Forgotten Man, The

by Amity Shlaes

  (John Brophy also had doubts, writing in his autobiography of his time in Russia, “I had to reassess some impressions in the light of later events.”)

  Father Divine faded after World War II. In 1959 Krum Elbow was sold to a real estate developer.

  Samuel Insull never made it back to wealth despite his acquittal. He honored his debts as he could, selling or signing over to banks nearly all his assets, right down to the swans from the lake at his country house and a Wedgwood dinner service of 205 pieces. He died of a heart attack in the Place de la Concorde stop of the Paris métro in the summer of 1938, less than a year after Mellon.

  The War Relocation Authority hired Dorothea Lange to photograph the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. All told, Lange and WRA colleagues produced some 13,000 photographs of the camps created under Roosevelt’s Executive Order 9066. She and her husband, Paul Taylor, were horrified at what they saw and drafted letters from Roosevelt that sought to explain to the internees the justification for the action. Lange’s photos of the Japanese Americans were impounded and rarely seen, until recently.

  David Lilienthal became head of the TVA and was eventually nominated to head the Atomic Energy Commission. The TVA sold the town of Norris to a private investor for $2,107,500 in June 1948. Angry senators tried to establish that he had harbored Communists at the TVA during his confirmation hearings. Lilienthal offered a rebuttal that silenced them and helped bring about his confirmation. He published his own book about his concept of American civics, This I Do Believe. Eventually, Lilienthal went into the private sector, joining Lazard Freres on Wall Street and consulting for foreign governments. He and his wife, Helen, retired to Princeton.

  Paul Mellon would become as great a collector and donor as his father. At Yale, he created the Yale Center for British Art. He attended the dedication of the National Gallery in 1941. At the dedication, President Roosevelt said that the “giver of this building has matched the richness of its gift with the modesty of his spirit, stipulating that the gallery shall be known not by his name but by the nation’s.” The president noted that Abraham Lincoln, even in the middle of the Civil War and a national financial crisis, had pushed for an opulent Capitol dome. “Certain critics, for there were critics,” noted Roosevelt, “found much to criticize. There were new marble pillars…. But the president answered, ‘If the people see the Capitol is going on, it is a sign that we intend this Union shall go on.’”

  Mellon wrote later that the president’s remarks seemed to him “a little wry, considering the behavior of his tax bloodhounds,” but “perhaps he had come to realize that Father really had been a public-spirited man.” Andrew Mellon’s gift inspired others to join him, including the Kress family and Joseph Widener. During the war, the gallery remained open on Sunday evenings for “benefit of men in the armed forces and war workers in the city.”

  Raymond Moley worked in the public sector, seeking to help such groups as the Tax Foundation and the American Enterprise Institute. Moley published numerous books, including an enlightening portrait of politicians he had known, Twenty-seven Masters of Politics. He advised Herbert Hoover and supported the candidacy of several Republicans for president—Willkie, Barry Goldwater, and Richard Nixon. Moley died in 1975.

  Walter Lyman Rice became an attorney for Reynolds Metals Co., a company in the industry he had prosecuted during the New Deal. He also served as ambassador to Australia.

  The Schechters went back into business after their Supreme Court victory, according to their descendant Glen Asner. In a note to the author, Asner wrote: “Their major political concern in the 1930s was anti-Semitism. They believed that if Roosevelt had not solved the problems of the Depression, the U.S. could have gone the way of Nazi Germany. Their overarching political concern was the condition of the Jews. That said, the main topics of discussion around the house were horses, stocks, and business.” Asner thinks it likely that the Schechters voted for Roosevelt all four times.

  John Steinbeck published his novel about Okies and the migrant camps in 1939. The New York Times commented that The Grapes of Wrath might read to some like “a disquisition by Stuart Chase.” The book became an American classic.

  Roy Stryker and the FSA offices produced 130,000 photographs. Upon leaving government, Stryker supervised a massive photo documentation project for Standard Oil of New Jersey.

  William Graham Sumner died in 1910.

