The surprising denouement was furnished by William H. (Big B_Give the man room

Thompson. He was then mayor and had made an appointment to discuss the

matter with the Art Commission. They were waiting for him at the Art

Institute where his messenger rather bluntly announced to them that the

Commission was no longer in existence nor had any authority, its term of

office having expired. “The statue looks good to me,” said the mayor,

“and the committee doesn’t.”

So the memorial was unveiled as scheduled on Labor Day, 1915, before an

immense crowd including thousands of labor-union men and women. Governor

Edward F. Dunne presided, and William Jennings Bryan delivered the

speech of the day. The sculptor made a puzzled comment:

I have been not a little surprised that in America, the foster

mother of mankind, there exist no memorials of consequence dealing

with the struggles and pathos of life. It is a matter of amazement

and regret that Chicago, a city whose life has been crowned through

sacrifice and struggle as it has been sweetened by suffering,

should show antagonism to a memorial which develops or suggests a

humane situation where one human being befriends another.

There is something stern and vital behind this. But censorship, be

it ever so official, will not arrest one beat in the natural heart

of mankind, nor stop the natural expression of what is true, of

what is good. And that which is true and good is, at least, a full

sister of that which is beautiful. Millet’s “Angelus” and his “Man

With a Hoe” would be subjects of supreme beauty and pathos in

sculpture, admirably composed for public parks. How much more human

and akin would be this interpretation of life than the cheap

allegories or conventional vagaries which the unthinking call art.

General Daniel Butterfield was a Union hero who distinguished himself at

“Little Round Top” in the battle of Gettysburg. His wife outlived him

and at her death bequeathed a fortune, part of which she specified

should be spent on a monument for her husband. She left instructions for

the unknown sculptor who might be chosen by her executors. He was to

visit the battlefield, familiarize himself with Little Round Top and, so

far as possible, incorporate the contour of that famous site in his

design for the monument. He was also to study certain photographs of the

general, one of which represented him standing with folded arms and

wearing a cocked hat, “as in the bas-relief at Utica.”

In the contract all that was said about the figure was that it was to be

over eight feet high, in the dress uniform of a major general, supported

by a foundation of natural work representing Round Top. It was specified

that the sculptor was to make a model forty inches high and that when

that was approved he would proceed with a full-size model “which shall

be submitted to the executors for their approval and acceptance and

shall be in accordance with the will of Julia L. Butterfield.”

All that appears plain enough, but there was a catch which would

presently cause the sculptor no end of tribulation. To him it seemed

that in financial reward it was the best commission he had ever

received, the only one from which he might expect a reasonable profit.

For a single figure, with side panels at the base, he was to receive

$54,000, a generous allowance. The chairman of the executive committee,

Colonel E. M. Ehlers, a Dane by birth, showed him one photograph of the

general in full-dress uniform, arms folded, wearing an imposing military

hat with a plume. Another photograph showed him hatless, with his hands

at his side. But this, said Colonel Ehlers, should be ignored because

Mrs. Butterfield preferred the other.

Following his instructions in good faith the sculptor made a forty-inch

model, using the selected photograph as a guide for the pose. One of the

executors, Mr. Hagar, criticized the nose and mustache of the model and

the sculptor changed these features to his satisfaction. All four

executors then approved the model and signed the voucher for the payment

due at this stage of the work. When the full-size model was accepted

only three executors were present, but again the voucher for payment was

signed by all four. The model was then cast in plaster and sent to the

Gorham Company to be put into bronze.

Gutzon was delegated to find a place for the memorial, preferably in

Central Park, New York City. He was told that the park was out of the

question but was offered a site near Riverside Drive, opposite Grant’s

Tomb, where the statue was placed in January 1917. The secretary of the

executors, Dr. May, in formal acknowledgment that the work was

completed, added this friendly, personal word:

I am sure that it will ever remain a monument to your art. Could

Mrs. Butterfield see it, it would have her complete approval and

gratify her pride in leaving a memorial so creditable to her

husband and to the city. It is located, as I can tell you, only a

short distance from the home of her birth and girlhood.

And then the unbelievable happened. The three executors with whom most

of the sculptor’s contacts had been made all died within a very short

time of one another. Everything was left in the hands of the fourth,

Albert Hagar, who announced that he had never liked the statue, that the

“bas-relief in Utica” mentioned in the will showed the general without

a hat, with his arms down, and that he didn’t think the figure was big

enough. He wanted the whole thing done over and refused any further

payment unless this was done. The worst feature of this arbitrary

decision was that many beneficiaries of Mrs. Butterfield’s will could

not be paid until the status of the monument was settled. Hagar’s sudden

reversal was no doubt sincere but it made inconvenience and trouble for

many.

