1919

A flu epidemic kills millions.

 

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“I believe that as this war has drawn the nations temporarily together in a combination of physical force we shall now be drawn together in a combination of moral force that will be irresistible.” 

President Woodrow Wilson

____________________ 

 

DAVID HALBERSTAM describes Woodrow Wilson as “a figure of austere, almost harsh moralism…” (Book 491)

 

* 

“Tommie, what is the chief end of man?” 

In the Midlands, during his trip to Europe to fight for a just peace, Wilson speaks to British people weary of the horror of war. At church one Sunday, in the kirk where Wilson’s grandfather had once preached, and his mother had walked about, the minister prevailed on the president to speak. He stood before the communion rail, rather than go to the pulpit.

Wilson talked about his family first.

 

Harking back to his grandfather, he recalled “how much he required” and “the stern lessons of duty he gave.” He could still hear that – flavored by a mild toddy and smoke from a clay pipe – asking, challenging: “Tommie, what is the chief end of man?” As he stood on boards that his mother’s tiny feet had once trod, he was moved to recall her “sense of duty and dislike of ostentation.” He spoke fervently of his twentieth century mission to the world: “I believe that as this war has drawn the nations temporarily together in a combination of physical force we shall now be drawn together in a combination of moral force that will be irresistible … It is from quiet places like this all over the world that the forces accumulate which presently will overbear any attempt to accomplish evil on a large scale.”

 

Save for the compelling voice, there was no sound but the patter of rain on the roof. The Bishop of Carlisle, closing the service, could hardly master his feelings to articulate the benediction: “God save you and guide you, sir!” The president was glad to step into the seclusion of the vestry to sign the book, for there he could get control of his emotion. (10/229 II)

 

Asked later to speak to the Chamber of Deputies, Wilson asked Italian lawmakers to have sympathy for the Balkan states that “must now be independent.” This despite Italy’s own hopes for expansion along the Adriatic coast. “Again,” writes Arthur Walworth, “the prophet warned Old World politicians that a new concept of government was dawning.” In Northern Italy, Wilson “had his chance to appeal directly to the people for a new world order, and they swarmed about him and cheered themselves hoarse.” (10/233 II)

 

* 

“To purify, to rectify, to elevate.” 

February 14: Wilson stands before the plenary session of the peace conference to announce, in Walworth’s words, a “constitution to the twentieth century world.” He was conscious that he was speaking to representatives of twelve hundred million people. “I think I can say of this document that it is at one and the same time a practical and humane document. There is a pulse of sympathy in it. There is a compulsion of conscience throughout it. It is practical, and yet it is intended to purify, to rectify, to elevate.” 

“The listeners,” Walworth says, “sensed that it was a great moment in history.” When Wilson finished, “the delegates besieged the American to shake his hand and thank him for his leadership. Sophisticated statesman walked out into a cold fog with warm confidence that the horrors of World War would not afflict humanity again.” (10/260 II) 

Of course, reality was far less attractive than the picture Wilson hoped humanity would help him paint. 

(One American diplomat reported, for example: “High military leaders [of Britain and France] had definite plans for dividing Russia up, as they frankly told me in Paris in July, 1919. The top leadership did not.”) (10/267 II)

 

* 

“Think of the utter blackness that would fall on the world.” 

February 24: President Wilson and his wife Edith return to the U.S. for a brief rest. Gov. Calvin Coolidge comes aboard the George Washington, and escorts the couple ashore. Stores and schools have declared a holiday. Speaking later to an audience of eight thousand in a packed hall, Wilson has this to say:

 

Speaking with perfect frankness in the name of the people of the United States I have uttered as the objects of this great war ideals, and nothing but ideals, and the war has been won by that inspiration. We set this nation up to make men free and we did not confine our conception and purpose to America, and now we will make men free. If we did not do that, all the fame of America would be gone and all her power would be dissipated. … Think of the picture, think of the utter blackness that would fall on the world. (10/269 II)

 

While they were home, Colonel House did his best to keep other leaders focused on the task Wilson had set for them. Edith Wilson blamed House for failing to stand firm, when working out details for the League. “I think he is a perfect jellyfish,” she grumbled to her husband. (10/322 II)

 

* 

“The cause of humanity and mankind.” 

