Hank Johnson, Chuck Foster, Dr. Crookman and Gorman Gay, National
Chairman of the Republican National Committee, sat in the physician's
hotel suite conversing in low tones.
"We're having a tough time getting ready for the Fall campaign,"
said Gay. "Unfortunately our friends are not contributing with their
accustomed liberality."
"Can't complain about us, can you?" asked Foster.
"No, no," the politician denied quickly. "You have been most liberal in
the past two years, but then we have done many favors for you, too."
"Yuh sho right, Gay," Hank remarked. "Dem crackahs mighta put us outa
business efen it hadn' bin fo' th' admin'strations suppo't."
"I'm quite sure we deeply appreciate the many favors we've received
from the present administration," added Dr. Crookman.
"We won't need it much longer, though," said Chuck Foster.
"How's that?" asked Gay, opening his half-closed eyes.
"Well, we've done about all the business we can do in this country.
Practically all of the Negroes are white except a couple of thousand
diehards and those in institutions," Chuck informed him.
"Dat's right," said Hank. "An' it sho makes dis heah country lonesome.
Ah ain't seen a brown-skin ooman in so long Ah doan know whut Ah'd do
if Ah seen one."
"That's right, Gay," added Dr. Crookman. "We've about cleaned up the
Negro problem in this country. Next week we're closing all except five
of our sanitariums."
"Well, what about your Lying-In hospitals?" asked Gay.
"Of course we'll have to continue operating them," Crookman replied.
"The women would be in an awful fix if we didn't."
"Now look here," proposed Gay, drawing closer to them and lowering his
voice. "This coming campaign is going to be one of the bitterest in the
history of this country. I fear there will be rioting, shooting and
killing. Those hospitals cannot be closed without tremendous mental
suffering to the womanhood of the country. We want to avoid that and
you want to avoid it, too. Yet, these hospitals will constantly be in
danger. It ought to be worth something to you to have them especially
protected by the forces of the government."
"You would do that anyway, wouldn't you Gay?" asked Crookman.
"Well, it's going to cost us millions of votes to do it, and the
members of the National Executive Committee seem to feel that you ought
to make a very liberal donation to the campaign fund to make up for the
votes we'll lose."
"What would you call a liberal donation?" Crookman inquired.
"A successful campaign cannot be fought this year," Gay replied, "under
twenty millions."
"Man," shouted Hank, "yuh ain't talkin' 'bout dollahs, is yuh?"
"You got it right, Hank," answered the National Chairman. "It'll cost
that much and maybe more."
"Where do you expect to get all of that money?" queried Foster.
"That's just what's worrying us," Gay replied, "and that's why I'm
here. You fellows are rolling in wealth and we need your help. In the
past two years you've collected around ninety million dollars from
the Negro public. Why not give us a good break? You won't miss five
million, and it ought to be worth it to you fellows to defeat the
Democrats."
"Five millions! Great Day," Hank exploded. "Man, is you los' yo' min'?"
"Not at all," Gay denied. "Might as well own up that if we don't get
a contribution of about that size from you we're liable to lose this
election.... Come on, fellows, don't be so tight. Of course, you're
setting pretty and all you've got to do is change your residence to
Europe or some other place if things don't run smoothly in America, but
you want to think of those poor women with their black babies. What
will they do if you fellows leave the country or if the Democrats win
and you have to close all of your places?"
"That's right, Chief," Foster observed. "You can't let the women down."
"Yeah," said Johnson. "Give 'im th' jack."
"Well, suppose we do?" concluded Crookman, smiling.
The National Chairman was delighted. "When can we collect?" he asked,
"and how?"
"Tomorrow, if yuh really wants it then," Johnson observed.
"Now remember," warned Gay. "We cannot afford to let it be known that
we are getting such a large sum from any one person or corporation."
"That's your lookout," said the physician, indifferently. "You know
_we_ won't say anything."
Mr. Gay, shortly afterward, departed to carry the happy news to the
National Executive Committee, then in session right there in New York
City.
* * * * *
The Republicans certainly needed plenty of money to re-elect President
Goosie. The frequent radio addresses of Rev. Givens, the growing
numbers of the Knights of Nordica, the inexplicable affluence of the
Democratic Party and the vitriolic articles in _The Warning_, had not
failed to rouse much Democratic sentiment. People were not exactly for
the Democrats but they were against the Republicans. As early as May it
did not seem possible for the Republicans to carry a single Southern
state and many of the Northern and Eastern strongholds were in doubt.
The Democrats seemed to have everything their way. Indeed, they were so
confident of success that they were already counting the spoils.
When the Democratic Convention met in Jackson, Mississippi, on July 1,
1936, political wise-acres claimed that for the first time in history
the whole program was cut and dried and would be run off smoothly
and swiftly. Such, however, was not the case. The unusually hot sun,
coupled with the enormous quantities of liquor vended, besides the many
conflicting interests present, soon brought dissension.
