An Election Apart: Harry Truman and the Last Time an Incumbent President Was Strapped for Cash

Philip White

John Trumbull's 1793 portrait of John Adams

In our hyperbole-infected 24/7, anywhere, anytime news cycle, many reporters have become too quick to judge elections in exaggeration. If you believed stories from the Obama-Romney coverage chapter and verse, you’d think this was “the most negative campaign ever.” Never mind that contest between two chaps by the names of Adams and Jefferson, in which Jefferson’s election managers slammed Adams as a "hideous hermaphroditical character, which has neither the force and firmness of a man, nor the gentleness and sensibility of a woman."  Sniping back, Adams’s team dismissed Jefferson as "a mean-spirited, low-lived fellow, the son of a half-breed Indian squaw, sired by a Virginia mulatto father.”

Depending on where your political sympathies lay, you’d also be resolved that Mitt Romney or president Barack Obama were the two most mendacious candidates of any that have vied for the White House. Hmmm. Because political candidates never stretch or bend the truth to further their arguments, of course. Like the time that Al Smith’s detractors took their anti-Catholicism line into comical territory by circulating a photo of Smith dedicating a new tunnel and claiming he was planning to extend the passageway under the Atlantic to Rome, so he could take direct orders from the Pope if he became president.

But one claim about this year’s Obama-Romney face off that is accurate is that it is the most highly funded election in US history, with more than $6 billion dollars flowing into Democratic and Republican coffers, and then out again to pay for TV ads, logistics, calling campaigns and the rest.

This cash-rich election is the opposite of another that I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time studying lately: The Harry Truman vs. Tom Dewey presidential election of 1948.

Clifford K. Berryman, October 19, 1948

Before we look at the money side, let’s first look at the context of this election. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who had been president for 12 years, authored the New Deal, forged the historic wartime alliance with Winston Churchill and become an indelible imprint on the nation’s consciousness, died on April 12, 1945. In his place was a man who had been vice president for just 82 days, and was as unlike Roosevelt as was possible. FDR was born into privilege, had been to the best schools, and mixed in the elite East Coast liberal circles, making his ascension to the presidency seem natural and, in some ways, almost pre-destined. In contrast, Harry Truman had been a soldier, a farmer and a failed haberdasher, had never been to college, and preferred to mix with his old friends from Missouri. Yet, with FDR gone, he was now at the helm of the US, which had become an industrial powerhouse during World War II.

Just three months into his presidency, Truman was charged with brokering a lasting peace with Churchill and Joseph Stalin at Potsdam – though Soviet hegemony in Eastern Europe was a fait accompli and Stalin wasn’t well known for bending for anyone, let alone a rookie president, albeit it a fiery one.

Then, in August 1945, Truman was faced with the monumental decision of whether to use the fruits of the Manhattan Project to force Japanese surrender. Believing his generals’ assertions that bombing Hiroshima and Nagasaki would save up to 500,000 American troops, he authorized this decisive, and most deadly, action.

When the war ended, organized labor wanted pay rises to compensate for stagnant levels during the war, while industrial leaders desired increased prices and keeping wages steady. Massive strikes ensued, with 116 million of work days lost in 1946. Truman recognized the need to keep the Democrats’ traditional labor voting happy, but couldn’t tolerate it when the UAW, AFL, CIO, coalminers, John Lewis’s steelworkers and others brought the country’s economy to a standstill. So he seized the mines, the steelworks and the railroads, telling train worker leaders A.F Whitney and Alvanley Johnson in the Oval Office, “I’m going to give you the gun.” Truman was pulled back by special counsel Clark Clifford when he wanted to tell Congress he should hang a few strikers to send a message to Big Labor, though in his revised speech to a joint session on May 26, he did ask for the right to draft strikers into the Army – a proposal that didn’t become law.

To add to Truman’s woes, the GOP seized control of the House and Senate in the 1946 midterms. And as Truman’s lame duck Presidency continued to struggle, his pursuit of a bold civil rights plank, passage of Executive Orders to desegregate the US armed forces and ensure equality for civil servants of all ethnicity and speech to the NAACP caused Southern Democrats to break away and form the States Rights Democratic Platform. One split in the party would’ve been bad enough, but former vice president Henry Wallace captured the imagination of the far left when he formed the Progressive Party. To make matters worse, the New Deal old guard, including Eleanor and James Roosevelt, had little to no confidence in Truman, considering him to be a poor substitute for the giant of the age, FDR.

The hapless Truman had no reprieve in foreign affairs. Not only was Stalin securing his grip on Eastern Europe, he was also demanding bases in Turkey, providing support to Greek Communists and threatening the vital British trade route through the Suez Canal. In Asia, Moscow was backing Mao’s takeover in China and, foreshadowing the coming conflict, periodically cutting off power to South Korea. And then, Truman controversially recognized the nascent Israeli state on May 14, 1948, the first world leader to do so. A month later, the Soviets started the Berlin Blockade, refusing to allow food, medical supplies or other aid to flow from the Allied-controlled zones.

With such calamities at home and abroad, Truman would have struggled against any Republican opponents in the 1948 election. But when the GOP nominated the ‘dream ticket’ of New York Governor Thomas Dewey and popular California Governor Earl Warren, a whole forest was thrown onto the fire. Clare Booth Luce, wife of Time publisher Henry, spoke the opinions of many when she said that the Man from Missouri was a “gone goose.”

Electoral financiers certainly concurred. Wallace was getting funds from liberal backers, while Wall Street backing went to Dewey. Though this gave Truman more ammo for his soon-familiar populist claim that the Republicans were the “party of privilege” and in the pockets of “special interests,” Truman certainly would’ve welcomed trading balance sheets with his opponents.

Early in the campaign, Truman clambered up on a chair in the White House, telling would-be backers that his train wouldn’t go far without their help. The indignity! Radio networks got wind of the president’s campaign fund shortage, and several times cut him off in the middle of a broadcast. Can you imagine this happening to the president of the United States today?

The networks were playing hardball again as the hours ticked down to Truman’s crucial Labor Day address in Detroit’s Cadillac Square, demanding $50,000 up front. Oklahoma Governor Roy Turner came to rescue, rustling up the money just in time.

Turner was again Truman’s savior when the Whistle Stop Tour ground to a halt in Oklahoma City. The railroad demanded more money on the spot, or Truman’s train, dubbed “The Last Chance Special” would be stuck in the station. Turner organized a whip-round, and got the required sum.

Despite these privations, a dismissive press, the double split in his party, unrest at home and potential war abroad, Harry Truman did it, beating Dewey at the polls to win four more years. 31,000 miles, 356 speeches and the work of six bright, industrious young men in a makeshift Research Division overcame arid coffers.

