by Jeff Guinn
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President Harding and his entourage drove out of Washington about 9:30 on Saturday morning, with cars jammed with journalists trailing behind. They made relatively good time on their ninety-mile trip—at one point the presidential car was reported to reach 50 mph. The plan was to meet Ford, Edison, and Firestone in Funkstown, roughly halfway to Licking Creek; the Vagabonds would then escort Harding the rest of the way to camp. The president got there a little later than expected—his car had blown a tire on the way. As soon as Harding arrived in Funkstown, he was initially greeted not by his camping hosts but a contingent of local leaders. They informed the president that the town was holding a special program that day and wanted Harding to stay awhile and make a speech. He declined, citing his previous commitment. Then Harding, his staff, and the press drove on a few more blocks to where the Vagabonds awaited them in several cars. After introductions by Firestone and Rev. Anderson, Harding was placed in a car with Firestone and Edison for the rest of the drive. Edison remained aggravated with Harding for the dismissal of his camp radio plan, and sulked as the car drove off. There were some moments of awkward silence. Harding reached into his coat pocket, extracted two cigars, and offered one to Edison. The inventor snapped, “No, thank you. I don’t smoke. I chew.” Firestone was mortified. He wrote later, “Mr. Edison does not take to everyone at once and does not pretend to. He [did] not set up as a hail fellow [with the President].” But Harding was equal to the occasion. He smiled, said, “I think I can accommodate you,” and pulled what Firestone recalled as “a big plug of chewing tobacco out of his hip pocket.” Edison took some and mumbled, “Any man who chews tobacco is all right.”
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They arrived at Licking Creek about 1 p.m. Reporters, photographers, and ten cinematographers surrounded Harding as he genially shook hands all around. Then Harding, declaring he was hungry rather than worn-out after the morning’s drive, thrilled the press with the further announcement that he wanted to earn his lunch. One wire service report informed readers that the president approached some logs and “peeling off his coat, rolling up his sleeves and seizing an axe . . . started to make the chips fly. With deft swings that would have done justice to a north woodsman, he assailed the woodpile with a vim. Five minutes later he had chopped enough wood for fires to cook luncheon, with some left over as a starter for the evening meal.” That chore accomplished, Harding further gratified photographers by drinking water from a metal dipper. He asked if they preferred having him pose standing or sitting on a tree stump. Lunch followed, and much was made by the press about the massive lazy Susan table inside the main dining tent. A few reporters who’d never seen such a table before wrote that it was undoubtedly invented by Edison.
For postprandial entertainment, the ladies, Harding, Ford, and Edison gathered on chairs underneath some shade trees while Rev. Anderson read aloud from “The Martial Adventures of Henry and Me,” a not-so-short story by Kansas author William Allen White. The women knitted and gave every appearance of remaining engrossed for the hour or more that the minister droned on. Ford lasted only a few minutes before getting up to roam the camp area. Edison didn’t pretend to be interested. He rolled up his coat as a pillow, lay down nearby, and fell asleep. Harding struggled—reporters noted that he blinked repeatedly, and his cigar “drooped” in his mouth—but stayed conscious until the end, at which point the president congratulated Rev. Anderson on a splendid performance, then took the photographers to his tent, where they circled the army cot with its fine new covers and clicked away. After a few minutes Harding firmly shooed them out, saying that he wanted to nap.
While the president snoozed and Edison still snored beneath his tree, the press asked Ford if there was anything else for them to write about and photograph. The carmaker suggested a friendly woodchopping contest between himself and Firestone, who initially declined but finally agreed. After cautioning that he had little experience with axes, the tire manufacturer cut gamely at a log, missing with most of his swings while the press prudently backed away, believing themselves in more danger than the wood. Firestone wore out quickly. Ford took up the axe and reduced the log to kindling.
After an hour Harding emerged from his tent, saying that he was well-rested and ready for more adventure. Firestone suggested horseback riding. The president agreed, telling reporters that the White House physician recommended riding as good exercise, and adding that he personally hadn’t been on a horse in thirty years so the press shouldn’t expect much. Then he, Firestone, and a few others trotted off. A few photographers were allowed to snap photos at a distance, and one or two hearty reporters sprinted to places along the anticipated route. Their accounts described Harding as solid in the saddle. While the president was gone, the press remaining at Licking Creek found something else to write about. One of the camp party had complained that his Model T, parked near the tents, wouldn’t start, so reporters asked Ford to go over and crank it. He obliged, windmilling his arm dramatically.
When the riders returned, it was time for music. A local pianist played a variety of tunes, then asked for requests—the president wanted “Somewhere a Voice Is Calling” and “Underneath Hawaiian Skies.” One of Firestone’s daughters-in-law tried teaching Ford some popular current dance steps, and gamely assured the automaker that he showed great potential even as he repeatedly stepped on her toes. The concert concluded with a rousing rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Everyone stood and sang.
