Category Archives: history

Fifty

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Pardon us if there is a certain self-congratulatory feeling to our story today. It’s not intended. I’m just going to tell a story.

Listeners to a Jefferson City radio station at 7:35 a.m. fifty years ago today heard a young radio announcer tell them a story about the famous prohibition terrorist Carrie Nation, who started her national tour that made her a household name in the fight against demon rum on February 8, 1901.

It was Missouri’s Sesquicentennial year, just a few days after Governor Hearnes had kicked off the observance by dedicating the restored first State Capitol in St. Charles.

A few days ago, Governor Parson kicked off the state’s Bicentennial with his inaugural speech at our present Capitol.

And the radio program is still on the air.

It was called “Missouri in Retrospect” when it debuted on one station, KLIK, in 1971. It’s known as “Across Our Wide Missouri” in numerous communities throughout the state and, we suppose, in all corners of the world through the Missourinet web page.

It began with a couple of old books on the shelf in the newsroom that I turned to when I thought there needed to be a better way to celebrate the sesquicentennial than to do stories about the latest sign or the latest old building that had been rescued from the wreckers.  The longtime head of the State Historical Society of Missouri, Floyd Shoemaker, had written a series of newspaper columns decades earlier outlining something that happened on a particular day in a particular year. There were some dates not covered in the two volumes of Missouri Day-by-Day, and some topics not covered—sports and crime in particular.

We thought it would be good for people to be a little better-educated about their state’s history and, by extension, Missouri’s part of ournation’s history.

KLIK continued to run the programs for a few years after I left late in 1974 to become news director of the Missourinet, founded by my former assistant news director Clyde Lear and our former farm director, Derry Brownfield. Clyde and I had to help a lawyer make a boat payment or two before we got an out-of-court settlement of a lawsuit that the manager of the radio station filed trying to keep Across Our Wide Missouri from being on the network.

One other voice has been heard doing these programs on the Missourinet.  Missourinet reporter Ron Medin voiced the stories for several days in 1983, I think it was, while I was out of work after taking a line drive in the left eye while pitching in a softball game.

As this entry is written, a stack of envelopes is sitting within arms reach, potential new stories waiting to be written.  Ernest Hemingway is there.  The story of his time as a reporter for the Kansas City Star is waiting to be written.  So is the story of Fred Harvey, whose railroad-station restaurants before 1900 made long-distance travel a little more civilized. And Clarence Earl Gideon, a “no-account punk” from Hannibal whose lawsuit guaranteed to poor people could get a court-appointed lawyer if they couldn’t affird one. There’s a fat envelope with the story of St. Louis native Butch O’Hare—for whom O’Hair International Airport in Chicago is named. Bob Ford, the killer of Jesse James is there, as is Fred Harmon, the St. Joseph artist who created the cartoons strip of years gone by called “Red Ryder,” the character for whom a b-b gun was named.  There’s Tom Mix, the silent movie cowboy star who made his first feature film in Missouri, and Jean Baptiste Point DuSable, who lived his last several years in St. Charles after creating a trading post that became Chicago.

All waiting to be written.  Stories to be told.

And there are about eight file drawers of similar envelopes in the basement.

One day my assistant news director at KLIK, the afore mentioned Clyde Lear, looked across the table between our desks and said, “Priddy, you ought to put this stuff in a book.”

A few years later an editor at Independence Press (in Independence, Missouri of course) named Margaret Baldwin decided the stories were worth publishing.  They became three books, the proceeds of which made a big dent in our children’s college expenses.

I suppose I am better-recognized for telling those stories of Missouri’s past than I am for all my years of reporting the news in a career that has lasted long enough that what once was just another story one day is now Missouri history.

If I live forever, I’ll never write all of these stories.  It doesn’t help that Missourians keep making history.

Independence Press printed the last of the three books several years ago. I have the only remaining inventory in our storage locker or in our garage and sometimes in the trunk of my car. But when they’re gone, they’ll be out of print.

There are two things about becoming an author—

Somebody, I don’t recall how, once said that writing a book is a former of eternal life. I wasn’t real sure about that until the way I was at the Library of Congress in Washington and filled out a call slip for volume one just the grins and a few minutes later, a library employee emerged from the bowels and laid the book on the desk in front of me.

The other comment came from former Missouri Treasurer Jim Spainhower who, in addition to being a politician was an ordained minister in our denomination who had written a book called Pulpit, Pew, and Politics.  He told me when the first volume came out that I was now entitled to begin my prayers, “O Thou who also hast written a book….”

There are now five books with my name on them on a nearby shelf, soon to be joined by a sixth—about the history of the Missouri Capitol.  And there are files for two more in boxes behind me.

It all began on this date, February 8, 1971.

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Hal

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Let me tell you about meeting Mark Twain.

Well—-Hal Holbrook, actually.

He was Mark Twain longer than Mark Twain was Mark Twain. Actor Hal Holbrook died about two weeks ago although word of his death didn’t come out until this week. He was 95.

I saw “Mark Twain Tonight” the first time at the Stephens Playhouse in Columbia, as I recall, in the early 1960s and I think maybe a second time there.  Definitely a third time many years later at Jesse Hall at the University and a final time on May 16, 2014 at the Miller Performing Arts Center here in Jefferson City.  Nancy and I got to be part of the meet-and-greet bunch backstage after the show in Columbia and then again at the Miller Center.

There is an interesting, perhaps remarkable, story about his Jefferson City performance.

Mark Comley, my successor as president of the Community Concert Association, shared my enthusiasm for Holbrook as Twain.  The association decided to go for broke and bring him to the Miller Center even though he cost every penny of our annual budget.  But we thought a sell-out would justify the investment even if it didn’t quite cover the entire cost and we’d gain some recognition for the association that would pay off in the next season. I was disappointed that we didn’t sell every seat in the auditorium.  Big crowd, but it was disappointing to see that so many people in our city passed up a chance to see one of the great acts in the history of the American theatre.

It was the last day of the legislative session and as usual, the last week was exhausting.  I missed most of the first half of the show and didn’t have the energy for an after-show dinner at Madison’s (they kept their back room open so the concert board and guests could dine with Holbrook at midnight).

Holbrook was 89 then and showed plenty of energy in the show and in the post-show meet-and-greet afterward. He had removed his makeup (he told me in an interview in 2016 that he had to use less of it as he aged into the age of Twain, who he portrayed as being 70).

He stopped and spent time with each person. I told him I had hoped we’d be able to get him to the Capitol to see the various tributes to Twain (the Huck Finn art of the Benton mural, the bust of Twain in the rotunda’s Hall of Famous Missourians, and a—in my opinion— fairly undistinguished portrait of him) as well as a painting in the Senate of Francis Preston Blair Junior, the son of the man Holbrook played in the movie, Lincoln.

We took a couple of friends with us, Larry and Peggy Veatch who had lived in Hannibal for many years where Larry was the minister of the First Christian Church for a long time—and Holbrook had spent part of his performance on Twain’s ruminations on religion.  He and Larry had quite a conversation.