President Obama and Mr. Romney face no such financial worries. But they shouldn’t allow bulging pocketbooks to breed complacency, as did Thomas Dewey. In the last few days of their campaigns, both candidates would do well to heed the timeless example of Truman’s 1948 bid: working 18-hour days, speaking their way to laryngitis, and, most importantly, appealing to undecided voters by, gulp, simply being themselves. Now that would be, as the kids say, “money.”

Roundup on Presidential Politics and History

"Historian reflects on George McGovern's enduring impact on presidential politics," Public Radio International, October 22, 2012

McGovern, an icon of liberalism, was a senator and representative from South Dakota, serving from 1957 to 1981. Princeton University professor Julian Zelizer said McGovern played a key role in changing the rules of politics conventions.>>>

"Everything you need to know about presidential debate history," The Week, October 14, 2012

When were the first debates held? The seven encounters between Abraham Lincoln and Stephen A. Douglas in 1858 are widely considered to be the first "presidential" debates — even though they took place two years before the men were actually running for president.>>>

Sarah Rainsford, "Cubans remember missile crisis 'victory,'" BBC, October 16, 2012

The countryside around San Cristobal is littered with traces of the Cuban missile crisis, when the world came the closest yet to nuclear war.

It was here that the Soviet Union installed dozens of nuclear missiles, pointing at America. Fifty years on, a local guide called Stalin took me to explore what remains of that history.>>>

Joseph Crespino, "Moderate White Democrats Silenced," NYT, October 2, 2012

Part of the story of working-class whites in the Deep South lies in the demise of the moderate white Democrats who used to win their votes. And that story is wrapped up very much in the history of voting rights and redistricting.>>>

Christopher Benfey, "The Empty Chair that Keeps Me Awake at Night," NYRBlog, October 17, 2012

I have no idea what Clint Eastwood had in mind when he dragged an empty chair up to the stage at the Republican Convention in Tampa last August. Maybe he was thinking, as some have suggested, of some bygone exercise in a Lee Strasberg acting class. “Please, Clint. Talk to the chair. You are Hamlet and the chair is Ophelia. Please. Just talk to her.” Or maybe a marriage counselor had used an empty chair to teach the tight-lipped gunslinger from Carmel how to empathize with his wife. “Go ahead, Clint, make her day. Tell her what you’re feeling.”>>>

George McGovern: Historian

Jonathan Rees

In the day since former Senator George McGovern died, I have read wonderful tributes to his campaign for the presidency in 1972.  Thankfully, President Obama mentioned McGovern’s heroism during World War II in his statement marking opposition to the Vietnam War and his ill-fated but noble the Senator’s death.  However, the only mentions that I’ve read of McGovern’s career as a professional historian seem somewhat surprised that he was ever a college professor. 

Of course, this confusion is understandable, and if I didn’t teach in Colorado I would probably share it right now even though I have been a huge George McGovern fan for a very long time.  McGovern ran for President when I was six years old, and I distinctly remember rooting for him both because my parents supported him and because I have always liked going against the crowd.  When I was in Middle School, I did a book report on his campaign biography.  I must have learned about his professional life before he entered politics then, but with no inkling of what my own profession would eventually be I’m sure I forgot.

In 1988, I was a volunteer at the Democratic National Convention in Atlanta.  At that time, I had a particular skill for recognizing politicians, but I really didn’t want to bother any of them.  I made an exception for George McGovern.  I walked up to him outside the hall, and said, “I’m really glad to meet you,” as I shook his hand.  He replied, “I’m really glad to meet you too,” and then he got swarmed by a throng of admirers.  I thought I’d never get a chance to meet him again.  I was completely wrong.


George McGovern earned his Ph.D. at Northwestern University studying under the well-known Woodrow Wilson scholar Arthur S. Link in 1953 while simultaneously teaching at Dakota Wesleyan University.  His topic was what has come to be called the Great Colorado Coalfield War of 1913-14 (largely thanks to him).  As McGovern was just starting to run for President, Houghton Mifflin offered to publish his dissertation.  McGovern hired a writer named Leonard Guttridge to help smooth out the academese, and to do a little extra research.  The resulting book, The Great Coalfield War, was the first major publication to examine the infamous Ludlow Massacre of 1914, one of the bloodiest events in American Labor History.  The book remains in print today.

It is interesting to compare the book and the dissertation that preceded it.  The book offers more perspective, going back to about 1903.  However, Guttridge also prepared the publication for the scrutiny of a political campaign.  All of the barely concealed anger and the pro-union language of the original dissertation disappeared.  Still, the book was a pathbreaker, setting the tone for later works like Scott Martelle’s Blood Passion and Thomas Andrews’ Bancroft Prize-winning Killing for Coal.  However, the dissertation is much more fun to read.  George McGovern didn’t really need a co-author.  He was an excellent historian and author in his own right.

I know this because I teach in southern Colorado, near where the strike occurred.  For the last ten years or so I’ve helped organize commemorations of the Ludlow Massacre here at Colorado State University—Pueblo.  In 2004, my department, along with the Bessemer Historical Society—the people who are working to save the archives of the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company, the largest firm that employed those strikers—invited McGovern to campus for a fundraiser.  He not only accepted, he cut his usual speaking fee by two thirds.

Me and a colleague from the Political Science department picked McGovern up at the airport.  Then we drove him to Peterson Air Force Base so that he could pick up his granddaughter.  Then he took us all to lunch at the Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs (famous, among other reasons, for being the place where George W. Bush decided to give up drinking).  That remains the only time that I have ever eaten at the Broadmoor.  Then we dropped off his granddaughter back at the base and drove to Pueblo.

We all chatted almost the entire time.  Of course, the same way that Elton John will have to sing “Crocodile Rock” well past his dotage, McGovern talked about the 1972 election.  His lines were interesting. (They included, “I would rather be me right now than Richard Nixon.” and “Nixon was incredibly intelligent, but completely amoral.”)  I could tell these lines were also very well rehearsed.

When the conversation turned to history, however, McGovern’s eyes lit up.  He began to talk about Arthur Link, and how he had suggested the Colorado topic because, “There’s this huge strike that happened and nobody’s covered it before.”  He talked about doing research in Colorado during the early 1950s, and how he went to the movies in Denver once and the entire audience (but him) booed a newsreel when they saw Mother Jones.  We talked about Consensus History and the New Social History.  I think he liked talking about Colorado History with me and at our fundraiser because nobody asked him to do so very often.

It would be a shame if the historical profession makes the same mistake in the wake of his passing.  After all, George McGovern was a historian before he was ever a politician.

Jonathan Rees is Professor of History at Colorado State University—Pueblo.  Occasionally, he writes about something besides MOOCs in this space and over at his blog, More or Less Bunk.