The Gorham Company offered to handle the suit which had to be brought

against Hagar. The case dragged into the time when the sculptor had the

aircraft investigation on his hands. Meanwhile the contractors who had

done the granite work sued Gutzon for the payment of their bill. Gorham

had not been paid for the casting, the architects were clamoring for

their money and Stamford taxes were in arrears. The suit was carried on

at Cold Spring, near Poughkeepsie, so far away that the sculptor lost a

whole day every time he appeared as a witness.

Of course the Gorham Company won the suit eventually, but payments were

not made until 1920. By that time the sculptor had assigned what little

would have been left over for him to other debtors, so it is doubtful if

he ever received a penny for all his work on this big contract. It was

said by people who should know that some of the Butterfield heirs went

to the poorhouse while waiting for their inheritance. Gutzon blamed

himself for having accepted the commission in the first place. When

later the location of the statue had to be changed on account of the

Rockefeller church construction he declared he wouldn’t mind if they

dropped it into the Hudson River.

The Vance memorial for North Carolina, of which a copy stands in

Statuary Hall in the nation’s capital, was made during this period. It

remains where it was put in the first place.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

_AIRCRAFT INVESTIGATION_

The American Congress appropriated over one thousand million

dollars that were expended for aviation during the nineteen months

of war. When the armistice was signed, not a single American-made

fighting or combat plane had reached the front. No American-made

fighting or combat plane was ever produced. America depended upon

her allies to furnish a few obsolete fighting planes with which our

armies were equipped. Our contribution to wartime aircraft

consisted of two hundred and thirteen “utterly dangerous”

observation planes that reached the front with others on the way.

That is the record. (Report of aircraft investigation under House

resolution of June 4, 1919.)

Mr. Borglum is the man who started the entire aircraft

investigation at the outset and performed a great public service.

(Congressman James A. Frear, Wisconsin, speech to House of

Representatives, _Congressional Record_, March 1, 1920.)

You may have gathered from the record thus far that Gutzon Borglum was a

bit unused to doing things the way other people did them. There was only

one of him, and there were so many of the rest of the population that

maybe one shouldn’t be disturbed by this technique. He had a genius’

variety of talent; so it probably isn’t remarkable that his art studio

should have been filled with frightening projects for roads,

transportation, parks, breakwaters, engineering, airplane models,

philosophy, abstract science and the saving of the world. He believed he

could do anything--so he did it. All of this is fairly obvious on his

history sheet. But, for all that, his investigation of the aircraft

industry in 1918 remains today one of the most incredible things that

ever happened to America.

We start our study of this attempt of one man to produce some honesty in

a $1,000,000,000 delusion with the knowledge that Borglum was not only a

fairly competent theoretical engineer, but also a practical mechanic who

had been following closely the growth of air power. And that is

fortunate, because few other matters in the aircraft investigation are

that obvious or sensible. In November 1917, after the United States had

been eight months in World War I, he got a look at an airplane factory

in Dayton, Ohio. He was shocked, as he admitted, almost into a state of

speechlessness. He had a brief visit with a man in a high position in

the direction of aircraft production, listened to him, and, instead of

going home, made a quick trip to Washington. Next morning he was at the

White House, demanding to see President Wilson.

And here is the first amazing part of his procedure. He had seen that

the United States wasn’t producing airplanes and he felt that something

ought to be done about it. But he didn’t look for anybody to help him

prepare the case for presentation to somebody who might be able to

correct the situation. It never occurred to him that he needed any. The

man best able to get quick action was, undoubtedly, the President of the

United States.

Gutzon Borglum knew Woodrow Wilson and Woodrow Wilson knew Gutzon

Borglum, but the pair took a dim view of each other, as well they might.

Borglum, in his Progressive-party campaign, had been loudly critical of

the Wilson administration. Wilson, who was a scholar, appreciated

Borglum’s art. But, as the record shows, he didn’t think enough of his

politics to consider him a crusader for the democratic ideal.

And yet Borglum was appointed, with authority direct from the President,

to conduct his investigation from an office in the War Department. He

ran the boys into corners for several months, and he stirred up senators

and congressmen and Department heads and cabinet officers. That in the

end his inquiry failed to put anybody in jail or get back any of the

§1,000,000,000 is not surprising. What is incredible about the whole

affair is that he was allowed to start at all.

There isn’t much doubt about our dismal performance in building

airplanes in 1917-1918. The propagandized public was a long time finding

out that the chief trouble with our planes was their continued

nonexistence. But we did get to hear about the “dangerous” De Haviland

Fours, of which we sent 213 to France. This plane was widely celebrated

across the country as “The Flaming Coffin.” It had a large gas tank

mounted in the most vulnerable position, and a pilot was seldom able to

get away from one after it was hit.

Soldier after soldier from the front came before the Frear committee to

tell of seeing his comrades shot down in these planes. Yet reports of

such catastrophes, as the Frear report scathingly pointed out, did not

prevent Secretary of War Newton D. Baker and Aircraft Director John D.