Mark (Comley) told me a remarkable story about midnight dinner the next time I saw him. It seems that Mark’s favorite routine is Twain’s recounting of the story of the skipper of little boat impressed of his own self-importance who crosses paths with another ship and its skipper who put him in his place.   Holbrook often used the story, originally told by Twain at a dinner in his honor in Liverpool, England on July 10, 1907 to close his shows. He hadn’t done it at the Miller Center and Mark mentioned it to Holbrook at the dinner.   Holbrook grew quiet for a time–And then did the entire routine. You can see it as Holbrook sometimes did it on stage:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_rTMNnxwSE

Mark figured that Holbrook had gone quiet for a little while because he was sorting through the hundreds or thousands of Twain stories stored in his memory until he found the story of “The Mary Ann.”

The first half of his shows were filled with wry and humorous observation of Twain.  The second half of the show turned serious pretty soon when he did the reading from Huckelberry Finn when the boy has to decide if he’s going to lie to protect his friend Jim, the room was always absolutely still, the audience moving only so much as necessary to breathe.

He spent about an hour with me on the phone in 2004 when he was appearing at then-Central Missouri State, the University of Missouri-Columbia, then at Kansas University. That was his 50th year of being Mark Twain.

Somewhere, in a box of recordings of interviews and events we covered in forty years at the Missourinet is a CD of that interview.  I’ll find it someday and post it.  I do remember that he told me he often updates his show with new Twain material but he never went beyond Twain’s thoughts. He never thought, “What would Twain say” about contemporary issues.  But Twain’s social commentary covered such a wide range of topics that many of his observations of 19th century situations fit contemporary events.

Holbrook didn’t exactly invent the one-man show portraying a historic figure but as Mark Dawidziak at the Center for Mark Twain Studies  put it, “Holbrook not only unleased platoons of Mark Twain impersonators (several in almost every state), he popularized the one man show about American figures. He soon was followed by James Whitmore as Will Rogers, (then as Harry Truman, and Theodore Roosevelt), Henry Fonda as Clarence Darrow, Julie Harris as Emily Dickinson, and Robert Morse as Truman Capote, just to name a few.”

But, in truth, many of the Twain impersonators weren’t really impersonating Twain.  They were impersonating Holbrook.

Samuel Clemens started using the pen name of Mark Twain in 1863. He died in 1910 at the age of 75 after 47 years if being Twain.

Hal Holbrook retired his act, and himself, in 2017, his health no longer strong enough for tours and performances.  He had been Mark Twain (among other characters in numerous movies and TV shows) for seventy years.

Patriot

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I am a patriot.  And I do things patriots do.

I stand for the national anthem.

I put my hand over my heart, or somewhere near it, when the flag passes by or when I say the Pledge of Allegiance.

When I say the pledge, I say it as a pledge not as a rote statement poorly delivered:

I pledge allegiance (pause)

To the flag (pause)

Of the United States of American (pause)

And to the Republic for which it stands (pause)

One nation (pause)

Under God (pause)

With Liberty and Justice for All.

After which I sometimes mutter, “Play Ball,” because it just seems like the right thing to do.

But I say the pledge the way it ought to be said:

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America (comma) and to the republic for which it stands—One nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”  I usually finish and drop my hand while other about me are saying “Under God.”

I don’t rush through it. It is my personal pledge, said as one not said as a group rote.  I confess that the phrase “under God” is bothersome because it assumes something we might believe but cannot know. Perhaps someday it will permissible to say, “One nation, hopefully under God….”

That position is heavily influenced by Abraham Lincoln, whose family lived in the town where I was born, and who practiced law as a circuit-riding attorney in the two towns where I was raised. He once supposedly said, “My concern is not whether God is on our side; My greatest concern is to be on God’s side, for God is always right.”  Scholars have not been able to confirm that Lincoln actually said that and the statement might be distilled from part of the oration given at Lincoln’s funeral in Springfield Illinois on May 4, 1865 by Reverend Matthew Simpson of the Methodist Episcopal Church, who had a “long and intimate friendship” with Lincoln:

“To a minister who said he hoped the Lord was on our side, he replied that it gave him no concern whether the Lord was on our side or not, “For,” he added, “I know the Lord is always on the side of right;” and with deep feeling added, “But God is my witness that it is my constant anxiety and prayer that both myself and this nation should be on the Lord’s side.”  

I stand for the flag, but I respect others who do not see the symbolism in our flag that I see. I have not walked in their shoes or in the shoes of their ancestors. I cannot be confident that I am on God’s side in such circumstances because to do so would be to assume that God is not on the side of others or wished others to be less free than me.  While others might be comfortable in assuming they know the mind of God and are therefore entitled to a definition of patriotism that allows them to judge others from their sacred viewpoint, I cannot reach that level of confidence. I prefer the other approach—hoping that I should be on God’s side rather than assuming that God is on mine.

It is a liberating rather than a confining position for it leaves me free to accept others and to see their possibilities, which I believe is the direction a great nation must go if it is to be even greater.

It enables me to suggest to those who cite early American naval hero Stephen Decatur’s after-dinner toast (“Our  Country! In her intercourse with foreign nations may she always be in the right; but right or wrong, our country!”) that adhering to such a sentiment requires no consideration of the narrowness of it.

English philosopher, lay theologian, critic, and writer G. K. Chesterton was more abrupt in dismissing the idea by saying it is equivalent to saying, “My Mother, drunk or sober.” His comment is drawn from his first book of essays, The Defendant, published in 1901.  The sixteenth chapter is “A Defence of Patriotism”

Better, I find, are words from Missouri Senator Carl Schurz, a German immigrant who became a Civil War General, St. Louis newspaper publisher, and later Secretary of the Interior, from the Senate Floor on February 29, 1872:

“The Senator from Wisconsin cannot frighten me by exclaiming, ‘My country, right or wrong.’ In one sense I say so too. My country; and my country is the great American Republic. My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right.” 

He elaborated on those thoughts on October 17, 1899 at the Anti-Imperialistic Conference in Chicago:

“I confidently trust that the American people will prove themselves … too wise not to detect the false pride or the dangerous ambitions or the selfish schemes which so often hide themselves under that deceptive cry of mock patriotism: ‘Our country, right or wrong!’ They will not fail to recognize that our dignity, our free institutions and the peace and welfare of this and coming generations of Americans will be secure only as we cling to the watchword of true patriotism: ‘Our country—when right to be kept right; when wrong to be put right.’”

We recently came across an article by Noah Millman in The American Conservative from 2017 about teaching children about patriotism, “if you want them to understand their country’s crimes and failures as well as its achievements.”  Love of country, he suggests, cannot be narrow because love, if true love, cannot ignore differences. He cited Chesterton’s comment as he outlined why patriotism cannot be selfish but must involve responsibility for others, just as love grows from an awareness of, and acceptance of, and a responsibility for another.

People feel an attachment, and a willingness to fight to protect, their homes, and their communities. That can take noble and ignoble forms — sometimes fighting to defend your community means committing injustice (as, for example, if you band together with your neighbors to prevent someone from a disfavored ethnic group from moving to the neighborhood). But the feeling is rooted in a direct experience, not an abstract attachment.

