Bonus Army/Excerpt from Bill's New Book

Ora decided to do a little further investigation before he met up with Fred again. He went to visit another veteran, this one an official of the local Veterans of Foreign Wars, universally known as the VFW. Ora learned that almost all of Fred’s information was accurate. Congress had passed a law authorizing a bonus to veterans of the war. The law provided that all vets be given a bonus, the amount awarded depending upon their time of service during the war: the award was $1 per day for each day served between the dates April 5, 1917 and July 1, 1919, about $1.25 a day for those who served overseas during that period. The bill provided that the payouts be given in 1945, enough time to allow the U. S Treasury to accumulate the needed funds without the need for added taxes by most calculations.
The VFW man told Ora that the new thing about the bonus was that Congress had a new member, Wright Patman, Congressman from Texas who was demanding immediate payment of the bonus. He said that Patman had been in the artillery during the war and understood the desperate straits most vets were now in because of the hard times. The VFW man showed Ora a copy of a letter from Patman that had been widely circulated. It was a letter to his sister during the war and it showed his thinking about war and the needs of common people in the U.S. Ora quickly scanned the letter untill he came to the part about the artillery.
“What you would call a bullet is as big as a stovepipe and twice as long. It costs the government $1,250 to fire one of them.” The letter went on to note that soldiers fired the shells all day long and that a single firing was the equivalent cost of 10 new schoolhouses in their native Texas rural area.
Wright Patman returned home from the war and entered politics. Now he was a representative and the Chair of the powerful Banking Committee. Patman had introduced a bill for immediate payment of the 1924 bonus, said to be worth around $1,000 for most vets when it came due in 1945.
Ora was stunned by all Fred and the VFW man had told him. The amount of money they talked about, $1,000, was almost beyond belief for Ora. Why, having that much money would be like being the owner of the Eston Piano Company. Ora had a fitful night’s sleep as he rolled over the information he had learned.
Fred came the next day with more information about the Bonus March. Most of what he said was true, based on what Ora had learned from the VFW. Fred said that veterans all across the country were going to converge on Washinton, D. C. and demonstrate in front of the Congress so that they would vote in favor of the Patman bill. It seemed a simple matter to Fred; demonstrate your power with hordes of veterans, and the Congress will do your bidding.
Ora wasn’t convinced and he had a lot of questions.
“How would we get there? I don’t have money for gas, probably my old truck wouldn’t last that long anyway.”
Fred seemed to have most of the answers. Those that he didn’t know, provoked a shrug, “It’ll all work out,” he said.
Fred’s plan was that shared by thousands of other veterans across the country – they would ride the rails to Washington, camp at some installation close to Congress and march in front of the Capital and The White House, if necessary, and stay until Congress came up with their paycheck. It would be like being back in the Army for a while.
It seemed entirely too simple to Ora for it to succeed. He promised Fred that he would sleep on the idea and discuss it with Nellie. To Ora’s surprise, Nellie thought it was a good idea. She could manage their little farm while Ora was gone, and it would give him something to do instead of sitting on their porch day after day. With Nellie’s blessing, Ora told Fred he was going and the two made their plans to leave the following week, the third Monday in May, 1932.
The night before he was to leave, Ora had second thoughts but Nellie was supportive of the trip to Washington. It seemed to her that the veterans who were marching were doing a civic duty by urging the Congress to do something that would support the entire country, especially since the money had already been earmarked for the vets. Before Fred arrived the next morning, Ora and Nellie shared a private goodbye. Ora said he would return home as soon as he could and he hoped to be back before the month ended.
Ora fingered the money he was taking with him. It was the last of their savings from the bank, a little over $11. Nellie pressed $4 more into his hand even though he was reluctant to take it. As Ora had guessed, Fred had no money at all. The two each had a bedroll and a small mess kit but no other clothes besides clean underwear.
Fred and Ora left home that Monday and made their way to the train tracks on the west side of town. They knew an east-bound freight train would be leaving sometime in the morning and they wanted to be sure to find an empty boxcar without attracting attention. They were surprised when they crawled aboard a car to find two other men already hiding in the shadows. No one said a word as Fred closed the big door and they settled themselves in a corner, waiting for the telltale jerk announcing the beginning of their journey.
The first part of the ride east was long, slow, noisy and uncomfortable. The train made numerous short stops, but the men couldn’t determine their location most of the time and they were afraid to leave the car for fear of being left behind. They traveled all day long and through the night before their boxcar finally rolled onto a siding. They had traveled nearly 24 hours to reach Toledo, a port town on Lake Erie about 100 miles from Bluffton. Fred and Ora scrambled out of the boxcar. Before they had walked 50 feet, they saw a group of men sitting around a campfire a short distance from the train yard. “Let’s go see if we can find something to eat,” Fred said as he walked toward the group assembled around the campfire. Ora said nothing but fell in stride with Fred.
They soon learned that the men around the campfire were also headed to Washington. They were part of the Bonus Army, they said, and they were willing to share a bowl of their mulligan stew from vegetables that had been donated by the Toledo VFW. Fred and Ora quickly joined the circle. The men were waiting for the next freight headed east that was rumored for tomorrow morning. One of the men had a hand-lettered sign that he kept close at hand. Bonus Army Veterans, it said in bold black letters. He said that the sign had helped provide food for his journey since its beginning in Minnesota. He said he had been on his way for more than a week and he expected to be on the road for another week or two. The hard realization swept over Ora and Fred that their plan to return home within the month was not likely.
The dozen men around the circle spent the rest of the day talking and smoking. Someone had procured coffee from somewhere so several pots were boiled that substituted as dinner. No one complained. The talk turned to hardships of the Depression. Some of the men said that 1932 was the cruelest year yet of the Great Depression. They said that newspapers had been reporting on the terrible financial straits and that President Hoover seemed not to understand the pain most Americans felt.
The fact was that Hoover was a wealthy man, having earned his fortune by hard work and rapid progress as a mining engineer, but he seemed out of touch with the common man even though his parents had been poor. In one famous remark, Hoover said that in America, “Nobody is actually starving.” He couldn’t have been more wrong; two cities, New York and San Franciso, reported that 110 of their citizens had been found dead that month with the cause being malnutrition. Most were children.
Hoover opposed the Wright Patman bill that demanded immediate payment to the veterans instead of making them wait until 1945. Hoover made it known that if Congress passed the bill he would veto it. Veterans all across the country began singling out the President and his Treaury Secretary Andrew Mellon for abuse especially after Mellon was implicated in shady financial transactions that abetted his personal fortune.
A favorite refrain summed up widespread public opinion:
“Mellon pulled the whistle.
Hoover rang the bell,
Wall Street gave the signal,
And the country went to hell.”
The group had grown; instead of the14 assembled yesterday, another nine had appeared out of nowhere. The car now had 23 men. The car they settled in had been used for transporting beef to market. It stank, but at least it was clean. The advantage of this car was that the men could see each other and the countryside with the sunlight that filtered in through the slatted walls. Ora looked about at the odd collection of men. The faces that looked back at him sat atop thin, gaunt bodies; most got by on two meals a day; most were hungry on this day.
The thin bodies were covered in a variety of clothing. Most, like Fred, had managed to put together old and worn pieces of their military uniforms so they could be readily identified as veterans. Ora felt a little conspicuous with his carefully pressed army uniform that he had never worn since his days in the service. Some of the former soldiers wore their medals and a few had other military insignia and service ribbons that they proudly displayed. Three of the veterans had other marks of their service; two walked with the aid of a cane and one had a mangled arm that hung uselessly at his side. These three had to be helped aboard the boxcar
One of the new men from Toledo was elected Captain of the group when it was revealed that he had worked for a railroad and knew the practices of conductors and railroad security. A group of three men were assigned as quartermasters - their job was to solicit food for the group by whatever means was chosen. Two other men were chosen as cooks after they reported they had cooked in the army.
The discussion on procurement of food resulted in the agreement that the men should pool their money for whatever purchases were needed and that it should be controlled by a man chosen as Treasurer. This discussion about procurement prompted a roll call among the men to determine how much cash was available for emergency food purchases. When the assessment of their available cash was taken, Ora was astonished to learn that most of the men had no money at all. He knew Fred was broke, but he was struck by that fact that most of the other men were in no better shape. Ora’s $11 (he had temporized in his report that the other $4 in his pocket was really Nellie’s money and not his to give away.) was the largest bankroll of the group – several men had two or three dollars and the next largest bankroll after Ora’s was a man with $7. Ora was elected Treasurer to manage their combined bankroll of $36, and Fred was given the task of planning entertainment in camp.
The man voted captain decided to circulate among the railroad workers to find when the next east-bound train would depart. When he returned he called another meeting of the men to announce that they would be leaving that afternoon. The trip east began again. Ora and Fred spent their fifth day on the road just 100 miles from where they had begun.
The train trip east continued for the next two weeks. Most times the men traveled from town to town, established a camp and then met with the local VFW, Red Cross, American Legion or other civic group willing and able to help supply food for veterans who had nothing. As the Treaurer for the group, Ora purchased food on those few occasions when donated food was not available. Generally, he purchased vegetables and only enough meat to flavor a stew. In addition to stew, the men had bread and coffee for dinner and oatmeal for breakfast. No one complained since many had fared on even less food before the trip began.
Fred arranged for evening programs when the men arrived early enough to plan an event. If there weren’t enough time or daylight to organize a show or a baseball game, Fred planned another activity that everyone could join. One resource Fred discovered was the two men he found who were accomplished singers. After a tune or two of their own, the two would lead the group in singing patriotic songs or marches that they had learned in the army. The Bonus Army men kept busy in this fashion had little time or energy for complaining.
Ora learned a lot about the Bonus Army men during the long trip east. One of the most striking things he learned was how he lucky he and Fred were compared to most of the men they traveled with. All were unemployed and most hadn’t worked in two years or more. Many had lost their homes, most were hungry, and many had ailments of one sort or another either related to injuries from their war service or from the severity of a life with inadequate food and shelter. Ora was reluctant to talk about his home life with Nellie because of his relative wealth compared to most of the others. Countless times during the long trip in the boxcars, Ora thanked his lucky stars that he lived in a small community surrounded by rich farmlands where food was relatively abundant.
At each stop, the little Bonus Army that Ora and Fred had joined added a few more men. By the time their group was closing in on Washington, D. C. they had grown from 23 to 147 veterans, each one jobless, each hoping for a payday from the United States Congress, each expecting that his share of the money would help reset his path to financial recovery. It was a dream, but one that was shared by thousands of veterans converging on the nation’s capital.
 