  After Rex Tugwell left government, many of his projects were completed, including Casa Grande, with mixed results. The Casa Grande settlement was sold off in the early 1940s. Later a student of Tugwell’s, Edward C. Banfield, published a monograph about Casa Grande’s failure, Government Project. Banfield went on to be a leading scholar in the urban studies field. Tugwell contributed a foreword to Banfield’s book, criticizing the settlers for their susceptibility to the anti–New Deal press. Of the settlement’s history, he concluded, “It is not a nice story.” Thoughtful as always, he also took some of the blame himself: “As I look back now after almost two decades it seems to me that we were doomed to failure from the start.” Of Casa Grande generally, he wrote: “We can see in it many lessons if we will.”

  The story of a less ambitious planned community is told by Cathy Knepper in Greenbelt, Maryland: A Living Legacy of the New Deal. Greenbelt was in a different class from Casa Grande, for it never aimed for economic independence; rather, it was a cooperative suburb whose inhabitants traveled elsewhere to work. Still, both in the 1930s and 1940s, Greenbelt attracted the hostility of members of Congress; in the 1940s a select committee investigated the Farm Security Administration, which oversaw Greenbelt at the time, finding the agency “communistic.” In the period of McCarthyism a Greenbelt citizen, Abe Chasanow, became a target.

  Tugwell became governor of Puerto Rico and, later, a professor at the University of Chicago. He and his second wife lived for a time in Greenbelt. They named one of their sons Franklin.

  Wendell Willkie joined a New York law firm, today still known as Willkie, Farr and Gallagher. He became Roosevelt’s emissary and traveled the world for the president during wartime. Roosevelt, in arranging a meeting concerning Lend Lease with the British prime minister at Chequers, wrote to Churchill that Willkie was “truly helping to keep politics out over here.” Willkie was as susceptible to Stalin’s charm as Roosevelt, or the 1927 travelers. With the aid of Irita Van Doren, he published a book about a vision of the globe without war, One World. The Council on Books in Wartime called his book an “imperative” read. One World sold 1.6 million copies within a few months, making it one of the best-selling books in history. Twentieth Century Fox, of which Willkie was chairman of the board, bought the movie rights. Admiring the success, David Lilienthal wrote to Willkie seeking advice about publishing his own books.

  Willkie also helped found Freedom House, a New York–based think tank, to fight for the advancement of democracy. He befriended the boxer Joe Louis, who had endorsed his candidacy in 1940. He represented an American Communist, William Schneiderman, before the Supreme Court, defending the man’s right to be a citizen. Willkie won the case for Schneiderman and assailed federal prosecutors for going after the Communist; the action, he said, set “an illiberal precedent.” He ran for president in 1944 but found little support.

  Willkie died in 1944 of a heart attack, while his son Philip, a lieutenant in the navy, was still at sea. Sixty thousand people filed outside Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York on the day of his funeral.

  Bill Wilson’s Alcoholics Anonymous spread across the world. By 1975, there were 22,000 local groups in the United States and more abroad. In June 2005, the twenty-five millionth copy of The Big Book was published.

  acknowledgments

  My first debt is to Sarah Chalfant and Andrew Wylie, the two agents who have stood by this book for over half a decade. I also owe Tim Duggan of HarperCollins, who understood the initial idea better than anyone and waited in good faith and encouraged even when all there was of the
book were a few mismatched chapters. Tim’s ear improved immensely the quality of the product.

  I owe much to the people who have employed me as a columnist while I worked on the book. At the Financial Times, John Gapper, Chrystia Freeland, James Montgomery, John Lloyd, and the late Peter Martin were especially supportive. So was Robert Thomson, now of the Times of London. Elizabeth Tucker of Marketplace Radio was always an ally. At Bloomberg, my column’s new home, Matt Winkler, Tom Keene, Jim Greiff, and Matt Goldenberg overlooked the gaps in column output. John Wasik of Bloomberg has been an especial friend. Douglas Holtz-Eakin and Walter Russell Mead, colleagues at the Council on Foreign Relations, cheered me on. Ira Stoll of the New York Sun did as well. My thanks to Steve Chapman, Bruce Dold, and Marcia Lythcott of the Chicago Tribune.