Richard Nixon: Victim of Religious Prejudice and Religious Pluralism

Chris Beneke

The morning after his loss to John F. Kennedy in the 1960 presidential balloting, Vice-President Richard M. Nixon was awakened by vigorous tugging on his arm. No doubt groggy after two hours of election-shortened sleep, Nixon found his twelve-year-old daughter Julie next to him. She had been concerned by the previous evening’s returns and wanted to know the final outcome. Hearing the bad news, Julie then posed what her father described as a “strange and disturbing question.” “Daddy,” she asked, “why did people vote against you because of religion?” As Nixon recalled in his 1962 political biography Six Crises, he assured his daughter that people didn’t choose candidates because they “happen to be Jews or Catholics.” Instead, they chose them based on their estimation of the individual candidate’s merits.

This was an inspiring vision of political decision-making that didn’t comport with much else that Nixon wrote about religion and the 1960 election, nor much else in Nixon’s general approach to politics. Never one to underestimate the forces aligned against him nor his own suffering, Nixon went on to explain to readers that a smaller proportion of Catholic voters turned out for him than “any Republican presidential candidate in history (22 per cent).” Worse for his prospects that year, “there was not a corresponding and balancing shift of Protestants away from Kennedy.”

It may have taken the famously huge and fragile ego of Richard M. Nixon to imagine himself as a casualty of both religious tolerance and religious bigotry in the 1960 election, but that seems to have been what he was driving at. Nixon later made the point in a less veiled form. Kennedy’s Catholicism only appeared to be a political liability, Nixon wrote in his 1978 memoir. It actually improved the Massachusetts Senator’s chances:

"The Religious Issue: An Un-American Heritage,"
Life Magazine, July 4, 1960.

The pockets of fundamentalist anti-Catholic prejudice that still existed were concentrated in states that I stood to win anyway. But many Catholics would vote for Kennedy because he was Catholic, and some non-Catholics would vote for him just to prove they were not bigoted.

A master at harvesting resentments for electoral advantage, Nixon had somehow failed to turn anti-Catholicism into a critical mass of votes in the 1960 election. Aside from some covert overtures to anti-Catholics, his strategy seems to have involved subtle references to Kennedy’s Roman Catholic faith coupled with ecumenical appeals to Catholic Republicans and liberal Protestants. Shaun Casey, author of The Making of a Catholic President, notes that a supposedly confidential Nixon campaign memorandum, indicating that Kennedy’s faith would not be exploited for electoral gain, was “actually released publicly.” The same style of disingenuity may have been at work in television speech delivered on the eve of the election, in which the Vice-President urged voters to vote for the best candidate no matter what their religious affiliation.

One reasonable conclusion to be drawn from Nixon’s frustration regarding the “religious issue” in the 1960 election was that anti-Catholicism was such a doddering, parochial prejudice by this point in American history that even Nixon (the man whose own White House Counsel would later outline a plan to “use the available federal machinery to screw our political enemies.”) dared not put it to explicit use. The fear that it would provoke a fierce reaction among Catholics, as well as sympathetic Protestants and Jews, was well-founded. Moreover, Kennedy and his team adeptly refuted charges that the Pope would take up residence in a JFK-White House, simultaneously co-signing bills and issuing encyclicals to Protestants. The result was that the Nixon camp was not able to successfully evoke the gaunt, withered specter of Vatican political power.

Then again, we don’t have to buy Nixon’s full self-pitying narrative to appreciate that he hit on something approaching truth when he portrayed himself as a victim of both Catholic preference for a fellow Catholic and the public’s aversion to the appearance of bigotry. Indeed, Nixon may have stumbled upon a fundamental paradox in the history of modern American thought, which accommodates certain expressions of group identity, while labeling the rest as mere chauvinism. There was no shortage of prejudice in 1960 (religious and otherwise), but what Nixon may have been describing was the tipping of electoral scales toward the flawed liberal dogma of pluralism, which has so far proven superior to all of the alternatives. 

Blog Hiatus

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While we're taking a summer break, have a look at the following HS posts on political history.

Philip White, "Winston Churchill and the New Digital 'Iron Curtain,'" February 21, 2012

Philip White, "TV Debates: Political Discussion or MMA in Suits?" February 1, 2012

Heather Cox Richardson, "Woodrow Wilson Appears Before Congress, April 7, 1913," October 5, 2011

Randall Stephens, "Women's Suffrage at 100," August 12, 2011

Heather Cox Richardson, "Half-Breeds, Stalwarts, and Contingency," June 22, 2011

Randall Stephens, "The Other Side of the 1960s or 'This Is My Country and I Know that I'm RIGHT,'" May 16, 2011

Winston Churchill and the New Digital “Iron Curtain”

Philip White

March 5th will mark the 66th anniversary of Winston Churchill’s “Sinews of Peace” address, better known as the “Iron Curtain speech,” delivered in a gymnasium at Westminster College in tiny Fulton, Missouri. There, Churchill provided the epoch-defining view of the division between the Communist “Soviet sphere” and the democratic West, the memorable (and now, almost overused) appraisal of the Anglo-American partnership as the “special relationship” and a word-perfect exhortation of the principles of freedom and liberty.

But all these years later, with the USSR no more, do Churchill’s words still ring true?

In searching for an answer, one need look no further than the recent censorship actions of another Communist regime, North Korea. Following the death of Kim Jong-Il, their Supreme Leader, the Pyongyang authorities declared that anyone caught using a mobile phone during the state-ordered 100-day mourning period would be convicted of a war crime. Similarly, during the recent crackdown in Syria, the tech minions of Bashar al-Assad used a “kill switch” to cut its embattled citizens off from the web – the same tactics used by the panicking regime in Egypt during its last days. Meanwhile, Iran tried to close down all social networking sites to prevent protest organizers from spreading the word.

And how does this relate to Churchill, a technophobe who, after all, denied Westminster College president Franc “Bullet” McCluer’s request to broadcast the Iron Curtain speech by TV, telling him "I deprecate complicating the matter with technical experiments”?

One of Churchill’s reasons for using the “iron curtain” metaphor was that Stalin’s cronies were preventing media access to Poland, Yugoslavia, and other countries struggling under the Red Army’s jackboots. Despite the Marshal’s feigned support for “free and unfettered elections” in the Yalta Declaration, diplomats from Britain, America, and elsewhere were, just weeks later, followed and harassed, and some expelled. Stalin had rung down this solid metal curtain to prevent reports of his puppets’ malfeasance from leaking out, and to keep his new subjects and their tales of woe in.

The modus operandi of the new dictatorships is different, but the spirit is the same. Essentially, the people of Syria, North Korea, and Iran (not to mention China, which also restricts internet use) are living behind a virtual iron curtain, every bit as oppressed as their predecessors in the USSR. And while bright minds in these countries are jerry-rigging internet connections via old fax machines and (for those with the resources) satellite phones, and Twitter provides a platform for Iranian dissidents to show the Revolutionary Guard’s brutality, we are in need of a Churchill to enunciate their plight on the world stage.