For any political community larger than a city, though, that attachment necessarily becomes abstract. So you need to teach your children why they should care about that larger community, be proud of it, and treat it as constituent of their identity…

Chesterton famously quipped that the sentiment, “my country, right or wrong” is like the sentiment, “my mother, drunk or sober.” But the thing about the latter is that she is your mother whether she’s drunk or sober — it’s just that your obligations change based on her condition. If she’s drunk, you won’t let her drive — instead, you’ll make sure she gets home safely.

The question, then, is how you teach your children to see their country as, in some sense, like a mother when their relationship is necessarily abstract rather than directly felt. A love of country based on the lie that your mother is never drunk will be too brittle to survive any kind of honest encounter with reality. But it seems to me equally problematic to say that you should love your country because it is on-balance a good one. Does anyone say about their mother that they love them because on-balance they are sober?

Filial love is first and foremost rooted in gratitude for existence itself. That applies to adopted children as well; we are not born able to fend for ourselves, but radically dependent on others’ love and care, and however imperfectly it was provided if we survived at all then it was provided in some measure. And that gratitude extends to the larger society. None of us were raised in the wilderness; whoever we are, we are because of the world that shaped us, and we are grateful to be ourselves even if we are not always happy being ourselves.

In this time when the word “patriot” has been abused and has been turned into a term of narrowness, when love of country has been defined as fear or hatred of those who are different and therefore unacceptable, when violence has become a sanctioned way of expressing patriotism, it is time to learn what love is.

Paul defined it for us in one of his letters to the believers at Corinth: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs.”

Sounds like an outstanding definition of what a Patriot is, or should be. This is a time to be a Paulist Patriot. But being a Paulist Patriot will require a stern unwillingness to let Chesterton’s drunk mothers prevail.

I stand with Paul. And Schurz. And Lincoln.

I am a Patriot.

Will This Be Mike Parson’s “Lost Speech?”

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It was a pretty good speech, the one Governor Parson delivered Wednesday. It was the annual State of the State speech.  Governors have been giving them since Alexander McNair did the first one on November 4, 1822 at the start of the Second General Assembly of the State Of Missouri. The speech lasted about 17 minutes.  Governor Parson’s speech lasted about 42 minutes.

As far as we can determine, his speech was historic because it was the first SOS address that did not take place before a joint legislative session meeting in the House chamber.  Even in the St. Charles Capitol, where the House and Senate met in adjoining rooms, the Senate joined the House for McNair’s 1822 speech.

And, as far as we can determine, it was the first time a State of the State Address was not given during a joint session.  In fact it wasn’t given during a session of the legislature at all.  Neither chamber was in session. Another historical point.

Mark these circumstances down to an external historical event that had become too internal—the COVID-19 pandemic.  The House leadership decided Wednesday morning that the House could not be used because of fears the event would turn into a super-spreader of the virus.  The situation was so out of hand in the House that it didn’t even meet the previous week.

That near-last hour decision provoked a big scramble that resulted in moving the speech to the Senate where there is far less room for social distancing on the floor or in the galleries. We’ve heard there were concerns the Senate could muster a membership majority for an afternoon joint session.

As a result, neither chamber was in session. The Senate gave permission for the speech to be given there, much as it gives permission for the Silver-Haired legislature and other mock legislatures to use the chamber. Reports indicate about one-third of the Senate membership stayed away.

The House Information Office, which has a pretty sophisticated audio/video system it uses for special events in the House, managed to move all of its gear into the Senate galleries and strung all of its cables, and mounted all of its cameras in a matter of a few hours and produced a high-quality video feed on the governor’s Facebook page (maybe I’ll tell you sometime how close the Missourinet once came to beginning daily video feeds on its webpage many years ago).  I watched it.  I thought it was flawless.

The galleries of the Senate chamber were uncomfortably crowded with Parson cabinet members, guests who would become show-and-tell examples of certain points the governor wanted to emphasize, other special folks and as many House members as wanted to crowd in.

Normally, the House and the Senate appoint a special escort committee to escort the Governor into the House chamber.  But with neither chamber being in session there could be no escort committee—another possible first.

At the appropriate time, the back doors opened and in walked a masked Governor Parson.  Alone.  No handshakes on the way in, as usually happens.  Fist bumps only during the walk down the much-shorter than usual center aisle.

Forty-two minutes (and probably about 6,000 words) later, the governor put has mask back on and he and Teresa walked hand-in-hand back up the aisle and out of the chamber.  I’d never before seen a governor and First Lady walk back down the legislative aisle after a State of the State speech.  Another touch of history on that day.

There was no State of the State message in the First General Assembly—

—because we weren’t a state then.  Congress had given Missouri permission to elect a state legislature and state officers and draft a proposed State Constitution in 1820.  McNair gave the first state governor’s inaugural address on September 19, 1820, almost eleven months before Missouri was a state.  His three-minute speech was so short that a goodly number of legislators were still in a grog shop down the street in St. Charles and missed it. They wanted him to have a do-over and he refused.  Then came the 17-minute SOS in 1822.

As we have researched the history of the Capitol, we have come across a lot of State of the State messages in legislative journals.  Some are amazing.  For a good part of our history the governor did not deliver the message. He sent the message to the House, often with the Secretary of State or his personal secretary carrying it.  Then somebody read it.  And read it and read it.

And read it.

Long ago we learned that the average person speaks at about 150 words per minute.  It’s a natural pace for most of us. Any faster and the listener is tense, waiting for the next work.  Any faster, and clarity of speech might suffer.  So, using the 150 wpm standard, here’s how long some previous State of the State speeches have lasted.

On November 22, 1836 (the legislature in those days met after the harvest and quit in time for spring planting, “Lieutenant Governor and Acting Governor” Lilburn Boggs delivered a speech that covered seventeen pages of the House Journal. The word counter on my computer says the speech was 8,873 words long. Whoever read it probably took about an hour to give.  It’s hard to imaging many applause breaks since the big buy himself wasn’t reading it.  So there was little to keep people awake.  Maybe they didn’t suffer as much as we think because in those days church sermons of two or three hours were not uncommon and the listeners were sitting on split log benches without backs.

John Cummins Edwards, the youngest governor in Missouri up to that time, used 6,681 words in 1846, a more modest 45-minute speech, probably.

Sterling Price’s Christmas Day State of the State speech in 1854 was 7,114 words long, would have lasted a couple of minutes longer than Edwards did.  His speech took 12 pages of the House Journal.  We’re not sure if this was the first time it happened, but after the speech, the House ordered thousands of copies printed, including 2,000 copies in German—as more and more Germans started flowing into Missouri from their country that had been torn by revolutions for several years.

We ran out of energy on the John Marmaduke speech in 1887. It took up 19 pages.

Joseph Folk was a populist who was elected in 1904.  He was so full of ideas for cleaning up a corrupt government that his SOS took 14,071 words to express. All those words probably took two hours and 22 minutes to read.

TWO HOURS AND 22 MINUTES!

Forrest Donnell, the governor that majority Democrats tried to keep from taking office in 1941, gave his final SOS  on January 3, 1945. He could have spent a lot of time talking about his accomplishments steering our state through most of the World War, but he didn’t.  4180 words, 28-30 minutes.

