THRILLING INCIDENT AT WANAMAKER’S STORE WHEN GERMANS DISHONOUR AMERICAN
FLAG
During these peace preliminaries Philadelphia accepted her fate with
cheerful philosophy. In 1777 she had entertained British conquerors, now
she entertained the Germans. An up-to-date _meschianza_ was organised, as
in Revolutionary days, at the magnificent estate “Druim Moir” of Samuel
F. Houston in Chestnut Hill, with all the old features reproduced, the
pageant, the tournament of Knights Templars and the games, German
officers competing in the latter.
In polo an American team composed of William H. T. Huhn, Victor C.
Mather, Alexander Brown and Mitchell Rosengarten played against a crack
team of German cavalry officers and beat them easily.
In lawn tennis the American champion, Richard Norris Williams, beat
Lieutenant Froitzheim, a famous German player and a friend of the Crown
Prince, in straight sets, the lieutenant being penalised for foot
faulting by the referee, Eddie von Friesen, a wearer of the iron cross,
although his mother was a Philadelphia woman.
Thirty thousand German soldiers crowded Shibe Park daily to watch the
series of exhibition contests between the Athletics and the Cincinnati
Reds, both teams being among the first civilians captured on the victors’
entrance into Philadelphia. The Reds, composed almost entirely of
Germans, owned by Garry Hermann and managed by Herzog, were of course the
favourites over the Irish-American cohorts of Cornelius McGillicuddy; but
the Athletics won the series in a deciding game that will never be
forgotten. The dramatic moment came in the ninth inning, with the bases
full, when the famous Frenchman, Napoleon Lajoie, pinch-hitting for
Baker, advanced to the plate and knocked the ball far over Von Kolnitz’s
head for a home run and the game.
Another interesting affair was a dinner given to German officers by
editors of the _Saturday Evening Post_, on the tenth floor of the Curtis
Building, the menu comprising characteristic Philadelphia dishes, such as
pepper pot soup with a dash of sherry, and scrapple with fishhouse punch.
Various writers were present, and there were dramatic meetings between
American war correspondents and Prussian generals who had put them in
jail in the 1915 campaign. I noticed a certain coldness on the part of
Richard Harding Davis toward a young Bavarian lieutenant who, in Northern
France, had conceived the amiable purpose of running Mr. Davis through
the ribs with a bayonet; but Irvin S. Cobb was more forgiving and drank
clover club cocktails to the health of a burly colonel who had ordered
him shot as a spy and graciously explained the proper way of eating
catfish and waffles.
The Crown Prince was greatly interested when informed by Owen Wister that
these excellent dishes were of German origin, having been brought to
America by the Hessians in Revolutionary days and preserved by their
descendants, such families as the Fows and the Faunces, who still
occupied a part of Northeastern Philadelphia known as Fishtown. His
Imperial Highness also had an animated discussion with Joseph A.
Steinmetz, President of the Aero Club of Pennsylvania, as to the
effectiveness of the Steinmetz pendant hook bomb Zeppelin destroyer.
The German officers enjoyed these days immensely and made themselves at
home in the principal hotels, paying scrupulously for their
accommodations. General von Hindenburg stopped at the Ritz-Carlton,
Admiral von Tirpitz at the Bellevue-Stratford and others at the Walton
and the Adelphia. Several Prussian generals established themselves at the
Continental Hotel because of their interest in the fact that Edward VII
of England stopped there when he was Prince of Wales, and they drew lots
for the privilege of sleeping in the historic bed that had been occupied
by an English sovereign.
The Crown Prince himself was domiciled with his staff in E. T.
Stotesbury’s fine mansion on Walnut Street. Every day he lunched at the
Racquet Club, now occupied by German officers, and played court tennis
with Dr. Alvin C. Kraenzlein, the famous University of Pennsylvania
athlete, whom he had met in Berlin when Kraenzlein was coaching the
German Olympic team for the 1916 contests that were postponed, owing to
the war, until 1920. He also had a game with Jay Gould, champion of the
world, and being hopelessly outclassed, declared laughingly (the Crown
Prince loves American slang) that this young millionaire was “some
player.”
