Signs in the old House Office Building at the National Capital indicate that the elevators run from the subway to the fourth floor. Until recently, I took it for granted that there were only four floors. But I have found out that there is a fifth. In fact, I was taken to the fifth floor not long ago by one of the few congressmen who have keys and know where the stairs are.
The fifth floor, like the four others, is filled with offices. But the corridors are low, poorly lighted and empty. There are no uniformed guards to direct you, and no names on the office doors. Each office opens out on a balcony that runs entirely around the inner court of the building. The offices, themselves, are small, two-by-four affairs with very little furniture, no telephones, no typewriters and no visiting constituents.
"This," said my guide, "is our congressional hide-out. Up here we have only one rule: Nobody speaks to anybody. We don't know who our neighbors are and our neighbors don't know us. The place is reserved for congressmen who like to get off alone, now and then, for serious study and heavy thinking."
This particular congressman is obviously a member of the heavy-thinking contingent. In his fifth-floor room—as the well-thumbed books on his table indicated—he reads Montesquieu and Montaigne and Hume and, on the lighter side, Bryce and Beard and Adams. But he is not boastful about it, and he is altogether too good a politician to parade his knowledge on the floor of a House where an erudite man may be a suspect. On the floor he flavors his arguments with the most up-to-date colloquialisms. If he makes quotations, he picks them from such standard sources as Thomas Jefferson or the Bible. No one, listening to him in a hot debate, would get any hint of the intellectual company he keeps in his hide-out office or how far he has gone in his thinking beyond the objectives of the legislation that he may be currently fighting for.
He is young, confident and astute. In the present session of Congress, he is by no means a lonesome figure. On the contrary, he is one of a group of like-minded congressional youngsters. Many of them have not yet got fifth-floor offices, but their applications are in. Meanwhile, they go in for heavy thinking off the floor and political shrewdness on it, and having found themselves in accord on most matters, have pooled their influence to form a bloc that makes up in determination and knowledge what it lacks in numbers.
In the last session of Congress there were some twenty of them. In this session they muster more than fifty and they are getting recruits—some of them from among the older congressmen. Most of them came in with Roosevelt, but very few of them would be willing to stop with him. They all support the New Deal, but they are thinking beyond it. Their strategy in the House is confined to current legislative matters, but their plans reach to 1940, and after. Nothing like them has been seen, or heard, in Congress for many years. They are not the lunatic fringe. They are the Neo-New Dealers.
Undoubtedly, the moving spirit, guiding genius and general out-in-front man for this bloc is Maury Maverick. Maverick is a second-term congressman from San Antonio, Texas. His family name, despite the word of his enemies, did not originate with the cow-country word for unbranded cattle. On the contrary, the word for unbranded cattle originated with his family, specifically with his grandfather, who was a pioneer cattleman and, in addition to this venture into nomenclature, was one of the signers of the Texas Declaration of Independence. In the case of the congressman, at least, the name is descriptive.
How San Antonio, which considers itself somewhat upper crust among Texas cities, sent Maury Maverick to Congress is something of a mystery. His Texas is the Panhandle or the Big Bend country, but certainly not San Antonio. He needs a large chair for his body and a large room for his voice. He wears loud shirts, and ties which sometimes match. In his office, he works in his shirt sleeves or with his coat and vest unbuttoned. If his secretary announces a lady caller, he slips on his coat or buttons his vest—the two bottom buttons of it. With men he never bothers.
He is a graduate of the Virginia Military Institute and the University of Texas. In one place or the other he must have picked up his share of the social graces. But he never bothers about them either—not the minor ones at least. Washington, which sometimes lionizes the people it most disapproves of, has made some social passes at Maverick. But each time he has seen it coming and ducked. He told me recently that he had not averaged one dinner out a month since Congress convened. He takes his work home with him.
The fifth floor, like the four others, is filled with offices. But the corridors are low, poorly lighted and empty. There are no uniformed guards to direct you, and no names on the office doors. Each office opens out on a balcony that runs entirely around the inner court of the building. The offices, themselves, are small, two-by-four affairs with very little furniture, no telephones, no typewriters and no visiting constituents.
"This," said my guide, "is our congressional hide-out. Up here we have only one rule: Nobody speaks to anybody. We don't know who our neighbors are and our neighbors don't know us. The place is reserved for congressmen who like to get off alone, now and then, for serious study and heavy thinking."
This particular congressman is obviously a member of the heavy-thinking contingent. In his fifth-floor room—as the well-thumbed books on his table indicated—he reads Montesquieu and Montaigne and Hume and, on the lighter side, Bryce and Beard and Adams. But he is not boastful about it, and he is altogether too good a politician to parade his knowledge on the floor of a House where an erudite man may be a suspect. On the floor he flavors his arguments with the most up-to-date colloquialisms. If he makes quotations, he picks them from such standard sources as Thomas Jefferson or the Bible. No one, listening to him in a hot debate, would get any hint of the intellectual company he keeps in his hide-out office or how far he has gone in his thinking beyond the objectives of the legislation that he may be currently fighting for.
He is young, confident and astute. In the present session of Congress, he is by no means a lonesome figure. On the contrary, he is one of a group of like-minded congressional youngsters. Many of them have not yet got fifth-floor offices, but their applications are in. Meanwhile, they go in for heavy thinking off the floor and political shrewdness on it, and having found themselves in accord on most matters, have pooled their influence to form a bloc that makes up in determination and knowledge what it lacks in numbers.
In the last session of Congress there were some twenty of them. In this session they muster more than fifty and they are getting recruits—some of them from among the older congressmen. Most of them came in with Roosevelt, but very few of them would be willing to stop with him. They all support the New Deal, but they are thinking beyond it. Their strategy in the House is confined to current legislative matters, but their plans reach to 1940, and after. Nothing like them has been seen, or heard, in Congress for many years. They are not the lunatic fringe. They are the Neo-New Dealers.
Undoubtedly, the moving spirit, guiding genius and general out-in-front man for this bloc is Maury Maverick. Maverick is a second-term congressman from San Antonio, Texas. His family name, despite the word of his enemies, did not originate with the cow-country word for unbranded cattle. On the contrary, the word for unbranded cattle originated with his family, specifically with his grandfather, who was a pioneer cattleman and, in addition to this venture into nomenclature, was one of the signers of the Texas Declaration of Independence. In the case of the congressman, at least, the name is descriptive.
How San Antonio, which considers itself somewhat upper crust among Texas cities, sent Maury Maverick to Congress is something of a mystery. His Texas is the Panhandle or the Big Bend country, but certainly not San Antonio. He needs a large chair for his body and a large room for his voice. He wears loud shirts, and ties which sometimes match. In his office, he works in his shirt sleeves or with his coat and vest unbuttoned. If his secretary announces a lady caller, he slips on his coat or buttons his vest—the two bottom buttons of it. With men he never bothers.
