REPETITON

I do not believe that history repeats itself. That does not state the case strongly enough. I believe that history is running on an endless loop. Allow me to show you just one example, and see if the following situation sounds familiar. An economic boom has busted, and the wealthy few at the top are bemoaning their pinched economics, brought on by yet another boom and bust economic cycle - in large part of their own making. The top five percent of the population control most of the nation’s wealth, and are using fear mongering to reduce the government to impotence. It could be the spring of 1970. Or it could be the summer of 1819.

That year, the northern English midlands city of Manchester was well on its way to becoming “…the first and greatest industrial city in the world.” But, over the previous three short years the weavers, spinners and loom operators that made the city great, the hi-technicians of their day, had seen their wages drop by 2/3rds. Alexis de Tocqueville saw that “In Manchester civilized man is turned back almost into a savage.”

A social commentator described how “twelve or sixteen persons” were living in single room apartments.   One half of all children died before the age of five.

Writer Angus Reach described the city for the Morning Chronicle as “…smoky brown streets all round long piles of warehouses…great grimy mills, the leviathans of ugly architecture….There are swarms of mechanics and artisans…undersized, sallow-looking men…factory girls somewhat stunted and paled… with dingy dresses and dark shawls…” Another observer wrote in a private letter, “Nothing but ruin and starvation stare one in the face…the state of this district is truly dreadful”. This was Manchester in the summer of 1819; simmering with discontent.

But at the core of this darkness was the Manchester Observer, called by Henry Hunt, “the only newspaper…fairly and honestly devoted to such reform as would give the people their whole rights.” In March of 1819, the newspaper began calling for a public rally to support the election of a sympathetic member of parliament; that man would be, in all probability, Henry Hunt.

The government’s response was to ban the rally. But so strong was the public support for change that the newspaper's leadership ignored the ban and set the date for the Rally as August 16th. In doing so the Observer insisted again that the rally was to support, “the most speedy and effectual mode of obtaining Radical reform in the Common House of Parliament”.

James Wroe, editor of the Observer, acting as a reporter, described the day for his newspaper. “The morning of the 16th was hailed with exultation by the many thousands…At an early period numbers came pressing in from various and distant parts of the country…it is supposed that no less than 150,000 people were congregated in the area near St. Peter's Church.” The number may have been an enthusiastic over estimation, but in the area known as St. Peter’s Field, in the very center of Manchester, perhaps 80,000 citizens had gathered to peacefully request help from their government.

Continued Mr. Wroe; “Mr. Hunt ascended (the platform)…about half-past one o'clock, and … proceeded to address the immense multitude, recommending peace and order…Whilst thus engaged…we were surprised, though not alarmed, at perceiving a column of infantry take possession of an opening in the assembly”.

In fact they were also locals, pressed into service as “special constables”. At about 1:40 p.m. they formed a corridor within the crowd, allowing for access to the central platform. It seemed the authorities were intent  upon arresting the speakers. Continued Mr. Wroe; “Our fears were raised to horror, by the appearance of the Manchester and Salford Yeomanry Cavalry, who came galloping into the area, and proceeded to form in line ready for action; nor were they long delayed from their hellish purpose…the bugle sounded the charge…Men, women, and children, without distinction of age or sex became the victims of these monsters.”

The sixty members of the cavalry unit were likewise locals, led by a local factory owner. They were no better trained than the Ohio National Guard troopers who opened fire on unarmed civilians 160 years later at Kent State. And in both cases, in 1970 and in 1819, the attack dispersed the crowds inside of fifteen minutes. But in both cases it also left behind dead; five in Ohio, and in Manchester at least 18 dead, including an infant, knocked from his mother’s arms by a cavalryman blocks away, before the confrontation had even occurred.

In 1819 some 650 were wounded, trampled by the horses or cut down by the cavalry sabers. It is important to note that there were no reports of crushing by the crowd, no stampede to escape the assault, supporting eyewitnesses who emphasized how well behaved the crowd had been.  All the violence had been perpetrated by the representatives of law and order.

