Rising Tide

by John M. Barry

  Most refugees needed money desperately. By refusing partial payments, Monroe was starving them into submission.

  A FEW WEEKS after the levee was dynamited, Butler estimated that claims would total $6 million. Hecht estimated them at $6 million. They were both wrong. Claims would exceed $30 million. The figures made Monroe and Butler even more rigid, even more suffocating.

  Typical was the case of Sigmund Tarnok, owner of a large nursery, who needed operating capital to reopen his business but resisted a settlement offer. Tarnok’s attorneys brought to Monroe an independent estimate of losses confirming their claim, buttressed it with statements from two leading young businessmen whom Monroe knew, and even convinced Monte Lemann to write him a note saying, “There may possibly be something in [Tarnok’s] contention.”

  Monroe ignored his own partner’s plea, and replied to Tarnok with a threat: “[I]f the case is reopened…I promise I will oppose with every obstacle the payment of one penny to the Tarnok Company.” Tarnok accepted a settlement of 19 cents on the dollar.

  It was not only Tarnok whom Monroe pushed; he pushed everyone, and he pushed hard. The crevasse had drowned or driven away millions of muskrats and minks, and wiped out at least two full seasons of trapping. Several thousand trappers had been making between $3,000 and $8,000 each per season; a handful made even more. Compensating them could cost millions of dollars. So Monroe squeezed again. With Butler’s approval, he had the state conservation commission review the trappers’ claims. Trappers paid a tax on each pelt; many evaded it. If the state examined their claims, the trappers would have to minimize their losses or expose themselves to prosecution for tax evasion. One of the first trappers audited had shipped 15,000 pelts, worth from $25,000 to $35,000, out of state to avoid taxes. A group of trappers went to court to block further state review. The State of Louisiana fought the lawsuit; Monroe himself argued the case for it. He won.

  Monroe pushed so hard, and won so often, that his victories themselves became a problem. On June 21, nearly two months after the crevasse, the chairman of the food subcommittee raised a question “illustrated [by] an aged negress.” She had settled for and received $27, but “her home is under water. The payment of the claim does not relieve your committee of the necessity of supplying her with food.”

  Butler, Hecht, and Monroe discussed the situation at length at a weekend meeting in Butler’s home on St. Charles Avenue. They sat comfortably in the solarium where Butler so often sat in solitude surrounded by objects that reminded him of his plantation. The street was lined with great mansions; indeed, Butler’s was modest compared to his neighbors, but upstairs in his wife’s bedroom was the Carnival gown that earlier that year had cost $15,000. The issue was a serious one. Paying any money to a claimant after a claim had been settled might establish a dangerous precedent. Still, they could not starve these people. Believing they were being generous, they decided to feed any refugee who received a settlement of less than $100 but could not return home.

  Within a few weeks their tolerance expired. A group of black refugees pleaded for an extension of food payments, explaining that the marshes from which they had earned income—they had gathered moss and sold it as mattress filling—were waist-deep in mud. But for these people, aid had ended. They were informed, “As long as we continue to feed you, you are not going to work.”

  Earlier, Monroe had decided another case of extraordinary relief. It had involved the Canal Bank, so Butler had recused himself from the decision. Monroe had approved a payment of $850 to reimburse Butler’s bank, the largest one in the South, for the use of its yacht Lurline.

  THE CREVASSE VICTIMS fought back. Not all claimants were powerless. Some did have lawyers and political connections. Meanwhile, the Reparations Commission itself had begun to balk at Monroe’s bullying and excesses. For some of those whom New Orleans had flooded out, the issue was survival. And they had the weight of the promises the city had made behind them.

  Fifty-seven of New Orleans’ leading citizens had pledged full compensation to the people of Plaquemines and St. Bernard. Butler himself had called the reparations “a moral obligation undertaken by each and every” one of those fifty-seven signatories. Each one of them had affirmed that moral obligation not only to the governor and the victims, but to the Mississippi River Commission, to the secretary of war, to the secretary of commerce, and to the president of the United States. Throughout the state, the city was being accused of breaking its word. Governor Simpson, who had been so reluctant to allow the crevasse, was well aware of the outrage among the victims.