He is a graduate of the Virginia Military Institute and the University of Texas. In one place or the other he must have picked up his share of the social graces. But he never bothers about them either—not the minor ones at least. Washington, which sometimes lionizes the people it most disapproves of, has made some social passes at Maverick. But each time he has seen it coming and ducked. He told me recently that he had not averaged one dinner out a month since Congress convened. He takes his work home with him.
ALTHOUGH only twenty-one in 1917, Maverick commanded a company of infantry in the war, was wounded and decorated. He was admitted to the bar at twenty, and, at twenty-three, a war hero and not yet a radical, he was elected president of the San Antonio Bar Association. His first venture into politics was like all those that followed it. He went in in 1929 as an independent, founded a Citizens' League of reform-minded citizens, fought and defeated the city-county Democratic machine and got out of it, for himself, the undistinguished office of tax collector. But he distinguished himself in it, made friends among the lower-income citizens and enemies among the higher-income citizens, and in 1934 declared for Congress and, to the chagrin of the First Families of San Antonio politics, got himself elected.
There was nothing particularly important in the fact that San Antonio sent a Democrat to Congress in 1934. It usually sends Democrats. Maverick, when he came to Washington, was merely another Democratic vote in a Congress that already had more than it needed. His course was marked out for him as it is marked out for all first-term congressmen. He was expected, as all newcomers are, to make no speeches, vote right and answer his mail. He answered his mail. On the two other items his conduct varied. Usually he voted right. Occasionally he did not. He was ultra-New Deal. He never voted against the party majority except on those few occasions when he thought the party majority was not New Deal enough.
And he did make speeches. Opinions vary on Maverick as a speechmaker. He has very few oratorical tricks. When he has something to say, he stands up and hammers it out in a voice that is generally louder than necessary, but with frontier language of a sort that is too direct to be misunderstood. In the last session, his most dramatic speaking forays were on world peace—the peace forces have had no such forceful an advocate in the House in many decades—civil liberty and the activities of various red-baiting organizations. Before his term was up, Maverick had established himself, among radico-liberals throughout the country, as one of their foremost congressional spokesmen. The more orthodox chiefs of the party in Congress were wary of him. His enemies called him a wild man.
San Antonio was not any too well pleased with his reputation. Decades of conventional congressmen had left it unprepared for Maverick's brand. His enemies got together a sizable war chest to prevent his renomination. But he won; one version of the story being that Mr. Roosevelt intervened and sent the reluctant party organization to his aid.
At any rate, he is back in Congress, and whatever slight restraints held him in his first term are off. When the President's Supreme Court measure came to the House floor, Maverick, one jump ahead of the leaders, grabbed his copy, got the floor and introduced the bill himself. It is known now in the House as the Maverick Bill. And Maverick, who is one of the completely enthusiastic supporters of the measure, is immensely pleased. He writes occasional articles for The Nation and The New Republic, his writing being as monosyllable and as straight-forward as his speaking. He continues to speak frequently at gatherings of liberals. It is a safe guess that the party wheel horses still eye him askance. His continued presence in Congress is not a portent of peace. But he is very much in the favor of the White House. When the Democratic Victory Dinners were recently held in Washington, the party's top-notch leaders met with the President at $100 a plate. Mr. Farley introduced the President. At a near-by hotel, the party proletariat dined with Mrs. Roosevelt at ten dollars a plate. Mr. Maverick presided and introduced Mrs. Roosevelt.
But Maury Maverick, despite these current occupations, has his eye on the future. He does not believe that the New Deal is primarily emergency legislation. Neither does he believe that all the New Deal has, as yet, been dealt. He thinks that Mr. Roosevelt has started something which will require a good many years and a great deal more legislation to finish. He wants to have a hand in finishing it. "That," he says, "is the only way we'll save democracy and capitalism, and I think they're both worth saving."
It was Maverick's interest in what is to come after Mr. Roosevelt that led to the formation of the bloc of Neo-New Dealers. He explored the possibilities of such an informal organization during the last session of Congress. He found there some twenty members—mostly young like himself—who shared his long-time point of view and who were equally determined that, in the interim, the New Deal should not be allowed to wither and fade, choked by a reform-weary Old Guard. This group held a number of meetings and satisfied themselves that, with a victory for Mr. Roosevelt and themselves in 1936, they could come into the Seventy-fifth Congress and make something of a dent.
A number of these men, notably Sisson and Marcantonio, of New York, and Driscoll, of Pennsylvania, were not re-elected. Sisson had distinguished himself as a foe of the teachers' oath and of red baiters generally. Marcantonio was a spokesman for the unemployed—probably the most aggressive spokesman in Congress. Driscoll had won fame by his fight on the utilities and his exposure of the telegraphic campaign of certain utility holding companies against the Holding Company Act. Since they were men of the necessary convictions and some congressional experience, the Neo-New Dealers miss them.
But their loss was more than offset in other directions. With the above exceptions, all the original bloc was returned to Congress. That number included a few veteran liberals. In fact, some of the wisest, if not the most active, members of the group in the last as well as the present session were men who for the long, arid years before Roosevelt had raised liberal voices in a conservative wilderness. For the first time they found themselves, after the New Deal vote in 1932 and even more after 1934, with plenty of company. With Roosevelt, their solitary refrains became the congressional theme song. But most of them had been in politics long enough to take this sudden shift with reservations. As a precaution, they were ready to align themselves with a group that meant business and that would continue to mean business, even when the political winds began to blow from a different quarter.
Most prominent among these veteran liberals is John E. Rankin, who has represented the First District of Mississippi since 1920. Rankin is not a blanket liberal in the Maverick sense. Some fights he avoids, not because his convictions are uncertain, but because, as he recently explained it to me, "There's a limit to what one congressman can get excited about." His area of excitement, however, is a fairly wide one. It includes monopolies, utilities, public power and world peace. On those issues he is irreconcilable and a die-hard. He is generally recognized as the leading authority in the House on questions of public power, and was co-author, with Sen. George Norris, of the Administration's bill to create the Tennessee Valley Authority. He managed to get most of Northeastern Mississippi tied into the TVA and, in every county of his own district, he has organized electric-power associations and instituted a movement to bring cheap electricity into its rural areas.
Rankin has probably played a lone hand too long and is too much of an individualist to join any hard-and-fast organization of liberals. But he serves as guide, counselor and friend. He watches, with satisfaction, while the younger members disport themselves on a variety of questions. "They are the best thing that has come to Congress in the seventeen years I have been here," he says. "Thanks largely to them, there is more individual thinking in the House today than at any time since the Civil War." And when Congress gets around to the matter of utilities and public power—as it is certain to do before adjournment—Rankin, far from being merely an adviser to this bloc, will be its leader.