John Lees, who had served at the Battle of Waterloo, and had received two saber head wounds at the demonstration on St. Peter’ Field, told a friend, “"At Waterloo, there was man to man. But here it was downright murder.” John Lees died of his wounds on September 7, 1819. After that the demonstration aquired the name of “Peterloo”.

It was after Mr. Hunt and the other organizers had been arrested, after the cavalry charge, that rioting broke out in some areas of Manchester and surrounding villages. But these outbreaks were quickly ended. Hunt was sentenced to two years in prison for speaking at the meeting, and he later told his supporters, “I have done everything in my power to maintain, uphold, and secure your rights, but I have failed upon this occasion.” James Wroe was also sent to prison for a year and fined 100 pounds for writing about it. And for a time it seemed that the only effect of “Peterloo” had been a wave of repression that followed.

But by 1835 most of the political reforms sought by the demonstrators at “Peterloo” had been achieved, and the powers that be and the reformers that would be had both moved on to other battlefields, such as the eight hour work day and health insurance. In the long run of human history the only constant is the struggle for human dignity. It is never won, and as long as humans struggle, it is never lost. It just continues in an endless loop.

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FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN

I don’t mean to disappoint you, but Betsy Ross did not create the American flag. The creator was more likely the lawyer, songwriter and author Francis Hopkinson, who, a year earlier, had signed the Declaration of Independence for New Jersey. We know it was Hopkinson because he actually submitted two bills for his design – the first one for 9 pounds. When the stingy Continental Congress balked at paying that he lowered his price to “A quarter cask of Public Wine”; meaning, the cheap stuff. I think he was trying to make a point but he didn’t get that either. The bureaucrats argued that Francis was already on salary, which meant they had already paid him for the design. He was unable to pursue his case because he died in early May of 1791, of an epileptic seizure. But I don’t want to write a treatise on the vexillology of the American flag. I want to talk about the pledge of allegiance to it.

You see, the pledge was written as a sales gimmick to sell flags. This is pretty big business today, considering about 100 million American flags are currently sold every year. That’s enough to justify the formation of the “Flag Makers Association of America”, a lobbyist group required because American made American flags are 30% more expensive than Chinese made American flags. But I digress again; my point is that capitalism requires a certain amount of rationalization, and profiting from the symbol of our nation is just another one. It was a rationalization that another Francis was certainly willing to make.

In 1892 Francis Bellamy (above), who was a fired Baptist minister, was working as the publicity director for a Boston magazine called “The Youth’s Companion” and was also responsible for the planning the 400th anniversary of Columbus’s “discovery” of America, for the National Education Association. And since the magazine had a nice little side business going selling American flags to schools (their goal was to have one in every classroom) Francis thought that a pledge for this special occasion would be an inexpensive way to increase the sale of flags. After all, you can’t pledge allegiance to the flag unless you have a flag.

His pledge, published in the September 8th, 1892 issue of the magazine (above), was just 23 words long and could be recited in less than 15 seconds; “I pledge allegiance to my flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” On October 29th the pledge was first recited in classrooms across America, and at the opening of the Chicago Columbia Exposition. Like the Gettysburg address, Bellamy’s pledge was eloquent in its simplicity. But even Francis could not resist tampering with perfection. He added a salute.

Well, it was called the Bellamy Salute, but he didn’t invent it. It was the brainstorm of  James Upham, junior editor of The Youth’s Companion. But it was Francis who laid out in the magazine, instructions for the "salute too far".; “…At the words, “to my Flag,” the right hand is extended gracefully, palm upward, toward the Flag, and remains in this gesture till the end of the affirmation.” Forty years later the extended arm salute would be premtpted by Musoillini and Adolf Hitler, and tactfully dropped from the American pledge.

Not that people ever stopped trying to improve upon perfection. In 1923 the America Legion, then made up mostly of veterens of World War One, the Spanish American War, and the Phillipines Insurection, decided that the phrase “my flag” was too open to interpitation. So they added an entire phrase, so there would be no chance of confusion; “I pledge allegence to the flag of the United States of America.” In 1940, with World War once again looming, the Supreme Court ruled that even Jehova’s Witnesses could be required to stand at attention and recite the pledge in school, which the Witnesses had argued violated their faith. On June 22nd, 1943 Congress made the pledge the offical pledge of allegence to America. That same year the Supreme Court reversed itself, and "offical" pledge was no longer compulsury.