  Simpson had already declared his candidacy for reelection. In a few days, Huey Long would announce his candidacy for the same post. Long was already castigating the “plutocrats,” the “self-appointed” rulers of the state—the men like Butler and Monroe. Already, Long and Monroe detested each other; five years earlier Long, then utilities commissioner, had threatened to throw Monroe in jail for contempt. Politics compelled Simpson to intervene for the crevasse victims. So did his own sense of decency. But Butler and Monroe still held a trump card. They seemed unaware of the implications of playing it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ON MONDAY EVENING, July 25, 8 P.M., one more meeting was held in the Canal Bank’s Room 326. Much had already happened in that room. Now, in its restrained elegance, gathered the political power of the state and the economic power of the city; the two powers would confront each other here. The confrontation would mark the peak of the power of New Orleans and its bankers. It also marked an exercise of power that was not atypical in the America of the time, although in few places was it as blatant as in New Orleans; such uses of power were beginning to ignite a larger political storm.

  Governor Simpson had requested the meeting, hoping to find a solution to the partial-payments problem. Representing New Orleans were Butler, Monroe, Hecht, Dufour, and Lonnie Pool, along with the chairmen of Butler’s subcommittees, Mayor O’Keefe, three city councilmen, and the levee board. A dozen men represented St. Bernard and Plaquemines, including Manuel Molero and four others associated with his Acme Fur Company, which owned 127,000 acres of the finest trapping land in the world. Between them sat the Reparations Commission.

  Simpson convened the meeting and got directly to the point: “I have requested the Executive Committee of the Citizens Flood Committee and the members of the Reparations Commission to get together to consider certain objections that the claimants have to Regulation No. 7 of the rules and regulations adopted by the Reparations Commission.”

  C. A. Hartman, a member of the Reparations Commission, spoke first. He ran a large plant at Braithwaite—where the trappers had met at the baseball diamond to try to block the dynamiting—and had 400 men working now, even with part of his plant still underwater. The crevasse had caused tremendous losses and he was desperate for working capital. He explained, “The claim which we tried to enter in full was to May 31 and was not subject to additions or losses for the period covered.” But Monroe had refused even to accept the claim. To get anything Hartman would have to forgo compensation for losses after May 31—despite the fact that as of this day, July 25, water still covered part of his operation.

  As a result of Monroe’s refusal, he continued, New Orleans banks would loan him nothing. His business was starving for capital, and, he said, many others were suffering in similar circumstances. He reminded those in the room of the promises made before the crevasse. Virtually every person in the room had pledged that no harm would come to residents of St. Bernard and Plaquemines. But harm had come to them. Then he turned to Simpson: “We ask you, as Governor of the State, by whose authority the Caernarvon crevasse was created, to give whatever assistance is in your power in behalf of all individuals or corporations for similar claims.”

  Then Hugh Wilkinson spoke. The Wilkinsons were the dark sheep of the city’s fine families. One hundred twenty-five years before, James Wilkinson and W. C. C. Claiborne had accepted Louisiana for the United States from the French. Ever sin
ce, the Claiborne name had been second to none in the state. But James Wilkinson had been court-martialed for his involvement in Aaron Burr’s treason. Though acquitted, neither he nor his descendants were ever fully accepted in the city. Now Hugh Wilkinson frequently represented the outsiders in New Orleans against the insiders. In this instance, he represented Molero, who faced devastating losses. There would be no fur season this year, and almost certainly none the next. In the meantime, the company had spent thousands of dollars building rafts covered with clumps of marsh grass in the hope of saving some muskrats. Monroe was refusing reimbursement for even these moneys. Wilkinson argued: “It is manifestly impossible to file, under oath, a complete claim which would reasonably estimate the amount of loss to the company. We simply need operating capital to meet our maturing obligations”—the company owed $124,000—“and unless this is furnished to us by some means, we are faced with ruin. If the company cannot file a partial claim we are going to be wiped out.” Then he too turned to the governor and pleaded, “In behalf of all the people of that section of the State of Louisiana, we come to you for help.”

