The following is a chapter from my book "The Peacemaker" available at http://kentuckywoman.net. Peter Clark a World War I veteran takes part in the Bonus March on Washington, D.C. with his son Irving to demand payment of the bonus money allotted to World War I veterans by Congress in 1932.
“Why do you smoke those
things?
You know they only make
things worse!” Peter Clark looked at his son and threw his cigarette from the
window of his 1927 Model A Ford as he drove along the eastern seaboard of the United States toward Washington, D.C. The engine of the bright red two door coupe
purred quietly. Peter’s raspy, irritated voice wasn’t so calm.
“I brought you on this trip to be company for me,
not nag like your mother,” he said. “Everybody seems to know what I should do,
but nobody offers any help. This damn depression.
Can’t find work even if I was able, so why
shouldn’t I have some enjoyment, huh?”
“Sorry, Pop, but I just hate to see you sick all the
time,” said Irving. Peter started to cough uncontrollably and pulled the car
over to the side of the road. Irving slid over into the driver’s seat as his
father wiped the excess brown spittle from his mouth and reached for the flask
that he kept strapped to his leg. He offered a swig to his son. Irving took a
long drink. It wasn’t quite as tasty as he expected, but he smiled in his best
grown up way and said, “Thanks.” Irving
handed his father the flask as Peter got in on the passenger side of the car.
Irving pulled the car onto the road and drove with the confidence of someone
who had been driving much longer.
“That stuff burns too, but not for long,” said
Peter. “Pretty soon that damn Prohibition will be repealed. That’s about the
only good thing happened in this country since ’29.” Peter looked at his
fifteen year-old son. Irving still looked much the same as he had in ’29. That
thick, red hair that had distinguished the Clark
men for as long as he could remember – all the way back to his son’s namesake,
Peter’s great-great grandfather who had been taken prisoner of war during the
War of 1812. Irving
still had that boyish face full of freckles and the long, skinny body of
someone a little younger. The only sign of a budding man was the slight growth
of hair above his mouth, hardly noticeable because of its light color. Irving
had stifled a slight grimace when he swallowed the whiskey, anxious to prove
his manhood to his father. Peter was actually more of an older, rebellious
brother than a father.
After Peter returned from the Great War, he moved
his wife and two young sons back to New York where they lived with Abraham and
Claire. Peter’s chronic lung condition prevented him from hard labor, but
Abraham employed him as a salesman in his Ford Dealership. The twenties were
roaring; there was a “chicken in every pot” as well as a Ford Model A. Peter
was an apt salesman who liked the high class, easy living of the Jazz Age. Much
to the family’s dismay, Peter spent a great deal of time at the local
speakeasies. Mary complained all the time about his drinking and carousing, but
that only made him want to be away from home more. His heavy drinking also
exacerbated the deterioration in his lungs.
Abraham
became surrogate father to Irving and young Abraham as well as daughter Faye,
born in 1921. Irving
learned to adhere to the simple abundance lifestyle of Abraham and Claire, but
he had a great curiosity about the world he began to learn about through the
radio and the movies. That must be what his father’s world was like, he
thought. Irving
was happy that his father had invited him on this trip. This was his chance to
explore that world he had only dreamed of before.
Irving
loved to tinker with machines, taking them apart and putting them back
together, just to see how they worked. When he was just eight years old, his
mother found him in the parlor with the family radio taken apart. Abraham had
sat with him until they reassembled the entire radio. Abraham was amazed at
young Irving’s ability to understand how things worked, and he encouraged that
in the youngster. By the time of the stock market crash, Irving knew enough
about car engines to begin helping Abraham in the repair shop opened in the
space that used to house the new cars. In addition to helping with the cars, Irving started his own
little radio repair business on the side.
The Schmidt/Clark household had fared better than
most as the country slid into the Great Depression of the 1930’s. The repair
business brought in a moderate income. In addition, Abraham, with help from the
rest of the Schmidt family, had built his own home, so there was no mortgage to
pay when their business failed. Claire
and Mary also kept a garden that provided plenty of food. Irving knew there
were others not so fortunate, but his knowledge was limited to the men who
often appeared at their back door asking for food. They were never refused.
Many times they not only ate a hearty meal with the family, they also left with
a bag of whatever had been picked that morning.
