|
CORRESPONDENCE
The Threat of Huey
William E. Leuchtenburg’s article on the symbiotic relationship between President Roosevelt and Huey Long (October/November 1985 issue) rightfully centered on the unanswered questions of the 1936 presidential campaign: would Long ultimately run for the Democratic nomination and directly challenge FDR? Would Long form his own third party—a Share Our Wealth organization—for the fall elections? Would Long throw his considerable political clout behind a Republican in a bold attempt to remove Roosevelt from the White House and clear Long’s path for a try in 1940?
Obviously the questions entered the realm of conjecture when Long was assassinated in September of 1935. But a private poll, conducted by Emil Hurja, executive director and head statistician of the Democratic National Committee in the spring of 1935, provides some revealing glimpses into what might have happened had the Kingfish lived for the 1936 elections.
Hurja interviewed more than twentyone thousand people who voted in the 1932 election and concluded that Long could get 2.7 million votes as a thirdparty candidate in 1936. Applying the poll results to the various states, Hurja determined that Long’s appeal went far beyond his native South. Long could expect to receive more than two hundred thousand votes in each of three states, Ohio, Illinois, and New York. Sizable chunks of the Democratic vote in California, Michigan, Massachusetts, and Iowa could also be expected to go to Long if he attempted an independent bid. Depending upon the eventual nature and temperament of the 1936 campaign, coupled with Long’s probable distribution of votes in electoral-rich states like New York and Ohio, Hurja concluded that Long could steal the election from Roosevelt and hand it to a Republican in 1936.
The results so upset Roosevelt’s inner circle that James A. Parley, Democratic party chairman, took action to keep the poll quiet. In his 1938 book, Behind the Ballots, Parley said he made sure the Hurja poll was “kept secret and shown only to a very few people.”
It should have been no surprise, then, when Roosevelt in the summer of 1935—just a few months before Long’s death—remarked at a private party: “If I could, the way I’d handle Huey Long would be physically. He’s a physical coward. I’ve told my fellows up there that the way to deal with him is to frighten him. But they’re more afraid of him than he is of them.”
The columnist Arthur Krock overheard the President’s remarks, and they forever underline FDR’s preoccupation with the potential Long threat in 1936.
Carry Boulard
New Orleans, La.
|
China Clipper Recalled
In these days of routine transoceanic air travel, it is difficult to comprehend the emotional significance of the first landing of the China Clipper in Manila Bay (“The Time Machine,” October/November 1985). 1 was in the Philippines at that time and, with an adventurous friend, paddled a native dugout banca canoe into Manila Bay to watch Pan American’s Capt. Edwin C. Musick land the Clipper in the calm waters of the bay. As the aircraft touched down, pandemonium broke loose from thousands of spectators who lined the breakwaters of the bay and from the bells and whistles of the many boats in the harbor. It was truly an experience I shall never forget.
I was an “Army brat,” and my father was stationed in the Philippines at that time. Our contacts with the States were remote and infrequent, since Army transport ships arrived only every three months with passengers and mail. Other mail, of course, was transported by commercial ocean liners, but nevertheless we all had the feeling that we were not only a long way from home but were also very much isolated from civilization as we knew it. The China Clipper changed all this.
The one disturbing part of the article is the realization that I was a part—albeit a small one—of a historical event that occurred half a century ago.
John F. R. Scott, Jr.
Baltimore, Md.
|
Electrical Detection
Joseph Stimson’s photographic portrayal of Diamondville (October/November 1985) clearly shows that the amenities of the modern industrial world were making little impact on that Wyoming city in 1903. Note the total absence of any sort of paving on the main street, the crude wooden sidewalk, and the ever present “chic sale” in the vicinity of each of the residences. There was one notable exception, though, that the famed Western photographer captured with his lens—the impact of electricity.