The train arrived at Union Station in the middle of a bright sunny afternoon. The Bonus Army men stumbled from the cars as soon as the train came to a stop. By now, the group had a practiced routine of gathering alongside the tracks and coming to order with the captain shouting orders for their next move. This time, their assembly was interrupted by the presence of another tight knot of men at the edge of the tracks. The captain of the Ora’s group, now called the Ohio group, walked toward the knot of men. At the center of the group was a slender man of medium height who seemed to have the respect of those around him. He was dressed in a clean khaki uniform with tall black boots and a nametag over his left breast pocket. As Ora and Fred joined the group, he was talking earnestly, and the men around him were nodding gravely.
Walter Waters was a jobless veteran like thousands of others converging on Washington. He was married, hadn’t had a job for two years and believed that the nation owed its veterans a bonus and that the bonus should be paid now to help lift the nation from the depression. The difference between Waters and the thousands of other vets who believed similarly, was that Waters had a gift for gab, and he found a ready ear among the newspapers in his native Oregon. Over the last two years he had been speaking publicly about the bonus with the result that he developed a following of men and women who helped organize rallies where he spoke dozens of times to the acclaim of various organizations and news agencies. The result of his long effort had been the march on Washington. He personally led a group of veterans from Oregon and the group rode boxcars just as Ora and thousands of others.
Waters had been a sergeant in the army and had no particular qualifications to lead a march of 10 men, let alone the 20,000 believed either enroute or already in the capital. Yet the fact was that Waters, more than anyone else, had galvanized veterans from across the nation to bring pressure on Congress by means of a physical presence in the capital. Waters had become an accomplished public speaker and he had led one of the first veterans groups across the nation with much fanfare. When he arrived in Washington, he met with Washington’s sympathetic Chief of Police, Pelham Glassford. Glassford helped Waters and his group set up the first of many camps around Washington as they began planning their activities for lobbying the Congress.
Ora and Fred and the rest of the predominantly Ohio veterans were herded from the station to a group of open-back trucks waiting for them. As soon as they were aboard, the trucks left the station and headed south, traveling past the Capitol building and the center of Washington. The vets in the parade of trucks were all wide-eyed with their first glimpse of the gleaming white government buildings that struck them as outrageously ornate, large and elegant beyond their previous experience. None of the vets riding in the open trucks with the noise and the sun and wind, could imagine going to work inside one of the attractive buildings behind the broad facades to earn a regular, dependable wage that could support a family.
The trucks took the vets to the largest of the Bonus Army camps that had sprung up in Washington. The camp was known as The Anacostia Camp as it was on the south side of the Anacostia River. The site had been chosen by Glassford since it was an unoccupied stretch of land that no one cared about as it was a floodplain, readily susceptible to regular flooding, and adjacent to a city dump. The vets thought it was perfect.
One of the reasons the vets liked the spot was because of the nearby dump. None of the vets had the means to establish any sort of living quarters, not even a tent. The dump provided the materials for their shelter. The first vets to arrive at the Anacostia site raided the dump and took whatever materials they could find to build a shelter of one sort or another. What they found were discards of all description. The vets were creative if nothing else and a village of sorts was soon erected.
Shacks soon arose from the floodplain made from all manner of materials. The first arrivals found discarded lumber and odd pieces of plywood and tin. Soon, those ‘conventional’ materials were all taken forcing the use of more creative housing materials such as cardboard, flattened metal nailed onto a few boards, assorted bricks and stone piled high and covered with shingles or whatever else was available. A few vets found old car bodies in the dump and dragged those to the camp to serve as living quarters. The materials and shapes used as living quarters were so varied that the only things that seemed out of place at The Anacostia Camp were conventional tents and lumber.
The Chief of Police of Washington, D. C., Pelham Glassford, was sympathetic to the plight of the Bonus Army veterans. He understood the potential for civil unrest and possible rioting with so many men in town who had no money, nothing to occupy their time and no means to support themselves. Glassford decided that whatever could be done to ease the plight of the vets would ultimately be in the best interests of both the city and the nation. Unfourtunately, Glassford’s bosses, the Board of Comisonners for the city, didn’t share his view nor did President Hoover, who was keenly aware of the presence of the Bonus Army. The result was that Glassford, on his own initiative, did everything he could to help the vets and make their accomodations as comfortable as possible despite the lack of support from those leaders who controlled the purse strings who chose not to help. The consequence was that Glassford dipped into his own pockets to provide help and requisitioned supplies for the vets from Federal depots without authority.
Glassford and Waters worked together to create an orderly camp that operated much like a military camp. Glassford obtained a large tent that served as kitchen and mess hall. He requisitioned camp kitchen tools from the army and solicited food donations from the Red Cross and other city agencies. When those sources were exhausted, Glassford bought food from his own pocket. He also provided lumber so the men could erect a large stage that fronted an area that became the parade grounds for the camp. Waters used the stage to address the men and he demanded that they assemble on the parade grounds in orderly groups following an organization that was established based on their origin. Fred and Ora mustered as a part of the Ohio group and were told to establish a campsite with the rest of the Ohio men.
Ora and Fred spent their first days at The Anacostia Camp searching for materials for a shelter. The weather had been pleasant since they arrived and their bedrolls furnished their only shelter for the first week. Their search of the dump was fruitless; most of the materials from the dump that could be used had already been taken. They decided to expand their search to another part of the city. After a hike of less than a half mile, they came upon a city park and a city work crew that were trimming trees. Ora watched the men cutting limbs from a tree and he noticed how some of the long and straight poles were being thrown out just as were the smaller tree branches. He turned to Fred. “I think we just found our shelter,” he said.
