Twilight at the World of Tomorrow

by James Mauro

  Whalen looked down at his hands, fervently hoping that Oumansky would end this on a high note. He didn’t, instead promising that the USSR would deal “a double blow for every blow” it received from anyone who violated its republic.

  Exhausted and satisfied that he had gotten the message across, Oumansky took his seat to a smattering of applause and a brace of astonished expressions. For the first time in his life, Whalen was speechless. He looked up at the clear blue sky, felt the warm sun on his face tempered by the breezes that helped to cool hot tempers, and once again wondered where the hell everyone was. The Soviet Pavilion was the largest and most impressive damn building on the lot, but by the end of the day, paid attendance would still total under a hundred thousand.

  Later that afternoon (a historic day all around, it seemed), the Federation of Jewish Women’s Organizations met at the Fair’s Temple of Religion, at the edge of Community Interests and directly opposite the Palestine Pavilion. Rabbi David De Sola Pool, president of the Synagogue Council of America, praised the fact that this gathering could only have been held in such a great democratic country as America, then launched into a by now almost rote denunciation of Great Britain’s white paper.

  The British government, he said, had broken its pledge to the Jewish people. Worse, he spelled out the real fear that was on everyone’s mind: that the policy “barred the doors of the Holy Land to Jewish refugees from Germany.” Some fifteen hundred people, crowded wall to wall in the sweltering Temple of Religion, wept and nodded in quiet, saddened acknowledgment.

  On Tuesday, May 23, to practically no one’s surprise but to everyone’s dismay, the British House of Commons approved its government’s new position on Palestine by a vote of 268 to 179. A Labor amendment, demanding that a stay of action be enforced until the League of Nations could be consulted, was defeated by one hundred votes. In response, the opposition, led by Winston Churchill, denounced the policy as “another victory for Hitler and Mussolini” and worried that it would taint their country’s good relationship with the United States.

  Out of that came an eerie premonition from Laborite Herbert Morrison, who warned, “The agents of Hitler13 and Mussolini seem to have the habit of lodging bombs in suitcases in various places. It has happened in Jerusalem and I gather it is happening in London.”

  Soon enough, it would happen in Flushing Meadows as well. And while it was true that a series of explosions had occurred in Palestine in protest, the details of the numerous suitcase bombs were left unexplained by news reports.

  The night before dedicating the Palestine Pavilion, Einstein appealed to the Jewish National Workers Alliance to stop blaming Britain and for Jews the world over to look within themselves for answers. “England has, in part,14 ignored its sacred pledge,” he said in a radio address to the meeting in Town Hall in Manhattan. “She gave her word then in a dire hour and she is acting now, too, in a dire hour. Remember, however, that in the life of a people … there can be only one source of security—namely, confidence in one’s own strength and steadfastness.”

  In part, he was also concerned that making an enemy of the British might somehow weaken Europe’s position in fighting the Nazi aggression against the Jews.

  “Remember in the midst15 of your justified embitterment that England’s opponents are also our bitterest enemies, and that in spite of everything the maintenance of England’s position is of utmost importance to us,” he warned. “Despite the great wrong that has been done to us, we must strive for a just and lasting compromise with the Arab people.”

  This could not have gone over well with his audience. As the anticipated gathering of more than one hundred thousand Jews—many of whom had traveled to New York specifically for this occasion—prepared themselves for bad weather (heavy rains were predicted for the next day’s dedication), they now wondered exactly what Einstein’s message at the pavilion’s opening would be.

  At eleven the next morning, May 28, the official party of thirty guests and dignitaries arrived at the World’s Fair Gate and were met by the Haskell Indian cavalry guard. The American Indian brigade had become a familiar sight around the fairgrounds that spring, having been hired by Whalen himself to serve as his personal honor guard. Day after day, he could be seen trailing behind them in his open-topped limousine, the twenty-four dark-skinned horsemen dressed ironically in the Fair’s blue-and-orange uniforms and carrying lances topped with fluttering pennants bearing the insignia of the Trylon and Perisphere.