Then in 1951 the Knights of Columbus decided the words “Under God” were needed in the pledge, and on “Flag Day”, June 14th, 1954, Congress made that addition offical. The oath now reads “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisable, with liberty and justice for all”. The pledge was now 31 words long. And to be honest with you, I don’t think the longer version is any clearer about its meaning. It has become the ebodiment of the old joke about a camel being a horse designed by a committee.

Consider the oath, just as a piece of language. If the oath were to stop after the word “stands” we would have a simple sentence (“I pledge allegiance to the flag) with two modifying phrases (“of the United States of America”, and, “and to the Republic for which it stands”.) In this case the Republic is the modifier of the flag, which makes sense because the original intent was to sell flags; remember?

But that was not good enough for all those who honestly wanted to improve on the oath, make it clearer, avoid confusion and misunderstandings. And that kind of thinking produced four modifying prepositional phrases on top of the two we already had – making six in all.

Is love of country really that complicated a concept that it has to be explained in such great detail? Does the detail actually make things clearer? Isn’t it enough if your lover says “I love you”? Does the involvement of fifty lawyers make a divorce less likely or more likely?

I guess the basic question is, are you looking for an affirmation of love, or absolute protection against having your heart broken? Because, you can’t have both, particularly when you are talking love of a democracy.

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1920 - SETTING THE STAGE

I guess the best way to tell this unbelievable story is the simplest way. On May 13, 1920, Cyril Wilcox, a 21 year old student on leave from Harvard, committed suicide in his mother’s home in Fall River, Massachusetts. Shortly before his death, Cyril had admitted to his elder brother that he was a homosexual. The brother, George, decided that his sibling’s suicide had not been caused by the young man’s rejection by his admired older sibling, but by the unspeakable shame he suffered having been seduced by degenerates.

George first released his rage by beating up Harry Dreyfus, who was the proprietor of a Beacon Hill bar, “Café Dreyfus”, as well as a restaurant in Cambridge, frequented by Harvard students. Harry admitted he and Cyril had been lovers, but added that Cyril had broken off the affair months before. He also gave George  the name of “other’s” who had been Cyril’s "friends" at Harvard. And on May 22, 1920, George took those names to Acting Dean Chester N. Greenough. It seems George was thus handing off the anger he felt over his brother’s suicide. Dean Greenough accepted that anger and passed it on.

The behavior of the boys at Perkins Hall on the Harvard Yard in 1920 would be recognizable to any college student in America today: long hours in lecture halls and libraries, surrounded by books and tests and deadlines, accentuated by boisterous alcoholic binge parties featuring promiscuity and role playing, the participants being young people out from under parental oversight for the first time in their lives. The only unfamiliar element to today’s twenty-somethings might be the limited contact avilable with the opposite sex; Harvard was still a purely male institution in 1920. And yet there is no reason to believe there were more homosexuals extent than there are today.

The most popular spot for the parties in Perkins Hall in 1920 was on the second floor, the room of Ernest W. Roberts, a pre-med student. His father was a conservative congressman. Roberts was indiscrete enough and young enough that he had written a letter to Cyril, detailing his sexual activities. And Cyril’s brother George had turned that letter over to Dean Greenough. That letter, and Harry Dreyfus’ confession, became exhibits at a secret court convened to weed out homosexuality at Harvard.

For two weeks in June of 1920, five self appointed judges expelled students, issued reprimands and ruined lives and careers that were just beginning. There were no opportunities for appeal. The juges were operating  under no authority, other than their own moralistic sense of mission. The court issued a five hundred page report and transcript, which Harvard then locked away. It was a horribly typical homophobic behavior which was to be repeated thousands of times for the rest of the 20th century.

