announced.
Prominent people were making statements. John D. Rockefeller, Jr., announced on the steps of J.P. Morgan, I think, that he and his sons were buying common stock. Immediately, the market went down again. Pools combined to support the market, to no avail. The public got scared and sold. It was a very trying period for me. Our investment company went up to two, three hundred, and then went down to practically nothing. As all investment companies did.
I donât know anybody that jumped out of the window. But I know many who threatened to jump. They ended up in nursing homes and insane asylums and things like that. These were people who were trading in the market or in banking houses. They broke down physically, as well as financially.
Roosevelt saved the system. Itâs trite to say the system would have gone out the window. But certainly a lot of institutions would have changed. We were on the verge of something. You could have had a rebellion; you could have had a civil war.â 10
OH, I ALMOST FORGOT. There was a third-party candidate. Here was one campaign in which Gene Debs did not participate. In 1920, he polled a million votes while still in Atlanta Penitentiary. There was the last of his five runs at the presidency.
Fighting Bob LaFollette was the Progressive Party candidate in 1924, for the job over which McAdoo and Smith were battling all through my âvacation.â Cal Coolidge was, of course, the Republi-cansâ
mute candidate. As the spiritual goes, âHe didnât say a mum-blinâ word.â He didnât need to. He was in.
There was my unforgettable meeting with ex-Senator Burton K. Wheeler. He had been Bob LaFolletteâs running mate on the Progressive Party ticket in 1924, the year of the convention that never ended. Remember, this was before his bitter contretemps with FDR concerning Rooseveltâs attempt to pack the Supreme Court and his turn to the right. Remember, Wheeler had been the eloquent and bellicose crusader, along with Tom Walsh, against the Montana Big Boys.
Fast forward. 1978. Here I am in Washington, in the office of ex-Senator Wheeler. He, as is true of many former Washington politicos, had pursued a private law practice. The toll of the long years since 1924 revealed themselves in his weariness and wrinkles. His fire, though considerably banked, was still burning.
He knew I had been involved with the Progressive Party candidacy of Henry Wallace in 1948, thirty or so years before. He knew that his daughter, Frances, and her husband, Alan Saylor, had suggested this meeting. They had been devoted Henry Wallace workers. Wheeler at first appeared at loose ends, a touch lonely and out of it. He seemed to come alive again remembering his run with Bob LaFollette.
I remember telling Wheeler how my father and I had heard him speak at the Ashland Auditorium, about three blocks from our rooming house. It was a Sunday afternoon. And, he, Wheeler, to a twelve-year-old, was Demosthenes and Abe Lincoln rolled into one. And my father bought one of the gilded busts of Bob LaFollette that were selling at five bucks a copy. Behind that desk, Wheeler became a different man; the glow replaced the glower. He obviously got a kick out of his daughter and son-in-law still fighting for the Progressive cause.
I remember some of the senatorâs tales out of school. Wheeler was on a roll. Corruption, especially being bought off by the corporate biggies, was a natural political syndrome. Our public servants
had become the private servants of our CEOs. As I recall, Senator Wheeler was his younger self again, acting out those old-time encounters.
âRemember J. Ham Lewis of your state, Illinois? He grabbed me in the Senate cloakroom. Remember him?â
Of course. We called him Dr. Brush. He was my senator, and he had slaughtered Ruth Hanna McCormick, the colonelâs cousin, in the senatorial race of â34. âDo you realize, Senator Wheeler, J. Ham was a
Prominent people were making statements. John D. Rockefeller, Jr., announced on the steps of J.P. Morgan, I think, that he and his sons were buying common stock. Immediately, the market went down again. Pools combined to support the market, to no avail. The public got scared and sold. It was a very trying period for me. Our investment company went up to two, three hundred, and then went down to practically nothing. As all investment companies did.
I donât know anybody that jumped out of the window. But I know many who threatened to jump. They ended up in nursing homes and insane asylums and things like that. These were people who were trading in the market or in banking houses. They broke down physically, as well as financially.
Roosevelt saved the system. Itâs trite to say the system would have gone out the window. But certainly a lot of institutions would have changed. We were on the verge of something. You could have had a rebellion; you could have had a civil war.â 10
OH, I ALMOST FORGOT. There was a third-party candidate. Here was one campaign in which Gene Debs did not participate. In 1920, he polled a million votes while still in Atlanta Penitentiary. There was the last of his five runs at the presidency.
Fighting Bob LaFollette was the Progressive Party candidate in 1924, for the job over which McAdoo and Smith were battling all through my âvacation.â Cal Coolidge was, of course, the Republi-cansâ
mute candidate. As the spiritual goes, âHe didnât say a mum-blinâ word.â He didnât need to. He was in.
There was my unforgettable meeting with ex-Senator Burton K. Wheeler. He had been Bob LaFolletteâs running mate on the Progressive Party ticket in 1924, the year of the convention that never ended. Remember, this was before his bitter contretemps with FDR concerning Rooseveltâs attempt to pack the Supreme Court and his turn to the right. Remember, Wheeler had been the eloquent and bellicose crusader, along with Tom Walsh, against the Montana Big Boys.
Fast forward. 1978. Here I am in Washington, in the office of ex-Senator Wheeler. He, as is true of many former Washington politicos, had pursued a private law practice. The toll of the long years since 1924 revealed themselves in his weariness and wrinkles. His fire, though considerably banked, was still burning.
He knew I had been involved with the Progressive Party candidacy of Henry Wallace in 1948, thirty or so years before. He knew that his daughter, Frances, and her husband, Alan Saylor, had suggested this meeting. They had been devoted Henry Wallace workers. Wheeler at first appeared at loose ends, a touch lonely and out of it. He seemed to come alive again remembering his run with Bob LaFollette.
I remember telling Wheeler how my father and I had heard him speak at the Ashland Auditorium, about three blocks from our rooming house. It was a Sunday afternoon. And, he, Wheeler, to a twelve-year-old, was Demosthenes and Abe Lincoln rolled into one. And my father bought one of the gilded busts of Bob LaFollette that were selling at five bucks a copy. Behind that desk, Wheeler became a different man; the glow replaced the glower. He obviously got a kick out of his daughter and son-in-law still fighting for the Progressive cause.
I remember some of the senatorâs tales out of school. Wheeler was on a roll. Corruption, especially being bought off by the corporate biggies, was a natural political syndrome. Our public servants
had become the private servants of our CEOs. As I recall, Senator Wheeler was his younger self again, acting out those old-time encounters.
âRemember J. Ham Lewis of your state, Illinois? He grabbed me in the Senate cloakroom. Remember him?â
Of course. We called him Dr. Brush. He was my senator, and he had slaughtered Ruth Hanna McCormick, the colonelâs cousin, in the senatorial race of â34. âDo you realize, Senator Wheeler, J. Ham was a
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