In addition, our leaders must be forthright in not only explaining the inherent wickedness of totalitarian rule, but also in their defense of the principles we are privileged to have in a democracy: the rule of law; freedom of religion, the ballot box and expression; and the chance to advance ourselves without the backhanders and corruption that are rampant in a police state. Too often, we take for granted these great pillars of liberty, or we fear that praising them will make us sound like self-righteous imperialists. Churchill knew that this was not so: it is only by confessing our creed that we can hope to perpetuate it, and, by putting it into practice through strong diplomacy, to help others who find themselves under the dictator’s yoke to obtain it. As he said at Fulton, “We must never cease to proclaim in fearless tones the great principles of freedom and the rights of man which are the joint inheritance of the English-speaking world. ” Just as true now as 66 years ago.

TV Debates: Political Discussion or MMA in Suits?

Philip White

When John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon took the stage for the first of four televised debates on September 26, 1960, the world of politics changed forever. Nixon was recovering from knee surgery and looked gaunt and ill-prepared as he sweated under the glare of the lights. In contrast, the sun-tanned young junior senator from Massachusetts appeared fit and confident as he answered questions from Howard K. Smith, the venerable CBS reporter and moderator for that evening’s exchange on domestic affairs. The debates were Kennedy’s idea and it was soon apparent why—his youth, good lucks and confident demeanor put his opponent at a distinct disadvantage.

At this point, 88 percent of Americans owned at least one TV set, and the medium had eclipsed radio as the primary source for news. Ed Murrow and his “Murrow Boys” had ushered in the golden age of American TV journalism (though, as Lynne Olson and Stanley Cloud point out, he far preferred radio) and the other major networks were trying everything in their power to catch up with CBS. Eager to raise his profile and to put a dent in Nixon’s campaign, Kennedy was spot on in his deduction that, with the help of Ted Sorensen and other advisors, he could become the favorite once he got in front of the cameras. 74 million viewers tuned in for that opening exchange, and Kennedy later acknowledged, “It was the TV more than anything else that turned the tide.”

Though the debate was spirited and the participants were far apart ideologically, they treated each other courteously and avoided insults and undue criticism. Indeed, a New York Times subhead declared that “Sharp Retorts are Few as Candidates Meet Face to Face.” How times have changed!

In the United States, it is now inconceivable to think of a national political race without TV, though in England the first TV debate between prime ministerial candidates took just before David Cameron’s election triumph. And yet, despite our familiarity with the medium, it is worth considering if we put too much emphasis on how our would-be leaders fare on the box.

Do we count out less telegenic candidates that may have flourished in a bygone era? Have we put too much power in the hands of moderators and their potential agendas? Is it fair to dismiss a politician after a major gaffe?

Certainly, the definition of what makes a “good speaker” has changed. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, audiences packed halls to see scientists introduce new wonders, to hear authors talk about their new books and to listen to lecturers ply their trade. Then, during World War II, British audiences were spellbound by Winston Churchill’s inspirational and defiant rhetoric, yet, when asked if he would permit live TV broadcast of his “iron curtain” speech in 1946, he replied curtly, “I deprecate complicating the occasion with technical experiments.” He, for one, was better suited to well-prepared speeches than impromptu exchanges. Despite being a formidable opponent in the House of Commons, would he have floundered or flourished in a TV debate?

Another questionable element of the TV forum is sponsorship. Media outlets across the ideological spectrum want in on the act, and YouTube has even extended the format to the web. How long until other companies get in on the act, and we have a Tostitos Debate on National Security or a Five Hour Energy Debate on Foreign Affairs, complete with tailored, Super Bowl-like commercials?

And then there’s the matter of frequency. Do we really need to see debate after debate to make up our minds who to vote for, or does the over-exposure and increasingly repetitive content just turn us off? Do we benefit from celebrities weighing in on TMZ about their favorite candidates’ virtues, or denunciations of those they oppose?

The tone of the candidates’ conversation is also subject to scrutiny. A far cry from the civilized banter between JFK and Tricky Dick more than 50 years ago, we appear to be nearing the point at which we will either fashion the competitors with rotten fruit or jousting lances before they go on the air. Perhaps that would make for “better” TV, or at least allow us to confess that, beyond gaining new insight into the candidates’ views, we love seeing one gladiator emerging triumphant from the arena while another is left bloodied and vanquished. Excuse me, I’m off to watch UFC on Fox.

Presidential History Roundup

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Ari Berman, "In Osawatomie, Obama Embraces New Populist Moment," The Nation, December 6, 2011

. . . . Obama’s pivot away from austerity orthodoxy and toward public investment began with his jobs speech in September, but he’s subsequently sharpened his language and focus in recent months in response to pressure from Occupy Wall Street. He’s now tackling issues of basic fairness and attacking the GOP’s brand of “your-on-your-own economics” in a much more direct way. His nod to Teddy Roosevelt, who delivered his “New Nationalism” speech in Osawatomie in 1910, could not have come at a more appropriate time.>>>

Adam Hochschild, "What Gingrich Didn’t Learn in Congo," New York Times, December 4, 2011

. . . . Mr. Gingrich would be our first president with a Ph.D. since Woodrow Wilson. Does his work as a historian tell us anything about him? Or, for that matter, anything about why, despite certain events in 1776, he considers “anticolonial” an epithet? To address these questions, a good place to start is his 1971 Tulane doctoral dissertation: “Belgian Education Policy in the Congo 1945-1960.”>>>

Lolly Bowean, "Piece of history rescued from time: Restorers give new life to 146-year-old copy of 13th Amendment," Chicago Tribune, December 7, 2011

In the moments after a hand-printed copy of the congressional resolution approving a 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution signed by Abraham Lincoln arrived at a South Loop graphic conservation firm, six staff members stood in silence, staring at the historic document.

Even with its wrinkles and creases, the 146-year-old artifact with faint, cursive writing that abolished slavery in the United States carried an emotional intensity.>>>

Kevin Opsahl, "USU lecturers talk about LDS presidential hopefuls in U.S. history," the Herald Journal, December 3, 2011

Two academics who spoke at Utah State University this week said they believe the "Mormon question" confronting voters in the 2012 Republican primary race is still present but not as strong as it was in 2008, when Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney failed in his quest for the GOP nomination.

The comments came Thursday when USU's Religious Studies program hosted a discussion between Newell Bringhurst, a retired professor of history and political science at College of the Sequoias and a liberal Democrat, and Craig Foster, a research specialist in the LDS Church's Family History Library and a conservative Republican.>>>

"Dec. 6, 1923: Calvin Coolidge Delivers First Presidential Address on Radio," December 6, 2011, New York Times Blog

On Dec. 6, 1923, the first presidential address was broadcast on the radio. President Calvin Coolidge delivered what is now known as the State of the Union address to a joint session of Congress.

