The Public "I"

Wednesday, February 19, 2025

COXEY'S ARMY - PLAYING DEFENSE

I would say the last thing America needed in 1894 were more millionaires. Over the previous half century, unfettered capitalism had produced a ten fold increase in their number, growing to 10,000 by the centuries end. But in a nation of 70 million the advantages of wealth were increasingly hoarded by the few.

The accumulation of wealth is just another form of addiction. Like an alcoholic, those addicted to money are never sated. To feed their addiction, millions were starving and the American dream was increasingly a fairy tale.

The real alternative to the bankruptcy of supply side economics was demand side economics. In thirty years Roosevelt called it the "New Deal" And Coxey's Army was one of it's birth pangs.

"Before them stood a little man...He was clothed all in green, from his head to his feet, and even his skin was of a greenish tint. At his side was a large green box. When he saw Dorothy and her companions the man asked, "What do you wish in the Emerald City?" "We came here to see the Great Oz," said Dorothy. The man was so surprised at this answer that he sat down to think it over. "It has been many years since anyone asked me to see Oz," he said, shaking his head in perplexity. "He is powerful and terrible, and if you come on an idle or foolish errand to bother the wise reflections of the Great Wizard, he might be angry and destroy you all in an instant."
1900 L. Frank Baum "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz"

On Tuesday, 17 April , 1894, Coxey’s Army arrived in Cumberland, Maryland, just a hundred air miles short of the nation’s capital. And for the first time Congress began to take public notice of the marchers, and their first reaction was, of course, panic. Congress stayed in session until 6:30 that evening, debating the impending doomsday of people actually petitioning their government for redress of grievances.

Ohio conservative Democrat, 51 year old Representative Joseph Hodson Outwaite (above), called for Mr. Coxey to consider that if “...10,000 to 50,000 men can intimidate Congress to do one thing, then another 10,000 to 50,000 men can intimidate them to do another thing—which leads to anarchy.” Of course some might say that what Mr. Outwaite described was actually democracy. I might say that, for instance. And I just did.

In fact there had been government meetings behind the scenes before the march had even begun, on how to receive the Commonweal Army should it make as far as Washington. But after some hyperventilating, congress voted down appropriations for a military reception. And some of the people’s representatives found comfort in the genius of Charles L’Enfant, who had designed the capital as a series of angled broad avenues, each of which terminated in huge traffic circles - a plan guaranteed to reduce tourists to tears, be they barbarian invaders or rebelling peasants. And anyway, noted the Washington Post at the time, each of those broad avenues could be controlled with a single Gatling gun.

Meanwhile, back in Cumberland, Coxey’s Army camped out on a baseball field, and the businessman from Massillon, Ohio even managed to show a little profit, charging ten cents for people to observe his footsore unemployed. It was an absurd idea, since Cumberland was already overflowing with its own unemployed. But still, the process put $145 in the army’s coffers.

Cumberland (above) had once been Maryland’s second largest city, its surrounding mountains containing deposits of coal and iron ore. It was also the junction of the National Road, the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, the Potomac River and the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal.

The canal, also called the Grand Old Ditch, had not reached Cumberland until 1850, eight years after the railroad. And in the forty-four years since the canal had seen little profit. That was why Jacob Coxey was able to make a such good deal on hiring two canal boats, normally used to carry coal, to transport his Army down stream.

On Tuesday, 17 April 1892, the men marched through Cumberland to the loading wharf (above) at the Western Terminus of the canal.

The boats cut a hundred plus road miles off Jacob Coxey's Army’s march, saving perhaps four days of shoe leather. As an added plus, Coxey and Carl Browne were also hoping to put their bad press behind them. Browne had begun to refer to the reporters as “argus-eyed demons of hell.”

The cadre of reporters were not going to be left behind. The self described "40 thieves" banded together, hired themselves a “press boat”, stocked it with food, a cook and alcohol, and named it “The Flying Demon”. It looked, recorded one of its denizens, “like a floating picture by Victor Hugo.”

The "Argus-eyed demons of hell" (above) had never felt favorable toward Coxey’s Army, but with the loss of copy from The Great Unknown Smith, they turned even more hostile.

Samuel Williams, accompanying the march for the St. Louis Post Dispatch, described the hundred and fifty unemployed men as “the nucleus of a band of marauders, whose object is to despoil their fellow citizens” and called them “a species of terrorism.” “These bands,” he wrote, “naturally inspire terror and clashes with the authorities or citizens must come.” They had not yet, but they must. So insisted Mr. Williams.