Wilson soon returned to France to lead the fight. Speaking at the cemetery for America’s war dead on Mt. Valerian, overlooking the Seine, he explained:

 

No one with a heart in his breast, no American, no lover of humanity, can stand in the presence of these graves without the most profound emotion. These men who lie here are men of a unique breed. Their like had not been seen since the far days of the Crusades. Never before have men crossed the seas to a foreign land to fight for a cause which they did not pretend was peculiarly their own, but knew was the cause of humanity and mankind.

 

He added, finally, “I sent these lads over here to die. Shall I – can I – ever speak a word of counsel which is inconsistent with the assurances I gave them when they came over?” (10/327 II) 

Speaking to the Senate about the treaty, later, he had in mind something he had said in Paris. “Senators do not know what the people are thinking. They are as far from the people, the great mass of people, as I am from Mars.” (10/338 II) 

But the American people – and in many cases, their representatives – were having second thoughts. Sen. William Borah of Idaho, called Wilson “Britain’s tool – a dodger and cheater.” Other Republicans called him a hypocrite, who preached sacrifice but took extravagant presents from crowned heads. Even William Howard Taft, who had previously supported the idea for a League of Nations, now turned against the proposal. (10/344 II) 

Sen. Henry Cabot Lodge, a sworn enemy of the president, warned against “those who have tried to establish a monopoly of idealism” through “a murky Covenant.” Laying out an alternative vision, he proclaimed: “Our first ideal is our country, and we see her in the future, as in the past, giving service to all her people and to the world. Our ideal of the future is that she should continue to render that service of her own free will.” 

Walworth calls Lodge’s rebuttal to Wilson “one of the great orations of American history.” (10/347 II) 

Wilson, speaking to a friend, responded, “if I said what I thought about those fellows in Congress, it would take a piece of asbestos two inches thick the hold it.” 

Senator Frank Kellogg assured him that thirty-seven Republicans would support the treaty with moderate reservations; but Wilson did not seize this opportunity. Senator James Watson came to the White House and told the president that the only way the United States could be taken into the League was by acceptance of the Lodge reservations. 

“The Lodge reservations!” Wilson exclaimed. “Never! Never! I’ll never consent to adopt any policy with which that impossible name is so prominently identified.” (10/348 II) 

Meantime, the president was forced to address growing unrest among workers, as the transition from a wartime to peacetime economy played out.

 

[Secretary of State Robert] Lansing, who equated labor unrest with bolshevism, had been recommending blunderbuss tactics. He was alarmed when the president suggested that the tendency of labor to revolt against the economic order sprang from an awakening consciousness of a right to share profits that was essentially just, that “industrial democracy” was fundamental to political democracy. (10/357-358 II)

 

“Revolutions come from the long suppression of the human spirit,” Wilson once said. “Revolutions come because men know that they have rights and that they are disregarded.” (10/364 II)

 

* 

Fifty percent return in only 90 days! 

Charles Ponzi launches his famous swindle. In an old article from the Cincinnati Enquirer, written by John Eckberg, we have this:

 

Ponzi took in millions of dollars by promising enormous returns to the small investor – up to 50% within 90 days.

 

Ponzi claimed that he made the extraordinary profits by taking advantage of foreign exchange rates. Investors flocked to him with overflowing pockets.

 

And his idea worked for some – as long as there was a ready supply of new investors willing to buy a Ponzi note for $100 down.

 

Ponzi, a thin immigrant from Parma, Italy, had a flair, as well. He had been a laborer, clerk, fruit peddler and waiter until he devised the investment scam.

