by Edwin Black
In early 1910, just after the impetus for the new eugenics section of the American Breeders Association, Davenport swiftly began making his Eugenics Record Office a reality. Once more, the undertaking would require a large infusion of money. So once again he turned to great wealth. Reviewing the names in Long Island’s Who’s Who, Davenport searched for likely local millionaires. Going down the list, he stopped at one name: “Harriman.”12
E. H. Harriman was legendary. America’s almost mythic railroad mag-nate controlled the Union Pacific, Wells Fargo, numerous financial institutions and one of the nation’s greatest personal fortunes. Davenport knew that Harriman craved more than just power and wealth; he fancied himself a scientist and a naturalist. The railroad man had financed a famous Darwin-style expedition to explore Alaskan glaciers. The so-called “Harriman Expedition” was organized by famous botanist and ornithologist C. Hart Merriam, a strong friend of eugenics. In 1907, Merriam had single-handedly arranged a private meeting between Davenport’s circle of eugenicists and President Theodore Roosevelt at the president’s Long Island retreat.13
Harriman died in 1909, leaving a fabulous estate to his wife, Mary.14
Everything connected in Davenport’s mind. He remembered that three years earlier, Harriman’s daughter, also named Mary, had enrolled in one of Cold Spring Harbor’s summer biology courses. She was so enthusiastic about eugenics, her classmates at Barnard College had nicknamed her “Eugenia.” Mrs. Harriman was the perfect candidate to endow the Eugenics Record Office to carry on her husband’s sense of biological exploration, and cleanse the nation of racial and ethnic impurity.15
Quickly, Davenport began cultivating a relationship with the newly widowed Mrs. E. H. Harriman. Her very name invoked the image of wealth and power wielded by her late husband, but identified her as now possessing the power over that purse. Even though the railroad giant’s wife was now being plagued by philanthropic overtures at every tum, Davenport knew just how to tug the strings. Skilled in the process, it only took about a month.16
In early 1910, just days after the ABA elected to launch the Eugenics Record Office, Davenport reconnected with his former student about saving the social and biologic fabric of the United States. Days later, on January 13, Davenport visited Mary to advance the cause. On February 1, Davenport logged an entry in his diary: “Spent the evening on a scheme for Miss Harriman. Probably time lost.” Two days later, the diary read: “Sent off letter to Miss Harriman.” By February 12, Davenport had received an encouraging letter from the daughter regarding a luncheon to discuss eugenics. On February 16, Davenport’s diary entry recorded: “To Mrs. Harriman’s to lunch” and then several hours later, the final celebratory notation: “All agreed on the desirability of a larger scheme. A Red Letter Day for humanity!”17
Mrs. E. H. Harriman had joined the eugenic crusade. She agreed to create the Eugenics Record Office, purchasing eighty acres of land for its use about a half mile from the Carnegie Institution’s experimental station at Cold Spring Harbor. She also donated $15,000 per year for operations and would eventually provide more than a half million dollars in cash and securities.18
Clearly, the ERO seemed like an adjunct to the Carnegie Institution’s existing facility. But in fact it would function independently, as a joint project of Mrs. Harriman and the American Breeders Association’s eugenic section. “As the aims of the [ABA’s] Committee are strongly involved,” Davenport wrote Mrs. Harriman on May 23, 1910, “it is but natural that, on behalf of the Committee, I should express its gratitude at the confidence you repose in it.”19
Indeed, all of Davenport’s numerous and highly detailed reports to Mrs. Harriman were written on American Breeders Association eugenic section letterhead. Moreover, the ABA’s eugenics committee letterhead itself conveyed the impression of a semiofficial U.S. government agency. Prominently featured at the top of the stationery were the names of ABA president James Wilson, who was also secretary of the Department of Agriculture, and ABA secretary W. M. Hays, assistant secretary of the Department of Agriculture. In fact, the words “U.S. Department of Agriculture, Washington D.C.” appeared next to Hays’s name, as a credential.20 The project must have seemed like a virtual partnership between Mrs. Harriman and the federal government itself.21
Although the establishment of the Eugenics Record Office created a second eugenics agency independent of the Carnegie Institution, the two facilities together with the American Breeders Association’s eugenic section in essence formed an interlocking eugenic directorate headquartered at Cold Spring Harbor. Davenport ruled all three entities. Just as he scrupulously reported to Carnegie trustees in Washington about the experimental station, and ABA executives about its eugenic section, Davenport continuously deferred to Mrs. Harriman as the money behind his new ERO. Endless operational details, in-depth explanations regarding the use of cows to generate milk for sale at five cents per quart to defray the cost of a caretaker, plans to plant small plots of hay and com, and requests to spend $10 on hardware and $50 on painting-they were all faithfully reported to Mrs. Harriman for her approval.22 It gave her the sense that she was not only funding a eugenic institution, but micromanaging the control center for the future of humanity.
