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Credit for the B. E. F.'s good behavior went principally to 34-year-old Walter W. Waters, originator of the Washington march, who was selected last week as the B. E. F.'s commander-in-chief. Tall, lean, sunburned, Waters first saw service on the Mexican border. Then he went overseas as a sergeant for nearly two years with the 146th Field Artillery. Mustered out, he married a blonde slip of a girl from Valparaiso, Ind., took her to Oregon where he worked as superintendent of a canning factory, had a house of his own, a car, two little daughters. Eighteen months ago he lost his job. His small savings melted. He led the B. E. F.'s first contingent of 300 from Portland across the continent last month. Now in command of 15,000 men, he became the sober, strict executive with headquarters and a staff in a deserted building on Pennsylvania Avenue. He directed the B. E. F.'s lobbyists, organized newcomers, arranged for food and shelter, maintained camp order and, above all, kept the Bonus uppermost in his followers' minds. Said he: "We're here for the duration and we're not going to starve. We're going to keep ourselves a simon-pure veterans' organization. If the Bonus is paid it will relieve to a large extent the deplorable economic condition."
Best Washington friend of the B. E. F. last week was Pelham Glassford, Superintendent of Police, onetime Army brigadier. He supplied the camp with food during its first hard days, later managed the money and supplies donated for its subsistence. He bought or borrowed tents, arranged for quarters in condemned Government buildings. He supplied trucks to take all who wanted to leave 50 miles from the Capitol. When no appreciable number accepted his free transportation offer, he dug in to make the B. E. F. as comfortable as possible. His kindness brought rumors that President Hoover, displeased, might summarily dismiss him on the ground that his activities encouraged more veterans to head for Washington.
Over Bonus City hung the constant threat of pestilence. Flies swarmed. Garbage lay half buried. The men bathed in the Eastern Branch (Potomac), virtually an open sewer. Twenty-three cases of communicable disease were spotted but were lost in the crowd. The air reeked with filthy smells. Eight men were reported to have died. Food was poor. Scabies broke out. Public health officers declared conditions were "frightful." warned of a "terrible epidemic" which might suddenly fan out from the camp across the city and country. A 24-hour quarantine was set up for new arrivals and a special camp with hospital facilities opened for the sick and diseased.
To feed the B. E. F. costs about 7¢ per day per man. Father Charles Coughlin, radio priest of Detroit, forwarded $5,000. About $2,500 was raised by exhibition boxing matches. Home-town friends loaded trucks with free supplies and started them to Washington. The B. E. F. seemed in no immediate danger of starving.
Bonus lobbyists swarmed about the Capitol. One group encountered Senator Lewis of Illinois in a corridor, pestered him for support. Angry when his way was blocked, Senator Lewis declared: "I'm going to the Senate and you can go to hell!"