 

And for a while it turned his life around. He drove a $12,000 automobile in a day when cars cost $1,000. He bought a huge estate and hobnobbed with Brahman Boston.

 

He bought a bank to maintain a flow of cash. He did not advertise because word-of-mouth was good enough. The money poured in from widows, youths and others looking for a quick buck.

 

Eventually, however, the walls to Ponzi’s house of cards came tumbling down. Later investors found out their money had gone to pay off earlier ones and that there was little left in the way of interest or principle.

 

When his scheme finally failed and investigations followed, Ponzi was sentenced to seven years in prison. Investors received 30 cents on every dollar. Estimates at the time said Ponzi had taken in $15 million. He died in 1949, in Brazil, where he was teaching English. “Those were confused, money-mad days,” he told a reporter before he died. “Everybody wanted to get rich quick, I hit the American people where it hurt – in the pocketbook. I was Number One in those days.

 

* 

Yale’s history of riots continues:

 

A period of wartime cooperation ends when returning local servicemen, angry over perceived insults from Yale students, attack the Old Campus. Finding the gates locked, they break hundreds of windows and move on to theaters and restaurants, assaulting any students they can find. (1919)

(See also: 1806, 1841, 1854, 1858 and 1959.)

 

* 

April 1: The “third wave” of Spanish flu, as we might call it today, rattles the world once more. Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Final between the Seattle Metropolitans and the visiting Montreal Canadiens is scheduled. 

That morning, all but four Canadiens come down with the flu, causing the game and the series to be canceled. (Both teams are engraved on the Stanley Cup above the words “SERIES NOT COMPLETED.”) 

President Woodrow Wilson falls ill so suddenly at the Versailles Peace Conference that his doctor believes he may have been poisoned. 

In fact, it was a severe case of influenza. 

*

 

A PICTURE from a minor league game in Pasadena, California, shows an effort to avoid the spread of the flu, which had already killed millions around the world. 

  

* 

BETWEEN May and August, there are so many bloody race riots, that James Weldon Johnson calls it the “Red Summer.”

 

 

*

 

A hitting streak that continued for over two months. 

June 14: Joe Wilhoit, 27, a former National Leaguer finds himself relegated to the Class-A Western League. Playing for the Wichita Witches, his average is hovering around .200, and as Bill Rabinowitz writes, he seems “destined for oblivion.” 

That day, he beats out an infield chopper for a hit. 

Then he goes on a tear, possibly after his manager suggests he switch to a lighter, thinner-handled bat. (At least a writer in 1933 suggested as much, since sportswriters in 1919 never interviewed players.) By July 11, Wilhoit had hit safely in 29 straight games; and there was talk he’d be back in the major leagues soon. On July 22, he hit safely in his fortieth straight game. 

The next day “he ripped five hits,” Rabinowitz says. 

On July 27, 4,600 fans jammed the Wichita stands to see if Wilhoit might break the record of 45 straight games with a hit, set by Jack Ness, a minor-leaguer, four years before. Wilhoit did, tying the mark in the first game of a doubleheader, smashing it in the second. “To show appreciation of their star, the Wichita fans showered the field with money,” Rabinowitz explains. “They didn’t stop until about $500 (accounts vary) was collected and given to Wilhoit, quite a some considering that the average Class A player then earned less than $200 a month.”

 

The local paper, the Wichita Eagle, had this to say: “The the great man refused to make a speech, proving that he is a great ballplayer. … Joe is not a pugnacious player. He takes things easy and the fans, players and umps delight in praising his work.” 

By August 14, Wilhoit’s streak had reached 61 games. The streak nearly ended, but the game went extra innings, and Wilhoit won it with a two-run homer, to extend his streak to 62. In the second game of a doubleheader, however, he came up to bat in the sixth, still without a hit, and his team down 9-2. He laid down a bunt. Bert Graham, the Omaha third basemen picked it up – and according to the Eagle, could have thrown him out. Instead, he held the ball as Wilhoit scampered to first. “Graham’s sportsmanship drew forth the admiration of the crowd.” 