While the trivialities of hay and hardware consumed report after report to Mrs. Harriman, the real purpose of the facility was never out of anyone’s mind. For example, in his May 23, 1910 report to Mrs. Harriman, Davenport again recited the ERO’s mission: “The furtherance of your and its [ the ABA’s] ideal to develop to the utmost the work of the physical and social regeneration of our beloved country [through] the application… of ascertained biological principles.” Among the first objectives, Davenport added, was “the segregation of imbeciles during the reproductive period.” No definition of “imbeciles” was offered. In addition, he informed Mrs. Harriman, “This office has addressed to the Secretary of State of each State a request for a list of officials charged with the care of imbeciles, insane, criminals, and paupers, so as to be in a position to move at once… as soon as funds for a campaign are available. I feel sure that many states can be induced to contribute funds for the study of the blood lines that furnish their defective and delinquent classes if only the matter can be properly brought to their attention.”23
Referring to the increase in “defective and delinquent classes” that worried so many of America’s wealthy, Davenport ended his May 23 report by declaring, “The tide is rising rapidly; I only regret that I can do so little.”24
Davenport could not do it alone. Fundamentally, he was a scientist who preferred to remain in the rarefied background, not a ground-level activist who could systemize the continuous, around-the-clock, county-by-county and state-by-state excavation of human data desired. He could not prod the legislatures and regulatory agencies into proliferating the eugenic laws envisioned. The eugenics movement needed a lieutenant to work the trenches-someone with ceaseless energy, a driven man who would never be satisfied. Davenport had the perfect candidate in mind.
“I am quite convinced,” Davenport wrote Mrs. Harriman, “that Mr. Laughlin is our man.”25
* * *
Fifty-five miles west of where northeast Missouri meets the Mississippi River, rolling foothills and hickory woodlands veined with lush streams finally yield to the undulating prairie that seats the town of Kirksville. In colonial times, mound-building Indians and French trappers prowled this region’s vast forests hunting beaver, bear and muskrat pelts. After the Louisiana Purchase in 1803, only the sturdiest pioneers settled what became known as the state of Missouri. Kirksville was a small rural town in its northeast quadrant, serving as the intellectual and medical center of its surrounding agricultural community.26
In 1891, the Laughlin clan was among the tough middle-class pioneer families that settled in Kirksville, hoping to make a life. George Laughlin, a deeply religious college professor, migrated from Kansas to become pastor at Kirksville’s Christian Church. The next year, the classically trained Laughlin w
as hired as chairman of the English Department of the Normal School, the area’s main college.27 Quickly, the Laughlins became a leading family of Kirksville.
