"Bunny, I've got it all worked out," announced Matthew, several
mornings later, as he breezed into the office.
"Got what worked out?"
"The political proposition."
"Spill it."
"Well, here it is: First, we get Givens on the radio; national hookup,
you know, once a week for about two months."
"What'll he talk about? Are you going to write it for him?"
"Oh, he knows how to charm the yokels. He'll appeal to the American
people to call upon the Republican administration to close up the
sanitariums of Dr. Crookman and deport everybody connected with
Black-No-More."
"You can't deport citizens, silly," Bunny remonstrated.
"That don't stop you from advocating it. This is politics, Big Boy."
"Well, what else is on the program?"
"Next: We start a campaign of denunciation against the Republicans
in _The Warning_, connecting them with the Pope, Black-No-More and
anything else we can think of."
"But they were practically anti-Catholic in 1928, weren't they?"
"Seven years ago, Bunny, seven years ago. How often must I tell
you that the people never remember anything? Next we pull the old
Write-to-your-Congressman-Write-to-your-Senator stuff. We carry the
form letter in _The Warning_, the readers do the rest."
"You can't win a campaign on that stuff, alone," said Bunny
disdainfully. "Bring me something better than that, Brother."
"Well, the other step is a surprise, old chap. I'm going to keep it
under my hat until later on. But when I spring it, old timer, it'll
knock everybody for a row of toadstools." Matthew smiled mysteriously
and smoothed back his pale blond hair.
"When do we start this radio racket?" yawned Bunny.
"Wait'll I talk it over with the Chief," said Matthew, rising, "and see
how he's dated up."
* * * * *
The following Thursday evening at 8:15 p.m. millions of people sat
before their loud speakers, expectantly awaiting the heralded address
to the nation by the Imperial Grand Wizard of the Knights of Nordica.
The program started promptly:
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience. This is
Station W H A T, Atlanta, Ga., Mortimer K. Shanker announcing. This
evening we are offering a program of tremendous interest to every
American citizen. The countrywide hookup over the chain of the Moronia
Broadcasting Company is enabling one hundred million citizens to hear
one of the most significant messages ever delivered to the American
public.
"Before introducing the distinguished speaker of the evening, however,
I have a little treat in store for you. Mr. Jack Albert, the well-known
Broadway singer and comedian, has kindly consented to render his
favorite among the popular songs of the day, 'Vanishing Mammy.' Mr.
Albert will be accompanied by that incomparable aggregation of musical
talent, Sammy Snort's Bogalusa Babies.... Come on, Al, say a word or
two to the ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience before you begin."
"Oh, hello folks. Awfully glad to see so many of you out there tonight.
Well, that is to say, I suppose there are many of you out there. You
know I like to flatter myself, besides I haven't my glasses so I can't
see very well. However, that's not the pint, as the bootleggers say.
I'm terribly pleased to have the opportunity of starting off a program
like this with one of the songs I have come to love best. You know, I
think a whole lot of this song. I like it because it has feeling and
sentiment. It means something. It carries you back to the good old
days that are dead and gone forever. It was written by Johnny Gulp with
music by the eminent Japanese-American composer, Forkrise Sake. And, as
Mr. Shanker told you, I am being accompanied by Sammy Snort's Bogalusa
Babies through the courtesy of the Artillery Café, Chicago, Illinois.
All right, Sammy, smack it!"
In two seconds the blare of the jazz orchestra smote the ears of the
unseen audience with the weird medley and clash of sound that had
passed for music since the days of the Panama-Pacific Exposition.
Then the sound died to a whisper and the plaintive voice of America's
premier black-faced troubadour came over the air:
Vanishing Mammy, Mammy! Mammy! of Mine,
You've been away, dear, such an awfully long time.
You went away, Sweet Mammy! Mammy! one summer night
I can't help thinkin', Mammy, that you went white.
Of course I can't blame you, Mammy! Mammy! dear
Because you had so many troubles, Mammy, to bear.
But the old homestead hasn't been the same
Since I last heard you, Mammy, call my name.