Edison was awake in time for the music, and afterward Harding made a point of chatting with the inventor as reporters hung on every word. The president asked Edison what he did for recreation. Edison shrugged. Harding inquired, “Do you play golf?” Edison, either drowsy or still resentful of Harding’s rejection of his radio service, grunted, “No.” Harding grinned for the cameras as he delivered a punch line: “Not old enough?” Edison, seventy-four, had to laugh. Later, the inventor offered a jest of his own. Edison disappeared from camp for a while, eventually emerging with a handful of greenery. With the media within earshot, Edison called out, “I’ve got the mint. Who’s got the julep?” It wasn’t a summons for preprandial cocktails, but an inside joke for one of his fellow Vagabonds. Besides eschewing liquor out of health concerns, Ford loathed alcohol for what he discerned as its universally ruinous effect on drinkers’ judgment. Only a few years earlier, he cited alcohol as a contributing cause to the Great War, with beer-drinking Germans “taking after” wine-swilling Frenchmen.
Harding crossed the bridge in late afternoon, leading the press on a leisurely mile-long walk to the general store. The president waved to children who lined the road along the way, and subsequent stories disagreed about whether Harding treated several kids to candy from the store, or else just one “blue-eyed, five-year-old girl.” (Some accounts estimated her age as ten.) The president’s announced purpose for the trip was using the store’s phone to call the White House and check on the First Lady’s condition. Reporters weren’t allowed to listen in, but after a few minutes Harding emerged to report that his wife was feeling better, though still not well enough to come out to Licking Creek the next morning for a few hours.
When Harding got back to camp, he and the Vagabonds made a brief attempt to catch some fish in Licking Creek, but the fish didn’t cooperate. Dinner followed, with Irish stew as the main course, and then the press was sent packing across the bridge and the Vagabonds and their honored guest finally enjoyed some privacy. Night fell, leaving the camp illuminated by a flickering campfire. The ladies retired, servants and Secret Service withdrew a discreet distance, and Harding, Edison, Ford, Firestone, and Rev. Anderson were left to stare into the flames and talk confidentially among themselves. This was certainly the moment when the carmaker and the inventor anticipated they would make their respective cases for Muscle Shoals and rubber research directly to the president. But Harding never gave them the opportunity. Though the fireside chat extended well past midnight, it was the president who chose the subjects and
did most of the talking. There was some discussion of a “Limitation of Arms” conference with European powers, which Ford in particular found fascinating. Otherwise, it was a presidential monologue—Firestone wrote that Harding spoke “about the trials of being president and the vast amount of unnecessary detail imposed upon the office. . . . He also spoke of the nuisance of a President being forced to seek a second term, and thought that a single term of six years would be far better and leave the President with more time to attend to his duties.” Harding declared “that it was time to stop attacking business because it was business, and legitimate business ought to be protected and not interfered with.” Ford, Edison, and Firestone couldn’t disagree with that.
While Harding filibustered, the reporters and wire service correspondents wrote and filed their stories, probably driving back to towns with available telephones and telegraph offices, then returning to their own camp area afterward. The headlines were almost uniformly glowing—“Harding Earns Dinner by Sweat of His Brow”; “Harding Rides Horseback in Shirtsleeves”; “President Takes Different Holiday.” The lazy Susan table received considerable coverage—“Harding Eats on Gyrating Camp Table”; “And Now We Have Double-Deck Dining Table.” The Licking Creek site was identified as “Camp Harding.” The Vagabonds were secondary in those rare headlines mentioning them at all: “Harding, Edison, Ford and Company Campers De Luxe.” The stories themselves lauded Harding’s woodchopping and horseback riding skills, his splendid appetite, and his jovial attitude. The Vagabonds were described as congenial hosts who enjoyed rugged backcountry adventures with their president. These were the reports that appeared in most papers around the country, like the Mattoon, Illinois, Journal-Gazette and the Des Moines Register and the Wilmington Press.
The big-city Baltimore Sun and New York Times, relying on their own reporters rather than the wire services, told it differently. In their accounts, Harding only swung his chopping axe a few times before becoming so winded that Ford had to take over. The distinguishing feature of the horseback ride was Harding’s inability to keep the presidential seat even somewhat settled in the saddle. The president’s main exercise came from slapping mosquitoes. As for the Vagabonds, all Edison did was nap—this from the man who famously claimed to need only four or five hours of sleep during any given day and night. Henry Ford’s cranking of the Model T was a complete fraud. The new car in question had an electric starter—the carmaker twirled an imaginary crank to please the photographers, and afterward quipped to them, “Well, what have you got to say about that?” But beyond their own newspaper’s pages, these accounts weren’t widely disseminated. On Sunday morning, most Americans read heartwarming stories extolling the chief executive and the friends who were honored by his presence.
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Sunday morning at the Licking Creek camp found the media around early and everyone in camp but Edison and Harding up by 6:30. They finally emerged about eight, and along with Ford and Firestone obliged photographers by shaving from bowls of water, guiding their razors in the reflection of mirrors propped against handy trees. Breakfast was hearty (“eggs, bacon and flapjacks,” according to the United News Wire), and afterward the president and the inventor talked at some length about tarpon fishing. A truck parked too near a gasoline range caught fire, and staff and Secret Service agents rushed to extinguish it. Then Firestone and Harding set off on a second ride, this one very short. To the delight of the photographers, they splashed through a narrow bit of creek. Several reporters wrote that the president seemed more comfortable in the saddle than he had been the day before, though they stopped short of writing that this time he seemed in no danger of being pitched off.