They watched the work crew for several minutes before they approached the man who seemed to be the foreman of the group. The outgoing Fred struck up a conversation and the three were soon laughing as if they were old friends. By the end of 10 minutes, Ora and Fred had arranged to have the crew deliver a truckload of the straightest and longest branches and trees to the camp at the end of their work shift. Ora and Fred returned to the camp. Ora went to find Walter Waters to explain his plan while Fred was commissioned to find a supply of twine that could be used to lash the poles together.
The poles arrived that evening as planned and Fred showed up at their campsite with a large bundle of twine. Ora decided that it was better not to ask where and how the twine had been obtained. The two began work immediately as several other vets gathered to watch. By the time it was dark, Ora and Fred and two other men who offered help had the major part of a small building standing upright with the corner poles securely buried in the mucky soil. They had lashed the poles together to form a small building that was large enough for two bedrolls, a small bench, and a space in the corner large enough for one man to stand upright while getting dressed.
There was no floor, a single opening for a window, no door, and a shed roof made from slender poles that wouldn’t discourage even the smallest rain from soaking everything within. Yet Ora and Fred were proud of their handiwork as they rolled out their beds in their new home. Word spread around camp and by noon of the following day, several dozen men had come by to inspect their work and offer opinions about obtaining a door, window, and covering for the roof. By the end of the next day pieces of cardboard, a scrap of fabric and several pieces of tin were delivered to Ora’s door by other Bonus Army men, completing one more shanty in a camp of a few thousand.
Waters tried to keep records of the Bonus Army marchers, but in the end it was impossible as men came and left without fanfare, some discouraged and giving up after a few days for a long trip home. The main focus of the veterans was to lobby for passage of the Wright Patman bill that would provide immediate payment of the bonus. Congress was in session during that summer and debate on the bill was scheduled. Hoover had made it clear that he was opposed to the bill and that if it were passed he would veto it. His threat was not enough to discourage Waters. He told newsmen that the vets were planning to remain in Washington until the bill was passed no matter how long it took.
During the second week of their visit, Ora was summoned to the parade grounds to serve as a representative for the Ohio regiment. He arrived to find Waters and Glassford at the front of a group of 40 or 50 vets, each of whom represented a section of the camp. Glassford was easy to spot; he had ridden his police motorcycle into the camp, and he was resplendent in his dark blue police uniform. He stood directly in front of the group, ignoring a small water puddle that lapped at his shiny black boots.
Waters asked for silence then made quick headcount before starting the meeting. He explained that the Patman bill was coming to a vote in the House on the following day and he wanted the entire Bonus Army to demonstrate in front of the Capitol. Glassford was alarmed at the idea and he lost no time in saying so. It would be the first time the entire Bonus Army was assembled in one place and he was concerned that too many men urged on by the presence of newsmen and cameras might make an explosive situation, especially if the men were hungry and tired and had no place to rest or the means to escape Washington’s hot, muggy weather.
Waters was adamant that the Bonus Army should march to the Capitol no matter the weather and no matter the food supply situation. Glassford warned that his police would be forced to protect the city and government property and would tolerate no unruly behavior. He said he thought the whole demonstration was too riskly, especially since Waters couldn’t say how many men would join the march. Waters thought that there were 28,000 marchers in town, but he couldn’t be sure and he couldn’t guarantee that all would be well-behaved. Waters asked for comments from the men assembled at the parade ground. There was silence as each man looked about. Ora took a deep breath, raised his hand, and stepped forward to speak. The men around him provided space and he found himself uncomfortably at the front, facing Waters and Glassford.
Ora’s voice was loud and firm. “I traveled a long way to get here just like the 100 or more other men in our group. We came without money, without food and without shelter and it was a hard trip. But we came to let the Congress know how we feel about getting our Bonus. Now if I go home without having a chance to show the Congress why I’m here, why shame on me. I know the other Ohio men feel the same way: we want to march, we want to tell Congress to pass this bill.” Ora stepped backward. He suddenly felt exhausted after his unwanted role as spokesman. As he sought the comfort of anonymity, he heard men all around him saying, “That’s right.” “You got that right.” Suddenly a rhythmic sound of clapping began. Waters looked at Glassford as the sound increased in volume as all the men joined in.
Waters waited until the clapping ceased. He turned to Glassford. “I guess you heard our answer. We’re going to march tomorrow.”
The next morning at precisely 8:00AM the three open-backed trucks showed up at the camp and the men from the meeting began to climb in. Except Ora. Waters invited Ora to ride to the Capitol with the camp leaders but Ora declined, saying that he wanted to walk with the men.
The remainder of the men assembled at the parade grounds at 8:30 AM for the march to the Capitol. Each unit marched as a group, each led by a man carrying an American flag. Most of the groups began singing as they crossed the bridge over the Anacostia River. The first to cross was the New York veterans, and they were met by photographers and newsmen from the Washington newspapers, as well as other photographers from several magazines. The Bonus Army was getting exactly the publicity they wanted.
The hour-long march to the capital took the vets past both The Navy Yard and past a U. S. Marine Corp barracks. Each of the military facilities flew an American flag at their entrance and as the vets passed by, each of the marchers saluted in a silent display of patriotism. It was easy to tell the men were solid patriots. Most wore some fragment of a military uniform and most tried to march in ranks as they slowly moved toward the capital.
The vets were also awed by the Capitol and each marching unit fell silent as they approached the low hill. An oval-shaped paved road circumscribed the Capitol. The marchers began their slow walk around the building. Many of the men had brought signs with them that they held aloft as they marched. Around and around the long oval road they marched with little to sustain them except the hope that Congress would pass a law that would put food in their bellies and return a measure of dignity to their lives. At the end of the day, they trudged back to the camp not knowing if Congress had heard their message.
News soon came that the House of Representatives voted and the Bonus Bill passed! The vets spent long hours at the camp congratulating themselves on their effort and the good news. A few of the wiser ones counseled restraint and indicated that the Senate had yet to pass the bill and that if the bill were to become law, the Senate had to have enough votes to override an expected Presidential veto.  

