SOUR MILK

I wish more people in 1892 had heeded the observation of steel mill owner John Metzlaff. He summed up that entire summer of acrimony and fear mongering over whether English should be the only language used in Wisconsin schools, as  “ridicules”.   As impossible as it might have been to believe at the time, this ultra-conservative capitalist asserted that in “10 or 20 years, almost nobody in Milwaukee would even be speaking German”.  

Wisconsin Republican Secretary of State Jerry Rusk (above) agreed, calling the political campaigning that year a “blundering business”. But the idea that the crises then gripping the state was not really a crises, does not seem to have occurred to many others, which is fairly depressing. Because it is so familiar.

William Dempster Hoard (above)  saw the world as his Methodist minister father had seen it, as the minister “Demp” himself might have become, had he not as a child, argued with his religious instructors over church doctrine.  As Robert Nesbit put it, "Even as a young man Dempster already “knew what he knew, and was not to be deflected,.” 

Instead, Hoard built a small newspaper empire in rural Wisconsin, promoting his ideas about politics and agriculture with that religious fervor he might have better directed toward religion.  In the pages of “Heord's Dairyman” (above)  he invented the modern dairy farm, from the alfalfa forage to silos for storage to breeding that produced bountiful milk and sweet cheese. He counseled his farmer congregation to “Speak to a cow as you would to a lady.” 

Then, at 56, in his 1888 campaign for governor. the Republican “Cow Candidate” preached to the voters his second great secular passion – education. “The child ...has a right to demand of the State”, he said, to be “provided with the ability to read and write the language of this country....I would recommend to require that reading and writing in English be daily taught”  Such political theology led to Hoard's victory in 1888, winning with a 21,000 vote majority.

But Wisconsin was no longer the homogenized Anglo-America it had been in Hoard's youth, which contained, he a admitted, “no foreign element but the Irish”. By 1890 over 70% of the million and a-half residents of Wisconsin were either foreign born or first generation Americans. Four out of ten Wisconsinites spoke German in their homes and in their Lutheran and Catholic churches and parochial schools. And they were already having an impact on state politics. 

Since 1874 it had been legal for Milwaukee factory workers to enjoy a beer with their Sunday meal. But that change tasted sour to the temperance leaning Methodists and Episcopalians across the rolling farm districts which were Governor Hoard's base. It wasn't that the Anglo-Americans descendants were any more bigoted than the the newly arrived German- Swedish-Polish-Irish Americans. But it is human nature to mistrust strangers.

Early in 1890, as Governor Hoard's re-election campaign was just gearing up, he was visited by five Lutheran ministers. The men of the cloth warned "Demp" not to enforce the objectionable portions of Bennett's Law, or he would be a one term governor.  According to his own account, Governor Hoard chose to lecture the petitioners. “If you plant your church across the pathway to human enlightenment,” he warned, “you will lose the respect of the young men in your church.” The offended Lutherans, who believed they WERE on the path to enlightenment, stormed out the Governor's office, determined to do battle. This is what happens when ministers think they are politicians and visa versa.

It was named Bennetts law, after Assemblyman Michael Bennett from the farming village of Dodgeville (above).  But Governor Hoard had written it, and inspired it, and forced it through the legislature with a minimum of debate on 18 April 1889. 

The bill required daily school attendance for all children between seven and fourteen, and it required that all instruction be in English. To meet the first requirement, the law mandated all schools, public and parochial, report attendance records in the public press. And to insure this, the law levied fines on  school officials and parents who failed to ensure their children met both requirements - daily attendance and proficiency in English.

Lutherian clergy saw Bennett's Law as over reaching by the government, and an usurpation of parental rights. And, they pointed out, of the 346 Lutheran and Catholic schools in Wisconsin , just 139 did not teach in English. And in those school that taught in German, most of the students also attended public schools, where English language was already standard.  The alliance of Democrats and Church groups was strengthened when the Republican claim of 40,000 to 50,000 children in the state not attending any school at all was shown to be mere hyperbole. However, the proof did not prevent the bogus number from being repeated as fact in Republican circles. Sound Familiar?