Irving
knew the trip he was taking with his father had something to do with getting
some kind of money from the government, but he really didn’t understand it. He
thought taking a trip with his father would be fun. Irving was entering puberty
and curious about the world his father knew that was so different from the
simple Quaker family life of Abraham Schmidt. After the initial burn of the alcohol
turned to a soothing, warm tingle in his body, Irving began to understand why
his father was happy Prohibition was over. “Can I have another drink?” he
asked.
“Not while you’re driving, Son. Too dangerous.” Peter actually just wanted to save the rest
of the flask for himself. They still had quite a way to go to get to Washington and Peter
knew it would take a little time to find the money and the means to get a
refill. Peter had come to rely on the drink that was a two edged sword, both
comforting and deadly at the same time. Peter had stopped caring, however. He
had been dealt an early death sentence when he was gassed in 1918. He thought
he might as well go out in style. That’s why he was making this trip to
Washington. It was time the government paid him what he was due so that he
could spend the money before he died.
Peter and Irving were on their way to Washington,
D.C. to join thousands of other World War I veterans in the Bonus Expeditionary
March to persuade Congress to pass the Patman Bonus Bill that would release
money for early payment on the certificates that had been given to war veterans
in 1918 in appreciation for their service in the Great War. The certificates
were not supposed to mature until 1945, but thousands of veterans were homeless
and suffering and needed payment now.
“Think this
trip will do any good, Pop?”
“No harm in
tryin’, Son. Lots of good men out there who suffered for this country. Now they
need some help. Carrying around a promise of money in 1945 ain’t gonna help them
pay their mortgages now. You know this march started in Portland, Oregon on the
other side of the country. Group of veterans started out walkin’ over two
months ago to git to Washington in time for the vote on this bill. Them guys
are already homeless. I read one of ‘em told a reporter, ‘We were heroes in
1917, but we’re bums now. Can’t even feed our families.’ Good men living in
cardboard houses they call Hooverville after the President. We paid our dues.
Time for the government to pay us.”
“I s’pect so, Pop. Where you think we all will stay
once we get there. We gonna sleep in the car?”
“Well, Son, we’ll see when we get there. Maybe we’ll
build us a cardboard house,” he laughed. The alcohol soon began to take effect
and Peter fell sound asleep. Around midnight as Irving approached the border of
Maryland, he decided he needed to find a place to stop for the night. He saw
some lights in the distance and turned off the main road in the direction of
the lights. At the end of the road, there was a gasoline station with a small
diner next to it. Both were closed. Irving pulled into the parking lot, stopped
the car and got two thin blankets from the car’s trunk. He covered his father with one and then fell
asleep in the back seat. Before he knew it, he felt his father’s hand on his
shoulder. “Wake up, Son. Let’s go git somethin’ to eat.”
Irving sat
up and looked around. The parking lot that had been empty the night before was
now full. There were several delivery trucks and a couple of cars that looked
as though they belonged to traveling salesmen. The two found two empty seats at
the counter. A waitress appeared from the area in the back that was obviously
the kitchen. Irving could smell bacon and eggs and coffee cooking. It reminded
him of home. He was suddenly homesick as well as stiff from the long time in
the car. “You sure are lucky you’re wearin’ that uniform,” said the waitress as
she looked at Peter. Irving
figured she was about the same age as Claire. She had her graying hair pulled
up in a hair net. Her features were hard, not soft like Claire’s or his
mother’s. Her eyes were dark and uninviting and her upper teeth protruded
slightly over the lower ones. Irving
decided that’s why she didn’t smile.
“What do you mean?” asked Peter.
“My husband saw the uniform and figured you was one
of them vet’rans goin’ into Washington.
That’s why he left you alone when he discovered you in the lot this morning.
Lots of men been passin’ through the last few days. Most of them beggin’ food.
We already gave all we can give. Fraid we can’t help you if you don’t have any
money.”
Peter looked at Irving. He knew his son had some
money. Irving always managed to scare up some money. The two still had some
sandwiches and fruit they had brought with them stored under the spare tire in
the trunk, but Peter’s mouth watered as he smelled the fresh coffee and bacon.
“We got enough for some coffee and eggs,” said Irving.
“How you want those eggs?”
“Over medium for both and make sure the coffee’s
nice and hot,” said Peter.