In a modest home on East Harrison Street, the elder Laughlin raised ten children including five sons, one of whom was Harry Hamilton Laughlin. Young Harry was expected to behave like a “preacher’s kid,” even though his father was a college professor and no longer a clergyman. Preacher’s kid or not, Harry was prone to youthful pranks and was endearingly nicknamed “Hi Yi” by his siblings. Once, on a sibling dare, Harry swung an axe at his younger brother Earl’s hand, which was poised atop a chopping block. One of Earl’s fingers was nearly severed, but was later reattached.28
Ancestry and social progress were both important in the Laughlin household. Reverend Laughlin could trace his lineage back to England and Germany, and it included U.S. President James Madison. His mother, Deborah, a Temperance League activist, acknowledged that her great-grandfather was a soldier in the English Light Dragoons during colonial times.29
When a well-educated Harry Laughlin graduated from college, he saw himself destined for greater things. Unfortunately, opportunity did not approach. So Laughlin became a teacher at a desolate one-room schoolhouse in nearby Livonia, Missouri. Life in Livonia was an unhappy one for Laughlin. He had to walk through a small stream just to reach the front door of the schoolhouse. Laughlin referred to his ramshackle school as being “20 miles from any civilized animal.” Sneering at the locals, he wrote, “People here are 75 years behind the times.” Laughlin denigrated his students as “very dull” and admitted to “a forced smile” when he wasn’t grumbling.30
Laughlin returned to Kirksville at his first chance. Initially, he hired on as principal of the local high school in 1900. However, he soon advanced to the Department of Agriculture, Botany and Nature at his college alma mater, the Nonnal School. His wife Pansy had also graduated from there. Hence, it was where Laughlin felt most comfortable. Indeed, despite the wide travels and illustrious circles he ultimately attained, Laughlin always considered simple Kirksville his true home and refuge.31
Still, Laughlin was convinced his days at Normal were temporary. A political dreamer, Laughlin had already drafted the first of numerous outlines for a one-world government comprised of six continental jurisdictions, complete with an international parliament apportioning seats in favor of the hereditarily superior nations. In Laughlin’s world scheme, the best stocks would rule. Laughlin submitted his detailed plans to heads of state and opinion makers, but to no avail. No one paid attention.32
Highfalutin proposals for a personally crafted world order were only the outward manifestations of a man who desperately sought to make a mark, and not just any mark, but an incandescent mark visible to all. In pursuit of this, Laughlin spent a lifetime submitting his writings on everything from politics to thoroughbred horseracing to world leaders and influential personalities, seeking favorable comments, approval and recognition. And if none of that was possible, just a simple “thank you” would do.
It was not unusual for Laughlin to mail an obscure journal article or scientific paper to dozens of perfect strangers in high places, soliciting any measure of written approbation. These reply letters typed on important letterheads were then filed and cherished. Many were little more than polite but depthless two-sentence acknowledgments written by well-placed people who scarcely understood why they had been contacted. For example, Laughlin sent one immigration study to dozens of embassies, newspaper editors, business tycoons and private foundation leaders seeking comment. The Columbian Ambassador to Washington formally wrote back: “I take pleasure in acknowledging receipt of… the books… which I will be glad to look over.” The editor of Foreilfll Affairs magazine issued a curt two-sentence thank you, indicating, “It will be useful in our reference files.” An assistant in Henry Ford’s office dashed off a two-sentence proforma note, “We… wish to take this opportunity of thanking you on behalf of Mr. Ford for the copy of your work…. “33
Self-promotion was a way of life for Laughlin.34 But no matter how high his station, it was never high enough. “If I can’t be great,” Laughlin once confessed to his mother, at least “I can certainly do much good.”35
Laughlin’s desperate quest for greatness turned a historic corner on May 17, 1907, when he wrote to Davenport asking to attend one of Cold Spring Harbor’s continuing summer biology courses. His application was immediately approved.36 The relationship between Davenport and Laughlin finally ignited in January of 1909 when both men attended the American Breeders Association meeting in Columbia, Missouri.37 The next year, after Mrs. Harriman approved the ERO, Laughlin was Davenport’s number one choice.
Within Davenport’s grandiose ideas about reshaping mankind, Laughlin could both find a niche and secure personal gratification. Working in the eugenics movement, with his notions of a one-world government, Laughlin might achieve a destiny he could barely imagine in any other endeavor.
Davenport understood Laughlin’s deeply personal needs. As such, he structured Laughlin’s employment to be more than just a career. The Eugenics Record Office would become Laughlin’s life-from morning to night and into the next morning. Laughlin found such rigor comforting; it represented a personal acceptance he’d never known. Davenport had certainly chosen the right man.
Stressing to Mrs. Harriman that the ERO’s task was a long-term project, Davenport proposed that Laughlin be hired for at least ten years. Laughlin’s residence would actually be on the grounds of the Eugenics Record Office, and his title would be “superintendent.” Davenport understood human nature. The very title “superintendent” was reminiscent of railroad station managers, the kind who had catered to Mrs. Harriman’s late husband’s steel-tracked empire. “Do you wish first to see Mr. Laughlin,” Davenport asked Mrs. Harriman with apparent deference, but quickly added, “or do you authorize me to offer Mr. Laughlin $2,400 for the first year?”38
Mrs. Harriman approved. Davenport notified Laughlin. The campaign to create a superior race would soon be launched.