In all 14 students were expelled, and even blackballed by Harvard if they attempted to transfer to any other Ivy League college. In addition one teacher was also fired. One student victim, Eugene Cummings, committed suicide. Another of the court’s victims wrote to Dean Geenough, “Mother says she was warned never to send me to Harvard, but no specific reason was given. Now we know! Harvard has a reputation for this sort of thing that is nationwide.” It was not clear if the boy was referring to Harvard’s reputation for witch hunts or homosexuality. Congressman Eugene Roberts, who son Ernest was considered by the court as “certainly the ringleader”, was only worried about one thing; “I would further like to be informed if this most deplorable affair has been or will be made public.”

Ernest Weeks Roberts, expelled from Harvard for homosexual behavior, married and opened an antique shop in Wellesley Hills, and became an interior designer. He died in 1958, remembered as a life long Republican.

It was on the last Friday in May that Joseph Daniels, part owner of the Daniels and Wilson Furniture Company of Lexington, Massachusetts (above), visited the offices of “The Old Colony Foreign Exchange Company” in the Niles Building in downtown Boston. But Mr. Daniels was not seeking to join the mobs lined up to hand over their life savings.

What Mr. Daniels wanted was the $35,000 that the Old Colony's Chief Executive, Charles Ponzi,  still owed him for the furniture currently gracing Ponzi's mansion (above) in Lexington. But the CEO was not available to respond. Mr. Daniels, infuriated by the flood of dollars clearly visible in the company offices, and by the CEO's refusal to pay his bill, decided that he had no choice but to begin legal action against Mr. Ponzi.

Needless to say, Mr. Daniels was never going to be paid. Ever.

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BADGERS MAKE STRANGE BEDFELOWS

I have always admired Alexander Hamilton. How could you not admire a man who could write, “A well adjusted person is one who makes the same mistake twice without getting nervous” That kind of self knowledge belies the life of a boy who was abandoned by his father at the age of ten, at twelve watched his mother die in the bed next to him, and was then adopted by a cousin who shortly thereafter committed suicide. Hamilton not only survived this horror show but within ten years became one of the most successful and powerful men in America, the man who invented the American economic system. But that childhood also goes a long way to explaining how such a smart man, a happily married man and a devoted father could fall for something as old and obvious as the Badger Game.

In 1791 in Philadelphia, twenty-three year old Maria Reynolds, a lovely and avaricious mental midget, approached Hamilton, who was the Secretary of the Treasury. She told Hamilton that her husband, James Reynolds, had abandoned her and their daughter. Could the noble and handsome Secretary Hamilton provide her with the funds to return to New York? Smitten and horny, with his wife living in far off Connecticut, Hamilton agreed to deliver $30 to her rooms that evening. Let the games began.

The original badger game involved sticking a live badger in a box and then sending in a terrier. After a few seconds the owner would pull the dog out. If the dog held the badger in its jaws, it was marked as a plus. Then the badger would be returned to the box and the dog would be sent in again. This was repeated several times in front of a crowd of Neanderthals, with the shouting and betting building to a crescendo. The similarity between the original sport (outlawed in England in 1835) and the blackmail sting performed on Hamilton is that the dog could be counted on to grab the badger every time, even though the pooch was never allowed to actually eat the badger. The same goes for the mark in the human game.

Shortly after Hamilton’s first liaison with Mrs. Reynolds, Mr. Reynolds made his re-appearance in the role of the wronged husband. He wrote Hamilton, “You have deprived me of every thing that’s near and dear to me. … You have made a whole family miserable.” James was a born con-man who had been one of Hamilton’s commissariats during the revolution, scrounging food, clothing and ammunition for the Continental Army despite the penury of Congress. But he was also a wife beater – if we believe Maria. Although why we should do that I have no idea.

Eventually James got to the point. “…give me the sum of (a) thousand dollars and I will leave town and take my daughter with me…”. Hamilton paid, and James then wrote, “I have not the least objections to your calling (on my wife), as a friend to both of us”. The dog now had the scent and Hamilton continued to visit Maria and pay James regularly – in April, $135, in May and June, $50, in August, $200.

The game went on for two years, with Hamilton enjoying the nubile Maria in Philadelphia, while urging his wife to stay in Connecticut. Hamilton even borrowed from friends in order to keep James silent. But the end of the game was predictable, given James’ character.