The enthusiasm at the camp reached a new high with the news that the House had passed the Bonus Bill. That enthusiasm began to dwindle with each passing day as the vets waited for news of the Senate’s action on the Bill. Ora was becoming especially anxious. He missed Nellie and the boredom of sitting around the camp coupled with the hardship of everyday life at the camp were beginning to grate on him. He and Fred had lengthy discussions about returning home to Bluffton despite the general agreement among most of the vets that they needed to remain until Congress passed the bill.
Ora wondered how the vets at the Anacostia Camp and at other camps around Washington could be so patient to wait week after week living on the edge of starvation. It was true that some of the men had their families with them. Their wives and children shared the meager food, lack of sanitation, heat, rain and cool nights with little more than a roof over their heads. After talking with scores of men, Ora finally understood; most of the vets had nowhere else to go. They had no job and in consequence of having no income, most had lost their homes. For them, Washington was as good a place as any other to endure the pain of the Great Depression.
There were some people in Washington who wished the Bonus Army would leave. One was President Hoover. He had announced numerous times that he was opposed to the Bonus and that he would veto the Bill if it came before him. He didn’t like the constant reminder of having the veterans underfoot, especially since he was afraid that they might mob any function he attended and threaten his safety. The vets were also a drag on his upcoming campaign. He expected that the ever-present veterans and their signs demanding help would spoil any publicity he might strive for in Washington.
Another small group wishing the Bonus Army would depart Washington were the Commissioners for the city. These men were the highest-level administrators of the city and they supervised all the city department heads including the Chief of Police, Pelham Glassford. Glassford had succeeded thus far in keeping the peace with the Bonus Army by cooperating and assisting them within the limits of his authority. His bosses, the Commisioners, had repeatedly suggested that he take a hard line with the Bonus Army and they would have been only too happy to see the group depart.
Just as Ora was at the end of his patience with the political process the news came down from Waters – the Senate was preparing to vote on the Bonus Bill. The word spread through the camp like wildfire and the vets hurriedly assembled in front of the Capitol without urging from Glassford. By dusk, Ora, Fred, and 10,000 other vets were shuffling their feet on the Capitol grounds awaiting word of the vote. Suddenly silence swept over the assembled men. Ora could just make out the outline of the slender Walter Waters standing at the top of the stairs leading into the Capital. Ora was too far back in the crowd to make out Waters precise words but the message was unmistakable. The vets had lost. The Senate voted against the Bonus Bill 62 to 18. The vets stood in stunned silence, uncertain what to do next. Waters gave the answer “Sing America and go back to your billets,” he ordered. The men silently started home.
The result of the Senate vote was enough for Ora; he was ready to go home. He and Fred talked about it at length and Fred reluctantly agreed. The two men began preparing to leave but not quite soon enough. The District Commisioners had enough of the ragged Bonus Army and their living in abandoned buildings in the city. When Walter Waters announced that the Bonus Army was going to stay regardless of the Senate vote, the Commisioners ordered Glassford to clear the veterans from Washington’s central city, beginning with those living in several of Washington’s decrepit old buildings.
Glassford reluctantly ordered his officers to begin the eviction. The police assembled and began marching toward the downtown area. In an ironic twist of fate, a crowd of the Bonus Army men gathered to watch the marching officers and cheered as they passed by in a patriotic gesture of goodwill toward the marching police officers. The cheers turned to gasps as the police entered one of the buildings that had no front wall and was open to view by all. The officers began ordering people to leave their makeshift living quarters immediately. Their demands were punctuated with the use of nightsticks and drawn pistols.
Men, women and children began running in all directions at the sight of the drawn weapons. Suddenly a melee broke out and the officers were pelted by bricks. Shots rang out as the officers tried to protect themselves and two of the Bonus Army men fell, mortally wounded.
“Stop that shooting!”
It was Glassford. He ran to the sound of the firing and took command by climbing atop a pile of bricks. “Come on boys, let’s call an armistice for lunch,” he yelled. The resulting cheers and laughter defused the tense situation. The police backed away and allowed the veterans time to collect their belongings before leaving what had been their temporary homes. The eviction then proceeded in a more orderly fashion.
The news of the eviction and the shootings flew around Washington and simultaneously landed in Federal and city offices. The District Commissioners met and in a hurried consultation decided to request Federal troops to reinforce the police force. At nearly the same time, the Attorney General, acting with the consent of the President, decided that Federal troops should clear all the Bonus Army encampments, not just those in the downtown area. The order was sent to the Army Chief of Staff, Douglas MacArthur.
Against the advice of his aide, Dwight Eisenhower, the publicity-seeking MacArthur decided to personally command the troops. Eisenhower later recalled, “I told that dumb SOB not to go downtown, that it was no place for the Chief of Staff to command.” Since newsmen and photographers would no doubt be present, MacArthur first stopped to change into his dress uniform and he ordered Eisenhower to do the same. He then signed orders for troops to assemble near the Capitol. The troops he ordered included 600 men from the infantry, a unit of cavalry and an armored group. The armored unit consisted of a group of six heavy French tanks commanded by another ambitious officer, George S Patton.
It was late afternoon before the assembled horses, tanks, and troops began their journey to those downtown buildings inhabited by the Bonus Army. News of the troop movements flew faster than the moving army that was marching slowly behind trucks and horses; their presence announced by the rhythmic clatter of horseshoes on pavement echoing between tall buildings. Workers from government office buildings spilled out into the streets at the sound of the army’s marchers. When it became clear what was in store, American troops attacking American veterans, the office workers shouted, “Shame, Shame” at the stone-faced officers.
When the army reached the first of the decrepit buildings inhabited by the Bonus Army veterans, most ran for their lives. A few hold-outs stood firm and began pelting the troops with bricks. It was a vain attempt to show their anger as the hold-outs were quickly sent packing by teargas canisters, bayonets and swinging sabre blades. The army made short work of routing the veterans from their temporary living quarters.
It was dark when MacArthur decided the downtown work was finished and that the troops should proceed for the large Bonus Army camp on the south side of the Anacostia River. Glassford learned of MacArthur’s plans and raced his motorcycle toward the camp to warn the vets. Waters was not in camp. Glassford began riding his motorcycle through camp warning all who would listen.
President Hoover had a change of heart. After learning details of the troop action in town and the deaths of citizens, he sent an urgent dispatch to MacArthur ordering him not to cross the Anacostia River Bridge. MacArthur read the dispatch but decided to ignore the order and proceeded to cross the bridge. Before the infantry moved forward, he ordered that bayonets be fixed, tear gas canisters prepared, and cavalry swords held at the ready. The army moved forward and entered the camp, failing to salute the American flag hoisted at its entrance. It was the first time one American army had attacked another since the Civil War, one army equipped with the latest weapons and the other with sticks and stones.
A few veterans, warned of the oncoming troops, stood in the shadows armed with stones. As the troops advanced they let loose with their missiles and then disappeared into the darkness. The troops responded by aiming teargas canisters in the general direction of the incoming stones.
Ora and Fred were sound asleep in their bedrolls. Ora thought he was dreaming of the trenches in World War I when he heard the sounds of war. He roused himself from sleep when he heard neighbors shouting urgently, “Let’s go! “Let’s go!”
Suddenly, the beam of a powerful searchlight played across the front of their tiny shack, illuminating it as never before. The light awoke Fred.
“What’s happening,” he muttered.
“I don’t know,” Ora said as he scrambled from bed and stuck his head past the dirty burlap drape that served as their front door. He saw the search light and the reflected light of flames that seemed to be coming from the front of the camp. Scores of men were running down the road that fronted their shack.
“Hey, what’s happening,” Ora shouted at one of the runners.
“You’d better get going. The army has attacked,” the man shouted breathlessly as he continued his fevered pace down the road.
Ora turned to Fred.
“Did you hear that?”
Fred answered by bolting out of bed and gathering his few possessions in a single wad and stuffing the whole into the bed roll. Ora followed suit and within three minutes the two men were out the door of the little shack that had been their home for the past several weeks, each shouldering all they owned.
Once outside, the noise of the attack made it obvious the warning was correct. The sound from the front of the camp made it clear that the camp was on fire; the tarpaper, cardboard and wooden shacks were burning like a bonfire at a 4th of July picnic. The light from the fires illuminated the entire camp and Ora and Fred saw people running in all directions. It was clear from the pandemonium that the army was serious about what they were doing.
Fred started down the road, away from the entrance to the camp and the sound of the lumbering tanks that had now made it onto the parade grounds.
“Wait a minute,” Ora said. “Let’s get to the back of the camp.”
Ora pointed past their shack to the dark outlines of other shacks that sat along the rearmost road of the camp. Fred hesitated and then followed as Ora led the way through the dark toward the back of the camp. The pair reached the last row of shacks and then turned left, toward the end of the camp and toward the next further bridge over the river. They walked silently as the sounds of the fires and shouts and the screams of frightened children receded in the distance. The bridge over the river was barely discernible in the dark. Ora and Fred thought it safe to cross the river into the city since there seemed to be no one else around.
They were wrong. As they entered the roadway leading to the bridge a lone figure emerged from the dark.
“You boys had the same idea as me,” the man said. Although it was too dark to see clearly, the sound of his voice demonstrated that he was African-American.
He fell in step with Ora and Fred. Ora cast a sideways glance at the man but his gaze revealed nothing to single out the man as being any different from the any of the other veterans in the camp. Black veterans were common throughout the camp. In a remarkable demonstration of racial equality, Blacks and Whites lived side-by-side throughout the camp, shared the same meals and the same hardships, and practically no one noticed even though the country continued to practice racial segregation.
Ora turned to the man as they walked. “Could you see what was happening? We were camped in the back and so we didn’t see or hear much before we decided to run.”
“Apparently, we made things too hot for the President. He called out the troops on us. I couldn’t believe it myself even though the policeman Glassford tole’ us they was acomin’. I waited to see what would happen. When the first troops on horseback drawed their swords and the first soldiers commenced to burn the mess tent, I decided it was time to git. Before I left I could see the soldiers with bayonets and drawn swords advancing on the camp. They looked like they meant business.”
The revelations from the Black man further stunned Ora. He looked at Fred and decided that he was equally shocked at the treatment the Bonus Army had received at the hands of the army. At the Washington end of the bridge, the men stopped to look back at the camp. All they could see were the fires. The makeshift shacks in the front row had all burned and the fire had jumped the first road and was racing along the second tier of shacks.
“I bet our shack is burning by now. “ Fred said as the three of them stared at the flames.
The black man looked hard at Ora and Fred. “So what are you fellas planning to do now?”
Ora looked at Fred as he answered for both. “We’re heading home. Back to Indiana. I think we’ve done our part, just like we did in the War, and now it’s time to go home.”

