Herbert Hoover

by Glen Jeansonne

  In 1927, as the stock market hurtled toward disaster, the forces of man and nature appeared to combine to wreak havoc. Awash in temporary prosperity, the nation would soon be deluged by the Mississippi River. Rain drenched the heartland from August 1926 through the following summer, swelling the Mississippi’s extensive tributaries to the west and the east, overloading the great river itself. The river was protected by a series of levees, most constructed by the states, but they proved no match for the gushing waters. By the spring of 1927 the Mississippi was unable to contain the overflow, and every state south of Illinois, especially Louisiana, Arkansas, and Mississippi, braced for a calamity. President Coolidge appointed Hoover, known for mastering emergencies in Europe, to cope with the greatest natural disaster Americans had yet faced. “We are humble before such an outburst of the forces of nature and the futility of man in their control,” Hoover lamented.44 Embarking from his Memphis headquarters, he traveled throughout the South in a Pullman railcar loaned to him by the Illinois Central, remaining in constant communication with hundreds of assistants. His train often rolled over rails covered by water, the crew unable to determine the depth or damage to the tracks, risking their lives. From the bluffs at Memphis overlooking the Mississippi, Hoover gazed down at the water rushing downstream, sweeping away animals and dwellings in its path. “Do you realize . . . what this means?” he asked a nearby reporter. “It means that at this moment the volume of water passing Memphis is ten times greater than that pouring over the Niagara cliffs when the Niagara River is at maximum flood state.”45

  The Mississippi not only leaped over its banks; it crashed through or tunneled under containment levees, creating crevasses or breaks in the earthen walls, spreading yellowish muddy water over millions of acres, sweeping away homes and barns, immersing entire towns. Altogether, more than 25,000 square miles of farmland and small towns were inundated and about 750,000 persons required evacuation or food and medical care. About half lived in quickly constructed resettlement camps occupying high ground, often levees that remained intact. More than a million chickens drowned, along with 9,000 mules and horses, 26,000 head of cattle, and 127,000 hogs. The Red Cross saved the lives of 271,000 animals isolated on high ground by feeding them until the water receded. As the U.S. government had no contingency fund for natural disasters, Hoover assembled resources from the army, the coast guard, the Army Corps of Engineers, the American Red Cross, state and local governments, and legions of volunteers. Hoover’s initial task was to save the marooned. His makeshift rescue fleet consisted of coast guard cutters, private yachts and skiffs, motorboats, enormous paddle-wheel steamers loaded with small boats, and a thousand craft built on the spot from crude sawmill lumber, propelled by a thousand purchased outboard motors and manned by volunteers. The flood brought out the best in some. Bootleggers lent their swift, maneuverable boats and their navigating skills to the massive rescue efforts. Army and private planes soared overhead, spotting survivors clinging precariously to trees and rooftops, and radioed the locations to the nearest boats, which plucked them from peril. Before Hoover assumed control, between three hundred and four hundred died; afterward, less than half a dozen.46

  With most of the stranded saved, Hoover and his crew raced ahead of the flood to evacuate farms and villages before the muddy waters arrived. In each threatened community, some ninety-two throughout the valley, Hoover organized a committee of local citizens to rapidly build a refugee camp atop high, solid ground to house displaced residents. Hoover himself designed the layout, each impromptu village following the same basic model, including army tents with wooden floors, drainage, running water, electricity, lighting, and fire protection, and amenities such as schools, churches, and stages for plays and concerts. The Red Cross provided food, clothing, outhouses, sanitation, and inoculation against infectious diseases. Wild animals such as deer, rabbits, turkeys, and quail shared the levees with domestic animals, sometimes aided by humans. All were welcome except snakes.47

  In the Deep South camps were usually segregated; in the upper South they were more often mixed, yet the need for speed sometimes trumped local customs. In general, morale was high. At several camps, blacks complained of discrimination; Hoover appointed Robert R. Moton, Booker T. Washington’s successor at Tuskegee Institute, who in turn appointed an all-black committee to investigate the claims. The Moton committee issued two reports, concluding that abuses had occurred yet were isolated, not general. The group attributed most of the problems to local whites, especially planters who wanted to ensure the return of their sharecroppers and tenant farmers to the plantations once the waters receded. Some local Red Cross committees, composed exclusively of whites, tried to sell blacks food provided by the National Red Cross, rather than give it away, as they had been instructed. Many blacks were grateful to Hoover for his efforts toward fairness, and a group in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, later presented him with a loving cup as an expression of their gratitude.48

  Among large cities, only New Orleans, nestled in a bowl that dipped lower than the Mississippi, with portions even lower than the Gulf of Mexico, was seriously threatened. Rainwater had to be pumped up over the levees and into a system of spillways that snaked above or below the city, channeling the water directly to the Gulf and relaxing the pressure against the levees. Because the break of a levee at any point reduces the pressure at other points, city and state officials decided to sacrifice sparsely populated St. Bernard and Plaquemines parishes below the city to prevent a break at thickly populated New Orleans. Over several days, thirty-nine tons of dynamite, some planted by a scuba diver at the base of the targeted levee, produced a sufficient crevasse to almost wholly submerge Plaquemines and St. Bernard. The New Orleans business community had promised to compensate the farmers and fishermen ousted by the flood, but their pledge was only partly fulfilled. In the aftermath of the great disaster, Hoover lobbied to obtain federal protection for communities lining the nation’s avenue to the Gulf, and he received much of what he requested. He had to tread lightly, however, for Coolidge was reluctant to embark on expensive public works.49