It was early May in 1932 and the country was mired
in the worst economic depression anyone could remember. In fact, the entire
world was suffering. Bread lines were long and homeless men wandered around the
country riding the rails and living in hobo camps while looking for work. Men
appeared daily at the Schmidt/Clark household looking for work or food. No one
was ever denied a meal, but more and more people were facing starvation,
especially those who lived in the big urban centers. Therefore, as Peter and
Irving were ordering breakfast a few miles outside Washington, some 43,000 people – 17,000
World War I veterans and their families and friends - were descending on the
city at the same time. Some rode in cars or filled trucks. Some rode the rails
or buses. A large number walked for days without food or rest. The starving,
dirty and disheveled crowd had set up camp at various places around the city.
The waitress brought two plates of eggs with
buttered toast and jam. She poured two steaming hot cups of coffee. Once again,
Irving felt a
wave of homesickness as he put the cup to his lips. The waitress noticed their
surprise at the toast. “Don’t worry. The toast and jam’s on the house. Our way
of sayin’ thanks even if the government don’t.” Peter nodded in appreciation.
When the two finished their meal, Peter went to the washroom in the back and
cleaned up a bit while Irving
paid the bill and filled the car with gasoline. Peter came out with a fresh
pack of cigarettes. Irving
scowled.
“Woman’s husband gave me these,” he said. “Didn’t
pay for ‘em. You have all the dough anyway.” Irving shook his head and went to the
washroom and cleaned up a bit. Soon, the two were back on the road to D.C. As
they approached the city, Irving
began to notice a great deal more traffic on the road. He saw cars as well as
trucks. Many of the cars were painted with signs
that said Bonus Expeditionary Force. There were
trucks with the back panel pulled down full of men some sitting with their legs
dangling over the back. Some of the men had on old army boots, but many of them
were barefooted. Irving
heard the strains of Over There as
one truck passed and the men waved and cheered. There were groups of men and
women and small children walking on the side of the road. When one young girl
stumbled, Peter pulled over and offered the grateful family a ride. When they
got in the car, the small girl said, “Have you got anything to eat? I ain’t eat
today.”
Irving
thought about the food hidden in the trunk. He looked at the hungry family. It
was obvious none of them had eaten. In fact, most of the people on the road
were probably hungry. What good would it do to get those sandwiches out, he
thought. Probably just start more trouble, so he said, “Sorry. We ate the last
of our food this morning.’” The little girl sat back and stuck her thumb in her
mouth as her mother rocked her, grateful to at least have a ride. The car moved
through the throng of people like a hearse in a funeral procession. The walkers
were much more somber than those riding. The silence hung in the air like the
quiet before a storm. Soon, Irving noticed a
strange collection of huts and shacks near the mud flats across from the Anacostia River. He knew they must be approaching
Hooverville. Peter found a fairly open area where he could park the car. He
wanted to keep it in sight and not get too far from it. He was afraid of what
could happen. Once the group reached Hooverville, the silence was broken.
People seemed to be rushing in the direction of a truck
that was meandering slowly through the spaces between cardboard houses with tin
roofs or old army blankets strung over junk wire to make a tent. When the truck
paused, Irving
could make out what the fuss was all about. Someone inside the truck was
passing out sandwiches to the crowd! “Hey, Pop. Wait here. I’m going to get us
a sandwich,” said Irving.
Irving pushed
and shoved his way through the crowd that was surprisingly orderly considering
the fact that most of them had not eaten at all that day or maybe even longer.
When Irving got to the front
of the line, he heard someone say, “Be patient. We have enough for all of you.”
He stood and waited while one of those serving went behind the tent to get more
sandwiches.
That’s when he heard a whispered voice saying, “Did
you smell that nasty odor? What do people expect if they can’t keep themselves
clean?” Despite the polite smile on the face of the man who handed Irving the sandwiches, Irving felt a little degraded by the whole
event. He wondered if he and his father had the same odor. If he hadn’t been so
hungry, he would have refused the sandwiches and hot coffee. He took the food
back to the car and he and his father sat and ate and discussed what they would
do for sleeping arrangements. “I saw a junk pile a few yards back. That’s probably
where the others got the stuff to make these houses. I’ll go see what I can
scare up,” said Irving.
