Robert called up Friday--Mrs. Levin answered the phone--and pleaded
a mythical headache. No. No. Her son was not to visit him. It was
nothing. Something that would go away of its own accord. Only he
would have to eat very little and get a good rest. Mrs. Levin offered
some advice--aspirin tablets, or something like that. It was rather
confusing, her insistent hospitality, and she rang off only after she
had gained his promise to come the next week.
Robert was growing a bit more accustomed to Chicago. Freeman had
taken him, over his protest, to Armours, where he had seen the rather
gruesome spectacle of hundreds of hogs and cattle converted into pork
and beef by swift knives and dexterous hands. He had never dreamed of
this world of cattle pens, stretching out in all directions like a
vast sea and filled with thousands of bellowing animals. He had never
imagined such a tangle of tracks as those over which the loaded cattle
cars rumbled. And there were cowboys on ponies.
He was becoming accustomed to the rush of people among the streets
and to the noise. But the soot still bothered him. He had visited the
Art Institute and found it a haven from the surrounding spirit of
commercialism and decided to visit the Field Museum--a glittering white
palace of classical design that rose at the far end of a promontory
jutting into the lake a mile or so south.
In some places there were almost as many Negroes as in the South. But
unlike the South, the Negroes sat beside you in the presence of white
ladies--like the white men. For the first time Robert perceived that in
going back to Corinth he had unconsciously slipped back to his pre-war
attitude. He had taken Jim Crow cars for granted. He had taken it for
granted that colored men should step out of his path when he walked
down the street. These things had all seemed perfectly natural in
Corinth. He had not even noticed them until now.
Levin had dropped in once, to inquire about Robert’s cold, but had
not called again. McCall was still out of town, and so Robert spent
most of his time with Freeman. The latter had suggested that Robert do
most of his work in his own room, because the identity of the bureau
with the Tribe had already been discovered by investigators--newspaper
men--and it might be more advantageous, at least for a while, to keep
the identity of the new Grand Bogey secret.
Freeman had not yet explained the basis of the Tribe’s antagonism
to the Catholics and the Jews, nor, so far as that went, to the
Negro--although that was something that one could more easily
understand. Freeman always brought up points, which he gleaned from The
Beacon or from some similar source and the authenticity of which was
often doubtful. Often the statements contradicted each other and then
Freeman always grinned good-naturedly and showed that the arguments
were really not his, but those of The Beacon or of a misinformed
writer, some anti- this or that fanatic.
He always started out by emphasising the “big points” of the Tribe.
They were sitting in Robert’s room one evening.
“If I were you I’d go after the big things--enforcement of law, white
supremacy, pure Americanism and practical Christianity. Those are the
main things,” said Freeman, pounding the table.
“You ask why the Catholic should be excluded? Because, as this card
shows, he swears allegiance to a foreign potentate. He’s an alien
although he benefits by our laws. If the Catholics could, they would
unite the church and the state.”
“I see, but supposing I get a prospect and he asks me how I know that.”
Freeman laughed.
“Ninety-nine out of a hundred don’t ask. Ninety-nine out of a hundred
men never ask about anything. They’ll accept a positive statement,
if it’s positive enough. But if they do ask, you can hand them some
of our cards or literature. Here’s some good stuff in The Beacon.
Listen to this, for instance: ‘The National Democratic Committee is
by majority a Roman Catholic body. It usually has a Roman Catholic
President and Secretary. Catholics influenced the national campaign
which elected Wilson. The President’s private secretary is a Roman
Catholic.’”
“Wait a minute,” cried Hamilton. “I’m a Southern Democrat. Do you mean
to insinuate that Wilson is controlled by a group of Catholics!”
“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m simply reading what The Beacon says.
If a Democrat would get sore at it, show him something else. That’s
why I say you have to study the man you approach and convince him
accordingly.”
“But that’s not the point,” said Hamilton. “You say Catholics
influenced the national campaign. That’s an insinuation. You don’t say
_how_ they influenced it. Everybody knows that many Irish Catholics
are Democrats and that naturally they voted for Wilson, just as the
South naturally, for historic reasons, always votes Democratic; but
you infer that the influence was dishonorable. And what’s the disgrace
about a Roman Catholic being the President’s secretary? He had to be a
Protestant or a Catholic.”
“No, there’s no disgrace, only the next fact shows that over 70 per
cent of all President Wilson’s appointments were Catholic.”