Shortly after the keynote speech had been delivered by Senator
Kretin, the Anglo-Saxon crowd let it be known that they wanted some
distinguished Southerner like Arthur Snobbcraft nominated for the
Presidency. The Knights of Nordica were intent on nominating Imperial
Grand Wizard Givens. The Northern faction of the party, now reduced to
a small minority in party councils, was holding out for former Governor
Grogan of Massachusetts who as head of the League of Catholic Voters
had a great following.
Through twenty ballots the voting proceeded, and it remained
deadlocked. No faction would yield. Leaders saw that there had to be a
compromise. They retired to a suite on the top floor of the Judge Lynch
Hotel. There, in their shirt sleeves, with collars open, mint juleps on
the table and electric fans stirring up the hot air, they got down to
business. Twelve hours later they were still there.
Matthew, wilted, worn but determined, fought for his chief. Simeon Dump
of the Anglo-Saxon Association swore he would not withdraw the name
of Arthur Snobbcraft. Rev. John Whiffle, a power in the party, gulped
drink after drink, kept dabbing a damp handkerchief at the shining
surface of his skull, and held out for one Bishop Belch. Moses Lejewski
of New York argued obstinately for the nomination of Governor Grogan.
In the meantime the delegates, having left the oven-like convention
hall, either lay panting and drinking in their rooms, sat in the hotel
lobbies discussing the deadlock or cruised the streets in automobiles
confidently seeking the dens of iniquity which they had been told were
eager to lure them into sin.
When the clock struck three, Matthew rose and suggested that since the
Knights of Nordica and the Anglo-Saxon Association were the two most
powerful organizations in the party, Givens should get the presidential
nomination, Snobbcraft the vice-presidential and the other candidates
be assured of cabinet positions. This suggested compromise appealed to
no one except Matthew.
"You people forget," said Simeon Dump, "that the Anglo-Saxon
Association is putting up half the money to finance this campaign."
"And you forget," declared Moses Lejewski, "that we're supporting your
crazy scheme to disfranchise anybody possessing Negro ancestry when
we get into office. That's going to cost us millions of votes in the
North. You fellows can't expect to hog everything."
"Why not?" challenged Dump. "How could you win without money?"
"And how," added Matthew, "can you get anywhere without the Knights of
Nordica behind you?"
"And how," Rev. Whiffle chimed in, "can you get anywhere without the
Fundamentalists and the Drys?"
At four o'clock they had got no farther than they had been at three.
They tried to pick some one not before mentioned, and went over and
over the list of eligibles. None was satisfactory. One was too radical,
another was too conservative, a third was an atheist, a fourth had once
rifled a city treasury, the fifth was of immigrant extraction once
removed, a sixth had married a Jewess, a seventh was an intellectual,
an eighth had spent too long at Hot Springs trying to cure the
syphilis, a ninth was rumored to be part Mexican and a tenth had at one
time in his early youth been a Socialist.
At five o'clock they were desperate, drunk and disgusted. The stuffy
room was a litter of discarded collars, cigarette and cigar butts,
match stems, heaped ash trays and empty bottles. Matthew drank little
and kept insisting on the selection of Rev. Givens. To the sodden and
nodding men he painted marvelous pictures of the spoils of office and
their excellent chance of getting there, and then suddenly declared
that the Knights of Nordica would withdraw unless Givens was nominated.
The threat aroused them. They cursed and called it a holdup, but
Matthew was adamant. As a last stroke, he rose and pretended to be
ready to bolt the caucus. They remonstrated with him and finally gave
in to him.
Orders went out to the delegates. They assembled in the convention
hall. The shepherds of the various state flocks cracked the whip and
the delegates voted accordingly. Late that afternoon the news went out
to a waiting world that the Democrats had nominated Henry Givens for
President and Arthur Snobbcraft for Vice-President. Mr. Snobbcraft
didn't like that at all, but it was better than nothing.
* * * * *
A few days later the Republican convention opened in Chicago. Better
disciplined, as usual, than the Democrats, its business proceeded like
clockwork. President Goosie was nominated for reëlection on the first
ballot and Vice-President Gump was again selected as his running mate.
A platform was adopted whose chief characteristic was vagueness. As
was customary, it stressed the party's record in office, except that
which was criminal; it denounced fanaticism without being specific,
and it emphasized the rights of the individual and the trusts in the
same paragraph. As the Democratic slogan was White Supremacy and its
platform dwelt largely on the necessity of genealogical investigation,
the Republicans adopted the slogan: Personal Liberty and Ancestral
Sanctity.