When he came back with some heavy cardboard boxes and tin, he saw that his
father was talking to another man and motioning to a bottle the man held. Peter
handed the man two sandwiches and then the man poured something from the bottle
into Peter’s flask. When Peter returned, Irving
said, “Pop, those sandwiches were goin’ to be our dinner. What we goin’ to do
now?”
“I kept the fruit. Besides, I found out about a
poker game this evening.’ I think I can finagle a couple of sandwiches from
these guys. Don’t worry. Let’s get this shack up.” Peter started to cough
uncontrollably. By the time he finished coughing, Irving had assembled a shanty with a door and
window cut out and attached a tin roof to it. Irving went to the trunk of the car and
pulled out a small mattress and the two thin blankets. He took a couple of
apples from the bag and handed one to his father. Unless his father was lucky
tonight, the apple would be their dinner. Irving
watched as his father drank from the silver flask. Somehow, he didn’t think his
father would notice. Peter soon fell
asleep. Irving
took a walk through the mass of cardboard and old lumber buildings.
Despite the
obvious poverty and lack of sanitary facilities, Irving noticed an attempt had been made to
keep the grounds free of garbage and debris. There was, however, a strong odor
of urine that filled the hot, sticky June air. Irving saw children playing in the dirt.
Little girls were sitting making mud pies, while the boys kicked old cans and
played marbles. The odor of unwashed clothes and bodies mixed with that of the
urine. Somehow, Irving
felt that every day he spent here would be one more day in which he would lose
his own sense of dignity and self-esteem. The smells were beginning to box him
in and he had trouble breathing.
At one of the
huts, there was a donation jar between two small children. On top of the jar
was a sign that said, Hard Times are
Hoovering over us. There were people and children standing in the openings
used for doors. How tired and hopeless they looked! As Irving
passed by the two outhouses, he heard someone announce that it was time for a
drill. Bedraggled veterans in threadbare uniforms, some with medals, marched
out and “fell in.” They stood quietly in the hot sun as their leader Walter
Waters announced the results of the Senate vote on Capitol Hill that day.
Unfortunately, the bill that would have helped relieve their suffering had been
defeated in the Senate. As a mild roar began, the crowd was hushed when Waters
said, “We will remain orderly. We will stay and continue our protest. Tomorrow
we will assemble for a silent Death March down Pennsylvania Avenue. We will continue
each day until the President responds.” Discipline and order seemed to be the
only thing being offered to help these men retain their dignity and self worth.
That night Peter got into a poker game. He came back
to the hut with two ham sandwiches that he had scored for him and Irving.
Although Irving
ate the sandwich, he couldn’t help but think of the blank stares and plain
evidence of hunger that he had seen in the faces of the children that day. He
promised himself that he would not accept another meal that was provided by his
father. Somehow, he would find a way to feed them without resorting to taking
what belonged to others. The next day, as the first of the silent marches began
down Pennsylvania Avenue,
Irving left the mud flats and
went into the city. Lines of men marched silently; most of them had the pockets
of their pants pulled inside out. This was representative of a Hoover flag, an impoverished salute to the
President. Just past the White House, Irving
found a bread line and a soup kitchen. He stood in line for three hours in
order to get a half a loaf of bread and some potted meat. As he stood in line,
that same odor seemed to permeate the air around him. Once again, when he had
reached the front of the line, he noticed that same look – whether it was pity
or disdain, he abhorred the look, but he was hungry. He pulled two slices of
bread from the half of the loaf. He made one sandwich and cut it in half. He
then put the bread and rest of the potted meat with the remainder of the fruit.
Irving checked
the bag. Only four apples left.
Irving
returned to the bread line the next day and the next until he had enough bread
and meat for the rest of the week. For the first time in his life, Irving knew the true
feeling of hunger and hopelessness. Each time he begged for food or watched his
father trade food for booze or cigarettes, he felt an ever increasing loss of
dignity and self respect. Why were these men and their families being treated
this way? If, indeed, they were the heroes who fought to retain honor and
freedom, shouldn’t they be given something in return from a grateful people
instead of a few crumbs of bread and pitiful looks? How he wanted to leave!
“Can’t we go
home?” he asked. “I don’t see that this is doin’ any good. Most of these people
who are stayin’ don’t have anywheres to go. We have a place to go to, and I’m
gettin’ awful hungry and tired.”