Ryan from continuing the manufacture of DH 4s.

After the war the taxpayers began to find out what they had purchased

for §1,000,000,000. Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, ace flyer and national

hero, told them when he came home to testify before an investigating

committee. “Why did the army continue to use French planes?” he was

asked. This was his reply:

The answer is simple. We hadn’t any others except the two hundred

and thirteen “flaming coffins.” The American air forces were in

dire need of machines of all kinds. We were thankful to get any

kind that would fly. The French had already discarded the Nieuport

for the steadier, stronger Spad, and our government was thus able

to buy from the French a certain number of these out-of-date

Nieuports for American pilots--or got on without. Consequently our

American pilots in France were compelled to venture out in

Nieuports against more experienced pilots in more modern machinery.

None of us in France could understand what prevented our great

country from furnishing machines equal to the best in the world.

Many a gallant life was lost to American aviation in those early

months of 1918, the responsibility for which must lie heavily on

some guilty consciences.

There had been a lot of inquiry before the House began its

investigation. And when Congress had finished there was a widespread

display of indignation with the aid of aeronautic associations, farmers’

associations and two New York daily newspapers. For a while the scandals

they dug up overshadowed what had caused the wrath of Borglum. He had

worked in wartime and in a closed circle, and what he found out was

reported to the President and the few others who had a right to hear. He

was satisfied with that arrangement, for he had no faith in the

efficiency of official inquiries. On this subject he said:

There is a radical defect in a system that occasions such

investigations. A political inquiry of this nature must inevitably

arouse enmity and opposition in the most powerful quarters. The

credit, nay, the very existence, of the government in power is at

stake. An inquiry may seem to start something, but what it starts

is an avalanche that will surely crush its initiators and the truth

they seek to discover. Thus they will remain buried under the

debris and obscured by the dust.

When Gutzon Borglum first took his demand for an aircraft investigation

to the White House he was politely, if somewhat shortly, received by

Joseph Tumulty, the President’s secretary. Mr. Wilson was frightfully

busy on account of the war, Mr. Tumulty mentioned, but he would

undoubtedly be able to read a note explaining the purposes of Mr.

Borglum’s visit. Mr. Borglum left the note and went home to Stamford.

There in due time he received a short letter from Mr. Tumulty saying

that the President wished Mr. Borglum to get in touch with Mr. Howard

Coffin of the Aeronautics Board. Mr. Borglum thought this humorous

inasmuch as Mr. Coffin was principally interested in automobile

production, which was what Borglum found wrong with the Aeronautics

Board. So he wrote something of the sort to the President’s secretary on

November 22, 1917. He finished it somewhat tartly:

The program of the Aeronautics Board was invented by Automobile

Production men before they had picked up their representation on

that board, or even before the appropriations had been passed. They

are now engaged in a grandiose project, incapable of fulfillment,

which cannot but bring scandal and disaster, and which, in turn,

can harm your administration.

President Wilson was disturbed and sent a reply on December 5, asking

Borglum to point out specifically the weaknesses in the aircraft

organization as it then stood. Borglum replied at once and suggested

that the Aeronautics Board should be really two boards, one of design

and one of production, and that the military board should have nothing

to do but order what sort of planes it needed. When he had posted this

suggestion he went back to Dayton to take another look at the plant he

had first seen, and he loitered on his way home at the Curtiss factory

in Buffalo. That was a better-looking establishment, but it seemed

disorganized and full of idle men, and it wasn’t producing any

airplanes.

Then, on Christmas Day, 1917, he wrote to Wilson the letter that, no

matter what you may think of it, put his aircraft investigation in

business. He said:

Since writing you, I have visited two other factories and attended

several aeronautics conferences. This so disturbs me that I must

write further with the hope that Congressional investigation of the

aeronautics bodies may be avoided while there is yet time to

correct conditions from within and so avoid the ship-and-ordnance

scandals.

If the opportunity arrives, I will tell you of conditions which

strike at the root of honest, disinterested public service; of

irregularities, graft, self-interest and collateral profiting in

the very heart of our production department. But public knowledge

of actual aeronautic conditions would be a military disaster to

American arms, as well as an unwarranted blow at our Government.

Therefore I suggest:

Immediate selection of three competent, fearless and incorruptible

men, whose loyalty to you is above question. Give them authority,

without publicity, to go quickly over the present plan and

accomplishment in our aircraft and report on:

Engines, planes and propellers.

Contracts placed where, system employed selecting contractors.

Supply sources, by whom held.

Relation of members of production board to supply controls, also to

contractors.

Test experiments. Why are our planes inferior to all foreign planes

and vastly poorer than German planes?

What use is being made of data constantly being sent here covering

Germany’s planes.