“I don’t believe it! What’s the authority?”
Freeman puzzled over the word.
“L-U-T-H--Lutherische, I can’t pronounce it. Some German name.”
“Some old war propaganda, I see. On the face of it would you go to a
German authority for anything about Wilson’s war administration?”
Freeman laughed.
“Hell, no! In fact, I didn’t know where The Beacon got this stuff when
I picked it up or I wouldn’t bother to read it. Nope, there’s nothing
pro-Heinie about me.” He threw the paper into a waste basket. “Now,
Mr. Hamilton,” he turned in his swivel chair and leaned forward, “I’m
just as sincere about this thing as you are. I wouldn’t tell any one a
lie knowingly. If I had noticed the source of that article I wouldn’t
have read it to you. But the Tribe has a definite object as I told you.
It’s against the Catholic, the Jew, the alien and the Negro, because
these four classes are incompatible with the Tribe’s ideas of pure
Americanism--none of these classes can be truly American in every sense
of the word. Now we know that, and, in trying to convert members, we
naturally wish to convince them by arguments. The Beacon is a magazine
which carries a lot of stuff against these four classes and so we
frequently distribute it. But, as far as I am concerned, and I am sure
as every good Tribesman is concerned, we do not mean to disseminate
falsehoods. If you see an article that strikes you as inaccurate in The
Beacon, don’t use it. In fact, write to the editor about it. I’m sure
he would be glad to be corrected. You know how it is. Any one is liable
to make a mistake.”
“Well, maybe, but just a minute.” Hamilton pulled The Beacon out of the
waste-basket and glanced over it.
“Well, here we say that the German-Jewish bankers started the war.”
“Sure, what about it?”
“I don’t know if it’s true or not, but on our Do You Know card we say
that a secret treaty made by the Pope started the war. Now one of those
statements must be wrong. One must be a lie.”
“No,” said Freeman. “Don’t you see, that Do You Know card is gotten
out by the Tribe? That’s something _we_ say. That article on the
German-Jewish bankers starting the war is simply a re-write of a
statement made by Howard Brooks. The Beacon simply picked it up.
They’re not responsible for Brooks’ views and the Tribe isn’t
responsible for everything The Beacon prints.”
Robert was growing exasperated, but he tried to keep his temper. He
puffed at his cigar in silence for a moment.
“Well, what do _you_ think of that charge by Brooks yourself?” he
finally asked.
Freeman smiled.
“He makes good tires. But, seriously, I’ll tell you. Of course, that
sort of stuff is all right for the yokels. I studied money and banking
at college. I’m not a financial authority or anything like that, but
I know, of course, that the present economic world could not exist
without banks and credit. We deposit our dues in a bank, and I suppose
that Griffith must be financing the Tribe through some bank, although,”
he grinned, “very probably not Kuhn, Loeb and Company.” He threw his
head back and blew a smoke ring into the air.
“Brooks simply says something to the effect that the big international
bankers saw an opportunity to make money by fomenting a war, and
stirred things up. Of course, if Germany could win, any banker who lent
the German government a large sum would naturally make a large profit.
As a matter of fact, though, I think Germany had some scheme of labor
banks, in which the working people themselves deposited.”
“Yes,” said Hamilton. “I think the Germans even used to brag about the
people financing their own war.”
“Of course, there’s no proof that any certain banker did stir up the
war. If there were, I don’t think that the allies would have been
bashful about demanding his surrender. If any German-Jewish or German
anything else clique of bankers had been the cause of the war, they
would have been handed over to some tribunal, because the Versailles
treaty insists on punishment for those guilty of starting the war.
So that’s probably hot air. Of course, bankers backing their country
after it is in the war, is a different matter. It would be first a
matter of loyalty and second of compulsion. The German-Jewish bankers
would naturally support the German government; but that’s a different
thing from starting a war, just as the French-Jewish bankers supported
the French government, the English, the English and the American, the
American. And you could say the same thing about Protestant bankers.”
He puffed a few more rings into the air.
“Ah, I’ve got it. Stinnes. Stinnes.”
“What’s that?”
“Stinnes, the great banker, the friend of the Kaiser, president
of steamship lines, owner of iron and steel monopolies, mills,
factories--the great magnet of Germany. The war made him a colossus, a
rival of Rockefeller in wealth. And he’s a Jew!”
“No, he’s not,” said Robert.