“We got that
way in 1918, Son, but we stayed through to the end for our country. Now we need
our country and we’re goin’ to stay until the President takes some notice.” The
next day, Irving
took the car and drove away from the city into the countryside. He knew what he
was looking for. It was July, now, and he knew the corn and tomatoes as well as
other summer squashes would be ripe. He had also seen several peach trees along
the roadside as he and his father were driving into the city. He stopped and
filled the fruit bag with some peaches that had fallen on the ground. He didn’t
feel right about taking them from the trees without permission. In the distance
he saw a farmhouse.
Peter stored the peaches in the trunk of the car and
walked down the long, gravel driveway toward the white frame house. He saw a
young girl about his age hanging clothes on a clothes line at the side of the
house. Irving knew she must be used to beggars
appearing at her door because of the beggars who regularly came to his home in New York. Not many
beggars drove a nice car, however. Irving
couldn’t help but notice how pretty the girl was. She was probably about the
same age as he was. The blossoming curves of a young woman were apparent
underneath the loose fitting house dress that she was wearing. She must have
heard him because she looked up and covered her eyes to keep down the glare of
the sun. As he walked nearer, she smiled timidly. She was even prettier close
up.
“Hello, Miss.
My name’s Irving Clark. My pop is a war veteran here to try to get the
government to help us. We thought Congress was gonna pass a bill that would
help us, but it seems not. We’re tryin’ to get the President to take notice now,
so we’re stayin’ a little longer than expected. Reckon you might have some
extra food to share so’s we can stay a little longer?”
An older lady came outside with another basket of
clothes. Irving
guessed she was the young girl’s mother. She had the same dark, wavy hair and
dark eyes and slim figure. “What can we do for you, Son?” she said.
“Him and his pa are here for the march, Ma,” said
the young girl.
“That so? Would you like some lemonade?” Before Irving could say
anything, she said, “Go get the boy a cool drink, Lizzie.” The girl went into
the house and Irving
explained once again why he was there. Lizzie came back out carrying a glass of
lemonade and handed it to Irving.
“Lizzie, take the lad down to the garden and help him get a few beans and some
corn.”
“All right, Ma,” she said. “Follow me.” Irving put his glass down
and followed the girl through the backyard to the garden. On the way, she
picked up a burlap bag and handed it to him. “Put the corn in this,” she said. Irving picked a dozen
ears of corn and a mess of green beans. He worked slowly. It was very pleasant
being with this girl and her mother picking vegetables from their garden just
like it was part his. It reminded him of the way it was back home.
“So, your name’s Lizzie?” he said.
“Yeah.”
“You still in school?”
“Yeah. I’ll be finished next year. What about you?”
“I got a couple more years.”
“What you gonna do after that?” asked Lizzie.
“I got me a little radio repair business back home.
I also work with my grandfather repairing cars. S’pect I’ll do that. What about
you?”
“Don’t know. Not many jobs available for anybody.
Maybe I’ll just learn some bookkeeping or something like that and try to find
work unless I get married.”
“Got any boyfriends?”
“Not really. Ma and Pa are pretty strict. Most of
the boys around here are too slick for Pa’s likin.’”
“Lizzie! You finished with that boy?”
“Guess we better head back,” said Lizzie. “You got
enough to make do for a while? Pa says we got to help one another out these
days. Times awful hard on most people, but we get by all right.”
“Yeah. I think this’ll do. Thanks, Lizzie.” The two
walked back to the side of the house. Irving
thanked Lizzie and her mother again and walked back down the driveway. He could
still see Lizzie’s beautiful smile and a warm, tingling feeling stirred in his
groins. He had felt this urge before. Irving
thought about Lizzie’s breasts. He had seen the tip of her nipples through her
dress in the shade as they walked from the garden. He wondered if she had the
same warm feeling, and if she did, he wondered if she had learned to satisfy
the urge the way he had.
Irving thought he was
ready to have a real girlfriend. He thought about Lizzie all the way back to
the mud flats. Irving
took two ears of corn and some green beans from the bag, along with a couple of
peaches. He cooked the corn and beans over a fire outside the cardboard shack.
A group of children came running toward the smell. Peter sat and ate his corn
without even acknowledging the children. Irving
gave up his corn and beans and told the children to leave.
“Can’t we go back, Pop? I’m tired and hungry and
don’t see that we’re doing any good here.”