Babcock, writing for the Chicago papers, warned that the pair of boat loads of unemployed, “...can scarcely fail to cause bloodshed in Christian Communities”.

But it did fail. The terror was inspired only by those who believed the reporter’s inventions. Those who actually saw the Army were generally favorably impressed with its discipline and decorum.

On Thursday, 19 April, Coxey’s Army disembarked at Williamsport, Maryland, and marched the six miles to Hagerstown.

Here they camped for two days. The community, having been fed for weeks on the press reports of tramps, thieves and anarchists, were not happy to see them. The Associated Press reported on the 21st, that, “The people of Hagerstown are preparing to make the best of the…Army for another day, or perhaps two days. Browne has determined on revenge for the rather cold reception of yesterday”.

In truth, the Army was awaiting the arrival of additional unemployed marchers from Philadelphia, which the A.P. described in the most alarming terms. “…A party of thirty tramps is reported moving down the valley from Carlisle.” In the village of Middletown, said the press, “deputies are being sworn in to protect the town.” Still, even the alarmist local press was forced to admit that “the conduct of the Coxey men In Hagerstown has so far been exemplary.”

More than that, it was evident that the Army had learned a thing or two about marketing.

They erected a canvas screen around their camp, and again charged admission to stare at the unemployed men cooking their meals and tending to their daily needs, even selling their hard-tack biscuits as souvenirs to the gawkers. “The badges the men wear (above) have also acquired a market value, and sets of the several varieties bring good prices, some of them commanding a dollar each.”

They even published and sold their own pamphlets, to explain their objectives. It remained to be seen what profit the nation would make from the Army, now that it was so close to its goal.

"... I found myself in the midst of a strange people, who, seeing me come from the clouds, thought I was a great Wizard. Of course I let them think so, because they were afraid of me, and promised to do anything I wished them to. Just to amuse myself, and keep the good people busy, I ordered them to build this City, and my Palace; and they did it all willingly and well. Then I thought, as the country was so green and beautiful, I would call it the Emerald City; and to make the name fit better I put green spectacles on all the people, so that everything they saw was green."
"But isn't everything here green?" asked Dorothy.
"No more than in any other city," replied Oz; "but when you wear green spectacles, why of course everything you see looks green to you."
1900 L. Frank Baum "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz"

- 30 -

Tuesday, February 18, 2025

COXEY'S ARMY - REVOLT

I suspect there were murmurs among the growing ranks of Coxey’s Army as they finally breached the mountain ramparts southeast of Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. Late each afternoon the men formed a picket line while tents were erected as their shelters.

Then, each group would build a cooking fire, while their leaders would distribute rations either bought by Coxey or donated by sympathetic locals. After an early meal, groups would be sent out to canvass for more donations of food, clothing and money. But the vast majority of the men stayed in camp, where they had little to do but talk.

"Well," said the Head,... "In this country everyone must pay for everything he gets. If you wish me to use my magic power to send you home again you must do something for me first. Help me and I will help you."

1900 L. Frank Baum "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz"

What the soldiers in Coxey's Army were talking about was their leader. Many nights, and every Sunday, Carl Browne would berate the men with ideological harangues, selling his vision of the unity of all working men, along with his version of Christianity - mixed with a little reincarnation. Most of the Army had long since stopped listening to his speeches, referring to him in private as the “Great Humbug.”

But they also noticed that after the oration, while they settled into their bed rolls on the cold ground, Browne and Coxey spent every night in warm soft beds in local hotels. And should they ever forget to notice this disparity in creature comforts, The Great Unknown Smith was always careful to point out that he was sharing all the discomforts of the march with them, unlike Mr. Browne.

The Great Unknown Smith had been Carl Browne's partner in the patent “Blood Purefyer” business before Coxey had appeared in Chicago.

Browne even knew The Great’s Unknown Smith's real name, A.B.P. Bazarro (above)...

...and he knew that the silent, mysterious veiled lady who never spoke but always followed Smith around was really Bizarro's wife.

The "recording angels" (above), particularly those from Chicago, had known Bizzaro's (above, Center) real identity all along. But he was such good copy as The Great Unknown Smith, that they had not shared this information with their readers, or the Army. In fact there was also a rumor whispered among the reporters that the Great Unknown Smith was in fact a Pinkerton spy, sent by the wealthy to disrupt the march. And by his later actions, I suspect he may have been.

In the teeth of yet another snowstorm, on Wednesday, 11 April, 1894, the Army made the hard march south west, out of Uniontown, Pennsylvania. They were following the old National Highway, which had first been created by President Thomas Jefferson. It was the last significant road improvement project the Federal Government had undertaken, over ninety years earlier.