The first State of the State given by Warren Hearnes in 1965 took 3,063 words.

By the time Donnell and Hearnes spoke, governors were delivering their own remarks. That is likely to be the greatest motivation not to talk endlessly.

The longest SOS we ever covered was Joe Teasdale’s first one.  Since the Missourinet broadcast it, we clocked it.  An hour and 17 minutes.  It seemed interminable.  And it was still more than an hour shorter than Folk’s message.

But unlike all of those other State of the State messages, the one given by Governor Parson this week might become a “lost speech.”   Why?

Because it wasn’t given to a joint session. In fact it wasn’t given to a session of either chamber of the legislature.

As we write this, we haven’t seen the journal from yesterday, Thursday, yet. But since the speech was given outside of the legislative day, it doesn’t qualify to be in the journal.  If that’s how it turns out, the speech will achieve still another historic first—-there won’t be an official record of it in either journal.  Perhaps a century from now somebody who has the questionable intelligence to spend hours reading legislative journals will wonder why there was no State of the State message in 2021.

There was one. Pretty good one. Well-delivered. Well-covered by the media. But if it’s not in the journals, it will be Mike Parson’s “lost speech.”

UPDATE:  The unapproved journals of the House and Senate for the day of the speech, which are available on the web pages of the chambers, do not include the speech.  

 

Theodore Roosevelt  and fake news

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Please pardon us for some introductory observations that recall our very recent past, but—

Our most current former president got pretty prickly when somebody had the temerity to suggest he was wrong (which has led to one observer in our social circle suggesting the official White House pet should have been a porcupine).

No matter how much he complained about “fake news,” there’s nothing fake about his exit from the biggest pulpit he will ever have.  He came along several decades late because—

This country once had a law against using “disloyal, profane, scurrilous, or abusive language” about our government or the flag or the armed forces or making comments that led others to hold the government in contempt during wartime. There are some today who think that’s a dandy idea, particularly as the longest war in our history appears to have seized back the headlines and complaints about “fake news” and a new war—against a virus—has ignited even more hostility toward those who tell us this war won’t just go away.

And a lot of people apparently side with the President who labels anything in the press that runs counter to his remarks or ideas to be “fake news” published by “enemies of the people.”  But the president has done a pretty good job, himself, of violating the century-old law against speaking poorly of the government. And his most recent tirade, mostly “fake facts” of the kind of which he has thrived, and its consequences are unforgiveable.

The Sedition Act of 1918 was an extension of the Espionage Act of 1917, both products of World War One.  People could go to prison for twenty years for expressing an opinion somebody found un-American.

Kansas City Star editor William Rockhill Nelson had a good friend named Teddy Roosevelt who was concerned about the nation’s readiness for war.  Nelson convinced Roosevelt he should put his ideas in print with the Star, which would then circulate the editorials throughout the country.  Roosevelt promptly called himself the newest “cub reporter” on the Star staff.  He typed his first column in the Star newsroom while he was in town for a visit in September, 1917.  His column published the next May 7 made the case for people to say bad things about a President if they thought he deserved it. His column resonates today (we have emphasized the part about free speech and the press and underlined a particularly important word):

The legislation now being enacted by Congress should deal drastically with sedition. It should also guarantee the right of the press and people to speak the truth freely of all their public servants, including the President, and to criticize them in the severest terms of truth whenever they come short in their public duty. Finally, Congress should grant the Executive the amplest powers to act as an executive and should hold him to stern accountability for failure so to act, but it should itself do the actual lawmaking and should clearly define the lines and limits of action and should retain and use the fullest powers of investigation into and supervision over such action. Sedition is a form of treason. It is an offense against the country, not against the President. At this time to oppose the draft or sending our armies to Europe, to uphold Germany, to attack our allies, to oppose raising the money necessary to carry on the war are at least forms of sedition, while to act as a German spy or to encourage German spies to use money or intrigue in the corrupt service of Germany, to tamper with our war manufactures and to encourage our soldiers to desert or to fail in their duty, and all similar actions are forms of undoubtedly illegal sedition. For some of these offenses death should be summarily inflicted. For all the punishment should be severe.

The Administration has been gravely remiss in dealing with such acts.

Free speech, exercised both individually and through a free press, is a necessity in any country where the people are themselves free. Our Government is the servant of the people, whereas in Germany it is the master of the people. This is because the American people are free and the German are not free. The President is merely the most important among a large number of public servants. He should be supported or opposed exactly to the degree which is warranted by his good conduct or bad conduct, his efficiency or inefficiency in rendering loyal, able, and disinterested service to the Nation as a whole. Therefore it is absolutely necessary that there should be full liberty to tell the truth about his acts, and this means that it is exactly necessary to blame him when he does wrong as to praise him when he does right. Any other attitude in an American citizen is both base and servile. To announce that there must be no criticism of the President, or that we are to stand by the President, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public. Nothing but the truth should be spoken about him or any one else. But it is even more important to tell the truth, pleasant or unpleasant, about him than about any one else.

During the last year the Administration has shown itself anxious to punish the newspapers which uphold the war, but which told the truth about the Administration’s failure to conduct the war efficiently, whereas it has failed to proceed against various powerful newspapers which opposed the war or attacked our allies or directly or indirectly aided Germany against this country, as these papers upheld the Administration and defended the inefficiency. Therefore, no additional power should be given the Administration to deal with papers for criticizing the Administration. And, moreover, Congress should closely scrutinize the way the Postmaster-General and Attorney-General have already exercised discrimination between the papers they prosecuted and the papers they failed to prosecute.

Congress should give the President full power for efficient executive action. It should not abrogate its own power. It should define how he is to reorganize the Administration. It should say how large an army we are to have and not leave the decision to the amiable Secretary of War, who has for two years shown such inefficiency. It should declare for an army of five million men and inform the Secretary that it would give him more the minute he asks for more.

All of this is from a man who, as President, filed a libel suit against Joseph Pulitzer after Pulitzer’s New York World disclosed that a syndicate involving friends of Roosevelt and his favored successor, William Howard Taft, made a lot of money from the United States’ purchase of land from France for the Panama Canal.  The Indianapolis News also was sued.

When an Indiana judge threw out the suit against the News, Roosevelt called him “a crook and a jackass.”  Sounds pretty contemporary to us.

Roosevelt dictated his last column for the Kansas City newspaper on January 3, 1919. Three days later he died.

When You’ve Been President—-

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What else is there?

It’s the old, “What do you get somebody who has everything?”

Our current president will be our most immediate past-president soon and his lack of interest in giving up control of (1) the office, (2) the country, and (3) the Republican Party has sent us off to find out what ex-presidents for the past century have done after departing the biggest stage in the world.

What we have found is that past-presidents didn’t exactly disappear but many did keep or have kept low profiles. Others remained politically visible although none has tried to maintain power as our current president wants to do.

CALVIN COOLIDGE (1923-1929) succeed Warren G. Harding on Harding’s death.  Coolidge is remembered as “Silent Cal” for his disdain for lengthy public pronouncements. In one of his stage presentations, Will Rogers referred to Coolidge as “a tight chewer and a close spitter.” His announcement, “I do not choose to run for President in 1928” is part of our political tradition. Rutgers University History Professor David Greenberg has written, “He was never one who loved power or fame and was ready to be ‘relieved of the pretensions and delusions of public life.’” He spent his first four years out of office writing his autobiography and in 1931 wrote a nationally syndicated newspaper column. He died January 5, 1933.