A few days after the _meschiama_ fêtes, his Imperial Highness gave a
dinner and reception to some of the leading men in Philadelphia and,
despite prejudice, was voted a remarkable figure like his father,
combining versatile knowledge with personal charm. He talked politics
with Boies Penrose, and reform with Rudolph Blankenburg. He was
interested in A. J. Drexel Biddle’s impartial enthusiasm for Bible
classes and boxing matches. He questioned Dr. D. J. McCarthy, famous
neurologist of the University of Pennsylvania, about mental diseases
caused by war. He laughed heartily on hearing a limerick by Oliver
Herford beginning: “There was a young prince Hohenzollern,” which was
said to have delighted the British ambassador. Finally, he listened while
Ned Atherton and Morris L. Parrish explained the fascination of _sniff_,
a gambling game played with dominoes much in vogue at the Racquet Club.
His Imperial Highness said he preferred the German game of _skat_, played
with cards, and James P. McNichol, the Republican boss, made a note of
this fact.
As I passed through a gallery containing the magnificent Stotesbury
collection of paintings I heard a resounding voice saying with a harsh
German accent: “Ach! I told you! Your form of government is a failure.
People need a benevolent paternalism. There is no chance for military
efficiency under a republic.”
Turning, I recognised the stocky form of Commandant Price of the League
Island navy yard, who was listening to a tirade from Admiral von Tirpitz.
The latter, it seems, was marvelling that the United States naval
authorities had lacked the intelligence to cut a 1,700-yard canal from
the naval basin to the Delaware which would have made it impossible for
the Germans to tie up the American reserve fleet by blocking the
Schuylkill. This canal would also have furnished an ideal fresh-water
dry-dock.
Commandant Price had informed the admiral that this very plan, with an
estimated cost of only three million dollars, had been repeatedly brought
before Congress, but always unsuccessfully. In other words, it was no
fault of the navy if these battleships were rendered useless. Whereupon
von Tirpitz had burst forth with his attack upon representative
government.
I was told that the Crown Prince had intended to invite to this gathering
some of the prominent women of Philadelphia, particularly one famous
beauty, whom he desired to meet, but he was dissuaded from this purpose
by a tactful hint that the ladies would not accept his invitation. The
men might go, for reasons of expediency, but American women had no place
at the feast of an invader.
It happened, however, a few days later, that the Imperial wish was
gratified, the occasion being an auction for the benefit of the
American Red Cross Fund held one afternoon in the gold ballroom of the
Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Tea was served with music by the Philadelphia
orchestra under Leopold Stokowski and the tickets were five dollars.
In a great crush (the gallery was reserved for German officers, including
the Crown Prince) the most distinguished society women in Philadelphia
stepped forth smilingly as manikins and displayed on their fair persons
the hats, gowns, furs, laces or jewels that they had contributed to the
sale. E. T. Stotesbury proved a very efficient auctioneer and large
prices were realised.
Mrs. G. G. Meade Large sold baskets of roses at twenty dollars each. Mrs.
W. J. Clothier sold three hats for fifty dollars each. Mrs. Walter S.
Thomson, said to be pro-German, sold a ball-gown for three hundred
dollars. Mrs. E. T. Stotesbury sold one of her diamond tiaras for twenty
thousand dollars. Mrs. Edward Crozer, Mrs. Horatio Gates Lloyd and Mrs.
Norman MacLeod sold gowns for three hundred dollars each. Mrs. Harry Wain
Harrison and Mrs. Robert von Moschzisker sold pieces of lace for a
hundred dollars each.
Mrs. A. J. Antelo Devereux, in smart riding costume, sold her fine
hunter, led in amid great applause, for two thousand dollars. Mrs. George
Q. Horwitz and Mrs. Robert L. Montgomery sold sets of furs for a thousand
dollars each. Mrs. Barclay H. Warburton sold her imported touring-car for
five thousand dollars. Mrs. Joseph E. Widener sold a set of four
bracelets, one of diamonds, one of rubies, one of sapphires, one of
emeralds, for fifteen thousand dollars.
The sensation of the afternoon came at the close when Admiral von Tirpitz
bought a coat of Russian sables offered by Mrs. John R. Fell for ten
thousand dollars, this being followed by a purchase of the Crown Prince,
who gave thirty thousand dollars for a rope of pearls belonging to Mrs.
J. Kearsley Mitchell.
All of this was briefly recorded in the Philadelphia _Press_, which had
been made the official German organ with daily editions in German and
English. The Crown Prince himself selected this paper, I was told, on
learning that the author of one of his favourite stories, “The Lady or
the Tiger,” by Frank R. Stockton, was once a reporter on the _Press_.