  Visitors must have been confused by the mixed imagery of the untamed West in full Fair regalia, but Whalen, forever a boy at heart and always the consummate showman, loved spectacle of any kind (especially when it brought him attention). When the confusion grew a bit too intense, he had the Publicity Department explain that the Indians symbolized “America’s link16 to the heritage of the past.” Though why they were here in the World of Tomorrow was the question. Perhaps, as one press agent noted, he “just liked having Indians and horses around.”17

  Einstein and his party, including Chaim Rosenberg of the Palestine Labor Federation, Abraham Idelson of the Jewish National Council of Palestine, and George Back, president of the pavilion they were about to dedicate, among others, made a quick motorcade tour of the fairgrounds. After passing the Court of States and admiring the full-spectrum blossoming of flowers along Rainbow Avenue, they swung right on Constitution Avenue, drove around the Lagoon of Nations, and stopped first at Federal Hall. A massive, thirteen-columned structure (representing the original thirteen colonies), the building stood at the head of the Court of Peace and dominated the surrounding Hall of Nations. Two massive towers representing the legislative and judicial branches of U.S. government flanked the pillars, each adorned with statues depicting Peace and Common Accord Among the Nations of the World.

  From there the motorcade headed west, retracing its route down the mall toward the great statue of George Washington, circling around the Theme Center and alighting briefly at the New York City Building, where Mayor La Guardia greeted them. The schedule was tight, so La Guardia kept his introductory remarks brief and everyone piled back into their cars, to be led by the dignified Haskell tribe up the Avenue of Patriots to the Palestine Pavilion. What Einstein made of his Indian escorts can only be imagined.

  At eleven forty-five, a pre-dedication ceremony was held, marking the installation of an eternal light in front of a plaque commemorating those who had fought and died for Palestine. The flame, contained in an oil lamp designed to look like an ancient relic, had been lit at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem ironically on Easter Sunday and had been carried to the Fair from a synagogue on Central Park West. A cantor’s lone voice echoed reverently in prayer.

  Given the heated tone that was expected for the rest of the day, the party enjoyed a few quiet minutes to themselves. The entire pavilion covered only half an acre but comprised ten separate halls, designed in eastern Mediterranean style, around a tranquil court complete with a lotus-blossomed pool and more than fifty varieties of trees and plants native to Palestine. Whalen had even seen to it that a sixteen-foot-tall palm tree, with fronds spreading as wide as its height, had been planted—a gorgeously incongruous sight smack-dab in the middle of New York City proper.

  Einstein, clearly moved, was particularly fascinated by the Haifa Diorama. At the World’s Fair, religion and reverence were one thing, but no exhibit, not even this one, could resist showing off a few technological tricks.* Designed to display the transformation of Emek Jezreel, the former Bedouin Valley of Death, into the fertile land of modern Palestine, the scene blinked instantly from barren wasteland to modern city before your eyes through the use of trick mirrors.

  It was another gadget, of course, but Einstein was captivated, watching the change take place over and over again until the time came for them to leave. As they exited the building, each took notice of the restless crowd already gathered in front. What they couldn’t see, off in the distance, were the more than twenty thousand chairs set up in the
Court of Peace, where the speeches would take place in order to accommodate the expected masses. Each one had been claimed hours before the ceremony was to begin. An equal number of spectators stood impatiently around them, and more were arriving every minute.

  At twelve-thirty, Whalen entertained his guests at a luncheon in Perylon Hall,18 another of his swanky, exclusive palaces where most of the Fair’s official receptions and banquets were held. Situated adjacent to the Hall of Pharmacy, the private club was plushly carpeted, with copper walls and sleek art deco furnishings. Perylon (Whalen’s own hybrid of Perisphere and Trylon) tended to impress even its most distinguished and powerful guests. The party relaxed and composed themselves for the main event of the day.