And so I wait, loving Mammy, it seems in vain,
For you to come waddling back home again
Vanishing Mammy! Mammy! Mammy!
I'm waiting for you to come back home again.
"Now, radio audience, this is Mr. Mortimer Shanker speaking again. I
know you all loved Mr. Albert's soulful rendition of 'Vanishing Mammy.'
We're going to try to get him back again in the very near future.
"It now gives me great pleasure to introduce to you a man who hardly
needs any introduction. A man who is known throughout the civilized
world. A man of great scholarship, executive ability and organizing
genius. A man who has, practically unassisted, brought five million
Americans under the banner of one of the greatest societies in this
country. It affords me great pleasure, ladies and gentlemen of the
radio audience, to introduce Rev. Henry Givens, Imperial Grand Wizard
of the Knights of Nordica, who will address you on the very timely
topic of 'The Menace of Negro Blood'."
Rev. Givens, fortified with a slug of corn, advanced nervously to the
microphone, fingering his prepared address. He cleared his throat and
talked for upwards of an hour during which time he successfully avoided
saying anything that was true, the result being that thousands of
telegrams and long distance telephone calls of congratulation came in
to the studio. In his long address he discussed the foundations of
the Republic, anthropology, psychology, miscegenation, coöperation
with Christ, getting right with God, curbing Bolshevism, the bane of
birth control, the menace of the Modernists, science versus religion,
and many other subjects of which he was totally ignorant. The greater
part of his time was taken up in a denunciation of Black-No-More,
Incorporated, and calling upon the Republican administration of
President Harold Goosie to deport the vicious Negroes at the head of it
or imprison them in the federal penitentiary. When he had concluded "In
the name of our Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, Amen," he retired
hastily to the washroom to finish his half-pint of corn.
The announcer took Rev. Givens's place at the microphone:
"Now friends, this is Mortimer K. Shanker again, announcing from
Station W H A T, Atlanta, Ga., with a nationwide hookup over the chain
of the Moronia Broadcasting Company. You have just heard a scholarly
and inspiring address by Rev. Henry Givens, Imperial Grand Wizard of
the Knights of Nordica on 'The Menace of Negro Blood.' Rev. Givens will
deliver another address at this station a week from tonight.... Now,
to end our program for the evening, friends, we are going to have a
popular song by the well-known Goyter Sisters, lately of the State
Street Follies, entitled 'Why Did the Old Salt Shaker'...."
* * * * *
The agitation of the Knights of Nordica soon brought action from the
administration at Washington. About ten days after Rev. Givens had
ceased his talks over the radio, President Harold Goosie announced
to the assembled newspaper men that he was giving a great deal of
study to the questions raised by the Imperial Grand Wizard concerning
Black-No-More, Incorporated; that several truckloads of letters
condemning the corporation had been received at the White House and
were now being answered by a special corps of clerks; that several
Senators had talked over the matter with him, and that the country
could expect him to take some action within the next fortnight.
At the end of a fortnight, the President announced that he had decided
to appoint a commission of leading citizens to study the whole question
thoroughly and to make recommendations. He asked Congress for an
appropriation of $100,000 to cover the expenses of the commission.
The House of Representatives approved a resolution to that effect a
week later. The Senate, which was then engaged in a spirited debate on
the World Court and the League of Nations, postponed consideration of
the resolution for three weeks. When it came to vote before that august
body, it was passed, after long argument, with amendments and returned
to the House.
Six weeks after President Goosie had made his request of Congress, the
resolution was passed in its final form. He then announced that inside
of a week he would name the members of the commission.
The President kept his word. He named the commission, consisting of
seven members, five Republicans and two Democrats. They were mostly
politicians temporarily out of a job.
In a private car the commission toured the entire country, visiting all
of the Black-No-More sanitariums, the Crookman Lying-in Hospitals and
the former Black Belts. They took hundreds of depositions, examined
hundreds of witnesses and drank large quantities of liquor.