In his stump speech that year, William Hoard proclaimed, “The parents, the pastor, and the church have entered into a conspiracy to darken the understanding of the children, who are denied by cupidity and bigotry the privilege of even the free schools of the state.” He pleaded, "I want the little German boy and girl...to have the same chance in life as my children. Without a knowledge of the English language they can not have this chance.”

A German language newspaper responded, “It is not sufficient for them that we should become Americanized...but they want us to become de-Germanized. And they think that can be accomplished first by destroying German schools.” U. S. Senator, Democrat William Vilas, pandered by asking, “What is the difference if you say 'two and two make four' or 'zwie und zwei machen vier?” 

And then on 1 April, 1890, the Republican incumbent mayor of Milwaukee was handily defeated by a Democratic newcomer, newspaper man and humorist George Peck.   A month later 100 Republican bigwigs met in Madison to supposedly endorse Bennett's Law, and the best Hoard's people could get from them was a no comment.

At their state convention in August, the Democrats sounded like winners. They nominated Peck to run for Governor, declaring Bennett's law “unwise, unconstitutional, UN-American, and undemocratic.” The Republicans met the same month (and in the same city) and re-nominated Hoard, while promising to modify the law. 

They also raised a red flag over their Milwaukee headquarters bearing the image of a one room schoolhouse. The words on the flag read, “Stand by it”.

Hyperbole became the favored language of public discourse. The Chicago Journal called Hoard a “giant armed for the war against...pestilent foreign-ism.” Hoard warned that those who stood in his way were “like cows in front of a locomotive”.  The Republican Stevens Point Journal suggested that Governor Hoard would rather die than abandon Bennetts Law. 

Democrats called Episcopalian clergymen, liars. A Catholic Bishop claimed from the pulpit that Bennetts law had been secretly written by the anti-religious Freemasons. And a Freemason newspaper seemed to confirm this when it trumpeted, “give us ten years...(and) The Bennett Law will be the keystone of a higher civilization.”

It was, in fact, not. On Tuesday, 4 November, 1890 Hoard's cows came home. His 1888  21,000 vote majority became a 30,000 vote minority, as he lost 43% to 52% to Peck. The Democrats won every seat in the executive branch, and control of both houses of the state legislature by a 2-1 advantage. Wisconsin's federal congressional representation went from 7 Republicans and 2 Democrats, to 8 Democrats and 1 lone Republican. That year Wisconsin voted for a Democratic President for the first time since 1852. And every Republican blamed William Dumpster Hoard (above, left) and his damn cows (above, right).

On 3 February. 1891 the new Democratic Wisconsin legislature repealed Bennett's law.  It was replaced a few months later with an almost identical law, but without the English only requirement. But, as John Metzlaff had predicted. just seven years later the Democrats in Wisconsin passed a law requiring English only be used in even parochial schools, and this time there were no mass protests. 

It seemed as if the citizens of Wisconsin did not so much object to the language requirement, as they did not trust preachers like William Demptser Hoard, to make that decision for them. “Demp” might be able to energize his base, but his inability to respect his opponents lead the Republican party to an electoral disaster. 

“Demp” would have done well to remember his own advice, from the pages of “Hoard's Dairyman”. “Happiness”” he observed, “doesn't depend on what we have, but it does depend on how we feel toward what we have.”

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CAPITAL LOSSES

 

I can't think of a more unlikely sequence of events. First,  there were the astronomical odds against the Susquehanna River surviving for 325 million years - but it did, making it the second oldest river on earth, older than the five rising Appalachian Mountain ridges (above) which grew up, as the river sliced through them.  

And what were the odds that 35 and a half million years ago - over half way back to the demise of the dinosaurs - that a mile wide chunk of the rock traveling at 70,000 miles an hour would slam into the  new born Atlantic Ocean, just off shore from the mouth of that same Susquehanna River?  Well those odds were about one in 182 million.  But they both happened.