His streak finally ended on August 19, at 69 games. During that stretch, Wilhoit hit .512 (153 for 299). He had 24 doubles, nine triples, five homeruns and walked 34 times. He finished the season hitting .412. Wilhoit was called up to play with the Boston Red Sox for six games, and had a chance to watch young Babe Ruth go to bat. That was the year that Babe led the American League with a record 29 homeruns himself. Wilhoit never saw the majors again and retired from baseball in 1923. 

 

* 

“The redemption of the world.” 

    President Wilson’s cabinet and doctors begged him not to throw his life away on a speaking tour to push the treaty through to ratification. 

As Walworth explains:

 

Wilson listened attentively, then walked to a window and looked out pensively at the monument of George Washington. “I promised our soldiers,” he said, “that it was a war to end wars; and if I do not do all in my power to put the treaty in effect, I will be a slacker and never able to look those boys in the eye. I must go.” It was he last desperate resort. “If the treaty is not ratified by the Senate,” he explained, “the war will have been fought in vain and the world will be thrown into chaos.” (10/361 II)

 

On another occasion, the president assured aides, “I don’t care if I die the minute after the treaty is ratified.” 

According to Walworth, even reporters were moved by Wilson’s efforts to stir the American people while on tour. “The sympathy and admiration of the newsmen on his train had increased almost to the point of veneration.” (10/369 II) 

Thinking back to the scene at the cemetery in France, he told one audience, referring to treaty foes,

 

I wish that they could feel the moral obligation that rests upon us not to go back on those boys, but to see the thing through…to the end and make good the redemption of the world. For nothing less depends upon this decision, nothing less than the liberation and salvation of the world. (10/370 II)

 

Finally, he…delivered to his age the warning that was to establish his place securely among the major prophets of his century: “I can predict with absolute certainty that within another generation there will be another world war if the nations of the world do not concert the method by which to prevent it.” (10/372 II)

 

*

 

July 7: A convoy of 81 U.S. Army trucks and motorized vehicles sets out from Washington D.C., to cross the United States, testing the mobility of military forces in a changing world. The route they followed was the Lincoln Highway, then more an idea than a reality – today’s U.S. 30 and Interstate 80. Motorcycle scouts went ahead, scouting the best ways to go.

 

    The trip will take 62 days, cover 3,250 miles, and involve 24 officers and 258 enlisted men, ending in San Francisco on September 6. One of the officers involved is Lt. Colonel Dwight D. Eisenhower.

 

    Decades later, he will be one of the leading proponents behind the establishment of the modern U.S. Interstate Highway System.

 

    A log of the trip reveals daily troubles. One day it was a two-hour delay due to “unsafe and covered bridges,” too low to let larger military vehicles pass, or a lost crank pin, meaning a staff car had to be “pushed or towed” before it could start. One truck ran into the back of another on a downhill grade, and the driver that at fault “stove a large hole in [his own] radiator.”

 

    The log entry for July 11 includes this: “Fair and cool. Roads excellent. Made 48 miles in 10 hours. Arrived Sewickley, Pa. 5 p.m.”

 

    Two days later, having entered Ohio, at 11:30 A.M. the 

entire command was taken in private automobiles to homestead of Mr. H.S. Firestone, 6 miles west, at Columbiana. Here a fine chicken dinner was served to over 400 guests in a large assembly tent. Music was furnished by a band, several soloists and a male trio.

 

    Typically, there were speeches by a number of local politicians, although how interested the soldiers might have been is not mentioned. As for Mr. Firestone, the success of the Army, with its vehicles riding on his company’s tires, was of real importance.

 

    Much was still to be learned about how to manufacture dependable automobiles, trucks and motorcycles. So, problems of all kinds developed along the way. Poor quality gasoline caused trucks to stall out one afternoon. Excellent roads, another day, meant 70 miles covered in nine hours. “Roads good, but dusty,” was a third entry. On July 20, in Chicago, movie crews came out and shot film of the expedition, as they camped, and local families took most of the enlisted men into their homes for Sunday dinner.