  The Reparations Commission itself concurred. Jahncke, the chairman, sided with the victims and their representatives. They were five votes, a majority. Yet they could effect nothing. They were supposed to have power, but they had none. Voting to change the rule meant nothing. The commission itself had no money. The cash to pay claims came from the New Orleans banks, which were loaning claimants 80 percent of their settlements. The commission could not order the banks to make these loans. The banks did what Butler’s executive committee told them to do.

  Simpson turned to Butler for a response. Butler had one well prepared. He had met with the other members of his executive committee at seven-thirty that morning in his office next door to this room and, looking down upon the city of New Orleans, settled upon his answer. In that meeting they had privately agreed that they had a fiduciary responsibility to the City of New Orleans. If they allowed partial payments, then claimants could drag out their claims indefinitely and settlements would become infinitely more difficult. The Reparations Commission could make any policy statement it wanted. The banks would continue to pay nothing for partial settlements.

  Butler now was hardly so blunt. Instead, he spoke of his eagerness to do what was right and his concern for the difficulties of the victims. But he was unyielding. The meeting continued for hours. Tall, gangly, cadaverous, Butler finally concluded it solemnly: “I want you all to know that as far as the New Orleans Committee is concerned, that we want to pay every just claim as promptly as possible and that we do not want any suffering afflicted upon anyone, but the money with which these claims will be paid is not our money. We have got to satisfy the members of the Orleans Levee Board.”

  Butler was being disingenuous. Every man in the room knew it. Butler’s group had repeatedly made decisions that directly involved the levee board without consulting any member of it. Only five days earlier the board had “respectfully” asked Butler to provide minutes of his meetings so the board could document the expenditure of public money it had given him to care for the refugees. He had refused. The levee board chairman had then explained to his colleagues that Butler “did not want to give out too much information for if the people in the country found out there might be trouble at the polls.” The board took no offense and promptly voted Butler’s committee another $50,000; in total, it would give Butler $340,000.

  Now Butler stated: “Since we are administering public money, we have got to be very careful, and we have got to be guided by the opinion of Mr. Monroe, representing the city of New Orleans…. I can only say we will be very happy if we can find some solution of this problem, and we will do all we can to that end, but we want to say to you frankly that we cannot have a solution that is going in any way to run counter to the advice of…Mr. Monroe as to what procedure can be worked out.”

  The meeting was over. Butler and Monroe had conceded nothing.

  THE FIGHT had not been over principle; it had been over money and control. Less than a week later Butler agreed to make a partial payment to a single claimant, the British-owned Louisiana Southern Railroad, which went from New Orleans sixty miles downriver to Point à la Hache. No representative of the road had bothered to attend the July 25 meeting. Its attorney was George Janvier, who had a better way of making its case. His father had been president of the Boston Club, chairman of the state Democratic Party, and Butler’s mentor and predecessor as president of the Canal Bank; when the senior Janvier had left the Board of Liquidation, Butler had also filled that seat. In a file of Butler’s correspondence with a hundred people, only Janvier addressed him as “Jim.” It was also in the city’s interest to rebuild the railroad; without it virtually no one else in the two parishes could rebuild. On August 3, Butler and Janvier met in Butler’s office. Though the railroad did not file a complete schedule, New Orleans banks loaned it the money for repairs.