“There’s gonna be a marine general speaking
tomorrow. Let’s stay for that and then we’ll go. Things are getting’ pretty tense
here anyway. People getting’ more agitated with the government. Don’t think
Waters can restrain them much longer.” Irving
was happy to hear they would soon be leaving. He ate the peach he had kept for
himself and decided he would not cook anymore food until they were away from
the hungry crowds. He fell asleep wondering how far he would have to drive
before he got away from those who were hungry. Irving sat straight up! The sound of a
muffled voice had awakened him. He caught sight of a figure in the opening in
the shanty. It looked like the figure of a woman! Still half asleep all Irving could think of was
that it was Lizzie. Had she followed him here? He started to get up. His
father’s voice stopped him.
“Leave her be, Son. She’s leaving.” Irving could see she was carrying a sack that
looked very much like the one that had the corn and beans in it. “Her children
were hungry and we made a deal,” he said.
“Oh, Pop! Why?”
“You started it! You had to give those kids food!
She came lookin’ for food. I had to git somethin’ for it, didn’t I? We’ll be
able to git more food when we leave and we won’t be bothered with all these
hungry, dirty brats!” Peter started to cough uncontrollably again. Irving threw his hands up
in the darkness and swore. He didn’t like what he was thinking.
Peter got up early the next morning and walked back
into the city to stand in the bread line. He still had the bag of peaches and
he wanted to get some more bread and potted meat. He was not going to let this
food out of his sight until it was eaten. He was so homesick! He didn’t care
anymore what happened to his father; he just wanted to get home. As Peter
walked toward Pennsylvania Avenue,
he heard someone speaking. That must be the marine general, he thought. The
crowd appeared to be getting angry. Irving
stopped and listened.
“War is just a racket; a racket is best described, I
believe, as something that is not what it seems to the majority of the people.
Only a small group inside knows what it is about. It is conducted for the benefit
of the very few at the expense of the masses. . . I wouldn’t go to war again as
I have done to protect some lousy investment of the bankers. There are only two
things we should fight for. One is the defense of our homes and the other is
the Bill of Rights. War for any other reason is simply a racket.”
Could this possibly be the general? Thought Irving. Why would a
general be speaking against war? Who was responsible for this speaker? This was
certainly a dangerous speech right in front of the White House. The crowd that
had been so silent now began to get louder and louder. Their cheers turned to a
roar. There was shouting and waving and jostling about. Irving caught sight of the riot police and
tried to get through the crowd, but he kept getting knocked down. Suddenly, he
heard a shot, then another! There was panic and people were running in every
direction!
Peter put his
head down and held his bag of food like a football. He punched and kicked his
way through the crowd. He kept thinking about his father. He repented over and
over for all the bad thoughts he had had and begged God to let his father be
safe! When he finally broke free of the crowd, he stumbled back to the shanty
on the mud flats. His father was inside the shanty, obviously passed out. Irving heard Mr. Waters’
voice. “The police have killed two marchers. The President has ordered General
MacArthur to clear Pennsylvania Ave. Stay in your houses until the troops
leave!”
Irving
could hear the sound of horses and marching troops. He climbed on top of the
car. In the distance, he could see troops with gas masks, fixed bayonets, men
on horses with sabers drawn followed by several light tanks. Rising from the
sea of humanity was a gray cloud of smoke that appeared to be dust at first.
Peter then realized what it was. It was tear gas! He could see large crowds
running away from the circle and hear people coughing and gasping for air! It
appeared that the troops were turning around and heading for the shanties on
the flats! That couldn’t be, thought Irving.
The people that remained in Hooverville, some ten thousand, had not been
responsible for the rioting. Nevertheless, he ran toward the cardboard house he
had shared with his father for three weeks and yelled.
“Pop! Wake up! We have to leave! There’s troops with
tear gas and guns and tanks headed here!” He started grabbing at the mattress
rolling his father onto the floor.
“Wha? Wha? What’s goin’ on?”