Two other veterans among the Neo-New Dealers are David J. Lewis, of Maryland, and John A. Martin, of Colorado. Lewis, despite the fact that he worked in a coal mine from the age of nine until he was twenty-three, learned to read in a Sunday school and studied Latin with the minister of his church, is one of the scholars of the House. At sixty-eight he is no longer looking for a fight, but his liberalism is undiminished. Martin is sixty-nine. He was in Congress for two terms twenty-five years ago, and came in again with the Roosevelt victory in 1932. The available experience of these two men is one reason why the liberal bloc is not likely to go off the deep end.
Another representative whose congressional experience antedates the Roosevelt era, and who adds considerable weight to the liberal bloc is Kent Keller, of Illinois. Keller, like a noticeably large number of the members of this group, has a remarkable background. His education began in the public schools of Ava, Illinois, and ended with graduate study at Heidelberg, Germany. At one time he taught school. Later he owned and edited a newspaper. He has practiced law. Because of illness, he went to Mexico, where, for twelve years, he successfully engaged in mining operations. He returned to rural Illinois, went into politics, to quote his own words, "as an aggressive progressive," served in the state senate and, finally, in 1930 ran for the Congress, overturned the vote in a normally Republican district and, in 1936, was re-elected for the third time. Keller is a student of economics in more than an amateur sense. It is doubtful if anyone in Congress has a better grasp of the problem of unemployment. He is a New Deal Democrat—more New Deal, probably, than Democratic.
In the main, however, the Neo-New Dealers are young—most of them in years, almost all of them in congressional experience. They came into congress riding the Roosevelt landslides of 1932, 1934 and 1936. Mr. Roosevelt made them politically possible by making their points of view politically acceptable. Most of them frankly admit the debt, although some of them refuse to be bound, in all matters, to the creditor.
There was nothing particularly important in the fact that San Antonio sent a Democrat to Congress in 1934. It usually sends Democrats. Maverick, when he came to Washington, was merely another Democratic vote in a Congress that already had more than it needed. His course was marked out for him as it is marked out for all first-term congressmen. He was expected, as all newcomers are, to make no speeches, vote right and answer his mail. He answered his mail. On the two other items his conduct varied. Usually he voted right. Occasionally he did not. He was ultra-New Deal. He never voted against the party majority except on those few occasions when he thought the party majority was not New Deal enough.
And he did make speeches. Opinions vary on Maverick as a speechmaker. He has very few oratorical tricks. When he has something to say, he stands up and hammers it out in a voice that is generally louder than necessary, but with frontier language of a sort that is too direct to be misunderstood. In the last session, his most dramatic speaking forays were on world peace—the peace forces have had no such forceful an advocate in the House in many decades—civil liberty and the activities of various red-baiting organizations. Before his term was up, Maverick had established himself, among radico-liberals throughout the country, as one of their foremost congressional spokesmen. The more orthodox chiefs of the party in Congress were wary of him. His enemies called him a wild man.
San Antonio was not any too well pleased with his reputation. Decades of conventional congressmen had left it unprepared for Maverick's brand. His enemies got together a sizable war chest to prevent his renomination. But he won; one version of the story being that Mr. Roosevelt intervened and sent the reluctant party organization to his aid.
At any rate, he is back in Congress, and whatever slight restraints held him in his first term are off. When the President's Supreme Court measure came to the House floor, Maverick, one jump ahead of the leaders, grabbed his copy, got the floor and introduced the bill himself. It is known now in the House as the Maverick Bill. And Maverick, who is one of the completely enthusiastic supporters of the measure, is immensely pleased. He writes occasional articles for The Nation and The New Republic, his writing being as monosyllable and as straight-forward as his speaking. He continues to speak frequently at gatherings of liberals. It is a safe guess that the party wheel horses still eye him askance. His continued presence in Congress is not a portent of peace. But he is very much in the favor of the White House. When the Democratic Victory Dinners were recently held in Washington, the party's top-notch leaders met with the President at $100 a plate. Mr. Farley introduced the President. At a near-by hotel, the party proletariat dined with Mrs. Roosevelt at ten dollars a plate. Mr. Maverick presided and introduced Mrs. Roosevelt.
But Maury Maverick, despite these current occupations, has his eye on the future. He does not believe that the New Deal is primarily emergency legislation. Neither does he believe that all the New Deal has, as yet, been dealt. He thinks that Mr. Roosevelt has started something which will require a good many years and a great deal more legislation to finish. He wants to have a hand in finishing it. "That," he says, "is the only way we'll save democracy and capitalism, and I think they're both worth saving."
It was Maverick's interest in what is to come after Mr. Roosevelt that led to the formation of the bloc of Neo-New Dealers. He explored the possibilities of such an informal organization during the last session of Congress. He found there some twenty members—mostly young like himself—who shared his long-time point of view and who were equally determined that, in the interim, the New Deal should not be allowed to wither and fade, choked by a reform-weary Old Guard. This group held a number of meetings and satisfied themselves that, with a victory for Mr. Roosevelt and themselves in 1936, they could come into the Seventy-fifth Congress and make something of a dent.
A number of these men, notably Sisson and Marcantonio, of New York, and Driscoll, of Pennsylvania, were not re-elected. Sisson had distinguished himself as a foe of the teachers' oath and of red baiters generally. Marcantonio was a spokesman for the unemployed—probably the most aggressive spokesman in Congress. Driscoll had won fame by his fight on the utilities and his exposure of the telegraphic campaign of certain utility holding companies against the Holding Company Act. Since they were men of the necessary convictions and some congressional experience, the Neo-New Dealers miss them.
But their loss was more than offset in other directions. With the above exceptions, all the original bloc was returned to Congress. That number included a few veteran liberals. In fact, some of the wisest, if not the most active, members of the group in the last as well as the present session were men who for the long, arid years before Roosevelt had raised liberal voices in a conservative wilderness. For the first time they found themselves, after the New Deal vote in 1932 and even more after 1934, with plenty of company. With Roosevelt, their solitary refrains became the congressional theme song. But most of them had been in politics long enough to take this sudden shift with reservations. As a precaution, they were ready to align themselves with a group that meant business and that would continue to mean business, even when the political winds began to blow from a different quarter.
Most prominent among these veteran liberals is John E. Rankin, who has represented the First District of Mississippi since 1920. Rankin is not a blanket liberal in the Maverick sense. Some fights he avoids, not because his convictions are uncertain, but because, as he recently explained it to me, "There's a limit to what one congressman can get excited about." His area of excitement, however, is a fairly wide one. It includes monopolies, utilities, public power and world peace. On those issues he is irreconcilable and a die-hard. He is generally recognized as the leading authority in the House on questions of public power, and was co-author, with Sen. George Norris, of the Administration's bill to create the Tennessee Valley Authority. He managed to get most of Northeastern Mississippi tied into the TVA and, in every county of his own district, he has organized electric-power associations and instituted a movement to bring cheap electricity into its rural areas.