Dr. Crookman and his associates, listening in on the radio in his suite
in the Robin Hood Hotel in New York City, laughed softly as they heard
the President deliver his speech of acceptance which ended in the
following original manner:
"And finally, my friends, I can only say that we shall continue in
the path of rugged individualism, free from the influence of sinister
interests, upholding the finest ideals of honesty, independence and
integrity, so that, to quote Abraham Lincoln, 'This nation of the
people, for the people and by the people shall not perish from the
earth.'"
"That," said Foster, as the President ceased barking, "sounds almost
like the speech of acceptance of Brother Givens that we heard the other
day."
Dr. Crookman smiled and brushed the ashes off his cigar. "It may even
be the same speech," he suggested.
* * * * *
Through the hot days of July and August the campaign slowly got under
way. Innumerable photographs appeared in the newspapers depicting
the rival candidates among the simple folk of some village, helping
youngsters to pick cherries, assisting an old woman up a stairway,
bathing in the old swimming hole, eating at a barbecue and posing on
the rear platforms of special trains.
Long articles appeared in the Sunday newspapers extolling the simple
virtues of the two great men. Both, it seemed, had come from poor
but honest families; both were hailed as tried and true friends of
the great, common people; both were declared to be ready to give
their strength and intellect to America for the next four years. One
writer suggested that Givens resembled Lincoln, while another declared
that President Goosie's character was not unlike that of Roosevelt,
believing he was paying the former a compliment.
Rev. Givens told the reporters: "It is my intention, if elected,
to carry out the traditional tariff policy of the Democratic Party"
(neither he or anyone else knew what that was).
President Goosie averred again and again, "I intend to make my second
term as honest and efficient as my first." Though a dire threat, this
statement was supposed to be a fine promise.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, Dr. Samuel Buggerie and his operatives were making great
headway examining birth and marriage records throughout the United
States. Around the middle of September the Board of Directors held a
conference at which the learned man presented a partial report.
"I am now prepared to prove," gloated the obese statistician, "that
fully one-quarter of the people of one Virginia county possess
non-white ancestry, Indian or Negro; and we can further prove that
all of the Indians on the Atlantic Coast are part Negro. In several
counties in widely separated parts of the country, we have found
that the ancestry of a considerable percentage of the people is in
doubt. There is reason to believe that there are countless numbers of
people who ought not to be classed with whites and should not mix with
Anglo-Saxons."
It was decided that the statistician should get his data in simple form
that anyone could read and understand, and have it ready to release
just a few days before election. When the people saw how great was
the danger from black blood, it was reasoned, they would flock to the
Democratic standard and it would be too late for the Republicans to
halt the stampede.
* * * * *
No political campaign in the history of the country had ever been
so bitter. On one side were those who were fanatically positive of
their pure Caucasian ancestry; on the other side were those who knew
themselves to be "impure" white or had reason to suspect it. The
former were principally Democratic, the latter Republican. There was
another group which was Republican because it felt that a victory
for the Democrats might cause another Civil War. The campaign roused
acrimonious dispute even within families. Often behind these family
rifts lurked the knowledge or suspicion of a dark past.
As the campaign grew more bitter, denunciations of Dr. Crookman and
his activities grew more violent. A move was started to close all of
his hospitals. Some wanted them to be closed for all time; others
advised their closing for the duration of the campaign. The majority
of thinking people (which wasn't so many) strenuously objected to the
proposal.
"No good purpose will be served by closing these hospitals," declared
the New York _Morning Earth_. "On the contrary such a step might have
tragic results. The Negroes have disappeared into the body of our
citizenry, large numbers have intermarried with the whites and the
offspring of these marriages are appearing in increasing numbers.
Without these hospitals, think how many couples would be estranged; how
many homes wrecked! Instead of taking precipitate action, we should be
patient and move slowly."
Other Northern newspapers assumed an even more friendly attitude, but
the press generally followed the crowd, or led it, and in slightly
veiled language urged the opponents of Black-No-More to take the law
into their hands.
Finally, emboldened and inflamed by fiery editorials, radio addresses,
pamphlets, posters and platform speeches, a mob seeking to protect
white womanhood in Cincinnati attacked a Crookman hospital, drove
several women into the streets and set fire to the building. A dozen
babies were burned to death and others, hastily removed by their
mothers, were recognized as mulattoes. The newspapers published names
and addresses. Many of the women were very prominent socially either in
their own right or because of their husbands.
The nation was shocked as never before. Republican sentiment began to
dwindle. The Republican Executive Committee met and discussed ways
and means of combating the trend. Gorman Gay was at his wits' end.
Nothing, he thought, could save them except a miracle.