HERBERT HOOVER (1929-1933) was only 58 when he left the presidency, the fall guy for the Great Depression. He was wealthy enough that he did not need to work and  historian David Hamilton at the University of Kentucky says, “Few Republicans in the 1930s wanted Hoover involved in party politics because of his negative standing in the popular mind.”  He independently became a strong critic of Roosevelt’s New Deal and considered many of its programs “fascistic.” In 1938 he met Adolph Hitler and let him know in no uncertain terms that he strongly disliked Hitler’s shouting during their private meeting.  He did not favor American intervention in Europe until the attack on Pearl Harbor, at which point he—as did most “America First” figures—changed his mind. Roosevelt appointed him to head an international relief organization for Poland, Finland, and Belgium. He continued working under President Truman on food issues for the war-torn countries and in 1947 became the chairman of a commission to reorganize the executive branch of government. The Hoover Commission as it was called, disappointed Congressional Republicans who hoped it would dismantle FDR’s programs. Instead, the commission strengthened the Executive Branch, laying the groundwork for the modern presidency. He was critical of Truman’s decision to intervene in Korea. Hamilton says he supported a buildup of naval and air power, felt Europeans could do more to defend themselves against the Soviet Union. He supported Ohio Senator Robert Taft for President in 1948 and 1952, Eisenhower in ’56. He wasn’t fond of Richard Nixon and endorsed Barry Goldwater in 1964, shortly before his death at the age of ninety.

HARRY TRUMAN (1945-1953), plain-spoken in the White House, remained plain-spoken in private life. His library in Independence was built with private funds. He enjoyed spending time at his office there and in talking with groups that came for tours, especially school children. After losing the New Hampshire Primary in 1952, he withdrew as a candidate for a full term and pushed for Adlai Stevenson to be his party’s nominee. Stevenson lost to Dwight Eisenhower and lost again in ’56. Truman often criticized Eisenhower policies. Alonzo Hamby, an Ohio University history professor, says he got along better with John Kennedy although he once thought Kennedy was too young and too Catholic to be a successful candidate for the job. Hamby says he was more comfortable with Lyndon Johnson and his antagonistic attitude toward Richard Nixon was often made clear. He died the day after Christmas, 1972.

DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER (1953-1961), who switched his first two names early in life (he was born David Dwight Eisenhower) retired to his farm adjacent to the Gettysburg battlefield. He and Mamie wintered in Indian Wells, California. They travelled. “Ike” remained a World War II icon for thousands of American veterans. Presidents Kennedy and Johnson consulted him.  But he was not aggressively involved in politics—as Truman had been—beyond that.

LYNDON JOHNSON (1963-1969) stunned the nation with his announcement on March 31, 1968 that he would not seek another term as President.  The Vietnam War and the heavy public criticism of his policies led him to announced, “With America’s sons in the fields far away, with America’s future under challenge right here at home, with our hopes and the world’s hopes for peace in the balance every day, I do not believe that I should devote an hour or a day of my time to any personal partisan causes or to any duties other than the awesome duties of this office—the presidency of this country. Accordingly, I shall not seek, and I will not accept, the nomination of my party for another term as your president.” Johnson was not a well man when he left the presidency. He spent his remaining days writing his memoirs, overseeing the development of his presidential library, tending to his investments, and enjoying life at his beloved Texas ranch. He died on January 22, 1973. University of South Carolina historian Kent Germany recalls his death happened one day before the Paris Peace Accords ended the Vietnam War and two days before what would have been his second term had be run and been re-elected.

RICHARD NIXON (1969-1974) was deeply in debt when he resigned in disgrace and returned to California with a lot of unpaid lawyers’ bills. He survived some health problems later that year and regained his financial footing by penning his autobiography and by accepting $600,000 for a series of interviews with David Frost, a British television personality. Researcher Ken Hughes at the University of Virginia’s Miller Center recounts the international community had trouble grasping the seriousness of Watergate, leading to Nixon’s cautious re-entry on the public stage with his 1976 trip to China, where he was warmly received. He made his first public speech to a small group in Kentucky in 1978 and in 1980 moved to New York, then to New Jersey. Nixon became a trusted but non-publicized advisor to later Presidents Carter, Reagan, and George H.W. Bush as a recognized expert on foreign policy. He wrote several books. When he died in 1994, President Clinton eulogized him, “”May the day of judging President Nixon on anything less than his entire life and career come to a close.”

GERALD FORD (1974-1977) seemed to settle into a comfortable retirement in California. He was a frequent lecturer and wrote an autobiography and some other books.  He raised eyebrows as a potential Vice-President for Ronald Reagan, a bid that fizzled when word of it became public. He continued to write extensively and served on various corporate boards.  In 2001 he co-chaired the National Commission on Federal Election Reform. Ford died the day after Christmas, 2006, thirty-four years to the day after the death of Harry Truman.

JIMMY CARTER (1977-1981) is regarded by some as a much better former-president than a president. He returned to his home state of Georgia where he “emerged as a champion of human rights and worked for several charitable causes,” according to Washignton and Lee University Professor of Politics Robert Strong. He founded the Carter Presidential Center at Emory University  which is known for studying matters related to human rights and democracy. His work with Habitat for Humanity is widely known and he has served as an unofficial international ambassador mediating disputes between our State Department and “the most volatile of foreign leaders including Libya’s Muammar Qaddaffi and North Korea’s Kim Il Sung.  He also has written several books. Since 2015 he has been treated for concer of the liver and the brain and has battled other health issues—all the while continuing to teach Sunday School when he can at Atlanta’s Maranatha Baptist Church. Last October first, he became the first past-president to reach his 96th birthday (he was the first to reach 95,too).

RONALD REAGAN (1981-1989), who popularized the so-called “Eleventh Commandment” created by California GOP chairman Gaylord Parkinson, “Thou shalt not speak ill of any fellow Republican,”  a commandment pulverized by his current successor in the White House, retired to live the good life riding his horses on his California ranch, organizing his memoirs, and writing his autobiography until August, 1994 when he issued an open letter to the American people that he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Toward the end of his letter, he said, “I now begin the journey that will lead me into the sunset of my life. I know that for America there will always be a bright dawn ahead.”  He mostly withdrew from the public eye after that and died almost ten years later, his final years the impetus for millions of dollars in donations for Alzheimer’s research. It was a graceful exit for a former actor.

GEORGE HERBERT WALKER BUSH (1989-1993) enjoyed retirement back in Houston, Texas where he became just another private citizens—as much as a former president can become one. Professor Stephen Knott at the United States Naval War College recalls he sat on various boards, including a Houston hospital board, and was active, with wife Barbara, in their church. They also enjoyed summers at their place in Kennebunkport, Maine. He and Bill Clinton, who defeated in his re-election bid, became close friends when they jointly raised money for tsunami relief in Southeast Asia. He was not active in politics until his two sons became governors of Florida and Texas, with George W. making to the White House as the first son of a former president to hold the office since John Quincy Adams was elected in 1824. He was 94 when he died in 2018, seven months after the death Barbara, his wife of 73 years.