 

    On July 26, the log notes: 

9 :00 a.m. visited the home of Merle D. Hay, first soldier of the A.E.F. killed in action, Glidden, Iowa. At Carroll a fine lunch was served by Red Cross Canteen Service, 9:45 a.m. All Mack trucks had trouble with hot motors on account soft dirt on road surface and Mack pulling pontoon trailer had to be towed up a slight grade by Militor [their all-purpose tow truck]. For several days Class B #48043 has been pushing Mack Machine Shop [truck] #5 up all grades. Strong breeze across the roads reduced dust nuisance considerably. Camped in Washington Park, Denison, where town erected temporary shower bath.

 

    No doubt the officers and men could appreciate the chance to clean up after yet another hard day.

 

    By the time July came to an end, the Convoy had reached Omaha, Nebraska, where officers enjoyed a good dinner provided by the Omaha Athletic Club. A number of the solid rubber tires being used were replaced, due to damage caused by the rough road surfaces along the way.

   As explained at the Eisenhower Museum in Abilene, Mamie and her father drove out from Denver to spend several days with Col. Eisenhower while he was in Nebraska.

 

    On August 1, they reach the halfway point of their journey: 

    Departed Grand Island, 6:30 a.m. 13 mi. west Class B [truck] #47986 runs off good, wide dirt road into ditch, 4' deep, and buries itself in soft dirt over axles. Rope was made fast to front end of Class B and passed around winch of the Militor which gave a wonderful exhibition of its power, at one time lifting its front wheels clear off the ground and at another pushing the sprag into the road bed to a depth of nearly 2', and then plowing up the road for several feet until the pull was released. Class B was recovered in two hours. At 1 p.m. lunch was served to the Convoy in Kearney by the Red Cross Canteen Service. Militor towed F.W.D. #415766 twelve miles into camp with # 3 and #4 connecting rod bearings burned out on account driver speeding. Camped in Dawson County Fair Grounds, the finest camp site of the entire trip thus far. First half of journey completed. Cloudy and cool. Good dirt roads. Made 82 miles in 11 hrs. Arrived Lexington, Neb., 5:30 p.m.

 

    The next day, rain turned dirt roads into slick mud and 25 trucks slipped into ditches by the time the day’s route was completed. The log notes that it was now clear, all trucks “should be equipped with chains for front wheels as well as rear.” Two weak bridges had to be reinforced before the Convoy could pass over. “Rain and cool. Roads gumbo mud.”

 

    On August 5, it took hours to drag the trucks through 200 yards of “quicksand” and “five small bridges were damaged.”

 

    Near Ogalalla, Nebraska a “civilian vehicle” ran into one of the Army trucks. “Roads soft, sandy gumbo,” the log notes again.

The roads in America in those days were often quite poor.

 

    Hardly a day passed, without some kind of breakdown or problem. A staff car ran badly another day, due to dirty spark plugs, which had to be cleaned. A cigarette, tossed carelessly into the bed of a truck, caused the tarpaulin cover to catch fire. “The paulin and some personal effects of the men were destroyed, but the cargo consisting of commissary stores, was saved.”

 

    On August 8, the convoy reached Cheyenne, Wyoming, where cooler weather at the higher elevation convinced the soldiers to put on overcoats. “The effect of altitudes exceeding 6000' very noticeable in connection with the starting and operation of motors. On a more positive note, the log adds, “a rodeo was given for entertainment of personnel, including races for cowboys and cowgirls, roping, bulldogging, broncho busting, etc.”

 

    The next day the Convoy passed over the Continental Divide at an elevation of 8,247 feet.

 

   The log entry for August 11 mentions a “hail storm,” and bridges “generally poor,” of which a dozen had to be reinforced with lumber. “Roads good gravel. Made 59 miles in 11 ¾ hours.”