My Take on the Truth

Regular readers of my scribblings will know that North Woods weather is one of my favorite topics. Mostly, I have complained about the snow and cold and the length of winter. Since I live in a low plateau where the cold rolls in, my home area is often the equal of Hell, Michigan in wintertime lows. Our typical winters have a few days of minus 20 or lower and snow that begins in November and ends sometime in mid-April. This year has been atypical with positively balmly weather for much of the winter including temperatures in the 70s over the last few days. Today was another wonderful shirtsleeve day that had me cheering in support of global warming.

A closer look at our weather reveals that this year was one more in a string of increasingly mild winters. ”The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, United States Department of Commerce has reported that this winter turned out to be the 4th warmest on record in the contiguous United States. That’s not surprising given how much the world has warmed over the past few decades. In fact, all of the seven warmest years in over 100 years of climate data have occurred since 1992, and over the past three decades, a warmer-than-average winter has been twice as likely as a cool one. These data are consistent with how scientists say global warming affects the weather. The risk of warm winters is increasing over time.”

With overwhelming evidence like the above, you might think the idea of global warming has finally been accepted as fact. If you think that, you’d be wrong. A few prominent people continue to believe that global warming is a myth. They think there is debate among the scientific community concerning the facts that support global warming. Even a politician as noteworthy as Rick Santorum has been hoodwinked into claiming that global warming is a hoax.

The truth is that the perpetrators of the hoax idea have been very clever in the distribution of money to public relations groups who are adept in issuing misleading headlines and supposed facts that distort the evidence. As you would guess, money is at the root of the problem in discovering the truth. Scientists who develop data proving climate warming work at national labs and scientific organizations associated with universities. Those who distort the facts are independent groups or persons who do so at the bidding of the energy industry since their profits are at risk with any movement that promotes “green” energy sources. These industry groups have the money to fund any group who are willing to issue climate information that is untrue or ambiguous. The theatrics of these groups and their willingness to create "smokescreen" data recall to mind the antics of the tobacco industry in defense of smoking. We know that didn't end well for anyone.

The fact is that the scientific community around the world is unanimous in their acceptance of global warming and the risk it poses for the future of our planet and our grandchildren. In the last two months, I have heard news reports from two unassailable scientific organizations and both have reported that the scientific community has been unanimous in their belief of global warming and its causes for the last decade. Their report: There is no debate; never has been one, global warming is a fact.

Unfortunately, there is no law that prohibits uttering or publishing things that are untrue. When there is money to be had, there is no shortage of those who are willing to voice whatever someone else is willing to pay for. Like it or not, our generation has used the planet as a toilet for our wastes, and our children and theirs will pay the price in fixing the mess that we are creating.

I don't like it, but I also don't like to think about such things; they are much easier to ignore, besides, just as the tobacco industry claimed, a few doctors really did prefer Camels.

How About a Little Warm?

T

here is nothing quite like a late winter blizzard to get one thinking about warm weather. Since we are just now in the middle of a dastard snowstorm, it seems an appropriate time to show a few pictures of our recent trip to warmer climes and different scenery. We spent the first half of February on The Queen Victoria traveling from Ft. Lauderdale to Las Angeles via the Panama Canal. Of course, the ship made the requisite stops at several ports to fleece the tourists in support of several nations. Accordingly, here are a few pictures and my explanation to my children about why their inheritance has shrunk to such a pitiful level.

A U.S. Navy vessel follows us through one of six locks at the canal. Three locks lifted us 88 feet above sea level to cross the continental divide, followed by our 40 mile trip across the country to the remaining three locks that lowered us to the Pacific ocean.

Contractor Hill - One of the many hills that French and American workers had to carve to make a canal through the continental divide in a land that features mountains and hills for much of its 48 miles that separates two oceans 



One of our first stops was at Aruba, the place where a few thousand drunken Dutchmen cling to a rock in the ocean. It is definitely a tourist place so we toured their single national park. We were surprised how arid their environment seems to be.

The terrain in Aruba was like Arizona with cacti and desert plants everywhere.

After the canal and Aruba we stopped next in Costa Rica where we toured a garden and completed a walk through treetops courtesy of a series of swinging bridges that connected one hill to another.

We learned that Costa Rica has more diversity of plants and animals than anywhere. On our brief walk we spotted butterflies, iguanas, bugs of all descriptions (including ants and termites everywhere), and the most amazing variety of plants that one can imagine. Even this fellow was interesting:

Our next destination was Nicaragua, another 3rd world Central American country that boasts tropical rain forests, squalid villages and little else, in my opinion. We were surprised at the poverty when we left the 'touristy' areas along the coast for a tour of a banana plantation. We ate several types of tropical fruits grown locally and all were delicious. The local beer and the rum wasn't bad either, proving that God loves these people in spite of their lack of cash.