Although the caption refers to telegraph lines, this could hardly be the case. A small residential/industrial area like this one would probably have one lone telegraph station, and that down at the railway depot. A total of only one or two wires would convey all the telecommunications such a community could handle through dots and dashes. The utility poles shown to the right each bear twenty insulators on their two crossarms, a clear indication of a telephone system. Undoubtedly the residents had on the walls of their houses conventional oaken hand-cranked telephones, each with its own individual ring on a party line. The utility poles to the left of the picture have four insulators on their single crossarm, and rather hefty wires are shown running off to the far left. Further, there are innumerable individual poles scattered through the residential and industrial sectors, surely to feed electrical current to individual users. The big mystery to me lies in the lack of wires erected on any of the poles except for those three at the left. 1 suspect Stimson caught the locale at the time the electricians from the big city were busy wiring up this otherwise bleak company mining town.
If my suppositions are correct about the evidences of the electrical age, the community’s entrance into the world of Edison and Bell was taking place only about two decades into the bare beginnings of that age. Wonder if the road builders and plumbers ever caught up?
Roy T. Tucker
Norwalk, Calif.
|
Wrong Battleships
The battleships Kongo and Haruna were hardly the super battleships described by Nikolai Stevenson in “Four Months on the Front Line” (October/November 1985). These two ships, along with their sisters Hiei and Kirishima, were launched as battlecruisers in 1912–13 and saw service in World War I. As a result of the Washington Naval Conference of 1921–22, the Hiei was demilitarized to a training ship, while, in accordance with the treaty’s provisions, her three sisters were rebuilt with new engines, additional armor, and improved antiaircraft armament, in effect being upgraded to fast battleships. Ships in England, France, Italy, and the United States all received much the same modernization. The only possible treaty violation regarding this excellent class involved the Hiei, which was later reconstructed from trainingship status to match the other three ships. As far as the main armament is concerned, the four Kongo class were armed with eight 14-inch guns—the same as all the U.S. battleships at Pearl Harbor excepting West Virginia and Maryland. (Incidentally, the Hiei was sunk off Guadalcanal on November 13, 1942, and the Kirishima went down two nights later off Savo Island.)
Mr. Stevenson has, perhaps, confused the two older ships with the Yamato and Musashi, which mounted the largest artillery afloat—18.1-inch—and were built in great secrecy from 1937 to 1941. Although the plans were drawn up in violation of the spirit of the 1921–22 Washington and 1930 London Naval conferences, the actual building of the Yamato and Musashi was not in violation of the 1935–36 London Naval Conference. Japan never signed this treaty, which would have limited battleships to thirty-five thousand tons and a main armament of 14-inch guns—the size of the Kongo.
Thomas L. Selby
Lakewood, Ohio
|
Roanoke Puzzle
Shortly after I read Karen Ordahl Kupperman’s “Roanoke Lost” in the August/ September 1985 issue, I read another account of the lost colony which asserts that the colonists merged with the Lumbee Indians of southeastern North Carolina. Does Kupperman classify this as another rumor, or is there perhaps some validity to the idea?
Matt Zipple
Dearborn, Mich.
|
Roanoke Puzzle
Karen Ordahl Kupperman replies: The Lumbee Indians, though little known, are the largest tribe east of the Mississippi River. They first appeared in the written record in the early eighteenth century, and there are many theories about their origins. The idea that they are partially descended from the Roanoke colonists was first proposed in print by a local historian named Hamilton McMillan in 1888; it quickly became a popular theory. Historians, who have traditionally acknowledged only the written record, are increasingly coming to respect the oral tradition, which McMillan claimed supported his theory. The problem in this case centers on the gap of over one hundred and fifty years between the abandonment of Roanoke and the emergence of the Lumbee tribe. Those interested in all the theories should look at Karen I. Blu’s The Lumbee Problem: The Making of an American Indian People, Cambridge University Press, 1980.
|
Football Armor
The picture of the Webster City, Iowa, high school football team in “Readers’ Album” (October/November 1985), provides a graphic glimpse of the difference in football in its emerging days from the game as it has evolved. Note that football. It is the old, large ball that made forward passing difficult. Even an abnormally large hand could not manage to grasp one of those balloons so it could be thrown straight—or far. The game consisted largely of two groups shoving against each other. Not the same open game as today but a lot of us oldsters still think that modern football is more basketball than the game we used to play.
Note the padded suits the boys are wearing—a far cry from the modern armor that makes a football player look like a medieval knight setting out, fully caparisoned, in armor.