  As the floodwaters receded, Hoover expressed gratitude for all who had pitched in to save not only themselves, but their neighbors as well. “I suppose I could have called in the whole of the Army,” he remarked. “But what was the use? All I had to do was call in Main Street itself.” Hoover was proud of the effort of his countrymen.50 Though he never attempted to dissuade federal aid, he welcomed help from all quarters. According to historian Bruce Alan Lohof, “the lessons of the flood experience are that Hoover was a personable and popular fellow, that he operated with ease and spontaneity at the grass roots, and that he displayed considerable acumen in public relations.” Although Hoover admired self-sufficiency, Lohof concludes, the commerce secretary “expended considerable time, energy, and initiative on the task of making the central government function.”51

  Hoover’s performance along the Mississippi padded his political résumé at an opportune time. A poll of newspaper editors voted the flood as the greatest story of 1927, eclipsing even Charles Lindbergh’s solo transatlantic flight. For an entire month, the New York Times ran daily front-page stories about the deluge. Hoover was featured in hundreds of articles and appeared in magazine stories, Sunday supplements, newsreels, and radio broadcasts. The Idaho Statesman featured an article entitled “Hoover to the Rescue,” stating that “America is sold on the organizing and directing genius of Hoover.”52

  The disaster along the Mississippi provided Hoover with his first exposure to Southern racism, poverty, and the peonage system. Troubled by the injustice he witnessed, he tried to do something to alleviate its harsh edges. Many plantation owners were willing to sell their overextended plantations, which were mired in debt and overly dependent on a single, labor-intensive cash crop. Determined to give tenants an opportunity to earn economic independence, Hoover sought to obtain a pool of money from private philanthropic foundations for loans to white and black t
enant farmers to buy small parcels carved from the old plantations. Each parcel would include housing, equipment, implements, and animals. Profits from interest paid by the borrowers would be used to expand the program, and, gradually, more tenants and sharecroppers would be lifted out of the peonage system each year. Yet Hoover was unable to obtain the necessary funds to launch the program, and his reforms foundered. He had now seen firsthand human heartbreak in America, as well as in the Old World, and knew it would take time and patience to overcome. He did not know how much time, or how much patience.53

  SEVEN

  Into the White House

  In the summer of 1927, President Calvin Coolidge, escaping from what the pale Vermonter considered the upper South’s torrid heat, took the entire season to relax away from Washington and fish near Rapid City, South Dakota. Journalists followed like lemmings yet found few morsels of news. Herbert Hoover, enjoying a respite after his exhausting work in the Mississippi Valley, was also vacationing in the West, at one of his favorite retreats: the annual Bohemian Grove encampment beneath the California redwoods, an invitation-only mecca for the wealthy and famous who enjoyed the camaraderie, scenic beauty, and skits featuring all-male, bawdy satire. No political storm clouds appeared on the horizon for either man. The GOP, the majority party, was united. The campaign of 1928 loomed, but incumbent Coolidge appeared a shoo-in for reelection. The president had long since smothered the scandals of the Harding era, and the economy seemed robust and expanding. Meanwhile, Hoover bubbled with fresh ideas to propel the nation’s wealth to even greater heights of economic opportunity. For the time, both men rested.

  At about noon on the drizzly day of August 2, 1927, nearly nineteen months before the end of Coolidge’s term, some thirty reporters who had accompanied the president for a sleepy vacation assembled for an impromptu press conference in the mathematics classroom of the local high school. Coolidge, already waiting, said curtly, “The line forms on the left.” As they filtered by the president, he handed each a slip of paper with a single sentence, typical in its brevity, earthshaking in its content. The sentence read, “I do not choose to run for President in nineteen twenty-eight.” If Coolidge’s purpose was to keep the reporters, and the nation, guessing, he succeeded. The wording was curious. What did “I do not choose” mean? What was his rationale? Why was he closing the curtain without a final act, or at least taking a bow? The reporters, hoping to flesh out their stories, prodded the president, yet he retorted only that that there would be no further comment on his part.1

  Coolidge’s declaration struck like a thunderclap at the Bohemian Grove. Everyone, including Hoover, knew that the announcement automatically made the commerce secretary the front-runner for the 1928 GOP nomination. Yet he remained noncommittal, as Coolidge’s cryptic wording seemed to leave an opening for a draft. Hoover repeated ceaselessly that he enjoyed the Commerce Department and preferred to remain there under Coolidge’s benevolent tutelage. Coolidge deserved a second term, he insisted, and could win one. Hoover parsed his words as carefully as the president did, saying nothing that could be considered disloyal, nor anything that would appear to advance his own candidacy.

