talking to the “night people” as he referred to his listeners.

Shepherd was a gifted storyteller and his voice on radio had a melodic quality. He created what we know today as talk radio – where the broadcaster does not follow a tight script but speaks what’s on his mind and converses with listeners on the phone: “I’m not a disc jockey. I offer good conversation. I am a professional conversationalist”.

He was given the late night graveyard shift but he did not mind – in fact he loved it as he could ramble on and say pretty much anything. He frequently spoke about the difference between the night people and the day people. Night people, he said, were more creative. "Night is the time people truly become individuals because all the familiar things are dark and done; all the restrictions on freedom are removed”. Day people were bound by rules, schedules and social convention.

Shepherd was astonished by the public obsession with top ten lists; the ten most beautiful people, the ten best dresses for summer, the ten best movies. The New York Times Best Seller list for books caught his attention. At that time the list involved more than just book sales. It included customer requests for and questions about books to book sellers.

An idea came to Shepherd. He speculated that if enough people requested the same title of a book that didn’t actually exist, it might make the prized New York Times Best Seller list. Night people were intrigued by the idea and listeners called in with ideas for the project. Out of many suggestions he settled on the name “I, Libertine” written by Frederick R. Ewing,  a retired Royal Navy Commander, now a civil servant in Rhodesia and married to Marjorie, a keen horse rider. Ewing lived on his country estate where he produced a constant stream of novels set in the 18th century.

Shepherds' listeners, increasingly enthused with the project asked booksellers everywhere for a copy of I, Libertine. The responses were reported at night on the show when the secret society of night people swapped stories on radio:

• A listener reported a snooty clerk responding to the query with “Frederick R. Ewing? It’s about time people began noticing his work. I’ve long felt he hasn’t received the recognition he deserves.”
• Another described how she mentioned the book at her weekly bridge club meeting; three women said they had read it, and then proceeded to argue over which chapters they liked and those they didn’t.
• One caller who was at college submitted a lengthy term paper for an English Literature class on F.R. Ewing: Eclectic Historian. He even included extensive footnotes quoting from Ewing’s previous novels. The professor wrote “superb research!” on the cover page and gave it a B+.
• A literary gossip columnist wrote in a leading newspaper, “Had a delightful lunch the other day with Frederick R. Ewing and his charming wife Marjorie.”
• One panicked listener called in to the radio show and asked: “The other day my boss asked me if I read it. What do I say?!”

Travelling listeners took the project overseas and soon requests for "I, Libertine" began popping up in London, Paris, Rome and Bonn. In a crowning achievement for Shepherd’s campaign, a church congregation condemned the book enabling the claim that it had been banned. Word-of-mouth, crowd contagion, perceived novelty and of course, censorship, all drove book requests.

A few months later the book that didn’t exist made The New York Times Best Seller List.

Some weeks later after hitting the coveted bestseller list, Shepherd had lunch with a friend when a chance meeting occurred with the novelist and publisher Theodore Sturgeon. It was time to spill the beans and explain the prank. Sturgeon was intrigued and together with Shepherd decided to produce an actual version. Sturgeon worked non-stop for thirty days to write the book. On publication it was advertised as a "turbulent, turgid, tempestuous" tale of eighteenth-century court life in London. By this time the hoax had been made known to the public and reviews on release of the actual novel were lukewarm. Ironically this did not affect sales.

I, Libertine again became a New York Times Bestseller. This time for real.

No doubt the “propaganda” around the fictitious version assisted and continued to fuel public belief in the quality of the actual tale.Incidentally, Shepherd and Sturgeon agreed that all profits on the book be donated to charity. Their intention was never to con for money but to show human gullibility and eagerness to be part of the “in” crowd. Shepherd saw the hilarious events around I, Libertine as proof of what he often claimed: people seldom think for themselves and easily follow the herd; choices are malleable and preferences contingent.

Had you been one of the day people, would you have spotted the prank? I doubt I would have, and because of my error, I would have found the hoax even more hilarious.