“We need to leave – Now!” Peter stumbled to his
knees. Once again, he started coughing violently. “Pop! There’s troops with
tear gas! We got to leave!” When Peter heard the words “tear gas,” he grabbed
his blanket and thin jacket and hat and ran to the car. Irving was right behind him. Residents
fortunate enough to have transportation were doing exactly what Peter and
Irving were doing. By the time Irving
got the car to the road leading to the bridge, troops had moved in and blocked
the exit. There was massive confusion. Peter turned the car around and headed
back to Hooverville. In the rear view mirror, he could see soldiers in gas
masks, rifles drawn with bayonets, marching in front of a line of cavalry. The
cavalry was being led by Major George Patton.
Irving
parked the car some distance away from Hooverville. There, he and his father
watched as troops tossed canisters of tear gas into the shanties and wives and
children came running out coughing and tearing and wildly looking for husband
and father. By morning, the shanties had been deserted and the troops set the
camp ablaze. Smoke, dust and the remnants of tear gas filled the air as Irving once again headed for the bridge across the Anacostia River. Irving’s lungs burned from the smoke, but
Peter’s coughing was almost non stop as he tried to expel the deadly pollutants
from his compromised lungs. Irving
managed to follow a group to a nearby hospital that was overwhelmed with
casualties. Overworked doctors handed Peter a mask to wear and gave him some
water to drink until they could find a space to put up an oxygen tent. By late
afternoon, Peter’s lungs had recovered enough that the doctors told Irving he could take his
father home. “I’m afraid he’s not going to last much longer,” said the doctor.
“His lungs are too weak and he has pneumonia.
He needs to get back to a hospital as soon as possible.”
Peter wore the mask the doctors gave him all the way
home. He was too weak to argue with his son over cigarettes or alcohol. After
two days of almost non-stop driving, the two returned to New York to a very worried family. They had
been reading the reports of the evacuation in the paper. Claire and Mary washed
Peter and put on clean pajamas. Molly Blake was called and she came and helped
set up an oxygen tent in Peter’s bedroom. Irving
bathed and put on pajamas and ate a hearty meal. He then went to bed and slept
for almost two days. When he finally got up, he discovered his father was in a
coma. Peter died two weeks after returning home. He was buried in the family
cemetery along with all the other generations of Clark’s who had given service
to their country.
Irving
learned later that two babies had died of asphyxiation and one woman had
miscarried during the evacuation. Major Dwight Eisenhower, army liaison to the Washington police wrote:
“the whole scene was pitiful. The veterans were ragged, ill-fed, and felt
themselves badly abused. To suddenly see the whole encampment going up in
flames just added to the pity.”
That fall, there was a presidential election. Irving couldn’t vote, but he was happy that Hoover was defeated by
Franklin Delano Roosevelt. In March, 1933, Irving
returned to Washington
with Abraham, Claire, Mary and his younger brother Abe for the inauguration.
Molly Blake went with them, also. The family stood outside in the dreary March
wind as Roosevelt was sworn into office. Roosevelt stood on heavy metal braces and dragged himself
to the podium with the support of his eldest son, James, to deliver his
Inaugural Address.
As Molly listened to the words of hope and the plans
for a New Deal, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps this was the dawning of
a new day of peace and prosperity like the times of the Bear Clan and the Great
Peace. Surely, everyone was ready for healing. Jane Addams, so hated for her
opposition to World War I and accused of being a Communist during the Red Scare
of the 20’s had recently been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Now, the country
had a president with a wife who supported the ideals of the International
League for Peace and Freedom. Molly remembered Roosevelt’s
promise during the 1920 election when he was running for Vice-President. Molly
had voted for the Democrats because of Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt. Franklin had promised war
weary veterans and their families at the time that “it (war) shall not occur
again. Americans demand: The crime of war shall cease.”
Molly was
hopeful as she heard, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” The
nation, as well as the rest of the world, was ready to move forward to a new
dawning of peace and prosperity. As Molly listened to the words of Franklin
Roosevelt and dreamed of a New Deal for the world, across the Atlantic the
people of Germany
had just elected a new leader to restore the broken German economy and bring
order out of chaos.
By March of
1933, Adolph Hitler had seized control of the German parliament. As Roosevelt
was beginning the first Hundred Days of his four year term to restore peace and
stability in America,
Hitler was setting plans in motion for the establishment of a Gleichschaltung
that would lead to totalitarian control of all aspects of German society and
commerce by 1937. It wouldn’t be long
before the strains of Deutschland Uber
Alles would strike like lightening all over Europe and create a roar of
thunder that would be heard all over the world.