Rankin has probably played a lone hand too long and is too much of an individualist to join any hard-and-fast organization of liberals. But he serves as guide, counselor and friend. He watches, with satisfaction, while the younger members disport themselves on a variety of questions. "They are the best thing that has come to Congress in the seventeen years I have been here," he says. "Thanks largely to them, there is more individual thinking in the House today than at any time since the Civil War." And when Congress gets around to the matter of utilities and public power—as it is certain to do before adjournment—Rankin, far from being merely an adviser to this bloc, will be its leader.
Two other veterans among the Neo-New Dealers are David J. Lewis, of Maryland, and John A. Martin, of Colorado. Lewis, despite the fact that he worked in a coal mine from the age of nine until he was twenty-three, learned to read in a Sunday school and studied Latin with the minister of his church, is one of the scholars of the House. At sixty-eight he is no longer looking for a fight, but his liberalism is undiminished. Martin is sixty-nine. He was in Congress for two terms twenty-five years ago, and came in again with the Roosevelt victory in 1932. The available experience of these two men is one reason why the liberal bloc is not likely to go off the deep end.
Another representative whose congressional experience antedates the Roosevelt era, and who adds considerable weight to the liberal bloc is Kent Keller, of Illinois. Keller, like a noticeably large number of the members of this group, has a remarkable background. His education began in the public schools of Ava, Illinois, and ended with graduate study at Heidelberg, Germany. At one time he taught school. Later he owned and edited a newspaper. He has practiced law. Because of illness, he went to Mexico, where, for twelve years, he successfully engaged in mining operations. He returned to rural Illinois, went into politics, to quote his own words, "as an aggressive progressive," served in the state senate and, finally, in 1930 ran for the Congress, overturned the vote in a normally Republican district and, in 1936, was re-elected for the third time. Keller is a student of economics in more than an amateur sense. It is doubtful if anyone in Congress has a better grasp of the problem of unemployment. He is a New Deal Democrat—more New Deal, probably, than Democratic.
In the main, however, the Neo-New Dealers are young—most of them in years, almost all of them in congressional experience. They came into congress riding the Roosevelt landslides of 1932, 1934 and 1936. Mr. Roosevelt made them politically possible by making their points of view politically acceptable. Most of them frankly admit the debt, although some of them refuse to be bound, in all matters, to the creditor.
The seven Wisconsin Progressives and the five Farmer-Labor representatives from Minnesota belong in the unbound category. The Wisconsin contingent, among whom Thomas Amlie, Harry Sauthoff and Gerald J. Boileau are said to be the most effective, is made up of men most of whom were liberals under the elder La Follette. They are accustomed to playing lone hands and, I think, rather relish it. With Senator La Follette, they meet every Thursday night to discuss and determine their stand. On most questions they are whole-hearted supporters of Mr. Roosevelt. But they are decidedly suspicious of the Democratic leadership and are persuaded the Democratic Party will turn out to be no fit vehicle for the long-run program of the Progressives. A lurking but unexpressed suspicion to the same effect about the Democratic Party exists, I think, among others of the Neo-New Dealers. Meanwhile, the Progressives play the game with the liberal Democrats.
The Minnesota Farmer-Labor group, along with Lemke and Burdick, Farmer-Labor representatives from North Dakota, are, in general, left-wing liberals and, like the usual run of radicals, are inclined to make their own laws. Farthest left of them all is John Toussaint Bernard, a war veteran, a miner, and one of the best-read men in Congress, who celebrated his arrival at his first session on the floor by casting the only "no" that was recorded against the Government's neutrality policy in regard to Spain. He voted that way—to the joy of the Communist Daily Worker, which promptly ran a long article about him—because he hates Fascism and believes that America's policy of withholding arms shipments from the loyalist government is helping the Fascists. Despite the fact that Bernard is considerably more radical than the rank-and-file liberals in Congress, he is a co-operative radical; he prefers to go a little distance with the nation than a long way by himself. For that reason he is on more intimate terms with the Neo-New Dealers than some of the other Farmer-Labor representatives.
Among the other members of Maverick's original group are Mrs. Caroline O'Day, of New York, who makes up in hard work and graciousness what she lacks in drama, and who, on all questions, can be counted on as a sure-fire liberal; Herman P. Kopplemann, of Connecticut, whose liberalism flowered and bore fruit in the Connecticut state senate under the nose of the conservative Republican machine; Charles G. Binderup, of Nebraska, a son of Danish homesteaders, who went into politics as a side line to the creamery business and proposes to stay in as a "100 per cent farmer progressive"; E. C. Eicher, of Iowa, whose liberalism is bona fide, but has to be tempered occasionally to a conservative constituency; Fred Biermann and Otha D. Wearin, also of Iowa; Charles R. Eckert, of Pennsylvania; Henry Ellenbogen, of Pennsylvania, a labor spokesman; Wright Patman, of Texas, who does most of the talking for the liberals on monetary matters.
In geographical distribution and in their coverage of issues, the members of the original bloc had contact with every major area of the country and included individuals with some special qualifications on almost every question likely to be a subject for liberal agitation. Having got together in the Seventy-fourth Congress, they were prepared for increased co-operation in the present session. What they were quite unprepared for was the large number of recruits that came to Washington in the new Congress, all set, with shining armor, for just such an enterprise.
The shining-armor item is not an unimportant one. As Maury Maverick, who is something of a poet, puts it: "They have seen a great light shining." Most of them would undoubtedly refuse to admit any such vision. Nevertheless, their seal is evangelical and their language–when they talk privately about their plans—is well sprinkled with phrases long dear to the social reformer. The "abundant life" is not a threadbare slogan; they refer often to "future generations of Americans"; mention frequently "the underprivileged" and "the dispossessed," and, with reverse emphasis, "the money barons" and "the privileged few."
Mr. Roosevelt's "economic royalists" was meat for their thinking. If they were young preachers, I am sure they would have a great deal to say about "the kingdom of heaven." As it is, they have a firm faith that if we cannot reach Utopia, we can certainly get a good deal closer to it. They have gone into politics as the best way to prove that faith with their works.
The Minnesota Farmer-Labor group, along with Lemke and Burdick, Farmer-Labor representatives from North Dakota, are, in general, left-wing liberals and, like the usual run of radicals, are inclined to make their own laws. Farthest left of them all is John Toussaint Bernard, a war veteran, a miner, and one of the best-read men in Congress, who celebrated his arrival at his first session on the floor by casting the only "no" that was recorded against the Government's neutrality policy in regard to Spain. He voted that way—to the joy of the Communist Daily Worker, which promptly ran a long article about him—because he hates Fascism and believes that America's policy of withholding arms shipments from the loyalist government is helping the Fascists. Despite the fact that Bernard is considerably more radical than the rank-and-file liberals in Congress, he is a co-operative radical; he prefers to go a little distance with the nation than a long way by himself. For that reason he is on more intimate terms with the Neo-New Dealers than some of the other Farmer-Labor representatives.