  Whalen, uneasy with the tension yet buoyed by the largest crowd he had seen so far, excused himself briefly after lunch to tend to business. The reports were good; attendance was already estimated at nearing two hundred thousand, most of them paid. He took a moment to sip a cocktail (since Opening Day, he had eschewed his former teetotaling ways and often enjoyed a midday nip) as he checked out the weather. Despite the warnings of rain, he saw nothing but a clear blue sky. In fact, the ride back from the pavilion had been almost uncomfortably hot. Then he worried that maybe it was too hot, that the weather was playing another one of its nasty tricks on him, and that the broiling sun would only accentuate what were sure to be heated tempers once the voices of dissent against Great Britain began.

  At two-fifteen, Einstein and the others regrouped in limousines and drove once again to the Court of Peace. Almost immediately, the crowd grew agitated. Seeing the procession arrive, they began swarming the cars and completely blocked the lane allowing the speakers entrance. There was a moment of panic before policemen stepped in and formed a protective cordon around the group. Pushing and shoving their way up the ramp, Einstein and the others were practically carried to the relative safety of the elevated platform.

  Climbing to the podium, Whalen was awed by the largest crowd he’d seen yet, estimated at more than a hundred thousand in the Court of Peace alone. Even the section reserved for the press had been overrun by viewers demanding a front-row seat to the dedication and whatever political scene was to be played out. As he stood to begin the proceedings, a large group surged forward angrily, threatening to engulf and overrun them all. Once again, the police had to step forward and push them forcibly back behind the guardrails.

  They had come from everywhere, up and down the eastern seaboard and as far away as Bolivia and Bombay. One car spotted in a parking lot bore a license plate from Alaska, as of then not yet even a state in the Union. Whalen, daunted, stumbled for a moment; for the first time, he felt uneasy in front of a large crowd. Summoning up his feelings for his Fair, he tried once more to play the peacemaker.

  The World’s Fair, he began, was first and foremost a forum for all nations and all people (he put particular emphasis on the word all) to tell of their plans “for a true world of justice,19 plenty and peace. The Fair has no dogma of its own.” Then, as he was first and foremost a salesman, he decided to protect his interest, assuring whoever was listening and might be recording his words that the Fair also did not assume as its own the teachings of any of its participants. Business was business, and it, or rather he, could not afford to choose sides.

  La Guardia was equally noncommittal. In an earlier speech he had stated, perhaps unaware of the ironic comparison with Flushing Meadows, that this pavilion was a demonstration “of what Jews have accomplished20 in reclaiming arid wastes” and that it “may point the way to similar work which fugitives from persecution can do in our country.”

  Bringing the metaphor full circle, on this day he said, “This pavilion is a token21 of thanksgiving from the people who … gave us the Ten Commandments.” (Apparently, what one Moses had done in the Holy Land, another had accomplished here in Flushing Meadows. And Thanksgiving at least explained all the Indians.)

  Finally, after more speeches, Whalen stood again and introduced the man of the hour. The crowd, lulled from anger to boredom by the blandness of the politicians, grew suddenly restive, eager to hear the words of their revered Einstein, that most famous exile from the most notorious oppressors. Yet the little scientist, Whalen noted, seemed undeterred by the masses; nothing, it seemed, could sway him from the intellectual bemusement he famously displayed under almost any circumstances.

  “The World’s Fair,”22 Einstein began, “is in a way a reflection of mankind. But it projects the world of men like a wishful dream. Only the creative forces are on show, none of the sinister and destructive ones which today more than ever jeopardize the happiness, the very existence of civilized harmony. Such a presentation seems fully justified, though it be one-sided. Whoever has learned to appreciate and admire the positive side of man’s aspirations is sure to be willing to protect and, if necessary, to fight with all his might in defense of what has been achieved.”

  And there it was. In a handful of sentences, the greatest mind of its era had encapsulated what Whalen had sought to portray—that the World of Tomorrow was a dream, surely; but it was a dream that was worth fighting for, one that had value regardless of its inherent need to succeed and function as a representative of democracy and capitalism. Once seen, by however many came in the end, the World’s Fair stood if only as a realization of that great ray of eternal hope of which Roosevelt had spoken, and against the darkening clouds of whatever storm was yet to come.