James Reynolds and his partner Jacob Clingman were arrested for cheating revolutionary war veterans out of their back pay, which Congress had been cheating them out of for years. Naturally James expected his “friend” Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the Treasury, to rescue him. Hamilton, however, was not willing to use his official office to cover up his personal peccadilloes. He refused to help the crook. Angry, James started singing to anybody who would listen that Hamilton had given him inside information on Government bond sales. In particular Jacob Clingman sang to Hamilton’s arch enemy, Thomas Jefferson.

Jefferson thought it was Christmas. Hamilton was his political enemy. He gleefully dispatched Congressmen James Monroe and Fredrick Muhlenberg to confront Hamilton in person. And to their stunned surprise Hamilton admitted to the affair, but he denied everything else. He even provided proof in the form of letters between himself and both of the enterprising Reynolds’, James and Maria. Muhlenberg and Monroe were so nonplussed they agreed to keep the affair secret. Needless to say, Jefferson was not happy that Christmas had been canceled.

Hamilton resigned from Washington’s cabinet in January of 1795. But Jefferson had made no promise of secrecy, and he filed the information away for use at some opportune future moment, which came in 1797, which is how we know of the entire sordid tale.

Shortly after Jefferson leaked the entire story, the lovely Maria divorced her imprisoned husband James, and immediately married his partner in crime, Mr. Clingman. The newlyweds then moved to Alexandria, Virginia and dropped out of history. Maria's divorce attorney back in New York was Aaron Burr, who would in a very few years shoot Alexander Hamilton down in a duel. And that, one way or another, is the way most badger games end.

In contrast there was William A.E. Moore, a “friend” of President McKinley who appointed him U.S. Counsel to Durban, South Africa. Mr. Moore was in route to Durban with his wife, Fayne Strahan, when, while spending the night in Paris, he surprised the lovely Fayne “flagrante delecto” with a Russian nobleman. Mr. Moore offered to swallow his insulted pride for a mere $2,000, but the Russian chose instead to call the police. Mr. Moore’s diplomatic appointment was revoked and he was forced to return to the United States.

Then in 1898 the pair tried the same gag on Mr. Martin Mahon, proprietor of the New Amsterdam Hotel, in New York City. (a bit of a comedown this, from a Russian nobleman to a hotel owner.) This time, when William burst into the room he took the trouble to beat up the mark, poor Mr. Mahon, and steal $175 from his wallet. William then stuffed a cigar into Martin’s mouth and walked him up and down Fifth Avenue as if they were bosom buddies. Again, the mark went to the police and this time William Moore was sent to Sing Sing for several years, for assault and attempted blackmail. Fayne, meanwhile, went to South Dakota where she got a divorced from William. Some years later she moved to London where she took to the stage, as a chorus girl in the hit musical, “The Messenger Boy”. William was eventually released from jail and inherited $125,000 from an uncle. Last heard of, he was living in luxury. And thus were the wages of sin for what today would be called “Gifters".

And in case you are thinking that these are dusty historical footnotes, a couple of years ago, in San Antonio, Texas, Ted Roberts, attorney at law, was convicted of three counts of theft for a badger scam he ran with his wife and fellow attorney, Mary Roberts. She was convicted of 5 counts of fraud. Mary trolled the internet looking for married men who were seeking sex. She engaged them in chat rooms until they either revealed their fantasies or actually met her for sex. There upon Ted would knock on the door and quietly inform the marks that he was going to sue them for “alienation of affection”, unless they agreed to “settle” out of court.

The couple netted something around $160,000 from five marks that we know of,  before they were caught. Testifying for the defense, past president of the Texas Bar Association, Broadus A. Spivey (No, seriously, that was his name), said that the badger game as played by the couple from law school was not illegal because it was not substantially different than a lawsuit. Under oath Broadus insisted, “Litigation is coercive.” Neither the judge nor the jury failed to see through that little fig leaf of judical logic, but...

...I will leave the story there, in case there is anybody left in this nation who does not already despise lawyers.

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