The long transatlantic train came to a dead stop at the division station
in that great Southwestern State, where one was surrounded by
sage-brush, the sand, the distant foot-hills and the far-off mountain
range.
One of the Pullman cars showed signs of a hot box, and a moment later
the wheel burst into a mass of flame. In the thirty minutes' wait for
repairs I made my way into the room where the conductors, engineers and
firemen met. On a little table I found a copy of the address given
before the railroad men of El Paso, Texas, by Secretary McAdoo.
I called the attention of the different men to the address, to the
clarity of the reasoning, the simplicity of the argument, the strength
of the appeal and the glowing patriotism that filled all the pages. The
pamphlet had been worn by much reading. It was covered with the black
finger prints of busy men who had been working around the locomotives
and tenders.
Plainly Mr. McAdoo's speech had made a profound impression upon these
employees. Having first of all called the attention of the large group
of men to the creative work of Alexander Hamilton, the first Secretary
of the Treasury, who struck, as Daniel Webster said, "the dry rock of
national credit and abundant streams of revenue gushed forth," I asked
these men whether there had been in one hundred and twenty-five years
any forward movement in finance that was comparable to the benefits
derived from the national reserve bank law, under Secretary McAdoo, a
law that not only had prevented a panic in this country during this war,
but had raised more billions within four years than the total cost of
the Government in the first century of our existence.
Late that afternoon, on the train, the conductor sought me out. In the
midst of the discussion he drew out a roll of bills. He told me that in
those mountain towns many of the ranchers did not buy their tickets at
the stations.
To use his expression, "They had it in for the railroads." "They pay me
their fare in cash, and when I give them the receipt they tear up the
receipt and wink at me. I always feel," he said, "like resenting these
actions, because I know that they are incitements to petty theft, but
now," he said, "I have my chance. I always tell them," said the
conductor, "that money belongs to Uncle Sam. He runs this railroad,
Uncle Sam takes this money.
"With it he will buy guns for the American boys at the front and build
ships to carry food that will feed these soldiers. I would rather lose
that right arm than take one penny of money that belongs to Uncle Sam.
This is my job to run this train. I tell my crew every day that we must
make the coal produce every possible pound of steam, that every waste
must be saved, and every pound of energy used and that we must run this
train so as to help win this war."
From morning till night I found that conductor was preaching that
sentiment. His words were directly traceable to the words of Secretary
McAdoo at El Paso, Texas. That single speech transformed these men.
Measured by the results--truth that transforms life and changes conduct
and character--that was a truly great speech. We must all hope much from
this new sense of devotion to the interests of Uncle Sam.