The plan had been for lunch after the ride, then a Sunday worship service conducted by Rev. Anderson. But the order was reversed—Firestone explained to the press that the minister preferred not to officiate on a full stomach. Harding asked that about two hundred people held back beyond the bridge be allowed to come and worship, too—he wanted to be among his fellow citizens. The crowd filed in and acted appropriately respectful, taking seats on some scattered chairs or else on the ground. Harding, Ford, Firestone, and their families were given seats directly in front of Anderson. Edison never sat, and soon after the Reverend began the service, the inventor went off to the side of the temporary stage, curled up on the grass, and read a newspaper.
Edison missed a fire-and-brimstone performance. The Methodist bishop took full advantage of his own turn in the national media spotlight. He blasted the League of Nations concept (“which does not even recognize God”), gave thanks to the Lord that America, led by its current president, had spurned that sinful invitation, praised Harding for pursuing universal disarmament, lectured that the United States must be the Christian leader among all nations (only “principles of Christianity” could save the world), and concluded by promising that everything happened for divine purpose, since God had a plan for America. Harding may have had trouble staying awake the previous day while Anderson read aloud, but he was fully alert now. The Associated Press account of the service noted that the president “joined lustily in singing ‘Rock of Ages,’ ‘Nearer My God to Thee’ and other old-fashioned hymns.”
When the lengthy service concluded, Harding insisted on shaking hands and sharing a few friendly words with everyone in the impromptu congregation. That took more time, so lunch was late and hurried. About 4 p.m. the president assured his hosts that it had been “a most wonderful experience” and departed for the White House, with his staff, Secret Service agents, and the press trailing in his wake.
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Though Harding left on Sunday afternoon, the Vagabonds and the rest of their party stayed where they were through Wednesday morning. They’d planned the rest of their trip based on the assumption that the president and First Lady would be with them at Licking Creek for several days. Then after the Hardings finally took their leave, the Vagabonds’ party would take a fairly short jaunt further west in Maryland, then across the state line to West Virginia and finally north to Pittsburgh. Ford and Firestone representatives in towns along the route had made arrangements with local dignitaries and press to expect the Vagabonds later in the week so they couldn’t show up several days ahead of time. An alternative was to cancel the rest of the trip altogether. There’s no record that this was considered. Ford and Edison weren’t quitters.
They remained camped by Licking Creek for two more days, filling time by exploring the surrounding valley and hills. The reporters, photographers, and wire service correspondents who’d come to cover Harding on vacation left when he did. Stories about the president’s Sunday in camp filled Monday’s front pages around the nation. Harding evidently paused when he reached the White House and confided to reporters that while he’d had a pleasant time, the experience was still somewhat disappointing. A widely reprinted wire story stated “it is understood that [the President] was unable to rough it as much as he expected owing to the highly scientific manner in which the genius of Edison and Ford have contrived to eliminate the arduous tasks of camp life.” Edison came in for direct criticism in articles describing how the inventor ignored Anderson’s Sunday sermon. Other stories intimated that Edison’s frequent naps, including times when Harding was speaking, offended not only the president but everyone else at Licking Creek (“SLEEPS WHILE HARDING TALKS: Edison Astonishes Others in Camp by His Indifference” according to the Brooklyn Citizen).
There were also editorials. Most waxed eloquent about the amazing egalitarianism demonstrated by Harding—the Oakland Tribune enthused that “the President chumming with Thomas Edison and Henry Ford in a mountain camp is . . . characteristically American, illuminating a phase of life peculiar to this country. It would be impossible to think of a president of any other land chopping the wood to cook his meal.” A few big-city papers quibbled, but even there the Vagabonds rather than Harding came in for derision. The Atlanta Constitution disdained the camp’s many amenities—“No doubt President Harding would have mo
re enjoyed [a] simpler outing”—and the Philadelphia Inquirer mocked the Vagabonds’ thirst for publicity, though not the president’s, in a biting bit of doggerel:
Firestone, Edison, Ford
Know what to do when they’re bored.
In the woods they cut capers
And pose for the papers,
Firestone, Edison, Ford.
Monday also found the White House reporting that Mrs. Harding was completely recovered from her recent debilitating illness. Clara Ford, Mina Edison, and Idabelle Firestone received a typed, polite message from the First Lady, addressed to the site that the press named for her husband, not theirs.
To the Ladies of Camp Harding:
Your kindly note telling me that I was missed at Camp Harding last [weekend] compensates me in a measure for the disappointment I felt when I found I must forego the pleasure of accompanying the President. I am sure I should have enjoyed every moment of the time, and join with you in the hope that another season I may be more fortunate.
With warmest thanks for your message of sympathy, and kindest regards to you all,
Sincerely yours, Florence Kling Harding.