I learned that bannas like these are grown on bushes, not trees. The plants were dense, thick bushes, 8 to 12 feet tall. The bannas are bagged to keep them clean and free of bugs as soon as they begin to grow

We left Nicaragua for Guatemala. It seemed to be a repeat of our prior stop. We only visited one tourist place selling beautiful, hand-made garments. We contributed. Their nation is now a bit wealthier.

After these places in Central America, we made multiple stops in Mexico at several ports I had never heard of. Our ship decided to skip Acapulco because of the risk of crime due to the drug cartels. I think they made a wise choice in view of the recent hold-up of tourists from a cruise ship.  At one of the ports we rafted a white-water river where we interrupted a woman and her goats at a quiet place in the river. She was washing her clothes in the river and the goats were watching us watch her. It was entertaining and I think the goats enjoyed the tourists even though the washer woman ignored

 us.                                                                                  

Rape in Roscommon

Roscommon Rape

This report is an account of a rape and the subsequent trial that occurred in Roscommon County during the 2011 Memorial Day weekend. I served as the Jury Foreman for the trial. I have changed the names of the participants in the case to protect the anonymity of the underage victim of the assault.

The victim, her family, and the rapist.

Alisa was a typical 13 year-old living in a single parent home in a Detroit suburb. Her mother, Angel, had been raising Alisa with the help of her sister, Candy, and the grandparents, Arnie and Thelma. Angel worked at Ford during the afternoon shift. She went to work each day just one hour after Alisa got home from school, only enough time to the two of them to share a Frappe at MacDonalds before Angel dropped her off at Candy’s house.

Candy loved Alisa as if she were her own daughter. She and her husband Scott had been watching over Alisa since she was a baby and it seemed as natural as water for Alisa to spend so much time with them, especially since her parents, Angel and Candy’s mom and stepdad, lived just across the street from Candy. In fact, Alisa spent almost as much time there as she did at Candy’s house and probably more time than she spent at her own home with her mom. And that was OK, 55 year old Arnie adored his granddaughter. Everyone said the family of grandparents, two daughters, one son-in-law and granddaughter Alisa were an extremely close family.

Alisa often stayed overnight at Candy’s house especially if Angel had to work overtime or if there was some other reason. One unfortunate reason for many of the 2011 ‘overnighters’ was bullying by some of Alisa’s classmates. The bullies followed her home and banged on the front door shouting obscenities. Alisa was happy to stay with Candy after those occurrences while her mom went to the school and arranged for help from the school counselor who met with Alisa several times.

One thing that made the living arrangements work at Candy’s house was Scott’s handicap. Scott had been injured in August, 2006 and two surgeries followed for repair of his back. Scott walked with a cane and his condition resulted in his being a ‘house-husband’ while Candy worked and provided the household income through her career at Chase Bank as an investment advisor. Scott had been married before he met Candy and had a son, Scott Jr. Junior, now 18, had lived with Scott and Candy on and off. Recently, he had been living in the basement of Candy’s home. Since he had once been accused of rape, Angel asked Candy if she would sleep on the couch with Alisa when Alisa stayed over. Candy readily agreed and the two spent many nights together on the sofa while Candy’s husband slept in their bed.

The assault

One thing that Scott and several members of the family enjoyed was visiting Roscommon for camping weekends. Scott had a buddy, Rick, who had access to a parcel of forest land in Roscommon County. Rick and Scott both enjoyed the same things while camping: riding four-wheelers and shooting handguns at targets propped against a small hill of sand. On Memorial Day weekend, Scott and Rick agreed to meet at the Roscommon camping site for a weekend campout. It was not an unusual plan, the two had camped there several times over the years, often with various members of Scott’s family; sometimes Angel, Candy, Alisa and others since Rick didn’t mind who came along with Scott.

This time was different. Angel had to work so she couldn’t go on the campout and Candy was studying for a test. She had to pass an examination at Chase Bank to qualify for a promotion so she decided to stay home and study. Candy thought it might be better if Alisa didn’t go either since only the two men were going and there was likely to be drinking and shooting involved. Angel decided it would be OK to let Alisa go with Scott. She said she would come to the campground on Saturday and meet up with Scott, Alisa and Rick who were leaving Thursday afternoon for Roscommon.

The trip went as planned with only a brief delay when Scott stopped enroute at Angel’s house to smoke weed with Angel. After that diversion, Scott’s trip north went without incident and he arrived at the campground to learn that Rick was already there. Scott and Alisa busied themselves in setting up camp. Alisa piled her air mattress, sleeping bag and duffle bag into a tent while Scott arranged a mattress in the back of his pick-up truck, inside the cap, just like he always did.

Since Scott and Alisa ate their dinner at Halo Burger on the way to Roscommon, neither was hungry after they set up camp. Since it was getting dark, Alisa climbed into her tent intending to read her vampire book. She discovered her mother had included a coloring book in her bag along with her clothes. She was cold. She put on a pair of sweat pants over her shorts and a tank top over her T-shirt. Still not satisfied, she put her coat on over her clothes and jammed her hands inside socks that she found in her duffel bag. She drifted off to sleep in her sleeping bag to the sound of Rick and Scott laughing as they finished a half pint of Jim Beam whiskey and then opened the half-gallon bottle that Rick furnished. In between the drinks, the men puffed on marijuana as they sat around the campfire.

It was pitch black when the men finished their drinking and smoking and the night air was cool in the middle of the Jack Pine forest in Roscommon County. After midnight, silence ruled and the thirteen year-old Alisa slept soundly. Suddenly, she awoke in the middle of the night the ferocious pain of a finger stuck in her vagina.

The Testimony

I wasn’t called with the first wave of jurors that were seated for the trial and I was beginning to hope that I could go home. The Judge and the two lawyers were relentless however, as they dismissed one juror after another and then seated replacements. Finally, my number came up as a replacement jurist and I took my place in the middle of the second row of the jury box. I faced the judge and the attorney’s rostrum that sat practically in the center of the new, spacious courtroom. As soon as I sat down the Judge asked a few perfunctory questions and then looked away as I answered. Suddenly the Judge and the lawyers seemed no longer interested in challenging and dismissing jurors. I had conjured up at least three reasons why I would be unsatisfactory as a jurist, but the Judge seemed suddenly intent on other matters so I sat silently, cursing my bad luck.

From then on, the clock seemed to move very slowly. I spent an entire morning listening to repetitious and boring legal matters that seemed of little import. Toward lunchtime, I was startled with what seemed to be a sudden announcement: “The Proscecutor calls Alisa Christian to the stand.” Apparently, the trial had begun and I was stuck as a jurist, like it or not.

A short, black-haired young woman entered the room, was sworn in, and then walked tentatively toward the witness box. She was dressed in a stylish, but conservative gray suit and she looked the part of a woman in her early twenties. I soon learned that she was Alisa, 14 years old. At the nod of the Judge, The Prosecutor stood and began questioning her. As her answers rolled out hesitantly, it became apparent that she was indeed a 14 year old, brave, but frightened little girl. The Prosecutor asked question after question to establish first her family connections and then information about the camping trip. He carefully asked her what happened in the middle of the night and what she observed when she awoke. She said it was Scott, her uncle, who was violating her. The Prosecutor asked if he was in the room and she pointed at a suited, brown haired younger man sitting at the table. Then she burst into tears.

She testified for the rest of the morning as the Prosecutor slowly and painfully drew out the details of the assault. She said that her uncle pulled her sweat pants down, removed her bra and groped her breasts, and put his knee between her legs at which time she felt another pain, this one different and higher up on her belly. Between tears she described how he forced her to stroke him, ultimately finishing his depredations upon her leg. Later, she found a wet spot on her sweat pants. She said that during the assault Scott said little beyond some unmentionable sexual ravings (my words, not hers) except that he told her it was because her aunt wouldn’t sleep with him.