Among the other members of Maverick's original group are Mrs. Caroline O'Day, of New York, who makes up in hard work and graciousness what she lacks in drama, and who, on all questions, can be counted on as a sure-fire liberal; Herman P. Kopplemann, of Connecticut, whose liberalism flowered and bore fruit in the Connecticut state senate under the nose of the conservative Republican machine; Charles G. Binderup, of Nebraska, a son of Danish homesteaders, who went into politics as a side line to the creamery business and proposes to stay in as a "100 per cent farmer progressive"; E. C. Eicher, of Iowa, whose liberalism is bona fide, but has to be tempered occasionally to a conservative constituency; Fred Biermann and Otha D. Wearin, also of Iowa; Charles R. Eckert, of Pennsylvania; Henry Ellenbogen, of Pennsylvania, a labor spokesman; Wright Patman, of Texas, who does most of the talking for the liberals on monetary matters.
In geographical distribution and in their coverage of issues, the members of the original bloc had contact with every major area of the country and included individuals with some special qualifications on almost every question likely to be a subject for liberal agitation. Having got together in the Seventy-fourth Congress, they were prepared for increased co-operation in the present session. What they were quite unprepared for was the large number of recruits that came to Washington in the new Congress, all set, with shining armor, for just such an enterprise.
The shining-armor item is not an unimportant one. As Maury Maverick, who is something of a poet, puts it: "They have seen a great light shining." Most of them would undoubtedly refuse to admit any such vision. Nevertheless, their seal is evangelical and their language–when they talk privately about their plans—is well sprinkled with phrases long dear to the social reformer. The "abundant life" is not a threadbare slogan; they refer often to "future generations of Americans"; mention frequently "the underprivileged" and "the dispossessed," and, with reverse emphasis, "the money barons" and "the privileged few."
Mr. Roosevelt's "economic royalists" was meat for their thinking. If they were young preachers, I am sure they would have a great deal to say about "the kingdom of heaven." As it is, they have a firm faith that if we cannot reach Utopia, we can certainly get a good deal closer to it. They have gone into politics as the best way to prove that faith with their works.
That in itself is something out of the ordinary. In fact, it is difficult to say which is the more unusual: The fact that they wanted to get into Congress, in the first place, or the fact that, having such a desire, they found voters enough to gratify it. Whatever they are, they are not run-of-the-mill politicians. But then, as Representative Rankin remarked, "the voters don't seem to be run-of-the-mill voters any more, either."
Undoubtedly there has been a change in what large sections of the voting public demands of its political representatives. The change may be only temporary, but while it lasts it is significant. Beginning with the 1932 campaign and continuing through the campaign of 1936, Mr. Roosevelt has preached and dramatized a gospel which liberals have cherished, generally in political obscurity, for many years. More than that, he has crossed party lines and brought to the practical ballot-box support of that gospel a great mass of hitherto inarticulate or divided voters. These young congressmen would probably have believed as they do even though there had been no Mr. Roosevelt and no New Deal. But they would not have been congressmen. A chief reason, therefore, why they are in politics is that now, for the first time, they can take their particular kind of convictions into politics with a fair chance that they will get somewhere.
Undoubtedly there has been a change in what large sections of the voting public demands of its political representatives. The change may be only temporary, but while it lasts it is significant. Beginning with the 1932 campaign and continuing through the campaign of 1936, Mr. Roosevelt has preached and dramatized a gospel which liberals have cherished, generally in political obscurity, for many years. More than that, he has crossed party lines and brought to the practical ballot-box support of that gospel a great mass of hitherto inarticulate or divided voters. These young congressmen would probably have believed as they do even though there had been no Mr. Roosevelt and no New Deal. But they would not have been congressmen. A chief reason, therefore, why they are in politics is that now, for the first time, they can take their particular kind of convictions into politics with a fair chance that they will get somewhere.
Since, save for the Farmer-Labor and Wisconsin Progressive groups, all of them are Democrats, their arrival is timely. Particularly in the North, where the influence of the city machines has been largely dominant, the Democratic Party has needed an infusion of their kind of intellectual respectability. These newcomers would deny that they were an asset in that direction and some of the orthodox party leaders would probably agree with them. Nevertheless, among the genuinely liberal Democrats who take a long look at the party's future, there is a great deal of satisfaction that they have arrived.
It is generally agreed, I think, that one of the likeliest of the newcomers is Jerry Voorhis, of California, thirty-six years old, a Democrat and a schoolteacher. Maury Maverick found Voorhis soon after soon after Congress convened. There is no similarity in the personalities of the two men, but they hit it off at once. With Maverick's help, he has already moved well to the front among the Neo-New Dealers.
Voorhis graduated from Yale in 1923 with Phi Beta Kappa. He returned to California, got his master's degree from Claremont College, spent several years knocking around the West at a variety of odd jobs, and finally settled down as headmaster of a private school which his father had established for underprivileged boys. He is a lay reader in the Episcopal Church and takes his religion seriously. He has three hobbies, boys, baseball and American history, and has had considerable success at all three of them. He has plenty of money, wears old clothes, smokes a straight-stem pipe, talks more like Harvard than Yale, seldom makes speeches, but is an excellent speaker, and never ran for public office in his life until last year, when he won his congressional seat by a Democratic majority which was large even in a Roosevelt election. Already he is being urged to run for governor of California in 1938. To date, he has not been tempted.
Until the New Deal appeared, Voorhis was a registered Socialist. "That," he told me, "was the only way I could vote my protest against the reactionary leadership of both major parties. I was never a full-fledged Socialist, and now Mr. Roosevelt has made it possible for me to be a Democrat with a clear conscience."
A number of other congressional newcomers have established a considerable influence in this liberal bloc. Robert G. Allen, of Pennsylvania, is one of them. Allen is thirty-five, a graduate of Phillips-Andover Academy and Harvard. He is a successful manufacturer. Norman R. Hamilton, of Virginia, is a newspaper owner and an older man. The state machine in Virginia, controlled by Senator Byrd, was much too lukewarm on the New Deal to suit Hamilton. As a result, he declared war on the machine in his district in the last election and defeated it. W. J. Fitzgerald and A. N. Phillips, Jr., are anti-utility, pro-labor liberals from previously Republican districts in Connecticut. Frank W. Fries is a former miner and a mine owner from the Springfield district in Illinois which sent Abraham Lincoln to the House.