Two flights below in a spacious office sat two of the Republican
campaigners, Walter Williams and Joseph Bonds, busily engaged in
leading the other workers (who knew better) to believe that they
were earning the ten dollars a day they were receiving. The former
had passed for a Negro for years on the strength of a part-Negro
grandparent and then gone back to the white race when the National
Social Equality League was forced to cease operations at the insistence
of both the sheriff and the landlord. Joseph Bonds, former head of the
Negro Data League who had once been a Negro but thanks to Dr. Crookman
was now Caucasian and proud of it, had but recently returned to the
North from Atlanta, accompanied by Santop Licorice. Both Mr. Williams
and Mr. Bonds had been unable to stomach the Democratic crowd and so
had fallen in with the Republicans, who were as different from them as
one billiard ball from another. The two gentlemen were in low tones
discussing the dilemma of the Republicans, while rustling papers to
appear busy.
"Jo, if we could figure out something to turn the tables on these
Democrats, we wouldn't have to work for the rest of our lives,"
Williams observed, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke out of the other
corner of his mouth.
"Yes, that's right, Walt, but there ain't a chance in the world. Old
Gay is almost crazy, you know. Came in here slamming doors and snapping
at everybody this morning," Bonds remarked.
Williams leaned closer to him, lowered his flame-thatched head and then
looking to the right and left whispered, "Listen here, do you know
where Beard is?"
"No," answered Bonds, starting and looking around to see if anyone was
listening. "Where is he?"
"Well, I got a letter from him the other day. He's down there in
Richmond doing research work for the Anglo-Saxon Association under that
Dr. Buggerie."
"Do they know who he is?"
"Of course they don't. He's been white quite a while now, you know, and
of course they'd never connect him with the Dr. Shakespeare A. Beard
who used to be one of their most outspoken enemies."
"Well, what about it?" persisted Bonds, eagerly. "Do you think he might
know something on the Democrats that might help?"
"He might. We could try him out anyway. If he knows anything he'll
spill it because he hates that crowd."
"How will you get in touch with him quickly? Write to him?"
"Certainly not," growled Williams. "I'll get expenses from Gay for the
trip. He'll fall for anything now."
He rose and made for the elevator. Five minutes later he was standing
before his boss, the National Chairman, a worried, gray little man with
an aldermanic paunch and a convict's mouth.
"What is it, Williams?" snapped the Chairman.
"I'd like to get expenses to Richmond," said Williams. "I have a friend
down there in Snobbcraft's office and he might have some dope we can
use to our advantage."
"Scandal?" asked Mr. Gay, brightening.
"Well, I don't know right now, of course, but this fellow is a very
shrewd observer and in six months' time he ought to have grabbed
something that'll help us out of this jam."
"Is he a Republican or a Democrat?"
"Neither. He's a highly trained and competent social student. You
couldn't expect him to be either," Williams observed. "But I happen to
know that he hasn't got any money to speak of, so for a consideration
I'm sure he'll spill everything he knows, if anything."
"Well, its a gamble," said Gay, doubtfully, "but any port in a storm."
Williams left Washington immediately for Richmond. That night he sat in
a cramped little room of the former champion of the darker races.
"What are you doing down there, Beard?" asked Williams, referring to
the headquarters of the Anglo-Saxon Association.
"Oh, I'm getting, or helping to get, that data of Buggerie's into
shape."
"What data? You told me you were doing research work. Now you say
you're arranging data. Have they finished collecting it?"
"Yes, we finished that job some time ago. Now we're trying to get the
material in shape for easy digestion."
"What do you mean: easy digestion?" queried Williams. "What are you
fellows trying to find out and why must it be so easily digested. You
fellows usually try to make your stuff unintelligible to the herd."
"This is different," said Beard, lowering his voice to almost a
whisper. "We're under a pledge of secrecy. We have been investigating
the family trees of the nation and so far, believe me, we certainly
have uncovered astounding facts. When I'm finally discharged, which
will probably be after election, I'm going to peddle some of that
information. Snobbcraft and even Buggerie are not aware of the
inflammatory character of the facts we've assembled." He narrowed his
foxy eyes greedily.
"Is it because they've been planning to release some of it that they
want it in easily digestible form, as you say?" pressed Williams.
"That's it exactly," declared Beard, stroking his now clean-shaven
face. "I overheard Buggerie and Snobbcraft chuckling about it only a
day or two ago."
"Well, there must be a whole lot of it," insinuated Williams, "if
they've had all of you fellows working for six months. Where all did
you work?"
"Oh, all over. North as well as South. We've got a whole basement vault
full of index cards."
"I guess they're keeping close watch over it, aren't they?" asked
Williams.
"Sure. It would take an army to get in that vault."
"Well, I guess they don't want anything to happen to the stuff before
they spring it," observed the man from Republican headquarters.
Soon afterward Williams left Dr. Beard, took a stroll around the
Anglo-Saxon Association's stately headquarters building, noted the
half-dozen tough looking guards about it and then caught the last train
for the capital city. The next morning he had a long talk with Gorman
Gay.
"It's okeh, Jo," he whispered to Bonds, later, as he passed his desk.