The New York Times anticipated Coolidge’s address in its Dec. 5 edition: “The voice of President Coolidge, addressing Congress tomorrow, will be carried over a greater portion of the United States and will be heard by more people than the voice of any man in history.”>>>

Woodrow Wilson Appears Before Congress, April 7, 1913

Heather Cox Richardson

Woodrow Wilson was the first president since John Adams to speak directly to Congress.

This was news to me when I stumbled on it yesterday.

His appearance was no small thing. It was headline news across the nation, and it sent official Washington into a tizzy.

Wilson went to Congress—and took his entire Cabinet with him, for good measure—because he really, really wanted congressmen to pay attention to his signature measure: a bill that would lower the tariff. As soon as he had been inaugurated, Wilson had called a special session of Congress to convene on April 7, 1913, to consider tariff revision. Then he had spent a month strong-arming congressmen into supporting lower tariffs. This was a harder sell than he had thought it would be, for Democratic congressmen who had talked fervently about free trade on the political stump balked at lowering tariff rates for products that competed with the things made by their own constituents—notably sugar from the deep South.

When it came time to spur reluctant congressmen to action on the measure Wilson’s lieutenants had written, the President decided to interpret literally the clause of the Constitution that provided the president “shall from time to time give congress information on the state of the union and recommend to their consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient.”

Wilson designed his personal visit to combat Congress’s habit of ignoring presidential communications. In the nineteenth century, the president transmitted a message to Congress by having it printed, then handing it to a secretary, who then appeared on the floor of Congress. The chair of each house would recognize the secretary, who would deliver the printed missive. The chair would read the message at a convenient time, but few congressmen bothered to hang around to listen. They would read the printed message at their leisure. Or ignore it.

Wilson was determined to make Congress listen to him. While he put it nicely, insisting that he was simply hoping for close relations with congressmen, the bottom line was that he was forcing representatives and senators to endure a lecture from the executive branch. And while he was very careful to keep the message exceedingly short, congressmen—even Democrats—warned him he was playing with fire. They implored him to stick to “advising,” rather than dictating.

The tariff revision that emerged from this jockeying was hugely important. The Revenue Act of 1913 changed the nation’s tariff principles for the first time since the Republicans had taken power in 1861, lowering tariffs and abandoning the government’s high-protectionist stance. To make up revenue lost from the lower rates, the measure also enacted an income tax of 1% for incomes over $4,000, with higher rates for those making more than $20,000 a year.

Considering how many precedents it broke and how many it established, I’m shocked that this entire episode was news to me.

Women's Suffrage at 100

Randall Stephens



San Diegans will mark the centennial of women's right to vote in their state with a "Suffrage Parade" on August 28. (On October 10, 1911, an amendment on Rights of Suffrage passed by a popular vote of 125,037 in favor and 121,450 opposed.) Beautiful Balboa Park will set the scene for the gathering, which marks a major milestone for democracy. The march is sponsored by the Women's Museum of California. Organizers encourage participants to don "Suffrage outfits to march across the Laurel Street Bridge in celebration of 100 years of voting rights for California women." I hope it's not too hot for that, but knowing San Diego's predictable weather, I'm pretty sure it will be a great day.



California granted voting rights to women nine years before the nation did with the 19th Amendment, which guaranteed that the "right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex." But even in the West, a region that was far ahead on social issues like this, there was considerable debate. It gives us some much needed perspective to consider how fiercely many Americans fought against suffrage. Both sides thought the stakes were extremely high. Why did opponents think women's suffrage was such a bad idea? What was the nature of the debate?



I paste here a selection from Dora Oliphant Coe's September 5, 1911 Los Angeles Times editorial. (The Times was an outspoken conservative paper in the early 20th century.) Notice the arguments against enfranchisement, especially the typical remark about "enslavement." Here Coe is summarizing the arguments of a prominent anti-suffragist:

Democracy on Trial: The Differences Between Protest and Mob Criminality

Philip White



In the past year, we have seen protests lead to the fall of autocrats in Yemen and Egypt, and incur the full wrath of dictators in Iran, Libya and Syria—where President Bashar al-Assad has used the army to crush resistance in the cities of Hama and Deil-al-Zor. With the use of jerry-rigged web connections in Egypt that overcame the government’s internet shutdown, and social networking tools such as Twitter in Iran, Libya and Syria, we in the West have had real-time insight into these demands for democracy and the repression they have prompted. From the living room to the highest office in the land, this coverage has prompted outrage over the denial of the right to protest that we take for granted. Indeed, Britain and America have led an international task force to prevent the slaughter of civilians and to remove the odious Colonel Gaddafi in Libya.



The common theme in each of these protests has been twofold: an indictment of the ruling regime’s abuses and control, and a call for elected, representative government through open and free elections. Have some of the protesters resorted to violence in the face of troops and tanks? Most certainly, but on the whole, these demonstrations have been peaceful. Perhaps this is because the protesters realize they cannot decry regime violence if they use violence in return, or maybe they know the world is watching. Whatever their motivation, they have not used their leaders’ harsh tactics as an excuse for widespread looting, vandalism, and brutality toward ethnic minorities.



Meanwhile, in my native England, one of the world’s oldest democracies and a supposedly “civilized” nation, armed mobs stalk the streets, burning cars, assaulting police officers and looting shops. As with the riots in Los Angeles in 1992, this was not a pre-meditated campaign of violence at its inception, but rather a spontaneous response to the death of a young man at the hands of the police. It should be noted that the mob did not wait for the results of the inquest before reacting in the worst possible way. Now, with five days of rioting passed, the disturbances are indeed coordinated, with the ringleaders using the same tools—texting, tweeting et al—as protesters in the Middle East and North Africa to spread their call for anarchy.



Here, we come to the need for clear delineation. The tech tools of the desired “revolution” may be similar, but the motives, methods and mentality are not the comparable. Participators in the “Arab Spring” are rebelling against regimes that deny them freedom of speech, expression, worship and the ballot box. Every aspect of their lives—from what they’re allowed to read in a newspaper to what they can view on a throttled internet—is controlled by the state.