  Five years of Great Depression work required enormous research. I am lucky to have had funding for that work. Thank you to Ingrid Gregg, President of the Earhart Foundation, who, in the spirit of Amelia herself, took this risk—and thanks to David Kennedy before her as well. The Annette and Ian Cumming Foundation provided me with funds for numerous costly tomes. I appreciate too the support of the American Enterprise Institute, which made me a visiting fellow and part of its National Research Initiative in 2002 and 2003. Kim Dennis was there from the beginning and Henry Olsen at the end. Any author is lucky to have the counsel of AEI’s Chris DeMuth, who both advised and gave the chance to present the Schechter theme early on in a Bradley lecture, as well as to deliver, later, yet a second Bradley lecture on the Forgotten Man himself. Additional and crucial support has come from the Alice and Thomas Tisch Foundation. The author appreciates the fact that the foundation was enthusiastic early, when this project seemed improbable. The Manhattan Institute has been supportive: thank you, Roger Hertog, Mabel Weil, Larry Mone, and David Desrosiers for your friendship and patience.

  At the American Academy in Berlin, Gary Smith hosted me as J. P. Morgan fellow in economic and financial journalism; this provided needed international perspective.

  Ron Chernow was a wise adviser. The work of state think tanks, especially the Mackinac Center and its scholars, Larry Reed and Burt Folsom, inspired this project. Diana Furchtgott-Roth of the Hudson Institute has always lovingly goaded the project forward: “what is the pub date?”

  Several researchers, principally Menachem Butler and Johanna Conterio, mined documents and checked, as did Seth Johnson and Charles Siegel. Anna Williams found the photos and taught me all about illustrations in the process. Andrew Relkin provided Web support. Ellen Phillips checked chicken facts and advised on Jewish law. The Lilly Library at Indiana University graciously hunted documents. Thank you to Eileen Giuliani at the Stepping Stones Foundation, who hosted me and my daughter for a visit. Virginia Lewick at the Franklin D. Roosevelt Library and Museum helped out a number of times; the library generally was friendly, a tribute to Roosevelt’s spirit.

  I owe an enormous debt to Gene Smiley, professor emeritus at Marquette University, and Jeffrey A. Miron of Harvard, both of whom read this book in its entirety. Smiley’s Rethinking the Great Depression is the ideal thinking man’s text. Arthur Levitt also took the time to read this—and told me that as a child he himself went to visit Father Divine. Thank you, Arthur. I owe a debt too to Paul Johnson, who has advised me on all my books, including this one, and another to George Will, who has served as a mentor for many years now. To read Harry Evans’s wonderful They Made America was to get a lesson in how to profile an innovator; his American Century likewise inspired me. I could therefore not believe my good luck when Harry also proved willing to look over the manuscript—thank you. Mark Helprin gave up the most valuable commodity of all, time, to review this project—and to offer some much-needed pointers on style.

  People who also read all or parts of the text include Marian McKenna, Wendell Willkie II, Chris DeMuth, Anne Applebaum, and Robert Asahina. Bob Asahina especially understands this story, having studied the Forgotten Man in his own time in his illuminating book, Just Americans. Just Americans shows how both Hoover’s refugee centers and the New Deal tradition of resettlement made it easier for the nation to stumble into the tragic error of interning Japanese Americans. Joe Thorndike, the tax historian at Tax Notes, helped me out at every stage (Thorndike’s virtual tax museum, at www.taxhistory.org makes for fascinating browsing.) Dan Yergin boosted morale, as did Steve Forbes, who shared his library though he disagrees with the gold thesis. Steve’s colleague and my friend Tim Ferguson was always in the background. Glen Asner of the Schechter family, a historian himself, gave me feedback about the family culture. Thank you to Estelle Freilich, a Schechter daughter, for permission to reprint the poem by Joe Schechter’s wife. Marian McKenna in Calgary also helped me out with the Schechters. Her book Franklin Roosevelt and the Great Constitutional War is the gold standard work on the court packing. From Capitol Hill, Ike Brannon and Donald Marron contributed ideas and encouragement. Tunku Varadarajan, Amy Finnerty, John Lipsky, David Malpass, and Adele Malpass were always helpful and interested. Fred and Susan Shriver heard more about this project than they ever hoped to. The late Robert Bartley walked me through a number of these chapters by e-mail and telephone. Allan Meltzer, author of the authoritative History of the Federal Reserve, talked over some of the book. Alan Baker of the Ellsworth American of Maine advised as well.