 

    August 12: 

    Departed Medicine Bow, 6 :45 a.m. 4 mi. west one Class B tanker broke thru a culvert and was pulled out by another Class B tanker, 10 miles west of Medicine Bow road is surfaced with fine, loose cinders which are very soft, and Mack #4 sinks in. Portable corduroy road was laid and trucks pulled through all right. Road is on abandoned Union Pacific R.R. right-of-way, and very winding. Some dangerous trails at natural grades; in general very tedious going. Refreshments served to entire personnel at Fort Steele, otherwise territory of a most desolate character. 40 mi. gale, extremely dry atmosphere and intense sandy dust entailed considerable hardship. Twelve wooden bridges were reinforced and two entirely rebuilt by the Engineers, with lumber furnished by State Highway Dept. Lt. K. C. Downing crushed left index finger on bridge work. Camped in Fair Grounds northeast of Rawlins, on barren, dusty field. Fair and cool. Poor dirt roads. Made 62 miles in 12¾ hrs. Arrived Rawlins, Wyoming, 7:30 p.m.

 

    Crossing the United States, even in a motorized vehicle, was not for the weak of heart and will in 1919. One truck went off the side of a bad road, and rolled over, first on one side, then on the other. Another truck broke through the floor of a bridge and just missed falling into a twelve-foot-deep ravine. The soldiers went into camp one night, with the closest source of natural water sixteen miles away. The control wire on the “Indian sidecar” snapped and the motorcycle had to be loaded aboard a truck and carried along.

 

    On August 14, the log includes these details: 

The intensely dry air, absence of trees and green vegetation, and parched appearance of the landscape exerted depressing influence on personnel. Fair and cool. Poor dirt roads, except 15 miles. Made 76 miles in 13¾ hrs. Arrived Green River, Wyo., 8:15 p.m.

 

    

    August 17: “Traversed worst road in Utah entire distance through Echo Canyon on rough trail at natural grade, with many dangerous turns, deep cuts and cliffs on left of road, total decent of 1000'.”

    Finally, “darkness, poor headlights and a dangerous road made it imperative to stop for the night.”

    August 21: 

From this point west across the Great Salt Lake Desert the Convoy followed the route of the new Seiberling Cut-off. Road and dust conditions approaching the Desert similar to those encountered during yesterday’s run. 10 miles from start a sand drift was encountered, removal of which delayed progress one hour. First portion of Seiberling Cut-off under construction and impassable. Detour necessary on salt marsh with thin, hard crust of sand and crystalized alkalai. Nearly every vehicle mired and rescue work required almost superhuman efforts of entire personnel by 2 p.m. until after midnight. Emergency control established in road construction camp at Black Point, on western edge of the desert. Fair and hot. Natural desert trails. Made 15 miles in 7¾ hrs. Arrived Granite Rock, Utah, 2 p.m.

A view of the Great Salt Lake Desert.

  

    August 22: 

Unexpected delay on desert caused a serious situation regarding water and gasoline. Tanks were placed under guard and water ration limited to one cup for supper and over night. Stalling of fuel truck prevented a cooked dinner. Supper consisted of cold baked beans and hard bread, mere existence being, chief concern. Impossible to distribute baggage and personnel obliged to sleep wherever they could. Gasoline tanker sent ahead to Gold Hill, 35 miles from Granite Rock and returned. Two tanks of water hauled by horse team from Gold Hill, 12 mi., to Black Point relieved water famine.

 

    “Reduced morale,” the log entry adds. “Hard desert trail.”

 

   The miles piled up and the damage done to vehicles mounted. Springs broke, carburetors clogged with dust, and axles snapped.

 

   On August 24, they negotiated another hard pass, this time in Nevada, 

First 8 mi. of run through Shellbourne Pass, over 1200' crest. Roads very narrow and continuous sequence of U and S turns at very steep grades, with nearly vertical, unprotected fills dropping off hundreds of feet. That this pass was successfully negotiated without accident considered remmarkable. … Sunday rest period abandoned on account being behind schedule. Roads good natural gravel, mountain and desert trails, with several short stretches of deep ruts and chuck holes filled with dust.

