We shall never forget being in Washington when the great celebration
was held in honour of the Unknown Citizen.
The day was proclaimed a National Fête. On that day the Unknown
Citizen--chosen after long investigation by a secret committee sworn to
silence--arrived at the Union Station. He and his wife had been quietly
lured away from their home on a plausible pretext and then kidnapped
into a gaudy special train, where everything had been explained to
them. Halts had been made at big cities en route for the crowds to pay
homage.
It would take too long to describe the clever selective process by
which the Citizen had been chosen. Suffice it to say that he was a
typical _homo Americanus_--a worthy and slightly battered creature, who
had raised a family of four children and plugged along at his job and
paid his taxes and cranked his flivver and set up a radio on the roof
and planted sunflowers in the back yard and lent his wife a hand at
the washing and frequently mended the kitchen stove-pipe. He had never
broken open the china pigs containing the children’s money.
We saw him arrive at the great station in Washington. He was strangely
troubled and anxious, a bit incredulous, too, believing this was all
some sort of put-up job. Also, somewhere on the train he had lost
one of his elastic sleeve-suspenders, and one cuff kept on falling
round his wrist. He walked uneasily along the red velvet carpet and
was greeted by President Harding and the Ambassadors of Foreign
Powers. Mr. Sousa’s band was there, and struck up an uproarious anthem
composed for the occasion. The tactful committee of Daughters of the
American Bourgeoisie had made all arrangements and taken all possible
precautions. It had been feared that perhaps the Citizen’s Wife might
be overcome, and an ambulance was waiting behind potted palms in
case of any emergency. But it is always the unexpected that happens.
It was Senator Lodge, who had been appointed to read the telegrams
from prominent people, who swooned. President Harding, with kindly
readiness, stepped into the breach. As they were handed to him he read
aloud the messages from M. Clemenceau, Mr. Lloyd George, William Allen
White, Samuel Gompers, Dr. Frank Crane, President Ebert, Paul Poiret,
M. Paderewski, M. Venizelos, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Isaac
Marcosson. Mr. Harding then spoke in the most friendly and charming
way, appraising the value of preserved nationality, the solid virtue of
the Founding Fathers, and the services of the Unknown Citizen to his
country.
For a moment there was an awkward pause, but the Citizen’s Wife,
evidently a strong-minded woman, nudged him sharply, and the Citizen
tottered forward. Fortunately some New York newspaper men had been
on the train with him, and had written a little speech for him to
deliver. He read it, a bit tremulously. It stated that he was aware
this tribute was not meant for him personally, but for the great body
of middle-class citizenship he had been chosen to represent. There was
great speculation in the audience as to what part of the country the
Citizen came from: his accent was perhaps a trifle Hoosierish, but
wiseacres insisted that his general fixings were plainly Sears-Roebuck
and not identifiable with any section.
Accompanied by a troop of cavalry and the national colours, the
Unknown Citizen was taken to the Capitol, where Congress, convened
in joint session, awaited to do him honour. He was presented to the
great body by Senator Lodge, who had now completely recovered. After
being introduced, the Citizen stammered a few words of embarrassment.
During the buffet lunch in the lobbies, however, he began to pluck up
heart, for he found the Congressmen very human. He even ventured to
express, very politely, a few sentiments about the bonus, the tariff,
the income tax, the shipping subsidy, and the coal strike. Gathering
confidence, he might have grown almost eloquent over these topics, but
the Senatorial committee, foreseeing trouble, hastened him along to
see the gifts that had been sent from all over the world. They were
all laid out for inspection. Henry Ford had sent a new sedan, with a
self-starter and the arms of the United States gilded on the door.
William Randolph Hearst had sent a bound volume of Arthur Brisbane’s
editorials. The Prince of Wales, perhaps misunderstanding the exact
nature of the ceremony, had sent a solid gold punch bowl engraved _Dieu
et Mon Drought_. The Premier of New Zealand had sent a live kangaroo.
The Bailiff of Angora had sent a large silky goat. Mayor Hylan had sent
a signed photograph of himself wearing overalls. The Shipping Board
had sent a silver flask. But we have not space for the full list of
presents.
Tea was served at the White House. All the _corps diplomatique_ were
there, and were presented to the Citizen and his Wife. It was a great
afternoon. The Marine Band played in the garden; Senator Borah and
William Jennings Bryan, beginning to see a sort of prickly heat burn
out upon the Unknown Citizen’s forehead, tactfully played a tennis
match to keep the crowd in good humour. Laddie Boy, wagging his tail
vigorously, kept at the Unknown Citizen’s heels and did much to cheer
him. The Unknown Citizen liked Mr. Harding greatly and found him easy
to talk to; but some of the Special Representatives from abroad, such
as Mr. Balfour and M. Tardieu, he found difficult.
The monument in Potomac Park was dedicated at sunset. After that the
committee on Savoir Faire, observing the wilted collar of the Unknown
Citizen, thought it the truest courtesy to let him escape. We ourself
managed to follow him through the crowds. He and his wife looked
nervously over their shoulders now and then, but they had shaken off
pursuit. At a little stationery store they bought some postcards. Then
they went to the movies.
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