In contrast, the criminals, and criminals they are, who are smashing up London, Birmingham, Manchester and other English cities live in a tolerant, open society that, despite its flaws, provides all citizens with the right to vote, to speak their minds, and to express themselves. Their recent acts are like the tantrums of a toddler who is trying to intimidate his parents into getting his way. Yet a toddler is more sophisticated, for he knows that he has a defined goal—to tip a bag of flour over his head or steal a toy from his baby sister, for example. These rioters, hooded and baseball bat-wielding—have no such clear aim. Instead, they rage against “the system,” and the politicians who are supposedly keeping them “down.” To punish the rich who they despise for their monetary success, they’re robbing diners at posh Notting Hill restaurants, trying to rip wedding rings off their fingers and demanding phones and cash. They’re also breaking into and stripping clean the businesses that they think represent the “evils” of capitalism. And it’s not just electronics and luxury goods chains that are under attack, but also those run by individuals who work as hard to eke out a living as the people who built up the nationwide businesses. Gangs of armed youths killed three innocent men, and others beat up journalists and those trying to stop the looting. These are not the actions of a group that deserves the “respect” they demand for their gangs, nor the right to indict anyone for their actions.



Democracy guarantees the right to protest, and in Egypt and Yemen we have seen that this can bring about change. Hark back to the March on Washington and we see that peaceful protests led by Martin Luther King, Jr. achieved their goals. Some of the rioters in England are from ethnic minorities (although just as many, or more, are white), and live in areas blighted by drugs, crime and absent fathers. There are doubtless problems spanning several generations that could be better addressed by Cameron’s coalition government. Yet these minorities are not denied places at lunch counters, made to use separate toilets or forced to sit at the back of buses, like King and those who stood alongside him.



The fundamental, liberating thing that they’re denying themselves is personal accountability. They are just a small, unrepresentative portion of the populaces they come from—99 percent of their neighbors watch in horror as their homes, businesses and cars burn. Many have joined mass cleanup operations, have decried the rioters’ actions and have protected their homes, businesses and places of worship from the mob. Those who are not on the streets indulging in mindless violence understand that you must take responsibility for yourself, and only you can make sure you stay out of a gang, stay in school, and obtain the job that your skills merit. The government is not forcing anyone to make poor choices, nor is it preventing economic, social or geographic mobility. Yet, regardless of whether they are Caucasian or another ethnicity, the rioters are making the all-too-common mistake of blaming others for their position, while abdicating responsibility.



The only way to bring about change in poor urban neighborhoods is for each person to be accountable for their thoughts and deeds, and to work to better themselves. Government programs can help, but handouts merely perpetuate the cycle, creating fiscal reliance on the state, removing the incentive to work and further encouraging the individual to avoid looking into the mirror of accountability.



If they want to truly protest, the English people who are raging on the streets should instead exercise their democratic right to demonstrate peacefully, and be thankful that they have the chance. In other parts of the world, people who are truly oppressed risk their lives for such rights. And they’re not beating cops, stealing TVs or burning down buildings with children inside to achieve them. Those English citizens who are doing such things should also recognize that democracy is not an a la carte menu from which you can pick certain bits while leaving others on the table. Thus, the rule of law in England must be upheld, and those guilty of vandalism, murder and arson will be rightly punished in the court of law, while they set themselves and their “cause” back even further in the court of public opinion.

Half-Breeds, Stalwarts, and Contingency

Heather Cox Richardson

A year or so ago, a graduate student studying for her comprehensive exams asked me if I could explain the difference between Stalwart and Half-Breed Republicans in the nineteenth century. I could, I said, so long as she understood that no one cared.

I went on to explain that the difference between Stalwarts and Half-Breeds crystallized in the Republican national convention in 1880. In that contest, Stalwarts, led by Roscoe Conkling and Don Cameron, wanted to secure the nomination for former president U. S. Grant. Half-Breeds backed James G. Blaine.

What was at stake in the nomination was really nothing other than a personal feud. Conkling and Blaine had hated each other since the war years. Conkling had become Grant’s right-hand man during his presidency, and he hoped to become the crucial figure in a renewed Grant government, handing out patronage to his supporters in New York. Blaine had a different set of friends, and they pushed his nomination in the hope that he would cut out the Conkling men.

The nomination process did not proceed as either camp hoped. A significant body of delegates refused to support either Grant or Blaine. They threw their votes to a dark horse, James Garfield of Ohio. The Blaine delegates, willing to vote for anyone but Grant, followed. Garfield won the 1880 nomination, and the 1880 election.

I told my friend that the distinction between Stalwarts and Half-Breeds didn’t matter because there was little daylight between the actual policy positions of Conkling and Blaine. The ascendancy of either would not have changed the course of the Republican Party, or the legislation it supported. For the purposes of the country they were interchangeable, and so, for that matter, was Garfield. The difference between Stalwarts and Half-Breeds was rather like the difference today between John Boehner and Eric Cantor: a difference in style, to be sure, but not such a great difference that one can imagine history graduate students in 2130 being asked to explain its significance.

Today, as I wrote about this fight, I rethought that flippant dismissal.

In order to quiet the angry Stalwarts, the Republican convention put Stalwart Chester Arthur into the vice presidency. But then, to calm the Half-Breeds, President Garfield named James G. Blaine himself to the position of Secretary of State in the new administration. This was the most powerful position in the Cabinet, and Stalwarts—led, as ever, by the insatiable Roscoe Conkling—cried foul.

When Garfield offered the fabulously lucrative position of collector of the port of New York to an appointee without consulting Conkling, the fat was in the fire. Conkling, a famously touchy character, was undoubtedly personally affronted. But he claimed to oppose the appointment on the grounds that the Senate’s power to advise and consent gave Senators the power of appointment. Garfield was usurping power, he insisted; senators had ultimate say over who received government appointments in their home states. What was really at stake, though, was whether or not Conkling would control New York.

To force the issue into the open, Conkling resigned his position in the Senate. New York’s other senator, Thomas Platt, joined him (thereby earning the memorable nickname “Me Too” Platt). They were confident the New York legislature would reelect them, thus slamming Garfield and returning the Stalwarts to the top position in the government. They were wrong. New Yorkers had had enough of Conkling’s dictates and were not willing to endorse the idea that senators should hold sway over the president’s appointments. The legislature turned to entirely new senators.

Traditional historians who even tried to find any significance in this teapot tempest blamed the fight between Conkling and Blaine for the assassination of President Garfield two months later. In July, Charles Guiteau shot President Garfield in an apparent attempt to put Stalwarts in power after all. From this the nation got civil service reform, but, as I told my scholarly friend, no real change in governmental policies.

Here is where histories generally drop the Stalwarts and Half-Breeds.

But I came to realize today that there was, in fact, a terrifically significant event to come out of this clash: Roscoe Conkling was out of a job.