 

 

   Two days later, the log entry incudes these lines: “Remarkable that all equipment remains serviceable with abuse given. Route and camp in mountainous country of most desolate character.”

 

     Wheels broke, and ball bearings wore out, and fan belts snapped, and screws worked loose. On August 30, near Fallon, Nevada, it required eleven hours to move the Convoy forward twelve miles, and officers and men were at their job for twenty hours. The next day, the soldiers attended religious services in Carson City, and the governor spoke.

 

    September 1 was a day made memorable by passage over the Sierra Nevada mountains. 

    Departed Carson City 6:30 a.m. Convoy arranged with heaviest vehicles in lead. Temporary control established at base of King’s Grade for inspection of steering gears, brakes, tow chains and wheel blocks, also for spacing vehicles 100 yds. apart. Full supply of gasoline oil and water verified. Experienced drivers only allowed to drive and one man on each vehicle stood ready to block the wheels at each halt. All passengers required to be on the alert for any emergency. Nevada State Highway Dept. suspended all eastbound traffic from 6:30 a.m. until after Convoy had crossed the Sierras. Motorcycle riders required to maintain vehicle spacings and inspect bearings every 4 minutes. Reached altitude of 7630' at summit, over narrow, winding road of sand and broken stone, cut out of, and, in places, built up on mountain side. Total climb 14 mi. made in 6 hrs. slow progress being necessary to prevent accident. Grades 8% to 14%. Crossing Sierras without accident may be considered noteworthy achievement for heavy vehicles.

 

    At the California/Nevada state line representatives from the city of San Francisco provided a “fine barbeque and enthusiastic welcome.” Refreshments were served that evening around a huge camp fire, “while the Firestone [tire company] representatives furnished movies and smokes. Scenery throughout day of greatest beauty, especially at Lake Tahoe.”

 

   On September 2, the expedition worked its way down the American River canyon, with morning temperatures at high altitude only 30 degrees.

 

   “Perfect roads,” the log notes the next day – a rare description. And they reached Sacramento.

 

   September 4: “Departed Sacramento, 6:15 a.m. Route through most productive fruit ranches and vineyards in the world. Passage over unsafe wooden bridge required extreme care to prevent breaking through.” 

Escorted into and through Stockton … Populace called out by fire whistle. Camped in Oak Park. Personnel tired out by continuous, strenuous efforts of past several weeks, but morale is high at immediate prospect of attaining final objective. Dinner and dance at Hotel Stockton. Fair and warm. Fine concrete roads. Made 48 miles in 7¾ hrs. 

   

   On September 5, the Convoy passed over the best stretch of the Lincoln Highway, yet. The men were issued “new clothing,” and spent time cleaning up for a parade in San Francisco.

 

   That evening, they reached Oakland, and received a royal greeting. There was a “parade of civilian cars and trucks.”

 

   Then the Army vehicles were, “Escorted through [a] Court of Honor and flag festooned streets, while all whistles around [the] Bay were blowing. Elaborate electrical and fireworks display. Dinner, Hotel Oakland. Dance, Municipal Auditorium. Fair and warm. Unexcelled roads.”

 

   On September 6, the epic journey was completed. 

    Departed Oakland, 8:30 a.m. Convoy crossed San Francisco Bay on two ferry boats, and immediately paraded through the city to Lincoln Park. “The end of the Trail”, where medals were presented to entire personnel by the Lincoln Highway Assn., and Convoy was formally received by Col. R. H. Noble, representing Lt. Gen. Hunter Liggett, Commanding General, Western Dept., and Mayor James Rolph, Jr. Milestone marking western terminus of Lincoln Highway dedicated. Red Cross Canteen Service served lunch. Convoy parked at the Presidio. Fair and warm. Paved city streets. Made 8 miles in 3 hrs. Arrived San Francisco, Cal., 11:30 a.m.