  All errors are mine.

  Every book has a friend. This book’s was Elizabeth Bailey, who understands the importance of long projects.

  Books are hard on everyone, but hardest of all on the author’s family. My father and mother, closer to the period than I, encouraged me. So did Marylea and Rolf Meyersohn, and my cousins, Elizabeth Meyersohn, John Meyersohn, Julie Hartenstein, and Maggy Siegel. My grandmother Ruth Brill Shlaes Reis sent along her summary, which accurately represented many Americans’: “Everything was all right in those years, but only if you had a job.” Beatrice Barran deserves special thanks. My siblings Noah Shlaes, Jane Shlaes Dowd, and Bruce DeGrazia let me know that they would accept no other outcome than a finished book. But the biggest thank-yous go to our children, Eli, Theo, Flora, and Helen, and my husband Seth—the man never forgotten.

  New York, 2006

  bibliographic notes

  Introduction

  Across the East River…a utilities executive named Wendell Willkie… Willkie has numerous biographers. For details of his business side, Joseph Barnes’s Willkie (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1952) is indispensable. Other sources are Ellsworth Barnard’s Wendell Willkie: Fighter for Freedom (Marquette, Mich.: Northern Michigan University Press, 1966), and Wendell Willkie by Mary Earhart Dillon (New York: Lippincott, 1952). Oren Root’s Persons and Persuasions (New York: W. W. Norton, 1974) gives a feel for the 1940 campaign. Dark Horse (Dark Horse: A Biography of Wendell Willkie: Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1984) by Steve Neal is excellent. So is Charles Peters’s Five Days in Philadelphia: The Amazing “We Want Willkie!” Convention of 1940 and How It Freed FDR to Save the Western World (New York: PublicAffairs, 2005). This Is Wendell Willkie, edited and with an introduction by Stanley Walker (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1940) contains many primary Willkie documents.

  1

  The Beneficent Hand

  Average unemployment: 3.3 percent During the 1920s and the Depression, Washington did not keep the sort of systematic unemployment data that it collects today. Europeans found this fact disconcerting. “No trustworthy statistics of unemployment exist and, strangely enough, little effort is being made to collect them,” the editors of the London Economist grumbled. But the reason came out of two realities of American life from the period: the country was still heavily agricultural, and farmwork was harder to quantify than industrial work. Until the mid-1930s, state governments, taken together with cities, were still a larger presence than Washington, and were still the most logical ones to do the counting. There was another consideration, reasonable in hindsight: creating a statistic gives people something to politicize.

  Still, there were some
national numbers to talk about. The Labor Department collected figures, as did the Census Bureau, the Commerce Department, state governments, Paul Douglas, and William Green at the American Federation of Labor—as well as several newspapers, including the New York Times and the New York Sun. Usually unemployment was reckoned in numbers rather than percentages.

  By the 1940s the Bureau of Labor Statistics was constructing firmer data, much of the work being led by scholar Stanley Lebergott. Later Lebergott became the leading authority in the field, and it is his updated figures that are used at the headings of the early chapters, as well as in the final chapter. They come from table A-3 on page 512 of his Manpower in Economic Growth (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964). Lebergott documented that unemployment more than doubled from 1920 to 1921, reaching 11.7 percent on average in 1921, above the level for 1930. For the 1930s, I have gone with month-by-month figures calculated by Richard K. Vedder and Lowell E. Gallaway, in Out of Work: Unemployment and Government in Twentieth Century America (San Francisco: Independent Institute; New York: Holmes & Meier, 1993). These authors use Lebergott and government numbers as their basis. Economists on the right such as Michael Darby, Harry Scherman Fellow at the National Bureau of Economic Research, argued later that Lebergott and the BLS both overestimated the number of unemployed by counting as unemployed people who actually had full-or part-time work in make-work programs such as the WPA. But I have gone with the traditional numbers. The material on black employment is especially important. Looking back over pre-Depression Censuses, Vedder and Gallaway found little difference between blacks’ unemployment rates and whites’. Even discounting for the very real possibility that the black unemployed were undercounted, the gap between the two groups was nowhere near as dramatic as it would be in the modern period, after World War II.