Also note a bit of armor that was early in use but disappeared about seventy years ago—the shin guard. And then the nose guard that some of the boys are wearing around their necks. You literally took the bit in your teeth with one of these things as you put the contraption over your nose and bit down on the mouthpiece so as to keep the guard in place.
Also, none of these boys is carrying a helmet. Many schools in the early days didn’t supply those things, and the boys played bareheaded. And there aren’t any shoulder pads, either, although it is possible that they decided not to wear them for the class picture. I can’t tell for sure whether the players even have cleated shoes.
When I played in Menominee, Michigan, in 1918 and 1919,1 had a little, lightly padded helmet that I had got some time previously for sandlot games by selling a subscription to Youth’s Companion to a cousin. They had worthwhile prizes in those days!
Owen J. Remington
Lancaster, Va.
|
Silent Sounds
Paul F. Boiler’s article on the sounds of silent movies (August/September 1985) certainly triggered memories for me. In the summer of 1928, when I was eleven, I visited my grandparents in Oskaloosa, Iowa. One afternoon my grandfather took me to the one movie theater in town for a matinée. Since the owner was his friend, we were guests, but I wound up paying anyhow. The piano player had not shown up and the owner was considering canceling the show (a Western), but my grandfather volunteered my services. After all, I had had piano lessons since age four, he explained, and I could just play everything I had ever learned.
There were no music books and there was no light, except from the screen, but there was a piano facing the screen so that the player could suit the music to the action. My musical education had been classical, not popular or even semipopular, and stage fright erased every memory I had of countless recital pieces. I wasn’t sure that Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms, Chopin, Grieg and company would be much help anyway for a Western. Good old Czerny came to my rescue! Czerny’s exercises were as natural as breathing to me. Those, I could play in my sleep; practice finally paid off. I played the exercises fast, slow, loud, soft—mechanically, eyes on the screen. I didn’t miss a frame of that movie, and I don’t think I repeated an exercise, either. My fingers went through the book in my kinetic memory without my having to think.
No one left the theater humming a tune, but no one complained: the owner gave me a season pass, and my grandfather was proud. Until today, reading your article, I had never known that professional players for the silents had scores and traditions—even unto clichés. My one performance was certainly different. (No, I don’t remember the title of the movie.)
Alice M. Williams
Ambler, Pa.
|
Move Three Forward
Your interesting article about the history of supermarkets (October/November 1985) doesn’t mention that customers were already familiar with the name Piggly Wiggly when Clarence Saunders selected it for his chain of self-service stores. Piggly Wiggly was a popular children’s board game of that era. Chips were advanced along a winding pathway by a throw of the dice. There was an entrance and an exit where the player was safe home.
Thus the customers immediately recognized the layout of the stores as described in the article: turnstiles at the entrance, a check-out counter at the exit, and in between a single serpentine aisle lined with “easy-to-reach goods.”
I played many a game of Piggly Wiggly with my children. It was boring to adults but exciting to the young. It was only fair, as my parents had played it with me.
Hunter Corbett
Jamesburg, N.J.
|
Longwood Credits
I’m very grateful for your presenting an excerpt from Architecture, Men, Women and Money in America, 1600–1860 about Longwood in Natchez (October/November 1985). I’d like to add that most of the credit for salvaging that house and for making the Nutt correspondence and the Nutt portraits available to the public goes to Mrs. Ina May Ogletree McAdams of Austin, Texas. She transcribed all the letters, published them independently, and has made available to visitors to Longwood the results of her labors. She’s not only a pioneer, therefore, but a generous and competent scholar.
Roger G. Kennedy
Director, National Museum
of American History
Smithsonian Institution
|
You’re Welcome
I am writing to thank you for your excellent article on my father, LeConte Stewart, which appeared in your August/September 1985 issue. Our family is appreciative of the thoughtful treatment by Mr. Stegner as well as the quality of the reproductions. The colors and tones are amazingly faithful to the original canvases.
The article has contributed measurably to my father’s sense of accomplishment as he nears the end of his life.
Birge L. Stewart
Salt Lake City, Utah
|
| | | | | |
|