BILL CLINTON (1993-2001) has been one of our most visible ex-presidents as a frequent speaker, political analyst, and founder of the Clinton Presidential Foundation. University of Virginia Professor Russell Riley says the foundation’s agenda “includes combating HIV/AIDS, fostering racial and ethnic reconciliation, and promoting the economic empowerment of poor people.”  It was impossible for him to stay out of the political spotlight although he was not the center of attraction in 2016 when his wife, Hillary, polled more popular votes than Donald Trump but lost in the electoral college.

GEORGE W. BUSH (2001-2009), “Bush 43” as some call him, is comfortably retired, commenting, “I think part of having a fulfilling life is to be challenged. I’m challenged on the golf course, I’m challenged to stay fit, and I’m challenged by my paintings…I am happy.”  He left office with sixty percent of the American people think he was a below-average President and with an approval rating of 33%.  University of Louisville Professor Gary Gregg II says Bush, “no typical politician, he seemed to enjoy the relaxation and time away from power.”  He has, for the most part, stayed away from politics, becoming just another private citizen hosting barbecues at his home and going to local events. He was inspired by one of his heroes, Winston Churchill, to take up painting. He’s gotten some national attention for his portrayals of world leaders he met during his time in the White House and of his pets. Gregg says the George W. Bush Center at Southern Methodist University continues “discussions about the best policies to foster economic growth, human freedom, education, global health, and various women’s initiatives. He is active in charity work such as an annual 62-mile bike ride and a golf tournament that raises money for wounded veterans. He’s also gone to Africa to hike awareness of cervical cancer.

He has stayed aloof from politics and issued a statement after the 2020 election saying in part,     “The fact that so many of our fellow citizens participated in this election is a positive sign of the health of our democracy and a reminder to the world of its strength. No matter how you voted, your vote counted. President Trump has the right to request recounts and pursue legal challenges, and any unresolved issues will be properly adjudicated. The American people can have confidence that this election was fundamentally fair, its integrity will be upheld, and its outcome is clear.”

BARACK OBAMA (2009-2017) left office ranked in one poll as the second-most popular President since World War II (Ronald Reagan was a point higher). Rhodes College Professor Michael Nelson notes a C-SPAN survey of  91 presidential scholars, presidential historians, and political scientists ranked him as the 12th best president in American history (Reagan was 8th).  He and his popular First Lady, Michelle, have written best-selling autobiographies. Both have been highly visible as public speakers with the former president catching flack for taking $400,000 for one speech although Jeff Wallenfeldt writes for the Encyclopedia Britannica that “supporters countered that those high gees contributed to making it possible for Obama to donate some $3 million to job-training programs for low-income residents of the Chicago area.”

As his successor appeared intent on rolling back many programs of the Obama administration policies, Wallenfeldt says, Obama “for the most part honored the unwritten tradition of former presidents refraining from criticism of their successor’s actions” although he did object to some Trump policies. He became more vocal in his criticisms during the 2020 campaign and served as Joe Biden’s wingman in the closing months of the effort to unseat President Trump expressing confidence in “the character and leadership ability” of his former vice-president.

(These preceding assessments are based on writings for the University of Virginia’s Miller Center except for the Wallenfeldt assessment of the post-presidential career of Obama.)

Donald Trump exit from the office will become an addition to a trick trivia question: “How many Presidents did not die in the United States?”  The new answer, for now, will be five—Carter, Clinton, George W. Bush, Obama, and now, Trump.

All of our past presidents have given up power gracefully although several remained outspoken about the course of the nation after their return to civilian life. The nation has been able to move beyond them, allowing a new leader to rise or fall on his own. Whether the nation moves beyond Donald Trump, who believes he can continue to run the country by his own means outside of the Oval Office, is something the nation will have to prove for itself—and can prove for itself if it acknowledges service in its highest office is a gift from its citizens of temporary authority, not a grant of perpetual power.

The great quotation

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It is early in the legislative session, early in the work of a new Congress. In a troubled time, it is good to recall one of the great statements of what government must be and what those who serve in it must be.

The single line or the single paragraph that constitutes a memorable and motivating quotation from a prominent figure often is set forth to guide us.   The words sometimes are carved into great stone walls to encourage those who see them or serve under them to eschew pettiness for the sake of noble acts.

So it is with a quotation from English statesman Edmund Burke:

“Your representative owes you, not his industry only, but his judgment; and he betrays you instead of serving you if he sacrifices it to your opinion.”

In today’s politics, loyalty is a word often used and sometimes ill-used.  Loyalty to an individual.  Loyalty to a party.  Loyalty to a specific constituency. Loyalty to personal ambition. Burke challenges those who feel or are pressured to feel a need to be loyal without thought.

The problem with loyalty is that it can limit the ability to do what is right.  It becomes an excuse to excuse. It can breed a fear of consequence that can stifle a motivation to do good. It can turn public service into self-service. At times, it endangers freedom.

The noble quotation can suffer from brevity.  Such might be the case with Burke, who later added:

Parliament is a deliberative Assembly of one Nation, with one Interest, that of the whole; where, not local Purposes, not local Prejudices ought to guide, but the general Good, resulting from the general Reason of the whole.

This is a time when all of us, and particularly those who represent us in our state and national governments, to take to heart what Burke said. All of it.

So we invite you to read this essential part of a speech to the Electors of Bristol on November 3, 1774, upon being elected to represent them in London, and in doing so we hope you gain dimension to his famous remark.  The language is the formal rhetoric of the late 18th Century but therein might be its power and the beauty of his clarity of thought.

Editor Francis Canavan notes in the forward to the book from which this text is taken, “Although he was skeptical of democracy as a form of government for any but small countries (and not optimistic even there), he did believe that government existed for the good of the whole community and must represent the interests of all its people. But…his idea of representation was not the radically democratic one that saw representation as a mere substitute for direct democracy and a representative as a mere agent of the local electorate whose duty it was to carry out its wishes despite his own best judgment… Rather, he argued in his Bristol speech, a representative was to act for the interest of his constituents, to be sure, but as part of a larger national whole, in accordance with the enlightened judgment that could be exercised only at the center of government and in possession of the knowledge available there. If nothing were at issue in politics but the question of whose will should prevail, clearly the will of the electors should. But for Burke, political judgment was a matter of reason: prudent, practical reason.”