Two months later they issued a preliminary report in which they
pointed out that the Black-No-More sanitariums and Lying-in Hospitals
were being operated within the law; that only one million Negroes
remained in the country; that it was illegal in most of the states for
pure whites and persons of Negro ancestry to intermarry but that it
was difficult to detect fraud because of collusion. As a remedy the
Commission recommended stricter observance of the law, minor changes
in the marriage laws, the organization of special matrimonial courts
with trained genealogists attached to each, better equipped judges,
more competent district attorneys, the strengthening of the Mann Act,
the abolition of the road house, the closer supervision of dance halls,
a stricter censorship on books and moving pictures and government
control of cabarets. The commission promised to publish the complete
report of its activities in about six weeks.
Two months later, when practically everyone had forgotten that there
had ever been such an investigation, the complete report of the
commission, comprising 1789 pages in fine print came off the press.
Copies were sent broadcast to prominent citizens and organizations.
Exactly nine people in the United States read it: the warden of a
county jail, the proofreader at the Government Printing Office, the
janitor of the City Hall in Ashtabula, Ohio, the city editor of the
Helena (Ark.) _Bugle_, a stenographer in the Department of Health of
Spokane, Wash., a dishwasher in a Bowery restaurant, a flunky in the
office of the Research Director of Black-No-More, Incorporated, a life
termer in Clinton Prison at Dannemora, N. Y., and a gag writer on the
staff of a humorous weekly in Chicago.
Matthew received fulsome praise from the members of his organization
and the higher-ups in the Southern Democracy. He had, they said,
forced the government to take action, and they began to talk of him for
public office.
The Grand Exalted Giraw was jubilant. Everything, he told Bunny, had
gone as he had planned. Now he was ready to turn the next trick.
"What's that?" asked his assistant, looking up from the morning comic
section.
"Ever hear of the Anglo-Saxon Association of America?" Matthew queried.
"No, what's their graft?"
"It isn't a graft, you crook. The Anglo-Saxon Association of America is
an organization located in Virginia. The headquarters are in Richmond.
It's a group of rich highbrows who can trace their ancestry back almost
two hundred years. You see they believe in white supremacy the same
as our outfit but they claim that the Anglo-Saxons are the cream of
the white race and should maintain the leadership in American social,
economic and political life."
"You sound like a college professor," sneered Bunny.
"Don't insult me, you tripe. Listen now: This crowd thinks they're too
highbrow to come in with the Knights of Nordica. They say our bunch are
morons."
"That about makes it unanimous," commented Bunny, biting off the end of
a cigar.
"Well, what I'm trying to do now is to bring these two organizations
together. We've got numbers but not enough money to win an election;
they have the jack. If I can get them to see the light we'll win the
next Presidential election hands down."
"What'll I be: Secretary of the Treasury?" laughed Bunny.
"Over my dead body!" Matthew replied, reaching for his flask. "But
seriously, Old Top, if I can succeed in putting this deal over we'll
have the White House in a bag. No fooling!"
"When do we get busy?"
"Next week this Anglo-Saxon Association has its annual meeting in
Richmond. You and I'll go up there and give them a spiel. We may take
Givens along to add weight."
"You don't mean intellectual weight, do you?"
"Will you never stop kidding?"
* * * * *
Mr. Arthur Snobbcraft, President of the Anglo-Saxon Association, an
F. F. V. and a man suspiciously swarthy for an Anglo-Saxon, had devoted
his entire life to fighting for two things: white racial integrity and
Anglo-Saxon supremacy. It had been very largely a losing fight. The
farther he got from his goal, the more desperate he became. He had been
the genius that thought up the numerous racial integrity laws adopted
in Virginia and many of the other Southern states. He was strong for
sterilization of the unfit: meaning Negroes, aliens, Jews and other
riff raff, and he had an abiding hatred of democracy.
Snobbcraft's pet scheme now was to get a genealogical law passed
disfranchising all people of Negro or unknown ancestry. He argued that
good citizens could not be made out of such material. His organization
had money but it needed popularity--numbers.
His joy then knew no bounds when he received Matthew's communication.
While he had no love for the Knights of Nordica which, he held,
contained just the sort of people he wanted to legislate into
impotency, social, economic and physical, he believed he could use them
to gain his point. He wired Matthew at once, saying the Association
would be delighted to have him address them, as well as the Imperial
Grand Wizard.