He left her alone afterwards and she went to sleep. She testified that the next day she didn’t leave the tent except once. When Scott saw her out of the tent, he told her to follow him and they walked into the woods. He then pulled a handgun, pointed it at her head at point blank range, and told her she was not to tell anyone what had happened. She returned to her tent and spent the rest of the day inside, not leaving to eat or drink. The following day Scott allowed her use of his cell phone and she called her mother saying she wanted to come home. Scott told her they would leave the following day, Saturday. Again, she spent another day alone in her tent.

Candy testified that when Scott and Alisa arrived home on Saturday morning, Alisa left the truck and went directly to her Grandfather’s house. When Grandfather Arnie saw her, he asked her what was wrong. She burst into tears and gradually told her story. Candy testified that she then called her husband to the house where she confronted him with Alisa’s story. His answer confirmed to Candy that he was indeed guilty even though he denied it. “He answered in a high-pitched squeaky voice that I had never heard before. At that moment, I knew he did it, she said.” Candy said she told him that she was calling the police.

Arnie’s testimony mirrored Candy’s. Arnie added that he told Scott to get the #### (expletive deleted) out of his house. Scott left the house and then shortly left his own house, carrying with him all the camping gear and the four-wheelers that were in the trailer attached to his pick-up. Arnie said that Scott’s father arrived the following day to return the borrowed trailer. Inside the trailer were Alisa’s duffel bag and camping gear. Arnie said he stowed the gear in his locked garage.

Angel testified that the following day, Sunday, she and Alisa went to the Houghton Lake State Police Post to file a complaint against Scott. A trooper conducted an interview with Alisa concerning the assault. Alisa consented to be examined and so she went first to a hospital and then a woman’s center to have a rape kit procedure completed. It was not successful as Alisa screamed and then asked that it be stopped due to extraordinary pain from the inserted device.

Scott’s former friend Rick testified about the camping trip but he was unable to add any information concerning the assault since he was asleep when it occurred and he said he heard nothing, but that his tent was some distance from Alisa’s tent. Rick’s manner was curious in that he said he had not seen Scott since the camping trip and he expected never to see him again in view of recent events. He did not elaborate on his remarks.

Both the State Trooper and Forensic Technician from the Grayling Crime Lab testified about their investigation. Neither was able to offer proof of Scott’s guilt since insufficient physical evidence was found, the rape kit was inconclusive, and no DNA evidence was available. A key piece of evidence was missing, the sweat pants with the wet stain was not in the duffel bag when it was returned by Scott’s father.

The last to testify was Scott. The Defense Attorney interrogated him and then the Prosecutor. He sat stocially at the witness stand and answered each question in a monotone. He corroborated all of Alisa’s testimony except the assault. He said it never happened.

The Jury Deliberates

Our legal system demands that defendants are innocent until proven guilty by a jury of 12 citizens who must be unanimous in their opinion of guilt. Further, the requirement is that guilt must be established “beyond a reasonable doubt.” Clearly, our system sets a high bar to avoid punishment of the innocent.

The high standard required by law was defined further by the Judge. He furnished a nine-page set of instructions that enumerated the charges against the Defendant and listed the elements of proof needed to find him guilty. The instructions included a set of rules about evidence the jury was to consider as well as those things the jury should disregard. The rigorous set of instructions made the jury’s job harder.

I agreed to become the Jury Foreman. I called for the first vote on Scott’s guilt or innocence shortly after we began our deliberations. The vote was seven to five, nearly a perfect split. I was with the majority who believed that the assault occurred, but some felt that the evidence did not rise to the level required by law while others felt strongly that Scott was innocent.

We spent the rest of the day going over details. We decided to review the testimony concerning the missing sweat pants; we wanted to know who knew they were missing, when it was reported they were missing, who had the opportunity to remove them from the duffel bag, etc. We asked the Judge for help and he responded by reconvening the court, providing his recall of the testimony about the pants and advising that we had the right to review the transcript of any particular testimony that we wanted. We asked for and received the trooper’s testimony that was read aloud to us in open court. Neither the Judge’s recall nor the re-reading of testimony helped.

We discussed the issues. Tempers flared. Personal experiences were revealed. One juror explained that he had been wrongly accused of rape so he knew that Scott was innocent. It was an emotional and exhausting experience. Some of us had the acid taste of having being witness to an atrocious, heinous act performed on an innocent child by a trusted relative, while others saw a conspiracy between an experienced young woman and a cunning aunt.

Deliberation continued into the next day. Overnight, two jurors changed their minds. The new vote was nine to three for finding the Defendant guilty. The question became simple: Do you believe her, a 14- year old school girl, or him, a 38-year old house-husband who walks with a cane?

Finally, the jury was able to come to terms with a verdict that all supported. We found the Defendant not guilty on four of five charges that could not be proved “beyond a reasonable doubt.” On the fifth charge, the jury sided with the 14-year old, deciding that an assault did indeed occur by the Defendant, her uncle. We found him guilty of Criminal Sexual Contact, a serious charge that forever labels perpetrators as convicted sexual predators. At the end of the trial, the Defendant was returned to jail to await sentencing. After much soul-searching, I am pleased to report that our legal system works and we now have one less predator on the streets. Hurrah!

So, Why was Roscommon County Named for an Irish County?

Type the word “Roscommon” into Google and the first result will be County Roscommon, Ireland. Of course, we  who live in Roscommon Michigan know they are wrong, even though Irish people have played a key role in the development of the United States. During its formative years, our nation needed hardy pioneers to populate its vast territories and the Irish came. After our nation became established, the repressed Irish saw it as a place of freedom and opportunity. The result was a massive immigration of Irish to North America. In 1845, the already heavy Irish immigration exploded when the poor people of Ireland suffered with the Potato Famine and left their native land in waves.

The list of famous Irish people in the United States is long and impressive and includes some names you may not have guessed. Buffalo Bill, Davy Crockett, President Andrew Jackson, and Billy the Kid were all Irish. In fact, the U. S. now has at least 10 times more folks claiming to be Irish than Ireland itself.

It is not surprising then, that many place names in the United States have been given Irish names since the early settlers had such a high proportion of Irish among them. The State of Michigan was no exception as Irish flocked here in search of opportunities that were not available in their native lands.

The first territorial governor of Michigan, Lewis Cass, turned to his friends and associates for help in organizing the vast wilderness of the region to meet the requirements of statehood specified by the Northwest Ordinance of 1787. One of the requirements was the establishment of counties with local government. The process began with land surveys to establish county borders. After that, counties were named and officials appointed to operate the fledgling local governments.

In 1815, Michigan organized its first county around its largest city, Detroit. It was named Wayne County in honor of “Mad Anthony” Wayne, the famous general who helped win The Northwest Territory from Indians. Thereafter, other counties were surveyed and organized as the region gradually filled with people.

Two years later, Monroe County (next to Wayne County) was organized and named and, important to our story, Michilimackinaw, was organized and named in 1818. A large wave of counties was named in 1829; eight of them named for President Andrew Jackson and members of his cabinet: Barry, Berrien, Branch, Calhoun, Eaton, Ingham, Van Buren.