It ought to be the happiness and glory of a Representative, to live in the strictest union, the closest correspondence, and the most unreserved communication with his constituents. Their wishes ought to have great weight with him; their opinion high respect; their business unremitted attention. It is his duty to sacrifice his repose, his pleasures, his satisfactions, to theirs; and, above all, ever, and in all cases, to prefer their interest to his own. But, his unbiassed opinion, his mature judgement, his enlightened conscience, he ought not to sacrifice to you; to any man, or to any set of men living. These he does not derive from your pleasure; no, nor from the Law and the Constitution. They are a trust from Providence, for the abuse of which he is deeply answerable. Your Representative owes you, not his industry only, but his judgement; and he betrays, instead of serving you, if he sacrifices it to your opinion. My worthy Colleague says, his Will ought to be subservient to yours. If that be all, the thing is innocent. If Government were a matter of Will upon any side, yours, without question, ought to be superior. But Government and Legislation are matters of reason and judgement, and not of inclination; and, what sort of reason is that, in which the determination precedes the discussion; in which one set of men deliberate, and another decide; and where those who form the conclusion are perhaps three hundred miles distant from those who hear the arguments? To deliver an opinion, is the right of all men; that of Constituents is a weighty and respectable opinion, which a Representative ought always to rejoice to hear; and which he ought always most seriously to consider. But authoritative instructions; Mandates issued, which the Member is bound blindly and implicitly to obey, to vote, and to argue for, though contrary to the clearest conviction of his judgement and conscience; these are things utterly unknown to the laws of this land, and which arise from a fundamental Mistake of the whole order and tenor of our Constitution. Parliament is not a Congress of Ambassadors from different and hostile interests; which interests each must maintain, as an Agent and Advocate, against other Agents and Advocates; but Parliament is a deliberative Assembly of one Nation, with one Interest, that of the whole; where, not local Purposes, not local Prejudices ought to guide, but the general Good, resulting from the general Reason of the whole. You choose a Member indeed; but when you have chosen him, he is not Member of Bristol, but he is a Member of Parliament. If the local Constituent should have an Interest, or should form an hasty Opinion, evidently opposite to the real good of the rest of the Community, the Member for that place ought to be as far, as any other, from any endeavor to give it Effect. I beg pardon for saying so much on this subject. I have been unwillingly drawn into it; but I shall ever use a respectful frankness of communication with you. Your faithful friend, your devoted servant, I shall be to the end of my life: A flatterer you do not wish for. On this point of instructions, however, I think it scarcely possible, we ever can have any sort of difference. Perhaps I may give you too much, rather than too little trouble. From the first hour I was encouraged to court your favor to this happy day of obtaining it, I have never promised you anything, but humble and persevering endeavors to do my duty. The weight of that duty, I confess, makes me tremble; and whoever well considers what it is, of all things in the world will fly from what has the least likeness to a positive and precipitate engagement. To be a good Member of Parliament, is, let me tell you, no easy task; especially at this time, when there is so strong a disposition to run into the perilous extremes of servile compliance, or wild popularity. To unite circumspection with vigor, is absolutely necessary; but it is extremely difficult. We are now Members for a rich commercial City; this City, however, is but a part of a rich commercial Nation, the Interests of which are various, multiform, and intricate. We are Members for that great Nation, which however is itself but part of a great Empire…All these wide-spread Interests must be considered; must be compared; must be reconciled if possible. We are Members for a free Country; and surely we all know, that the machine of a free Constitution is no simple thing; but as intricate and as delicate, as it is valuable.

(This transcript is drawn from  one of the four volumes of Burke’s writings and speeches, particularly: E. J. Payne, Select Works of Edmund Burke; Miscellaneous Writings; Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1999).

Things seemed so normal then

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Remember how normal things seemed the last time we gathered on a chilly Monday on the south front of the Capitol lawn for the inauguration of a new governor?

Eric Greitens, a young Republican populist, riding the wave of the Donald Trump-led populist surge nationally, was sworn in as governor in what he referred to in his opening remarks as “our republic’s most revered ritual: the peaceful transfer of power.”

Greitens, who saw the governorship as one step in his eventual trip to the White House, promised to “be loyal to your needs and priorities—not to those who posture or pay for influence.”

Former sheriff and former senator Mike Parson, days removed from open-heart surgery, surprised some of us by being on the platform, taking the oath as Lieutenant Governor.

Jay Ashcroft, son of a former state auditor, attorney general, governor, and U. S. Senator John Ashcroft (only Mel Carnahan matched him by holding four statewide offices in his career), was sworn in as Secretary of State.

Former Senator Eric Schmitt became the new State Treasurer that day.

And University of Missouri law professor Josh Hawley took over as Attorney General after a campaign in which he vowed he would not use the office as a stepping stone to something higher.

Nobody wore masks that day, four years and two days ago.

Eleven days later, another inauguration saw Donald Trump rise to the Presidency, a surprise to many in the Republican establishment and a frightening possibility in the eyes of many who were not his deepest believers.

How normal things seemed even then—despite the uneasiness many felt about the tenor of the campaigns that put Greitens and Trump in office on those days.

A few months after that bright but chilly January day, Greitens was gone, resigning before he could be impeached after refusing to reveal records of his campaign and ongoing finances, and being dragged through the headlines generated by a sex scandal.

His resignation triggered unprecedented chair-swapping in state government.  Mike Parson moved up to governor and appointed term-limited Senate leader Mike Kehoe as the new Lieutenant Governor, an appointment later ruled legal by the Missouri Supreme Court.

Josh Hawley, forgetting his promise not to use his office as a stepping stone, rode the continuing Trump wave to victory over Claire McCaskill two years later, leading Governor Parson to appoint State Treasurer  Schmitt to replace Hawley in the Attorney General’s Office. The House budget chairman, Scott Fitzpatrick, was appointed to become the new Treasurer.

Only Jay Ashcroft remains where voters put him four years and two days ago.

Today is far different from that day four years ago.

Our capitol has emerged from months in a giant plastic cocoon in which workers cleaned and replaced stone put in place more than a century ago, ended serious water leakage problems, and even restored Ceres, the patron goddess of agriculture, to the top of the dome so she once again welcomes those attending today’s ceremonies.

Mike Parson is being sworn in for a term of his own as governor, bearing the scars of dealing with a pandemic, a state economic collapse it caused, and the pain of the budget cuts he had to make–all in an election year.

Eric Greitens’ wife left him; he reportedly is hoping he can rehabilitate himself to seek public office again, although his thoughts of a presidency might be much dimmer than they were when inauguration day was HIS day full of hope.

Josh Hawley, with his own dreams of White House glory, is under intense criticism from former supporters in the public and present colleagues in Washington for his attempt to capitalize on Donald Trump’s conspiracy theories that have led to one of the most alarming political incidents in our lifetimes.

Donald Trump is isolated and increasingly alone, living the bitter final days in power he fears giving up, the idea of a peaceful transfer of power completely foreign to him.

And today we wear masks, our nation still under siege from a terrible virus that has forced us to withdraw from friends and family.

Oddly enough, a sentence from the inaugural address of Eric Greitens on January 9, 2017 comes to mind.

“This state in the heart of America has proven that the worst in our history can be overcome by the best in our people.”

Let us hope and fervently pray that on that, at least, he will be correct.

 

Stop the Steal—Missouri, 1941

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The sordid contemporary events that will forever be a lamentable chapter of American history strongly remind us of a similar lamentable chapter in our own state’s history.

This year is the 80th anniversary of the attempt by majority Democrats to steal the governorship from Republican Forrest Donnell, who had won the governorship by the narrowest margin in state history.  Here is how it went down:

Forrest Donnell, a Sunday-school teacher and lawyer from St. Louis officially defeated one of the pupils in his church class, Lawrence McDaniel, by 3,613 votes. McDaniel was backed by St. Louis Mayor Bernard Dickmann’s political machine that Donnell attacked as a potential successor of the infamous Pendergast Machine of Kansas City, badly weakened because “Boss Tom” had been sent to federal prison for violating tax laws.