  Republican Party regulars were dismayed by Coolidge’s sudden withdrawal and attempted to discern whether his decision was final. Many believed that, although the president would not campaign for renomination, he would feel obligated to accept a draft if the GOP offered it to him. The business community and conservatives, who considered Coolidge the bedrock of prosperity, were most disturbed, fearing a more activist president might meddle in their affairs. “Coolidge is a known quantity politically,” explained one party regular. “He plays ball with the organization. And he stays put. I’m not so sure about some of these other fellows.” The Old Guard formed virtually a solid phalanx in favor of drafting the incumbent at the convention, even if he made no attempt to clutch the nomination. Publicly, Hoover stated that the president should be renominated; privately, he admitted to Coolidge that some of his friends were urging him to run but that he would much prefer to remain in the cabinet under the president.2 While journalists attempted to ascertain the intentions of the White House occupant, an astute political observer wrote, “Whether Calvin meant it or not, I believe he is fairly out of it. The country has in a large measure accepted the statement at face value, and the active candidates will occupy the field without much elbow room remaining.”3

  Shortly after Coolidge’s abrupt withdrawal, Hoover’s close friend ex-congressman James H. MacLafferty, also an intimate of Coolidge, visited the First Family in Yellowstone National Park, where they were vacationing. MacLafferty told the president that many people in California regretted his decision. “Well, it is much better not to want to run and to have them want you to, than it is to want to run and them not want you to,” the president reflected. Mac told Coolidge that with him out of the race, the West Coast would go for Hoover, and Coolidge nodded his assent.

  On December 6, Coolidge met with the Republican National Committee, stating that they should respect his wishes and begin to seriously seek another candidate. Meanwhile, other pretenders to the nomination revved up campaigns. Most were favorite-son candidates who lacked influence beyond their own state or region. They could be spoilers, but none were likely to win the nomination. Party bosses hoped for a deadlock similar to 1920’s, which would enable them to supersede Hoover and handpick another malleable candidate. Soon numerous Republicans were testing the waters, among them Senators Charles Curtis of Kansas, Guy Goff of West Virginia, George Norris of Nebraska, James Watson of Indiana, and Frank Willis of Ohio as well as Vice President Charles G. Dawes. A majority of delegates could not be assembled by winning primaries at that time, although such victories might win publicity. Most delegates were appointed by state committees, governors, legislators, or other means. Of all the candidates, Hoover was the only one with a national following at the grassroots level, and for that reason he was the most electable in the general election. He had won fame for his relief work in both Europe and America, as well as his productive tenure as commerce secretary. Although he had made enemies by serving in the Wilson administration, backing the Treaty of Versailles, and opposing the McNary-Haugen plan, no one seriously doubted his ability, his honesty, or his capacity to get things done. The fact that he had never held an elective office was rarely considered a liability during the campaign.4

  Every time Hoover probed Coolidge about whether he should enter the race, the president deflected the question without either firm approval or disapproval. In February, with the Ohio primary pending, Hoover asked the chief executive directly. Did he intend to enter in Ohio? Coolidge replied tersely, “No.” Pressing the matter, the commerce secretary asked whether he thought Hoover himself should enter. “Why not?” replied Coolidge without enthusiasm, probably due more to the man’s laconic temperament than to any ill feeling. Ohio would present a legitimate challenge to Hoover’s presidential prospects. Opposing a popular local, Senator Frank Willis, whom Coolidge did not like, Hoover might well have lost the vote, yet Willis died a month before the primary. While Hoover did not demonstrate great vote-getting ability, he had finally declared himself a candidate for president. It was also now clear that Coolidge himself had no intention of staging a campaign, yet a few conservatives remained hopeful he might accept a draft. As Hoover accumulated delegates, however, the draft movement began to lose momentum.5

  Ohio had settled the issue that Hoover was, indeed, a candidate, but long before the commerce secretary made it public, an underground campaign had gotten under way. Hoover backers had learned from the 1920 effort how to build from the grass roots and overcome the opposition of entrenched bosses. Hoover clubs began at Stanford and spread nationwide. He drew heavily upon supporters in the journalistic community. His friends William Hard and Will Irwin, both well-known writers, published biographies that humanized Hoover, while numerous reporter acquaintances wrote glowing articles. In addition, Hoover was popular in ac
ademia, including among professors, students, and academic administrators. The president of Yale publicly endorsed him, as did Ray Lyman Wilbur, now president of Stanford. Although support was swelling, Hoover did not appoint a campaign manager. Instead, Hubert Work, Coolidge’s interior secretary, coordinated operations at the national level. Below him were regional campaign directors in the Northeast, the Midwest, the West, and the South. Close personal friends Ogden Mills and Edgar Rickard managed the campaign in New York State. Yet while Hoover directed the efforts from behind the scenes, he did not wage a public campaign. Even in states where he entered primaries, he did not stump for support. In fact, Hoover did not deliver a single overtly political speech during the entire primary season. It was clear that he was seeking the job, but he much preferred the appearance that it sought him.6