“Of course, he is. Haven’t you ever seen his picture--derby hat pulled
over his forehead. Sort of long nose and black beard? Why he’s a
typical Jew.”
“But he’s a Lutheran,” protested Robert. “I don’t care how he looks.
You got that impression that he was Jewish because the first stories
about him said he was. But in the latest stories that was corrected.
He’s a Lutheran.”
“Are you sure?” Freeman looked crestfallen.
“Absolutely. I can show you the magazine article.”
“No, I believe you. There goes another good point.”
Robert’s eyes suddenly blazed. It was as though something had flared
in his brain. And it angered him. It carried him back to his solitary
attempt at debating.
“You say you are sincere in carrying out the mission of the Trick
Track Tribe,” he cried. “Don’t interrupt me! Yet you sit there like
a lawyer trying to frame up a case against an opponent, or a kid
debater. Anything to win. If you have anything against the Jews or the
Catholics, I want to see it. I don’t care a pig’s ear for any arguments
about what the Jews or the Catholics might do or might have done. I can
make up that sort of stuff myself. The Jews have a plot to assassinate
the President. The Catholics are planning a world-wide revolution.”
Freeman was equally angry.
“Stop! We don’t make such wild assertions.”
“You do,” cried Hamilton. “I’ve simply reversed the charges. Here’s
your statement that ‘the man who shot President Garfield was a Roman
Catholic. The man who shot President Lincoln was a Roman Catholic.’
And in another article you say, or somebody says, that the Jews are
planning to spread Bolshevism throughout the world. When you say that
Roman Catholics killed two presidents, you mean to insinuate that there
is something about Catholicism itself that makes it hostile to American
government, that makes it possible that another Roman Catholic will
later kill another president. If the relation were merely accidental
you wouldn’t mention it. It wouldn’t be logical. You might as well say
that the man who shot McKinley ate onions.”
His voice fell and he leaned forward in his chair confidentially. “This
is the thing that brought it home to me,” he continued. “You were
basing an accusation against the Jews as a people because Stinnes, the
Kaiser’s backer, was supposedly a Jew. Now that it turns out that he’s
a Lutheran, you don’t propose an attack upon Lutherans for causing the
war, do you? Before, you didn’t honestly know that Stinnes had the
slightest connection with the cause of the war. But because you thought
he was a Jew, you would have tricked me into assuming it, so as to make
a point.”
“You’re right,” Freeman agreed finally. “The Tribe can’t afford to use
unfair arguments. It stands for justice first of all. It stands for
pure Americanism. But, first, in order to have it, we must have pure
Americans. You can’t have it with Catholics, Jews, Negroes and aliens.
They don’t belong. They have alien beliefs, customs, traditions. We can
fight them fairly.
“I cannot help being what I am, racially. I am not a Jew, nor a
Catholic, nor a Negro, nor a foreigner. I am an Anglo-Saxon white
man, so ordained by God and so constituted and trained that I cannot
conscientiously take either my politics or my religion from some
secluded ass on the other side of the world.
“Now, if somebody else happens to be a Jew, I can’t help it any more
than he can. Or if he happens to be black I can’t help that either.
If he were born under a foreign flag, I couldn’t help it--but there
is one thing I can do. I can object to his un-American propaganda
being preached in my home or practised in the solemn assembly of real
Americans!”
His voice was eloquent with emotion.
“I have fought for the American flag and, if God so wishes, I am glad
to die for it. But that flag must float over a land untainted by any
alienism. You ask me how I know that Roman Catholics cannot be good
Americans and I ask you to read the oath of the Knights of Columbus. It
requires no further argument. It speaks for itself. You ask me why Jews
cannot become good Americans and I answer because they are aliens by
race, by religion and by tradition.” His voice dropped.
“As for the colored problem: you know more about it than I do. You’ve
grown up with it. But some day I want to show you what Chicago is up
against. I want to take you through the colored belt so that you can
get some idea of how the blacks are pouring into Chicago.”
He went into details. The blacks were becoming self-assertive. They
were walking proudly along the streets. They were demanding social
equality in their publications. They were moving outside the black
belt into white neighborhoods and spoiling property values. They were
sitting next to white men--and even white women!--in the surface and
elevated cars. They were developing professional men and business men,
riding around in automobiles, smoking cigars. But worst of all, they
were competing against white men for jobs.
“You see what’s happening in Washington? The same thing will happen in
Chicago!”