A few days later at the Wanamaker store on Chestnut Street the Crown
Prince figured in an incident that became the subject of international
comment and that throws a strange light upon the German character.
It appears that the Crown Prince had become interested in an announcement
of the Wanamaker store that half of its profits for one week, amounting
to many thousands of dollars, would go to the relief of American soldiers
wounded in battle. His Imperial Highness expressed a desire to visit the
Wanamaker establishment, and arrived one afternoon at the hour of a
widely advertised organ concert that had drawn great crowds. A special
feature was to be the Lohengrin wedding march, during the playing of
which seven prominent society women, acting on a charitable impulse, had
consented to appear arrayed as bridesmaids and one of them as a bride.
The Crown Prince and his staff, in brilliant uniforms, entered the vast
rotunda packed with men and women, just as this interesting ceremony was
beginning and took places reserved for them as conquerors, near the great
bronze eagle on its granite pedestal that faces the spot where William H.
Taft dedicated the building in December, 1911.
A hush fell over the assembly as Dr. Irvin J. Morgan at his gilded height
struck the inspiring chords, and a moment later the wedding procession
entered, led by two white-clad pages, and moved slowly across the white
gallery, Mrs. Angier B. Duke (dressed as the bride), Mrs. Victor C.
Mather, Mrs. A. J. Drexel Biddle, Jr., Mrs. Gurnee Munn, Mrs. Oliver E.
Cromwell, Miss Eleanor B. Hopkins and Mrs. George Wharton Pepper, Jr., a
tall and willowy auburn beauty and a bride herself only a few months
before, while Wagner’s immortal tones pealed through the marble arches.
As the music ceased one of the German officers, in accordance with a
prearranged plan, nodded to his aides, who stepped forward and spread a
German flag over the American eagle. At the same moment the officer waved
his hand towards the organ loft, as a signal for Dr. Morgan to obey his
instructions and play “The Watch on the Rhine.”
The crowd knew what was coming and waited in sickening silence, then
gasped in amazement and joy as the organ gloriously sounded forth, “My
Country, ‘Tis of Thee.”
“Stop!” shouted the Prussian, purple with rage. “Stop!”
But Irvin Morgan played on like a good American, thrilling the great
audience with the treasured message:
“Sweet land of Liberty,
Of Thee I sing.”
At this moment a little fellow seven years old, from Caniden, N. J., in
boy-scout uniform, did a thing that will live in American history. He had
been taught to rise when he heard that music and sing the dear words that
his mother had taught him, and he could not understand why all these
Americans were silent. Why didn’t they sing? He looked about him
anxiously. He had seen those Prussian officers spread the German flag
over the American eagle, and it suddenly flashed into his mind that it
was his business to do something. He must tear down that hateful flag. He
must do it if he died and, springing forward before any one could divine
his purpose, he dragged the German banner to the floor and, standing on
it, waved a little American flag drawn from his pocket.
“Land where my fathers died,
Land of the Pilgrims’ pride!”
He shrilled out, singing all alone while the proud organ thundered forth
its accompaniment.
As a match starts the powder train so this boyish act fired the whole
gathering of dumb patriots and straightway, Germans or no Germans, ten
thousand American voices took up the words while the youthful leader,
with eyes flashing, held up the Stars and Stripes there by the eagle.
A German officer, furious at this defiance, sprang toward the boy with
lifted sword and would have struck him down had not his Imperial master
intervened and with his own weapon caught the descending blow.
“Shame! Coward!” cried the Crown Prince. “We do not fight with children.”
And the end of it was that no one was punished, although concerts were
forbidden after this in the Wanamaker store.
I have related this incident not only for its own sake, but because of
its bearing on subsequent events.
“I’m going to write a story about that boy”, I said to W. Barran Lewis,
who stood near me. “Do you know his name?”
“Yes,” said the editor. “He is Lemuel A. Widding, Jr. Makes a good story,
doesn’t it?”
Lemuel A. Widding! Where had I heard that name? Suddenly I
remembered--Kingston, Jamaica, and Lieutenant Ryerson and the lovely girl
who had told me about her brother’s ravings. That was the name he had
called out again and again in his delirium. Lemuel A. Widding!
In spite of my interest in this puzzling circumstance I was unable to
investigate it, owing to the fact that I was hurried off to Mount Vernon
for the Peace Conference, but I wired Miss Ryerson in Richmond of my
discovery and gave her the boy’s address in Camden, N. J. Then I thought
no more about the matter, being absorbed in my duties.