Now, the bloc of which these members are representative is not organized in any formal sense. Meetings, however, are rather frequent, and usually prolonged into the night. Maverick generally calls the members together. The agenda is usually limited to a consideration of some specific legislation that is pending or in prospect. When the occasion calls for it, an outline is drawn up of the kind of legislation the members of the bloc desire, their names are signed and the statement presented on the floor of the House. This was done in the matter of the neutrality bills and in regard to a permanent Government program for the unemployed. A similar outline is being prepared in regard to taxation, and another on the subject of inflation and monetary reform. It is significant that on all of these issues the Neo-New Dealers desire to go further than the New Deal Administration, to date, has shown itself willing to go.
In these activities, however, there is nothing to offend the party leaders in Congress or give them any outright cause for alarm. Members of Congress have got together and petitioned the House on all sorts of subjects from time immemorial. The fact that these proposals may be somewhat advanced is not regarded as insubordination. After all, on most issues, most of the members of the bloc are politically well behaved; up to the present they have upset no important apple carts; they know their places, and they get to them in time to vote, when voting is necessary. From the standpoint of the party wheel horses, they probably take their politics too seriously and skirt the edges of too many explosive questions. But the chances are that, their good behavior on vital matters having been established, most of them will deserve and get the party's reelection blessing in 1938.
It is generally agreed, I think, that one of the likeliest of the newcomers is Jerry Voorhis, of California, thirty-six years old, a Democrat and a schoolteacher. Maury Maverick found Voorhis soon after soon after Congress convened. There is no similarity in the personalities of the two men, but they hit it off at once. With Maverick's help, he has already moved well to the front among the Neo-New Dealers.
Voorhis graduated from Yale in 1923 with Phi Beta Kappa. He returned to California, got his master's degree from Claremont College, spent several years knocking around the West at a variety of odd jobs, and finally settled down as headmaster of a private school which his father had established for underprivileged boys. He is a lay reader in the Episcopal Church and takes his religion seriously. He has three hobbies, boys, baseball and American history, and has had considerable success at all three of them. He has plenty of money, wears old clothes, smokes a straight-stem pipe, talks more like Harvard than Yale, seldom makes speeches, but is an excellent speaker, and never ran for public office in his life until last year, when he won his congressional seat by a Democratic majority which was large even in a Roosevelt election. Already he is being urged to run for governor of California in 1938. To date, he has not been tempted.
Until the New Deal appeared, Voorhis was a registered Socialist. "That," he told me, "was the only way I could vote my protest against the reactionary leadership of both major parties. I was never a full-fledged Socialist, and now Mr. Roosevelt has made it possible for me to be a Democrat with a clear conscience."
A number of other congressional newcomers have established a considerable influence in this liberal bloc. Robert G. Allen, of Pennsylvania, is one of them. Allen is thirty-five, a graduate of Phillips-Andover Academy and Harvard. He is a successful manufacturer. Norman R. Hamilton, of Virginia, is a newspaper owner and an older man. The state machine in Virginia, controlled by Senator Byrd, was much too lukewarm on the New Deal to suit Hamilton. As a result, he declared war on the machine in his district in the last election and defeated it. W. J. Fitzgerald and A. N. Phillips, Jr., are anti-utility, pro-labor liberals from previously Republican districts in Connecticut. Frank W. Fries is a former miner and a mine owner from the Springfield district in Illinois which sent Abraham Lincoln to the House.
Now, the bloc of which these members are representative is not organized in any formal sense. Meetings, however, are rather frequent, and usually prolonged into the night. Maverick generally calls the members together. The agenda is usually limited to a consideration of some specific legislation that is pending or in prospect. When the occasion calls for it, an outline is drawn up of the kind of legislation the members of the bloc desire, their names are signed and the statement presented on the floor of the House. This was done in the matter of the neutrality bills and in regard to a permanent Government program for the unemployed. A similar outline is being prepared in regard to taxation, and another on the subject of inflation and monetary reform. It is significant that on all of these issues the Neo-New Dealers desire to go further than the New Deal Administration, to date, has shown itself willing to go.
In these activities, however, there is nothing to offend the party leaders in Congress or give them any outright cause for alarm. Members of Congress have got together and petitioned the House on all sorts of subjects from time immemorial. The fact that these proposals may be somewhat advanced is not regarded as insubordination. After all, on most issues, most of the members of the bloc are politically well behaved; up to the present they have upset no important apple carts; they know their places, and they get to them in time to vote, when voting is necessary. From the standpoint of the party wheel horses, they probably take their politics too seriously and skirt the edges of too many explosive questions. But the chances are that, their good behavior on vital matters having been established, most of them will deserve and get the party's reelection blessing in 1938.
That blessing, whatever it proves about the party chiefs, will indicate the political astuteness of the Neo-New Dealers. The first point in their strategy—and the place where they differ most widely from previous liberal groups—is their willingness to go slow. The few left-wing members, like Bernard, who are likely to act as they think and risk the consequences, are more than offset by the majority, who value their political necks, know how easy it is to lose them and realize how ineffective they would be, once their necks were lost.
One of the veteran conservatives in Congress admitted, ruefully, to me that there was enough ability and courage in this upstart bloc to keep the country in a state of legislative ferment for a good many sessions to come. I do not believe that there is any immediate basis for such a fear. Ferment is not a part of the immediate strategy of the group. Between now and 1940, the New Deal, present and proposed, will probably be ferment enough to satisfy them. Meanwhile a good many of the new members among them will have had time to build political fences back home substantial enough, perhaps, to survive an election in which Mr. Roosevelt does not head the ticket.
Moreover, this one-thing-at-a-time strategy has been accepted for another reason. There is no doubt that most of them could get together now on a long-time program. But to attempt to do that, in the opinion of such men as Maverick and Voorhis, would be to get the cart before the horse. The immediate job, as they regard it, is to prove that they can agree and hold together on current legislative matters. That is not always easy, particularly in view of the fact that reformers are notably impatient, and these particular reformers have a full quota of prima donnas among them. The Farmer-Laborites are not notably good co-operators. Some of the Wisconsin Progressives are inclined to regard themselves as the Chosen Liberals. Maury Maverick, who seldom handles people with gloves, has aroused some slight irritation and some jealousy. For the time being, therefore, a long-time program can be held in abeyance while the members of the bloc get on solid ground with one another in regard to less ambitious undertakings. And they are shrewd enough to know that, in the matter of long-time programs, the country has just about reached the saturation point. They will be satisfied to help along the process of absorption.