The Grand Exalted Giraw had long known of Snobbcraft's obsession, the
genealogical law. He also knew that there was no chance of ever getting
such a law adopted but in order to even try to pass such a law it would
be necessary to win the whole country in a national election. Together,
his organization and Snobbcraft's could turn the trick; singly neither
one could do it.
In an old pre-Civil War mansion on a broad, tree-shaded boulevard, the
directors of the Anglo-Saxon Association gathered in their annual
meeting. They listened first to Rev. Givens and next to Matthew. The
matter was referred to a committee which in an hour or two reported
favorably. Most of these men had dreamed from youth of holding high
political office at the national capital as had so many eminent
Virginians but none of them was Republican, of course, and the
Democrats never won anything nationally. By swallowing their pride for
a season and joining with the riff raff of the Knights of Nordica, they
saw an opportunity, for the first time in years to get into power; and
they took it. They would furnish plenty of money, they said, if the
other group would furnish the numbers.
Givens and Matthew returned to Atlanta in high spirits.
"I tell you, Brother Fisher," croaked Givens, "our star is ascending. I
can see no way for us to fail, with God's help. We'll surely defeat our
enemy. Victory is in the air."
"It sure looks that way," the Grand Giraw agreed. "With their money and
ours, we can certainly get together a larger campaign fund than the
Republicans."
Back in Richmond Mr. Snobbcraft and his friends were in conference with
the statistician of a great New York insurance company. This man, Dr.
Samuel Buggerie, was highly respected among members of his profession
and well known by the reading public. He was the author of several
books and wrote frequently for the heavier periodicals. His well-known
work, _The Fluctuation of the Sizes of Left Feet among the Assyrians
during the Ninth Century before Christ_ had been favorably commented
upon by several reviewers, one of whom had actually read it. An even
more learned work of his was entitled _Putting Wasted Energy to Work_,
in which he called attention, by elaborate charts and graphs, to the
possibilities of harnessing the power generated by the leaves of trees
rubbing together on windy days. In several brilliant monographs he
had proved that rich people have smaller families than the poor; that
imprisonment does not stop crime; that laborers usually migrate in the
wake of high wages. His most recent article in a very intellectual
magazine read largely by those who loafed for a living, he had proved
statistically that unemployment and poverty are principally a state
of mind. This contribution was enthusiastically hailed by scholars
and especially by business men as an outstanding contribution to
contemporary thought.
Dr. Buggerie was a ponderous, nervous, entirely bald, specimen of
humanity, with thick moist hands, a receding double chin and very
prominent eyes that were constantly shifting about and bearing an
expression of seemingly perpetual wonderment behind their big
horn-rimmed spectacles. He seemed about to burst out of his clothes and
his pockets were always bulging with papers and notes.
Dr. Buggerie, like Mr. Snobbcraft, was a professional Anglo-Saxon as
well as a descendant of one of the First Families of Virginia. He held
that the only way to tell the pure whites from the imitation whites,
was to study their family trees. He claimed that such a nationwide
investigation would disclose the various non-Nordic strains in the
population. Laws, said he, should then be passed forbidding these
strains from mixing or marrying with the pure strains that had produced
such fine specimens of mankind as Mr. Snobbcraft and himself.
In high falsetto voice he eagerly related to the directors of the
Anglo-Saxon Association the results of some of his preliminary
researches. These tended to show, he claimed, that there must be as
many as twenty million people in the United States who possessed some
slight non-Nordic strain and were thus unfit for both citizenship
and procreation. If the organization would put up the money for the
research on a national scale, he declared that he could produce
statistics before election that would be so shocking that the
Republicans would lose the country unless they adopted the Democratic
plank on genealogical examinations. After a long and eloquent talk by
Mr. Snobbcraft in support of Dr. Buggerie's proposition, the directors
voted to appropriate the money, on condition that the work be kept as
secret as possible. The statistician agreed although it hurt him to the
heart to forego any publicity. The very next morning he began quietly
to assemble his staff.