  Then came a final deal. In early September, Simpson called the state legislature into special session to pass a constitutional amendment to authorize legally, if retroactively, the Reparations Commission and to govern judicial procedure for cases about the Caernarvon crevasse. In the weeks since the July 25 meeting, crevasse victims had focused what political power they had on getting the legislature to force New Orleans to compensate them fairly. Immediately before the legislature convened, the St. Bernard Voice bitterly complained: “The City of New Orleans promised and pledged itself to stand the loss and to repay each individual his actual damage. But the city is not doing this. The city’s reparation committee has been cutting and slashing each claim in half and less than half, even though these claims be absolutely accurate and justified…. Not one claimant is satisfied with his ‘settlement.’” It then pleaded, “Here is an opportunity for a New Orleans newspaper, unafraid to lose some prestige with the bankers and financiers, to ascertain the true facts and publish the real story of the manner in which the city is repaying the residents of St. Bernard Parish.”

  The Voice was a tiny paper, but this time its audience was state legislators. Hugh Wilkinson, a state senator, distributed a copy to every member of the legislature.

  The next day the New Orleans papers, far from taking up the Voice’s appeal, fired back. Thomson’s Item and Tribune ran identical headlines: “Orleans to Make Good on Pay Promise; Banks Loan Currency Without Collateral Other than Spoken Word…History records few instances of voluntary offers such as this.” The New Orleans States bragged, “New Orleans Makes Good on Flood Pledge; Pays Claims Although Not Liable Under Law.” The Times-Picayune proclaimed, “City Keeps Faith Assuming Burden…[t]hough under no legal obligations to pay for the losses of Plaquemines and St. Bernard citizens.”

  New Orleans legislators made sure all these papers were widely distributed as well. The Voice, a weekly, could not respond.

  Meanwhile, Butler had asked Dufour and Esmond Phelps to draft legislative language that a New Orleans legislator introduced. It stipulated that in any lawsuits the report of the Reparations Commission “shall be prima facie evidence of the facts.” In addition, any suit would be tried without a jury in Orleans Parish—the City of New Orleans—and any appeal also had to remain in Orleans Parish.

  Wilkinson had his own ideas about the wording of the legislation and drafted language that said victims would be “justly, fairly and fully compensated for losses sustained.” He planned to offer his language as an amendment in committee. City representatives lobbied desperately against it, arguing that the amendment would cost the city $15 million. The day before the committee was to vote, a state senator repeated that figure on the senate floor. Wilkinson sprang to his feet, shouting, “That statement is not true! It has been widely circulated by Mr. Blanc Monroe. I object to the claims of those people in St. Bernard and Plaquemines from being prejudiced.”

  The fight intensified. The lieutenant governor appointed a St. Bernard representative to fill a vacancy on the committee considering
the amendment. Wilkinson pushed hard, demanding equity. Butler had O’Keefe “send word to New Orleans delegates to stand firm for the Act as drawn.” Still, New Orleans Senator William Davey, offended over the deduction of the cost of food and housing from the victims’ settlements, seemed swayed. Butler and Hecht asked Robert Ewing, the New Orleans ward leader and owner of the New Orleans States as well as papers in Monroe and Shreveport, to “exercise his influence with Mr. Davey” and legislatures from outside the city.

  That evening Monroe, Hecht, Phelps, and Dufour sat down with Wilkinson and Davey. They insisted that they wanted to avoid a fight, and be fair. Didn’t Wilkinson know he could not win? Wilkinson conceded that, though he believed he could win in committee, he did not know what would happen on the floor. If he lost there, he threatened to sue as individuals each person who had signed the agreement promising reparations. But perhaps they could work something out. Well past midnight they were still talking, and finally an agreement was struck. Wilkinson’s client, Molero’s Acme Fur Company, would get $1.5 million, as well as money to pay its debts. Individual trappers, however, would have to fend for themselves.

  The next day Wilkinson did not even offer his language. Without any debate whatsoever, by voice vote, the committee passed the legislation written by Dufour and Phelps. The State Senate and House, also without debate and by voice vote, did likewise, then immediately adjourned.

  A few days later, after it was too late for any harmful political repercussions, Monroe moved against the trappers again. Trappers actually farmed their tracts of land, bred the animals they trapped, raised them, fed them, cared for them just as a farmer cared for chickens. But Monroe and Butler had the state commissioner of conservation claim all trapping animals as the property of the state. Thus trappers could not claim any losses for them.