  “I am here entrusted23 with the high privilege of officially dedicating the building which my Palestine brethren have erected as their contribution to the World’s Fair,” Einstein continued. “[Palestine] is exposed to constant attack, and every one of its members is forced to fight for his very life…. Nothing of this shows here. We see only the quiet, noble lines of a building and within it a presentation of the Palestine homeland….May the fine creative spirit of those who have built this structure find an understanding and appreciative public.”

  In the end, the ceremony turned out to be exactly what it should have been—an orderly demonstration of passive resistance to a great injustice. The afternoon had started out oppressively hot—in fact, nine visitors had to be treated for heat prostration—but as Einstein spoke, a wall of thick, dark clouds once again pushed across the sky and advanced on the Court of Peace. This time, miraculously, it was noted, “the storm blew over without spilling a single drop of rain on Flushing Meadows.”

  After the ceremony, the group returned to Perylon Hall and unwound with more cocktails. Einstein sat with his pipe.24 Whalen once again excused himself on business. He needed some other piece of news to lighten up the mood of the day in case things got too political, so just before five o’clock he hurried back to the World’s Fair Gate and waited until he found what he was looking for. Whalen spotted the boy pushing through the turnstiles with his parents and younger brother, and instantly decided he was perfect.

  With photographers and publicity men at the ready, Whalen pointed out a twelve-year-old freckle-faced kid and gave the signal. Two guides pounced on the family, who were at first startled into thinking they’d committed some sort of crime until they were happily told that little Douglas McMahon of Stamford, Connecticut, was officially the five millionth visitor to the World’s Fair. Flashbulbs popped, hands were shaken, and the family was offered a free tour of the entire fairgrounds and VIP admission to all the shows Dougie wanted to see.

  Whalen smiled, posed for the photo op, thanked the McMahons for coming (had he figured them for Irish?), and hurried back to Perylon Hall for the formal dinner that would finally cap this long and rigorous day.

  Unofficially (Whalen was still sticking to his inflated Opening Day numbers), it was the largest paid attendance the Fair had seen in its entire thirty days of existence.

  * “Inside she’s real!” hyped the show’s marquee.

  * And as a further nod to its surroundings, an inscription at the building’s entrance read, “Holy Land of Yesterday—and Tomorrow.”r />
  Police clash with protesters outside the German American Bund meeting at Madison Square Garden.

  (© Bettmann/Corbis)

  17

  GERMANY YESTERDAY—GERMANY TOMORROW

  Grover Whalen’s hoped-for collective of world peace efforts was disintegrating before his eyes. In bits and pieces, Czechoslovakia had fallen under Germany’s command between October 1938 and mid-March of the Fair’s inaugural year. Yet the country itself remained defiant, especially when it came to their pavilion at the World’s Fair. Although the Nazis had stopped the shipment of exhibits to be displayed there, more than a third had already arrived. And with Mayor La Guardia’s help, a committee was formed to complete its financing and fill in whatever gaps remained in the $600,000 building.

  Despite Germany’s demand that the pavilion be shut down, former president Edvard Beneš insisted that “Czechoslovakia is still alive.1 It will continue to live…. This pavilion is to be brought to a successful conclusion, just as will our struggle for our country.”

  On the west wall of the building, bronze letters spelled out “Begun by the Republic of Czechoslovakia. Although unfinished, maintained by its friends in America.”

  Scheduled to open on the same day as the Palestine Pavilion, the Czechoslovakia Pavilion was delayed for three days, until after Memorial Day, because of yet another strike by the concrete workers union. Although attendance after the four-day holiday weekend was predictably light—around sixty-eight thousand paid to get in—the speeches that day were to some degree more emotionally charged than those on Palestine Day. When Beneš got up to speak, La Guardia literally jumped out of his seat and applauded wildly.

  The Nazis, Beneš declared, “can rule the country2 temporarily [but] cannot kill the spirit of the people.” The crowd, many of whom were dressed in native costumes, stood as one and thundered their applause. Their country, Beneš continued, “cannot die. And she will not die.”