Shortly after the election, State Democratic Committee Chairman C. Marion Hulen of Moberly announced the committee would investigate reports of “election irregularities.”  Committeeman Frank H. Lee of Joplin announced he had evidence that McDaniel had actually won by 7,500 votes.

In those days, the Speaker of the House, not the Secretary of State, made the official announcement of winning candidates. The legislature convened on January 8, 1941 but Speaker Morris Osborn made no pronouncements. At a joint session on the tenth, Osborn certified the Democratic candidates for statewide office as winners but refused to certify Donnell.

Traditional inaugural ceremonies on January 13th were cancelled.  Lt. Governor Frank Harris took his oath for a third term in the Missouri Senate, where the Lt. Governor is the chamber President.  The other statewide office holders took their oaths at the Supreme Court.  Donnell refused to be sworn by a Justice of the Peace and, instead, asked the court to order Osborn to declare him the winner. A second lawsuit asked the court to forbid a legislative committee from starting a recount.

Two days later, an angry Stark to a joint legislative session,

Your every thought and every effort should be to prove to the people of this great commonwealth that their faith in democracy is not misplaced, that democracy does and will work in Missouri. Nothing should be done at any time to shake the faith of our people in their democratic form of government. In these perilous times, it is doubly necessary that every public official in the state and in the nation should lean backward in an effort to serve the people strictly according to the constitution and the laws of the land without partisan bias and with only the welfare and the safety of our democratic form of government in mind.

Democrats started a recount anyway.  February was half-gone when the Supreme Court ordered Osborn, under the Constitution, to declare Donnell elected, allowing McDaniel to file a notice contesting the election, triggering a legal recount.  The Joplin Globe editorialized, “Larry McDaniel has at once forfeited the moral support of thousands of Democrats who from the first have been nauseated from the stench from the original office-stealing effort.”

Donnell (left) finally was sworn in on February 26, much to the delight of Lloyd Stark who said he was tired of “living out of a suitcase” while his fellow Democrats tried to overturn the election.

McDaniel’s 226-page contest petition was filed March 4, citing fraud, erroneous tabulations, irregularities, and vote-buying in 56 counties. He claimed that a complete would show that 24,263 votes cast for him were “wrongfully rejected” by election officials and that he was the real winner—by 30,000 votes.  Donnell’s 50,000-word response filed about three weeks later threw McDaniel’s claims back at him claiming problems in 91 counties such as irregular registrations, voting by minors, non-residents, and wards of the government. He claimed he should have an additional 9,000 votes.

The recount started in mid-April and by May had turned into a disaster for McDaniel.  Checked returns from St. Louis City and 81 counties had inflated Donnell’s victory margin by four-thousand votes.  A new joint legislative session was called after McDaniel had arranged for hastily-drawn letters withdrawing his contest. He said he had become convinced that reports by his party leaders and others that there had been massive fraud were “greatly exaggerated” and that he was convinced “beyond question of doubt” that Donnell had been elected. Because the recount was never completed, Donnell’s victory margin remains in our history books and in the official record as 3,613 votes, the second-closest race for governor in state history (Frederick Gardner defeated Henry Lamm by 2,263 votes in 1917).

Forrest Donnell was elected to the U. S. Senate, succeeding Democrat Harry Truman.  He served until 1951 and returned to St. Louis and his law practice. He was the last Republican Governor until Christopher Bond took office in 1973.  Donnell, then 88 years old, attended Bond’s inauguration and took part in the celebration late into the night.  He died in 1980 at the age of 95.

Democrats paid a price for their 1941 shenanigans.  Republicans took control of the House in the 1942 elections by a large margin.

One of the other casualties was St. Louis Mayor Bernard Dickmann who was heavily criticized by winner William Becker for trying to use the election contest of 1941 to establish St. Louis machine control of state government.

A new constitution drafted during Donnell’s term in office took away the power of the Speaker of the House to declare election winners and placed it in the hands of the Secretary of State, the top Missouri elections official, where it resides to this day.

(Photo credit):  Bob Priddy Collection

 

What There Is To Christmas

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(Christmas week is much different this year, with many traditional family events cancelled, many gifts and decorations remaining unbought because of their unaffordability in these uncertain economic times, and sorrows because of those who have not survived the pandemic to be part of our celebrations—-we could continue, but all of us recognize this Christmas is different more than it is special.  Dr. Frank Crane reminds us, however, of a universal and unchanging message—-)

CHRISTMAS MEANS THE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF JOY

Christmas is the protest of the human race against gloom.

The one thing time nor force can suppress is instinct.

In days past religion tried to stamp out earthly gladness, play, fun, the joy of man and maid. As well one might endeavor to dam the waters of the Mississippi.

When we have clamped human nature down with our reasonings and revelations, along comes    instinct, and to use the words of Bennet, blandly remarks :

“Don’t pester Me with Right and Wrong. I am Right and Wrong. I shall suit my own                     convenience, and no one but Nature (with a big, big N) shall talk to me!”

In the fourth century the Christian world was pretty dismal. This world was considered a             dreadful place, to get away from as soon as possible. Consequently, the boys and girls were lured off into heathen sports, for the heathen alone raced and danced and frolicked.

Then the Church established the Christmas festival, which was one of her wisest strokes of policy.

In 342 A. D. the good Bishop Tiberius preached the first Christmas sermon, in Rome.

Into this opening poured the play instinct of the world.

The time of the winter solstice strangely enough had been the jovial period of the year                 everywhere. Then the Swedes of old used to light fires on the hills in honor of Mother Friga,       goddess of Love. Then the Romans indulged in their Satur nalia, the one carnival of democracy  and equality during the twelve months of tyranny and slavery. Then the Greeks lit torches upon Helicon in praise of Dionysius. In Egypt at this period the populace bore palms for the god        Horus; in Persia they celebrated the birth of Mithras, and the Hindus in India sang their songs to Vishnu.

Many of these festivals had become very corrupt. Excess and license darkened the hour of national joy.

The wisest thing Christians ever did was to turn this feast day over to the child.

The child Jesus stands for the childhood of the world, perpetual, evergreen, inexhaustible.

It’s a weary world to those who have lived wrong or too long, but to those who remain healthy in their tastes it’s a wonderful world, full of undying youth, running with sap, recurrent with primal joy.

Christmas means the supreme fact about life, namely: that it is joyful.

In the opinion of many the greatest music ever composed is Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. As a climax for his orchestral composition the master chose a chorus to sing Schiller’s “Hymn to Joy.”

Christmas means that when this world and all its purposes and deeds are wound up, and the last men and women stand at the end of time and contemplate the complete story of humanity, they will not wail nor hang their heads, but they will shout and exult.

The truest, most everlasting element of mankind is play, accompanied with laughter.

(This article is from Dr. Crane’s 1915 book, Christmas and The Year Round, which can be found at https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=loc.ark:/13960/t3vt2h96j&view=plaintext&seq=7)