And finally there was the rhythmic withdrawal of the Wisconsin Ice Sheet,  which began it's last retreat 11,000 years ago - the end of which released enough fresh water into the now mature Atlantic to flood the lower 200 miles of the Susquehanna River valley, forming the shallow Chesapeake Bay. 

And on the oppressively hot Tuesday, 16 August, 1814,  this unlikely chain of unlikely events allowed  50 British warships to sail through the Chesapeake Channel, created by that ancient crater, and into America's vulnerable interior.

Commanding that fleet from aboard the 74 gun HMS Royal Oak was 56 year old Vice Admiral Sir Alexander Forrester Inglis Cochrane (above). His family had been intimately involved in America for the last half century. In 1776 his brother-in-law, John Pitcairn, had commanded the party that opened fire on the Minute Men on Lexington Green, starting the American Revolution. And coincidentally, six years later, Cochrane's older brother Charles had been killed at the battle of Yorktown, which effectively secured American independence. 

And now, 33 years later, Cochrane scattered his fleet through the bay, shelling American towns and burning American fishing boats. They dispatched their infantry on raids, but never stayed long enough on land to get into trouble.

Six months earlier the 48 year old Brigadier General Roger Ross (above) had been a colonel, leading his brigade in what was to have been the main assault against the little village of St. Boes in southern France. 

Ross captured the town on the first rush (above). But unbeknownst him, his commander, the Duke of Wellington, abruptly shifted his main effort to the other flank. So when the French counterattacked, Ross's men had no support. 

While desperately fighting to hold the church in the village center, shrapnel had slashed open the left side of Ross's jaw. He dismissively refereed to it as a “hit in the chops”, but an inch lower and he would have bleed to death. Ross was driven out of the village, but Wellington won the battle.  As a reward for his devotion the Duke promoted Ross and had gave him command of the 4,500 ground troops in the Chesapeake Bay expedition.

The British were not looking to reconquer America, just convince them to end the stupid war of 1812. Peace talks were already going on back in Europe. All that was needed, both Ross and Cochran felt, was to shove the Americans in the right direction. And surprisingly the best ally the Brits would have in their plan would prove to be the American Secretary of War. That doesn't seem very likely, does it?

It is hard to think of something nice to say about John Armstrong (above). His personality was once described as “obstinacy and self-conceit.” His enemies were not nearly as kind. Armstrong was disliked because he was an arrogant and smug bean counter.  His hubris drove the most successful American general, William Henry Harrison, to resign. And it drove Armstrong's boss, President James Madison, to disaster. 

When Maryland officials begged for help defending their coast against the British incursion into Chesapeake  Bay, Armstrong snapped he could not defend, “every man’s turnip patch”. And when his President asked if it was not at least possible the British might try to capture Washington,  Armstrong had snorted, “What the devil will they do here? No! No! Baltimore is the place, sir. That is of so much more consequence.” In other words, it was unlikely the British would bother to attack Washington, D.C.

He was right, of course. In 1814 Washington (above) was a village of about 8,000 people. It had no industry, no harbor – it wasn't even on a main road. Why bother? 

Well, the British bothered to step ashore 15 miles northeast of Washington on Friday, 19 August , and in 100 degree heat marched on the American capital.  

The plan was for two prongs to meet in Washington. The infantry would march up the Patucent River, while the Navy sailed up the Potomac to Alexandria, Virginia. 

After brushing aside a scratch American force at Bladensburg on Wednesday, 24 August (above)...

....and chasing Dolly Madison out of the White House, General Ross' infantry captured the deserted American capital on Thursday 25 August, 1814, so close behind the retreating Americans that British soldiers ate the meal intended for President Madison and his cabinet before they set fire to the White House. 

They did the same with the Treasury and every other government building in town. They used the 289 foot high Capital Hill as their base, and wanted to burn the capital building (above) as well, but it was still mostly unfinished stone walls. Not enough combustibles to keep a fire going.

So they had to content themselves with piling its fittings and furniture outside and kept those fires burning all night long. 

And then, on next morning, Friday, 25  August,  as the British were finishing up their destructive work, the final unlikely event in our story occurred.