Now this motley "Commonweal Army" was petitioning their government for a new, larger investment in national infrastructure. They were speaking, they said, with their boots, as they struggled past Fort Necessity, built by George Washington - the construction of which had set off the French and Indian War in North America. They plodded in the snow past the grave of the British General Braddock (above) , who had been ambushed on the road to Pittsburgh by the French and Indians.

Coxey's Army, seeking to speak for the vast armies of unemployed, mocked by every major newspaper in the nation, trudged step by step over the 2,000 foot high Big Savage Mountain. Every man was cold, wet and exhausted. Patience was in short supply. Reason was slipping away. It was a bad time and place for a fight, so of course they had one.

As they reached the peak the Great Unknown Smith – who was mounted this day – rode back to the commissary wagons to grab a snack. Carl Browne saw this and was infuriated. He rode up to Smith and berated him, and then returned to the front of the column. After smoldering over the insult for a mile or so on the down slope, Smith rode forward and verbally unloaded on the buckskinned duomo, calling him a “fat faced fake” and threatening that if Browne ever spoke to him like that again he would “make a punching bag out of your face.” “I found you on your uppers in Chicago” Smith shouted. “I picked you out of the mud.”

Browne immediately ordered the marchers to halt. They stopped. Smith responded by commanding the Army to “Forward March”. The the men automatically leaned forward. Smith sensed that hesitation and seized the advantage.

He turned his horse and rode back among the men. “You and I have roughed it together,” he reminded them. “You know I have been with you…while others were enjoying their ease. It is for you to say men, who shall command you…Will you have Smith …or this leather coated polecat?” It was a loaded question, and the Army responded as expected, with chants of “Smith, Smith , Smith!”

Even Coxey’s eldest son, Jesse (above), joined the mutineers. With that, Smith led the army down the slope, while Browne, now bereft of command, galloped to the nearest telegraph office.

Jacob Coxey was in Cumberland, Maryland, arranging supplies and support in advance of the Army. It was there that Browne's desperate telegram reached him. Coxey immediately hired a carriage and drove all night to intercept his Army. They met just after dawn, Saturday, 14 April, as The Army finally descended from the mountain top, in the well named town of Frostburg (above), just over the Maryland state line. In a perfect bit of historical staging, the Army’s headquarters for the night was in the town’s opera house (below), one of the few buildings not damaged by a tornado which had almost destroyed Frostburg the year before.

After listening to several version of the drama on the road, Coxey stood on a box on the stage (he was not a tall man), and called for a vote for second in command. The results were not what he had hoped for; 158 for The Great Unknown Smith, and just four for Browne. There was an uncomfortable pause, and then Coxey did the greatest thing - the thing that proved him to be a real leader. He said to the men, “I cast 154 votes for Mr. Browne.” It took a few moments for the army to realize the choice they now had to make; give up the march, or give up the Great Unknown Smith. And just as that realization was dawning, into the stunned silence Coxey added, “I further order that the Unknown Smith be forever expelled from the Army.” And he called for an immediate vote of agreement.

A few voices were raised in protest, saying that if The Great Unknown Smith were expelled, then so should Coxey's eldest son, Jesse Coxey. But even they were disarmed when Coxey agreed to that logic. And thus so did the Army.

The Great Unknown Smith (above) was out. Across the street from the opera house the Great Unknown unloaded again, this time to the press. “I have been deposed by a patent medicine shark, a greasy-coated hypocrite, a seeker for personal advancement.” Like all those caught in the act, Smith’s (actually Bazarro’s) accusations might have been better used as a self portrait.

The next morning Carl Browne called a press conference of his own and revealed what the press already knew, that the Great Unknown Smith was actually A.P. B. Bazzarro, a patent medicine salesman and a hypocrite. And with that weight lifted, the Army moved on 14 miles to Addison, Maryland.

Twenty years later, Jacob Coxey (above) would explain why he stood up for Carl Browne that cold morning in a half empty opera house, and why he had tolerated the bombast and pretense which Carl Browne so often exhibited, and why Jacob trusted him despite the man’s less than sterling past. Coxey called Browne “…the most unselfish man of my entire life’s acquaintance. He never gave a thought to pecuniary gain. His whole heart was in the movement to emancipate labor."

The next day, as the march continued into Maryland, the eldest son Jesse Coxey was reinstated on the one (his father's) condition, that “he not sulk anymore”. The day after that, Coxey’s Army acquired a navy.