This insistence upon co-operation, which, in itself, is something new among congressional liberals, is likely to produce results not only because the strategy of the group is to go slow but also because the members of the group are not doctrinaires. Congress has had a good many lone-wolf liberals and has been able, generally, to take them in its stride, largely because they have been attached to certain pet theories which they were unwilling to modify. Until this new bloc appeared, there had been nothing approaching a united liberal front since the elder La Follette was in the House forty years ago. This new generation, however, is not interested in theories and is not alarmed at labels. It wants results. "We haven't any preconceived ideas," says Voorhis, "as to where America will be going twenty years from now. We want to insure today's progress. If we were to divide into different schools of thought, our time would be spent debating our philosophies and we'd get exactly nowhere.
I asked Voorhis whether there were any Communists in the group.
"I don't know," he said. "I've never taken the trouble to find out. I do know the one thing we'd probably turn thumbs down on quicker than anything else would be a discussion of Communism or, for that matter, of Socialism or capitalism. There's too much to do."
It was this point of view, doubtless, which prompted the bloc to throw its weight against the so-called Dickstein resolution introduced in the House in April and calling for an investigation into alleged un-American activities and propaganda in the United States. The opposition to the resolution was led by Maverick, whose argument, on the floor, was to the effect that the country is growing tired of "Congress poking its nose into everybody's business." That, however, could hardly be the real reason. Off the floor, Maverick made it plain that his group was against "red baiting" and "witch hunts" of all kinds, and that the Dickstein resolution was merely the latest effort to draw a red herring across the trail of much more important matters. The resolution, incidentally, was defeated 184 to 38.
It is obvious, however, that such a bloc as this could never have come into existence, except for a fundamental likemindedness among its members. Their discussions and their joint declarations are largely limited to current legislation. But, with individual variations, very much the same ideas are in the backs of the minds of most of them. And most of them know it. That is why, even when the arguments wax hot, the atmosphere of their meetings is congenial. They agree on most current issues, but, more important than that, they are in general agreement on more fundamental matters, even though, to date, they have not found it expedient to say so.
With one or two exceptions, they agree, I think, in their belief in our private-profit economy. To conservatives, they undoubtedly sound like Socialists. Outside office hours some of them are apt to be found in Socialist company. But they are not Socialists. They will agree with anyone that capitalism needs to have a lot done to it, but they are at least proceeding on the assumption that the repairs can be made and that, repaired, a capitalistic system probably has more to offer than any of the available alternatives. And if it turns out that the system has to be scrapped, they want the scrapping done by an evolutionary process.
Their idea of repairing, however, is radical. Without any exceptions that I could find, they refuse to regard the New Deal either as an emergency undertaking or as a finished job. One of them who said he had enough to answer for already, and refused to be quoted, declared to me that "we do not believe our system is necessarily safe or fundamentally healthy merely because it has recovered. Our restoratives have worked. But we haven't done very much, as yet, about the disease."
Doing something about the disease involves, for most of them, a good many things. It certainly involves a continued attack on the utilities and a greatly extended public-power program. On this, in fact, they are miniature George Norrises. Some of them would have a little TVA on every river of any size in America, "abundant power, at a low price, in every home." A few of them would extend this nationalization principle to coal—"a basic commodity and a sick industry."
I think that a majority would agree, also, that the last legislative word has by no means been spoken on the matter of banking and monetary reform. The joint statement which the bloc may issue on this question, and for which the preliminary research is already under way, may call upon the Government to take the Federal Reserve System out of private hands and nationalize it under a Federal Monetary Authority.
One of the veteran conservatives in Congress admitted, ruefully, to me that there was enough ability and courage in this upstart bloc to keep the country in a state of legislative ferment for a good many sessions to come. I do not believe that there is any immediate basis for such a fear. Ferment is not a part of the immediate strategy of the group. Between now and 1940, the New Deal, present and proposed, will probably be ferment enough to satisfy them. Meanwhile a good many of the new members among them will have had time to build political fences back home substantial enough, perhaps, to survive an election in which Mr. Roosevelt does not head the ticket.
Moreover, this one-thing-at-a-time strategy has been accepted for another reason. There is no doubt that most of them could get together now on a long-time program. But to attempt to do that, in the opinion of such men as Maverick and Voorhis, would be to get the cart before the horse. The immediate job, as they regard it, is to prove that they can agree and hold together on current legislative matters. That is not always easy, particularly in view of the fact that reformers are notably impatient, and these particular reformers have a full quota of prima donnas among them. The Farmer-Laborites are not notably good co-operators. Some of the Wisconsin Progressives are inclined to regard themselves as the Chosen Liberals. Maury Maverick, who seldom handles people with gloves, has aroused some slight irritation and some jealousy. For the time being, therefore, a long-time program can be held in abeyance while the members of the bloc get on solid ground with one another in regard to less ambitious undertakings. And they are shrewd enough to know that, in the matter of long-time programs, the country has just about reached the saturation point. They will be satisfied to help along the process of absorption.
This insistence upon co-operation, which, in itself, is something new among congressional liberals, is likely to produce results not only because the strategy of the group is to go slow but also because the members of the group are not doctrinaires. Congress has had a good many lone-wolf liberals and has been able, generally, to take them in its stride, largely because they have been attached to certain pet theories which they were unwilling to modify. Until this new bloc appeared, there had been nothing approaching a united liberal front since the elder La Follette was in the House forty years ago. This new generation, however, is not interested in theories and is not alarmed at labels. It wants results. "We haven't any preconceived ideas," says Voorhis, "as to where America will be going twenty years from now. We want to insure today's progress. If we were to divide into different schools of thought, our time would be spent debating our philosophies and we'd get exactly nowhere.
I asked Voorhis whether there were any Communists in the group.
"I don't know," he said. "I've never taken the trouble to find out. I do know the one thing we'd probably turn thumbs down on quicker than anything else would be a discussion of Communism or, for that matter, of Socialism or capitalism. There's too much to do."
It was this point of view, doubtless, which prompted the bloc to throw its weight against the so-called Dickstein resolution introduced in the House in April and calling for an investigation into alleged un-American activities and propaganda in the United States. The opposition to the resolution was led by Maverick, whose argument, on the floor, was to the effect that the country is growing tired of "Congress poking its nose into everybody's business." That, however, could hardly be the real reason. Off the floor, Maverick made it plain that his group was against "red baiting" and "witch hunts" of all kinds, and that the Dickstein resolution was merely the latest effort to draw a red herring across the trail of much more important matters. The resolution, incidentally, was defeated 184 to 38.
It is obvious, however, that such a bloc as this could never have come into existence, except for a fundamental likemindedness among its members. Their discussions and their joint declarations are largely limited to current legislation. But, with individual variations, very much the same ideas are in the backs of the minds of most of them. And most of them know it. That is why, even when the arguments wax hot, the atmosphere of their meetings is congenial. They agree on most current issues, but, more important than that, they are in general agreement on more fundamental matters, even though, to date, they have not found it expedient to say so.