* * *
By late 1910 the Laughlins had arrived at Cold Spring Harbor to open the facility. They lived on the second floor of the ERO’s main building, where they enjoyed four large rooms and a fifth smaller one. Laughlin would have continuous access to the library, dining room and kitchen adjacent to the main business area on the first floor. He would eat and sleep eugenics. Working fastidiously on the smallest details of the ERO’s establishment, it was not uncommon to find him in the office seven days a week including most holidays.39
The Eugenics Record Office went into high gear even before the doors opened in October of 1910. Its first mission was to identify the most defective and undesirable Americans, estimated to be at least 10 percent of the population. This 10 percent was sometimes nicknamed the “submerged tenth” or the lower tenth. At the time, this amounted to millions of Americans. When found, they would be subjected to appropriate eugenic remedies to terminate their bloodlines. Various remedies were debated, but the leading solutions were compulsory segregation and forced sterilization.40
No time was wasted. During the ERO’s preparatory summer months, a dozen field workers, mainly women, were recruited to canvass prisons and mental institutions, establishing good working relationships with their directors. The first junket on July 15, 1910, proved to be typical. First, field workers visited the notorious prison at Ossining, New York, known as Sing Sing, where they were granted a complete tour of the “hereditary criminals” they would be studying. After Sing Sing, the group traveled to the State Asylum at Matteawan, New York, where Superintendent Lamb promised to open all patient records to help “demonstrate at once the hereditary basis of criminal insanity.” An albino family was then examined in nearby Millerton, New York. The eugenic investigators ended their outing at a school for the feebleminded in Lakeville, Connecticut. In Lake-ville, once again, “the records were turned over to us,” Davenport reported to Mrs. Harriman, enabling the “plotti
ng on a map of Connecticut the distribution of birth-places of inmates.” None of the institutions hesitated to tum over their confidential records to the private ERO-even before the agency opened its doors.41
After a few weeks of training in eugenic characteristics and principles, Laughlin’s enthusiastic ERO field investigators swept across the eastern seaboard. Their mission was to identify those perceived as genetically inferior, as well as their extended families and their geographic concentrations. By pegging hotspot origins of defectives, eugenic cleansing priorities could be established. By no means was this a campaign directed solely against racial groups, but rather against any individual or group-white or black-considered physically, medically, morally, culturally or socially inadequate in the eyes of Davenport and Laughlin. Often there was no racial or cultural consistency to the list of those targeted. The genuinely lame, insane and deformed were lumped in with the troubled, the unfortunate, the disadvantaged and those who were simply “different,” thus creating a giant eugenic underclass simply labeled “the unfit.”
The hunt began.
ERO researcher A. H. Estabrook traveled to western Massachusetts and Connecticut to collect family trees on albino families. He was then “attached” to the State Asylum at Matteawan to research criminal insanity. Thereafter, Laughlin assigned him to search for “degenerates in the isolated valleys around the upper Hudson [River].” Estabrook developed 35 pages of pedigrees and 168 pages of personal descriptions in his first forays, but Laughlin became most interested in one “large family with much inter-marriage that promises to be as interesting as theJuke or Zero family.”42
Mary Drange-Graebe was assigned to Chicago where she worked with the Juvenile Psychopathic Institute under Dr. William Healy. After four months in Chicago, she was reassigned to track down the so-called Ishmael clan of nomadic criminals and vagabonds in and around Indianapolis. The tribe of racially mixed white gypsies, Islamic blacks and American Indians had been described years earlier in the study The Tribe of Ishmael: a Study in Social Degeneration, as a prime example of genetic criminality. This book had become a fundamental text for all eugenics. Now the ERO considered the book, written a generation earlier, as “too advanced for the times.” So Drange-Graebe would resume tracing the family lineages of the infamous Ishmaelites. Within months, she had assembled 77 pages of family pedigrees and 873 pages of individual descriptions.43