Such inquiry should not audit accounts. A larger principle is at

stake.

For this report you need a highly trained engineer, an expert

production man and a man who knows the art of machine flying and

the history and possibilities of machines.

1. Your engineer should be an internal-combustion engine man who

knows that an airplane engine is not merely a refined truck engine.

He should know propellers. This latter item has almost been

forgotten. No reliable propeller exists that can safely be

standardized.

2. Your production manager should be trained as a specialist on

organization.

3. The third position I should like to fill personally. There are

no principles related to flying heavier-than-air machines that I am

not thoroughly familiar with. I feel as Da Vinci did when seeking a

commission. He wrote: “As for that art, I know all that is known.”

The open-mindedness of this carries its own forgiveness. I observe

accurately, avoid prejudices, have no fears that I know of. I know

I’m a good organizer, one who can handle and keep the confidence of

men. I am not only anxious but prepared to serve you and the great

service which you, for America, have undertaken. I could put into

your hands in the briefest possible time a report on existing

conditions and war needs, and avoid scandal. Investigations during

wartime should be periodic and automatic. This would rob them of

abnormal interest and make them policy affecting functions.

Somebody slipped the letter out and published it. The automobile

industry was noisily indignant and Borglum was much annoyed. But those

results somehow seem natural in the circumstances. What must continue to

confuse students of political procedure for some time is the fact that

it brought a quick appointment. On the second of January President

Wilson had written a letter. The Secretary of War would be pleased to

give Mr. Borglum full authority. Stanley King of the Secretary’s

personal staff would be at Mr. Borglum’s disposal for advice or

assistance. Mr. Borglum would be put in touch with General George

Squier, whom he already knew, and he was to have the assistance of any

experts he might think required. He was to report directly to President

Wilson.

Why this appointment should have come through is one of the things that

surpasses all understanding. It is quite likely that Wilson suspected

what was wrong with aircraft production and thought an investigation by

a recognized Republican not connected with politics might stir up some

action without hurting the administration. That is one thought. It also

comes to anyone who has watched political maneuvering that a good way to

get rid of an investigator who was getting troublesome would be to put

him where he couldn’t talk for publication.

Anyway, the sculptor went to Washington, notified the White House and

the War Department of his arrival, called on the Secretary of State and

was assigned to a room on the second floor of the War Department

offices. Borglum felt that he would have every possible aid. The

Secretary’s office door was just across the hall.

Gutzon went to work at once. He asked Mr. King to get him a report on

how many war planes had been ordered and how many delivered up to

January 1, 1918. The War Department’s answer was quickly brought and

easily digested: “Training planes contracted for, 7,500; delivered,

1,444. Service planes contracted for, 12,500; 4,000 to be built by

Dayton Wright. Service planes delivered to January 1, 1918, none.”

Borglum called that same day on Josephus Daniels, Secretary of the Navy,

who telephoned instructions to the Intelligence Bureau of the Navy.

Naval records were laid open to the sculptor and he went through them

personally, making what notes seemed relevant. Three days later when he

went to the War Department he was informed that they had none of the

records he requested--nor any memory of any. He was virtually compelled

to pick up a copy of the Aeronautics Committee report from the office of

the chairman, who apparently did not even know of its existence. He was

blocked in an effort to get Intelligence reports on spy activities in

Buffalo. Secret Service men were assigned to follow him wherever he

went. One of his aides in the War Department warned two of his witnesses

not to talk to him. He was informed of the looting of a bank in Dayton,

Ohio, by an agile group which substituted Aeronautics Board agreements

and checks for tangible assets. He was invited to join the Aeronautics

Board, but he didn’t accept. He discovered that his office telephone was

tapped and that his mail was being systematically examined. He opened an

outside office as headquarters for his own aides, investigators and

stenographers.

By the end of February he knew that we hadn’t planes of any kind and

that we hadn’t engines of any kind and that, nearing the second year of

war, we had less than 130,000 soldiers at the front and that they were

using shoes, socks and other equipment provided by France and England.

Borglum went to talk about this to Secretary Baker. Baker, slumped in

his chair with his feet on his desk, puffed his pipe and listened with

indifference. Not until the condition of aircraft manufacture was

reached did he show any animation. Then he shifted his feet and said

casually, “Why, Borglum, you don’t think we are actually getting into

this war, do you?”

“My God!” said Borglum. “Do you mean to tell me that all this is just a

gesture?”

Baker nodded and puffed contentedly.

Borglum couldn’t contain himself. “Do you mean to tell me,” he said,

“that all America has to do is hint that she is going into war, loan

Europe a lot of money, send over a regiment or two and that this is

going to bluff Germany into retirement?”

“I mean,” Baker said, “that there won’t be any real war as far as we are

The surprising denouement was furnished by William H. (Big Bill)