With his political career suddenly gone, Conkling had to find a way to rebuild his fortunes. He had always been a brilliant orator, and he turned naturally to the law. The first client through his door was Jay Gould, the railroad magnate. Conkling used his great popularity and fame as a legislator to become one of the nation’s premier litigators for big business. It was in that capacity that he argued the case of San Mateo County v. Southern Pacific Railroad in December 1882. In this case, Conkling argued that a county tax on the railroad violated the due process clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. He insisted, based on his position as a congressman who had participated in the framing of that amendment, that when it adopted the Fourteenth Amendment, Congress had intended for it to protect corporations as well as individual persons. The court did not explicitly comment on Conkling’s really quite outrageous claim in 1882, but in 1886, it announced that Conkling’s doctrine was so definitive that it would not hear arguments to the contrary. The principle that corporations were protected by the Fourteenth Amendment limited government regulation of business well into the twentieth century.

And therein lies the great historiographical revelation of my current project. I have always seen political history as the story of competing ideas, but again and again I find small personal quirks changing the course of history. If only Thurlow Weed had not wanted to protect William Henry Seward we would not have gotten President Andrew Johnson; if only Charles Sumner hadn’t been so snobbish the Grant presidency would have succeeded.

And if only Stalwarts and Half-Breeds had been on speaking terms, corporations might never have been protected by the Fourteenth Amendment.

American Political Partisanship in Historical Perspective

Heather Cox Richardson

Peter Orszag had an article last week at Bloomberg arguing that political partisanship in America has increased dramatically in recent years because Americans have self-segregated their housing according to political leanings. Once in like-minded groups, he suggests, they tend to reinforce each other and drift toward extremes as individuals try to outdo each other in enthusiasm for their political affiliations.

This is an interesting theory. It suggests our political inclinations are beyond our control and that society has spiraled into extremism for reasons we cannot stop.

It would certainly be quite interesting to Americans of the 1840s and 1850s, whose partisanship was so extreme congressmen took guns to the House of Representatives to protect themselves, settlers in Kansas and Missouri murdered each other in their beds, and millions of men killed off several hundred thousand of each other before deciding to call it quits. Who knew that when they moved West, setting up shelters wherever they found good land, that antebellum Americans were unconsciously segregating into political neighborhoods?

There is a much more obvious and more plausible explanation than political segregation for the increases in political partisanship that have occurred with pretty cyclical regularity in American history. It is an explanation that suggests that partisanship and compromise are both deeply imbedded in the American political tradition.

Rising politicians need to be able to attract attention. To that end, they need to distinguish themselves from the successful politicians who hold power. When those senior politicians have emphasized compromise, aspiring politicians have attacked them and advocated more extreme positions. Extremism begets extremism until the system becomes utterly dysfunctional. At that point, aspiring younger politicians can attract attention by advocating not extremism, but compromise.

This cycle of compromise to partisanship to extremism to compromise has turned over again and again in American history.

To see how this works, let’s look at the first generation of professional politicians in America: the Jacksonians of the 1830s. The men who wanted to put Andrew Jackson in the White House needed a way to garner support for a man who was widely regarded as volatile and a rather dim bulb. How could they elevate him when men like Henry Clay, the Great Compromiser, controlled the political scene? By viciously attacking Clay and men of his ilk with unfounded accusations, decrying compromise as weakness, and building a constituency that despised the very art of compromise Clay performed so well.

How then could the next generation of politicians opposed to Jackson’s Democratic Party build its own constituency? By attacking the Democrats, of course.

As political leaders squared off, the newspapers that supported them echoed their rhetoric. There, and not in unconsciously politically segregated communities, individual editors turned up the heat of extremism. Each tried to outdo the competition to draw readership and the advertising dollars readers attracted. Partisanship rose as voters learned to value conflict rather than compromise.

As members of each party more and more often characterized their opponents as corrupt, dangerous, and evil, compromise became increasingly unthinkable.

We know how that turned out.

But the need for politicians to distinguish themselves from their predecessors can serve compromise as well as conflict. When partisanship has become more important than actual governing the government ceases to function in any sort of a competent way. Astute younger politicians then can build careers by promising to compromise with opponents to create solutions that make the government work again. Theodore Roosevelt, for example, recognized voters were frustrated by the extremism of the late nineteenth century that had paralyzed government just when the nation was desperate for solutions to the crises of industrialism. Roosevelt created an image of himself as bipartisan, willing to side with Democrats even against members of his own party to do what was good for the country (a position that infuriated old-fashioned Republicans and Democrats both). Roosevelt was not alone, though. His construction of a politics of compromise was part of the reaction of his generation to the partisanship of the previous generation. That premium on compromise produced the bipartisan Progressive Era.

Which, in turn, was followed by the growing extremism of the 1920s . . . and so on.

These political swings have been part of American society since at least the 1830s. They are not about living quarters. While housing patterns may reflect the current political values of the national culture, Americans are not first self-segregating politically and then self-integrating politically every few generations. What they are doing, though, is listening to their political leaders, reading the news, watching TV, and now, using the internet. What they hear drives their attitudes toward politics.

Far from being a reflection of living patterns created without our conscious control, partisanship and compromise are both deliberate decisions made by political leaders.

Ye Complicated Cartoons of Yesteryear

Randall Stephens

Political cartoons of today are quite unlike those of previous decades, and very unlike those of previous centuries. (Caveat: This is just me speaking as the armchair amateur.) Quite a few op-ed cartoons that run in Newsweek, the Globe, the New York Times and elsewhere are easy enough to figure out at a glance. Many a cartoonist makes his/her case with a visual pun and a on-liner. Look at quite a few prints from the postwar era to the present and you might note the grace and simplicity of the style and the clarity of meaning. (CLICK the detail of the cartoon to enlarge this famous 1956 Herblock cartoon.)

Not so with 18th and 19th century political and social satires. A tangle of text bubbles, symbols, and, in the case of 18th- and early 19th-century cartoons, gutter vulgarities crowd the page. It is fun to look at these antique prints that fed off political battles and showcased the personality clashes of the day. In my classes we spend quite a bit of time unraveling the meaning of various satirical etchings and lithographs. (Finding the dog urinating on something in an 18th century political cartoon is a like a Where's Waldo game.) And note the typically bizarre sexual quality of the devil in the print below.

So, here's "A political, anatomical, satirical, lecture on heads and no heads; as exhibited at St. J--ms's 1766" from the Library of Congress. (CLICK the image to enlarge.) And the description from the LOC site runs as follows:

Print shows the Earl of Bute holding up a bust of William Pitt as the starting point of his lecture on "Heads and No Heads"; on a table before him and on a shelf to the left are several busts identified by number with corresponding descriptions in the printed caption. A woman assistant, on the left, says "I hand them in" and the devil, on the right holding a burning candle in one hand and a candlesnuffer in the other, says "I hand them off", two extinguished candles sit on the table. Nine men form the audience in the foreground, each utters a comment, such as, "Good Lord deliver us", "A good Exhibition this", "Yes, the Characters are well drawn", and "My, all Birds of a Feather".