The Michigan legislature was ultimately responsible for naming Michigan counties and it accepted recommendations from anyone who cared to offer a name. One of the early namers of counties in northern Michigan was Henry Schoolcraft, protégé of Territorial Governor Lewis Cass. Schoolcraft had published several texts about Native Americans and he sought to name many of Michigan’s northern counties for famous Indians who lived in the area. The young Michigan legislature seemed to agree with Schoolcraft’s ideas as they adopted several Indian names for northern counties including the name Mikenauk for our county. That name was short-lived.

Schoolcraft was mightily disappointed in 1840 when the legislature changed the names of 16 counties and gave five of them names from Ireland as replacements for Indian names. Four of the new names chosen were from counties in Ireland: Antrim, Clare, Roscommon and Wexford. A fifth name, Emmet, was chosen to honor one of Ireland’s most important figures, Robert Emmet.

When I learned these facts during research for my book, The Early History of Roscommon County, it seemed strange to me that Irish names would be favored over those of Native Americans. I decided to complete further inquiries on the matter when time and opportunity permitted. This fall the opportunity arose when I scheduled a vacation tour of The Republican of Ireland. The next series of my blogs is the result of many inquiries and that trip. I hope you will enjoy learning about our connection to County Roscommon, Ireland as much as I did, especially our connection with Roscommon Betty, The Pirate Queen, and Charlie O’Malley.

Michigan’s Emmet County is named for Irish Hero Robert Emmet

.

.

Young Robert Emmet

Robert Emmet was an Irish patriot and martyr who led an uprising against the British rulers of Ireland in 1803. The revolt failed miserably, but the young Emmet became famous across Ireland in song and verse. Emmet gained fame across Ireland after he faced execution for his rebellion yet decided to remain in Ireland to be close to his fiancée. On Sept. 19, 1803, the government brought Emmet to trial. Before sentencing, Emmet brilliantly defended his nationalism. He said he was prepared to die for the future of Irish freedom, closing with the words: "Let no man write my epitaph…. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written." He was 23 when he was sentenced to death and hung.

Ireland in Depth

So how was I to know that there are two Irelands? I quickly learned there are: The Republic of Ireland and its nearest neighbor, Northern Ireland. We visited the larger Republic of Ireland, an independent state covering the lower 80% of the island and not the six counties comprising Northern Ireland that surround Belfast and remain a part of England. The most important tourist sites are in the lower part, The Republic of Ireland.

We began our tour in the port city of Galway on the west coast at the base of the famed Galway Bay, that expanse of water forever immortalized by Bing Crosby. From there we circumnavigated the island ending our visit in the largest of its cities, Dublin. We liked the smaller cities and the beautiful countryside best, especially the never-ending parade of small farms and expansive pasture fields. There are surely more sheep and cows in Ireland than people.

Galway was an engaging small city that seemed big with its hundreds of tiny shops and historical venues. Many of the storefronts were original, medieval buildings made from stone. The most interesting was the front of a house owned by a Lord Mayor of the city several hundred years ago. The Lord Mayor gained renown after he used the upper window of his house as a gallows to hang a criminal accused of murdering a Spanish sailor. Since the Spanish were the most important trading partners of the Galway Irish, the Lord Mayor was not about to let anything interfere with continued success in trade. Besides, he said, he loved justice and the Spanish demanded retribution.

The problem was that Galway’s executioner refused to carry out the hanging. The reason: the criminal was the Lord Mayor’s son. The Lord Mayor decided that if the Public Executioner wouldn’t do his job, he would perform the task himself. He did and the deed was forever recorded in history. The name of the dedicated politician who executed his own son by hanging – Lord Mayor Lynch.

Galway’s Cathedral (in a town of 15,000 people)

After Galway we visited the region of Connemara to the north and learned about the Irish potato famine of 1845. The potato blight and the actions of the wealthy landowners resulted in the deaths of a million Irish people and the immigration of another million. A large share of the immigrants came to the U.S. in their desperate search for food. One of the moving sites that we saw was a monument to U.S. citizens who collected money to support the Irish during the famine and emigration. The U. S. citizens who helped were identified, they were Choctaw Indians who had endured similar, unspeakable hardships as a result of eviction from their native lands some years earlier.

Sculpture Commemorating Irish Famine

One of the most beautiful spots we visited was Kylemore Abbey, a former castle owned by a wealthy Irishman who spent a fortune for his wife. Sadly, she died at age 46 shortly after the castle was completed. The castle was fronted by a lake and surrounded by beautiful gardens. Interestingly, the construction of the castle was one of the few projects completed during the famine and the owner helped provide work for many hungry Irish during the several years of its construction.

Kylemore Abbey

Of course, no visit to Ireland would be complete without a visit to Blarney Castle. I decided not to kiss the Blarney stone as I preferred to avoid the slobber, lipstick and drool from the thousand or who bent over backwards to kiss the stone for its gift of blarney. Marjorie said I have enough already.

Blarney Castle

One of the best things about our tour was our tour director who gave us a running commentary on Ireland during our bus rides. He explained current events and noted that Ireland has the best government money could buy. He said the Irish are easily confused. For instance, you can confuse an Irishman by leaning two shovels against a wall and telling him to take his pick. He made our tour convenient also. He directed the bus driver to park anywhere after turning on his “park-anywhere flashers.”

The Dingle Peninsula in the southwest of the island offers the most attractive scenery anywhere as the tall cliffs and rolling hillsides frame the ocean with all its colors.

Pasture lands along the coastal area of Dingle

We enjoyed watching a sheep dog in action at one of the many farms. The Border Collies that are used are fearless in controlling the sheep and work their hearts out for nothing more than an occasional head pat from the master.

Another beautiful spot on the island is the famed county and national park named Kilarney. (Numerous sites in North America have been named after Kilarney.) Kilarney hosts three lakes and a river and is surrounded by mountains. It is not nearly as large as some of our national parks but it is impressive for a small island nation that is the approximate size of Indiana.

Looking Down at one of Kilarney’s Lakes

U.S. history is inextricable linked to Ireland’s past because of the huge numbers of Irish immigrants to our shores. Many of our political leaders, sports figures, entertainers and other notorious folks are of Irish descent. Many Irish expressions and place names have come into our language. When we visited the village of Cove (the last port of call of Titanic and Lusitania) we learned that a famous warrior, Strongbow, traveled there to provide support during a rebellion. Strongbow told his Irish hosts that he would arrive by sea at one of two nearby landing sites. “I’ll land either by Hook or by Crook,” he said, referring to nearby landing sites.

Memorial to Titanic Passengers at Cove

One of the noted Irish sites that we didn’t visit were the Aran Islands off the coast. (One of our party was a man who writes for a fishing magazine. He visited the islands during our tour to go fishing.) The islands are noted for fishing and for the wonderful wool sweaters that originated from there. The story of the sweaters is worth repeating.

The islanders who lived on the islands have always been ocean-going fishermen who ventured out in small boats. Like many coastal areas, the sea can become rough in a matter of minutes and being caught out in small boats can be life threatening. Bodies lost at sea were sometimes recovered months later with only a vestige of the original flesh remaining. The wives solved the problem of identifying remains by sending their husbands out with distinctive sweaters that were knitted with unique designs. Nowadays, the sweaters are knitted for tourists like me that show off the skills of the knitters.

Our tour ended at Dublin, capital city of The Republic of Ireland. Dublin had less to offer me than the other towns since it is like other modern cities around the globe with the possible exception that it seems to have more pubs per square mile than other places.
And of course they are all wonderful with their emphasis on old furnishings, old buildings and old music played by musicians who seem to enjoy playing. The beer isn’t bad either.

Guinness Tanker Heading into the Brewery for a Refill – we were following.

We liked Ireland and the folks there seemed to like us. We recommend it as a vacation spot.

Grandpa Bill