 

* 

October: General Billy Mitchell, the leading advocate of air power in future wars, decides to organize a race across the United States and back again – with half of the contestants starting in the east, and half starting in the west. The pilots are all military men; and more than sixty sign up. 

In a book review for The Great Air Race by John Lancaster, we learn about the state of aviation in 1919.

 

Many airplanes in those days were literal death traps. A biplane known as the DH-4, used as a bomber by Allied forces in World War I, had its gas tank immediately behind the pilot in the cockpit. As Lancaster explains, “Even in relatively low-speed crashes, the tank sometimes wrenched free of its wooden cage, crushing the pilot against the engine.” To get a DH-4 properly balanced for landing, a co-pilot or passenger might have to leap out of the open cockpit and climb back to hang onto the tail. And this was one of the era’s most popular and successful models.

 

Some planes had no gas gauge, so pilots would learn they had run out of fuel only when the engine stopped. Just a tiny portion of the country was covered by charts; pilots’ navigation tools were a magnetic compass and their own eyes. (Mapping was one of the industries that aviation’s growth fostered.) If pilots were fortunate, they could follow a river or railroad tracks, or read city names on water towers. If not, they went the wrong way, or landed in pastures to ask farmers where they were.

 

Weather reporting and forecasting were in their infancy. The most dangerous thing in small-plane flying is being inside a cloud. Unless you are trained to fly “on instruments,” you will inevitably become disoriented and lose control of the plane — this was the tragedy that befell John F. Kennedy Jr. But until the late 1920s such flight instruments did not exist. To stay out of the clouds, pilots might make trips at 150 to 200 feet above ground level, or about where a modern airliner is just seconds before it touches down. It’s small wonder that nearly 900 American pilots were killed, injured or captured during the country’s relatively brief combat involvement in World War I. Or that in a single week of operations by the newly formed U.S. Air Service, ancestor of the Air Force, in July 1919, nine of its pilots died in crashes.

 

If ordinary flying was risky, the race only increased the dangers and many entrants paid the final price. The reviewer, James Fallow explains:

 

What happened next — oh, boy. The pilot contestants were fabulously varied and colorful. A onetime movie actor. A former college track champion whose legs had been crushed in an earlier flying accident, and who got into his plane with crutches and wearing metal braces. A pilot who had attacked German planes over France while flying upside down, to confuse his adversaries. An ordained Baptist minister who had learned to fly just two years earlier but had become renowned as “one of the best American pilots in France.” Like most of his rivals, he competed in Mitchell’s race in the ill-designed DH-4, with a German police dog named Trixie along in the cockpit. The tabloids lionized him as “the Flying Parson.”

 

“As Americans would soon learn, there were many good reasons why an airplane race on such a scale had never been attempted,” Lancaster writes. The race was organized at the last moment — for October, just in time for the weather to get bad. Landing sites along the route were unfinished. On the first day of competition, three pilots were killed in crashes. By the time it was over, nine had died, and 54 airplanes had been damaged or destroyed. Newspapers and politicians denounced Mitchell for his recklessness. One contestant survived the eastbound leg to Long Island but said, “No one can make me race back.” He went home by train.

 

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October 7: The Palmer Raids begin, after Attorney General A. Mitchell Palmer decides to crack down on “Reds,” anarchists, socialists, strike-breakers, immigrant protesters, and subversives of every kind. 

    Palmer picks J. Edgar Hoover to head the Racical Division of what is then known as the Bureau of Investigation. A meticulous Hoover fills filing cabinets with index cards on thousands of troublemakers across the country. 

   Mark Sullivan will later write of this period, that “the attempted prosecutions were grossly unjustified, explainable only on the theory that hysteria had to find some one to crucify.”   

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November 19: The U.S. Senate rejects the Treaty of Versailles, including its provision for a League of Nations, supported by President Wilson.