Hmmm. . . . A send-up of types? The accompanying text is a thicket. This one is still a real head-scratcher for me! Chris Beneke? Maura Farrelly? John Fea? A paleocartoonologist? Some enlightenment?

.-- .... .- - / .... .- - .... / --. --- -.. The Telegraph and the Information Revolution

Heather Cox Richardson

On May 24, 1844, Samuel Morse sent his famous telegraph message, “What hath God wrought?” from the U.S. Capitol to his assistant in Baltimore, Maryland. (See the dots and dashes in the title.) Morse had begun his career as a painter, but, the story goes, keenly felt the problems of communication over distance when his wife took ill and died while he was away from home. By the time he got the hand-delivered note warning him that she was sick, she was already buried.

While it had been a personal crisis that inspired Morse to pursue the telegraph, the importance of the new machine reached far beyond families. The telegraph caused a revolution in the spread of information in America. The information revolution, in turn, changed politics.

Notably, historians have credited the telegraph with hastening the coming of the Civil War. Before the time of fast communication, politicians could cater to different voters by making contradictory promises. Antebellum Democrats and Whigs could endorse slavery in the South and attack it in the North. Since news rarely traveled far, their apostasy seldom came back to haunt them.

The telegraph changed all that. It offered voters a new, clear window on politics. Now reporters could follow politicians and send messages to editors back home.

But faster communication did not necessarily mean accuracy. On the contrary, partisan editors tried to position their journalists in critical spots so they could control the spin about what was going on. They happily spun stories that would discomfit politicians they opposed. As the sectional crisis heated up, the telegraph enabled partisan editors to portray far away events in ways that bolstered their own prejudices.

On-the-spot reporting took away politicians’ ability to ignore the gulf between North and South. It forced white Southerners to defend slavery, and made Northerners sensitive to the growing Southern power over the government. The political parties could not remain competitive nationally, partisanship rose, and the country split. The result was bloody.

Information might come faster with the telegraph, but it was not necessarily more accurate. The same could be said about radio and television, which provided more information than ever, but still used a strong editorial filter.

Now a new tool has the potential to deliver the accuracy the telegraph promised. The internet provides even faster and more thorough information, with far less editorial filtering than ever before. This has given us instant fact-checking, in which politicians who vehemently deny saying something often find one of their statements with those very words posted to YouTube. It also gives us immediate commentary by specialists on a subject under discussion, judging the value of a proposed policy.

The internet has also given us a sea of bloggers who follow local developments and produce verifiable information that would never make it onto an editorial desk but that might, in fact, turn out to be part of a larger pattern. Joshua Marshall at www.talkingpointsmemo.com put such information together during President G. W. Bush’s second term to uncover the U.S. Attorney removals, a story the mainstream press initially missed altogether.

The web has the potential to break down editorial partisanship, but this accuracy has an obvious stumbling block. Will readers be willing to investigate politics beyond their initial biases to entertain a range of ideas and reach clear-eyed decisions about policies? Sadly, studies so far indicate the opposite, that people use the internet to segregate themselves along partisan lines and reinforce their prejudices rather than to tear them down.

The telegraph initially promised to break the close relationship of politics and the press by giving people access to events unfiltered by partisan editors. It failed. The telegraph only increased the partisanship of the news Americans read. Now the internet has the potential to break the ties between the press and politics for real. But can it, in the face of entrenched political partisanship?

One hundred and sixty seven years after the telegraph tapped out its famous words, we’re still struggling with the same questions.

The Other Side of the 1960s or "This Is My Country and I Know that I'm RIGHT"

Randall Stephens

There was another side of the turbulent 1960s and 70s era. New conservatism and membership in the Young American for Freedom gained steadily after 1964. The "silent majority" became a slogan for all those Americans who had enough of tear gas, long hair, and endless protests. Yet in the popular imagination this seldom registers. Host a 1960s party and see who comes dressed up as a John Bircher. Who else will arrive sporting beehive wigs and flattops and carrying "Get US Out of the UN" signs or wearing "AUH20" buttons. The popular history of the sixties, still, has probably been told too often in a prescriptive rather than a descriptive fashion. Even historians perhaps have sided with the young marchers who shook their fists at "the man."

However, recent trends in history are starting to change these perceptions and the way of telling the story of the 1960s and 70s. See for example the insightful books that have appeared in recent years on grassroots conservatism, the rise of the new right, and evangelical conservatism:

Darren Dochuk, From Bible Belt to Sunbelt: Plain-Folk Religion, Grassroots Politics, and the Rise of Evangelical Conservatism (W. W. Norton, 2010)

Jefferson R. Cowie, Stayin' Alive: The 1970s and the Last Days of the Working Class (2010)

Daniel Williams, God's Own Party: The Making of the Christian Right (Oxford, 2010)

Lisa McGirr, Suburban Warriors: The Origins of the New American Right (Princeton, 2002)

Kevin M. Kruse, White Flight: Atlanta and the Making of Modern Conservatism (Princeton, 2007)

Matthew D. Lassiter, The Silent Majority: Suburban Politics in the Sunbelt South (Princeton, 2007)

Bruce J. Schulman and Julian E. Zelizer, eds., Rightward Bound: Making America Conservative in the 1970s (Harvard, 2008)

Joseph Crespino, In Search of Another Country: Mississippi and the Conservative Counterrevolution (Princeton, 2009)

Kim Phillips-Fein, Invisible Hands: The Making of the Conservative Movement from the New Deal to Reagan (W. W. Norton, 2009)

David T. Courtwright, No Right Turn: Conservative Politics in a Liberal America (Harvard, 2010)

Donald T. Critchlow, The Conservative Ascendancy: How the GOP Right Made Political History (Harvard, 2007)

I've been tooling around with the idea of making a compilation of conservative country/folk songs, sorta anti-protest numbers, that express the other, fightin' side of the 1960s and 1970s. The criteria does not have to do with the quality of the music, but with the tone of the message. Do the lyrics call for flag-waving, god-fearing, patriotism and support for the local

police? Does the singer lament the state of America's cities and shout down the feral hippies running shoeless through the streets clutching their bongs and incense sticks? Long, long before the Tea Party raised its collective complaint and before Lee Greenwood made grammarians sick with lines like "And I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free," others were charting out a conservative protest genre.

So, here's what I've got so far. (Thanks to Scott Hovey for some wonderful suggestions). This is only a start! There's so much more out there.

Merle Haggard - The Fightin' Side Of Me (1968)

Merle Haggard - Okie from Muskogee (1969)

Jimmy D Bennett - Sapadelic (197?)

Don Hinson - The Protest Singer (197?)

The Goldwaters - Down in Havana (1964)

Up with People - Which Way America? (1966)

Lynyrd Skynyrd - Sweet Home Alabama (1974)

Robin Moore and Staff Sgt. Barry Sadler - The Ballad of The Green Berets (1966)