The heavy sweltering surface block of air oppressing Washington had become trapped beneath an advancing cold front . It was a conflict in motion, the humid air rising, cooling on contact with the invading antecedent blowing in from the southwest, the convergence sending everything spinning 

Eighteen year old British Ensign George Rodgers Gleig was there, and he later noted, “towards morning a violent storm of rain, accompanied with thunder and lightning, came on...The flashes of lightning vied in brilliancy with the flames which burst from the roofs of burning houses, whilst the thunder drowned for a time the noise of crumbling walls, and was only interrupted by the occasional roar of cannon, and of large depots of gunpowder, as they one by one exploded.” .

As the invaders formed up for their return to the fleet, the rear of the storm approached, The rain began to pound down even harder. And out of the lowering clouds, a finger of sheer catastrophe touched the surface. First a heavy chain bridge across the Potomac River was buckled and twisted. Then several homes along the tidal basin lost their roofs, or were reduced to kindling. Feather mattresses were sucked out of windows. Trees were torn up by their roots and left scattered. Brick chimneys were shattered and collapsed. And with a “frightening roar”, the twister climbed Capital Hill, and plowed through the center of town.

Soldiers fell flat in the streets or ran for shelter before the monster's sudden advance. Two British 150 pound brass cannon were lifted and tossed like kindling. Invaders and civilians were buried as houses collapsed atop them. One officer and his horse were lifted and slammed down into the mud. And then, just as quickly as it had come, the monster was gone. Like most tornadoes, this one had existed for less than five minutes.

One newspaper crowed afterward that the tornado killed more British than the Americans lost at Bladensburg, and described the storm as divine retribution. But that was probably wishful thinking.

It is probable that some invaders were injured. It is also certain the rain doused most of the fires still burning. But it is unlikely any of that made much difference. Most of the destruction had already been achieved before the storm arrived. But it is also clear that this abrupt assault did quench much of the exhilaration felt by British troops.  And most of the enthusiasm of those Americans who had supported the war.

While the ashes of Washington were still smoldering, President James Madison (above) fired Secretary of War John Armstrong.  Finally.  The conceited fool retired from politics, retreated to his farm in Red Hook, New York and wrote history books until his death in 1843. 

Meanwhile, the shaken British army moved on toward the target Secretary Armstrong had predicted all along - Baltimore. But that was where they were stopped. Their bombardment of the harbor defenses at Fort McHenry only inspired the “Star Spangled Banner”. 

Worse, while scouting the land defenses of Baltimore, General Ross's luck ran out. Rogers was cut down by a bullet, perhaps fired by a sniper, and this time he was killed. Baltimore was deemed too strong, and the British retreated without a ground assault.

The navy stuffed Ross's body into a barrel of Jamaican rum, and shipped it north to Halifax, Nova Scotia, where the General was buried (above) in September of 1814. 

In January of 1815 most of Ross' little army, under another general, was thrown against the defenses of New Orleans, but again they were stopped. 

As hard as it may be to understand, the Duke of Wellington blamed the defeat at New Orleans and the death of General Ross at Baltimore, on Vice Admiral Cochrane.  It did not help that he was later convicted of stock fraud and dismissed from the service. However, after a decade during which he helped Peru to win her independence from Spain, and after Wellington's death, Cochrane was pardon by the crown and died a full Admiral again in 1832, at the age of 73.

Not that the death of Ross and the defeats at Baltimore and New Orleans really mattered, because the burning of Washington had accomplished its goal. A month before the Battle of New Orleans, the Treaty of Ghent had already ended this silly war. 

Just a century later the United States would join the first of two world wars as a British ally, and at every White House visit since, the American President and British Prime Minister (above, 1942) exchange bad jokes about that August day when the British came, bearing torches. Such an alliance must have seemed impossible in 1814.  

It was, of course, not impossible, merely very unlikely. And given enough time it was actually, inevitable. Just something to think about the next time you start thinking the past was logical or the

future can be predicted with any degree of certainty.

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