With one or two exceptions, they agree, I think, in their belief in our private-profit economy. To conservatives, they undoubtedly sound like Socialists. Outside office hours some of them are apt to be found in Socialist company. But they are not Socialists. They will agree with anyone that capitalism needs to have a lot done to it, but they are at least proceeding on the assumption that the repairs can be made and that, repaired, a capitalistic system probably has more to offer than any of the available alternatives. And if it turns out that the system has to be scrapped, they want the scrapping done by an evolutionary process.
Their idea of repairing, however, is radical. Without any exceptions that I could find, they refuse to regard the New Deal either as an emergency undertaking or as a finished job. One of them who said he had enough to answer for already, and refused to be quoted, declared to me that "we do not believe our system is necessarily safe or fundamentally healthy merely because it has recovered. Our restoratives have worked. But we haven't done very much, as yet, about the disease."
Doing something about the disease involves, for most of them, a good many things. It certainly involves a continued attack on the utilities and a greatly extended public-power program. On this, in fact, they are miniature George Norrises. Some of them would have a little TVA on every river of any size in America, "abundant power, at a low price, in every home." A few of them would extend this nationalization principle to coal—"a basic commodity and a sick industry."
I think that a majority would agree, also, that the last legislative word has by no means been spoken on the matter of banking and monetary reform. The joint statement which the bloc may issue on this question, and for which the preliminary research is already under way, may call upon the Government to take the Federal Reserve System out of private hands and nationalize it under a Federal Monetary Authority.
They appear to have no very great enthusiasm for crop curtailment as a permanent cure for the ills of agriculture. They are convinced, however, that most of those ills can be cured, and that the most likely way to do it is, again, by Government intervention; with the Government, in this case, reviving in modified form the plan of the McNary-Haugen Bill to regulate prices by buying the farmers' surplus and storing it against a domestic shortage or selling it abroad. Thy are for more drastic efforts to decrease farm tenancy by Government purchase and resale.
It is safe to say that all of them are pro-labor. In early April, the Rules Committee of the House reported favorably a resolution asking for a sweeping investigation of sit-down strikes. When the resolution got to the floor—despite the fact that the Rules Committee is seldom overridden—the members of the bloc were out in full force and the proposed investigation was defeated. They want collective bargaining made the indisputable law of the land, and minimum wages and maximum hours fixed by congressional legislation. Their public statement on a long-time program for the unemployed leaned heavily to the Ickes view of public works, and additional large expenditures, rather than to the made-work program of Mr. Hopkins. To pay the bill, their proposals advocate less borrowing and higher taxes, particularly, I gather, on the earnings of the substantial-income groups. So far as I could discover, there is no great alarm among them as yet over the unbalanced state of the Federal budget. "It will cost a lot of money," one of them said, "but what the hell is money where lives are involved?"
It is safe to say that all of them are pro-labor. In early April, the Rules Committee of the House reported favorably a resolution asking for a sweeping investigation of sit-down strikes. When the resolution got to the floor—despite the fact that the Rules Committee is seldom overridden—the members of the bloc were out in full force and the proposed investigation was defeated. They want collective bargaining made the indisputable law of the land, and minimum wages and maximum hours fixed by congressional legislation. Their public statement on a long-time program for the unemployed leaned heavily to the Ickes view of public works, and additional large expenditures, rather than to the made-work program of Mr. Hopkins. To pay the bill, their proposals advocate less borrowing and higher taxes, particularly, I gather, on the earnings of the substantial-income groups. So far as I could discover, there is no great alarm among them as yet over the unbalanced state of the Federal budget. "It will cost a lot of money," one of them said, "but what the hell is money where lives are involved?"
That, incidentally, is not a bad summation of the basic philosophy of the entire group. They are not financially irresponsible. It is true that a few of them—particularly several members from the state of Washington—are more than casually inclined toward Townsendism. But some of them, on the other hand, were obliged to win their seats against the opposition of the Townsend organization. The important point is that their opinions on questions of finance are a product of their attitude toward society. In regard to the social order, present and future, they are humanitarians, with no apologies to offer to anyone. They actually believe that the United States is potentially rich enough to make it possible for all its citizens to live at a comfortable economic level and to be made secure against want. They do not think that the establishment of that standard of living and security can safely be left to chance, to natural law or to the voluntary good will of private citizens. They are for Mr. Roosevelt because they regard his New Deal as the first significant and inclusive effort to do, by legislation, what they do not believe can be accomplished any other way. They are certain that the only way to save the system—or for that matter, to make the system worth saving—is to finish the job.
Some of them were concerned, before Congress convened, lest the re-elected Mr. Roosevelt would call a halt to this effort. Their concern has been largely dispelled. Up to the present, the President, in most matters, has been a step or two ahead of them. Their anxiety now has been transferred to 1940 and the post-Roosevelt period. If they survive the 1938 elections, they will have a hand in determining the 1940 liberal and Democratic strategy. No other group in Congress will be in such an excellent position to serve as the emissaries for organized labor and organized agriculture. The presence of a majority of them in the counsels of the Democratic Party may help to prevent the emergence, in that election, of a third party. On the other hand, most of them are more liberal than Democratic, and if the 1940 candidate and platform are not in the Roosevelt-New Deal tradition, they may very well desert the Democrats for a third party that will be more dependably liberal.
Meanwhile, they will continue to keep their spurs polished; do their heavy thinking in solitude and their heavy fighting as a group; play some politics for re-election purposes; be less respectful, if re-elected, to their political superiors; and long before 1940 will have hammered out a Neo-New Deal program that will give the Democratic Party a chance to separate, once and for all, its liberal sheep from its conservative goats.
Some of them were concerned, before Congress convened, lest the re-elected Mr. Roosevelt would call a halt to this effort. Their concern has been largely dispelled. Up to the present, the President, in most matters, has been a step or two ahead of them. Their anxiety now has been transferred to 1940 and the post-Roosevelt period. If they survive the 1938 elections, they will have a hand in determining the 1940 liberal and Democratic strategy. No other group in Congress will be in such an excellent position to serve as the emissaries for organized labor and organized agriculture. The presence of a majority of them in the counsels of the Democratic Party may help to prevent the emergence, in that election, of a third party. On the other hand, most of them are more liberal than Democratic, and if the 1940 candidate and platform are not in the Roosevelt-New Deal tradition, they may very well desert the Democrats for a third party that will be more dependably liberal.
Meanwhile, they will continue to keep their spurs polished; do their heavy thinking in solitude and their heavy fighting as a group; play some politics for re-election purposes; be less respectful, if re-elected, to their political superiors; and long before 1940 will have hammered out a Neo-New Deal program that will give the Democratic Party a chance to separate, once and for all, its liberal sheep from its conservative goats.
Stanley High, The Saturday Evening Post, May 22, 1937
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