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In 1919 a dozen-and-a-half Senators gathered in the office of liberal, hell-roaring Isolationist Hiram Johnson of California, counseled there almost daily, swore to keep the U. S. out of that "entangling alliance." Last week, in the same room, around the same Hiram Johnson (but now conservative and weak-voiced) another dozen-and-a-half gathered, pledged themselves to U. S. isolation and to defense of the arms embargo.
Battle Lines. In that room was visible evidence of the broken lines of the two political parties. Wisconsin's Progressive Bob La Follette Jr. found himself shoulder to shoulder with conservatives who ordinarily have no truck with him; hulking David I. Walsh of Massachusetts, who wants a big two-ocean U. S. Navy, found himself working smoothly with Missouri's rosy-nosed Bennett Champ Clark, who has consistently voted against every large Naval appropriation increase since he entered Congress in 1933.
Such solid old-line Democrats as Carter Glass and Harry Byrd of Virginia stood together with Young Turks Minton of Indiana, Schwellenbach of Washington; the Old South's Cotton Ed Smith of South Carolina was ready to vote with the New South's Pepper of Florida. For the first time in many moons and many matters, Mississippi's Harrison and Bilbo, Utah's King and Thomas, were together. For in Washington this week were no pettifogging politicos seeking sewer projects. Every man was a Statesman.
The Great Debate had split Big Business as it had split party lines. Such men as Ernest Tener Weir of Weirton Steel, who sees no sense in costly plant expansion to make munitions for profits the Government will then confiscate, moved to support Vandenberg. But Washington lobbies were thick with the agents of Big Business, plugging embargo repeal furiously over the fumes of free cigars. And such business-sensitive newspapers as the Wall Street Journal and the New York Herald Tribune were hailing their onetime target, Franklin Roosevelt, and sniping anti-repealers.
It looked as if Arthur Hendrick Vandenberg was the biggest paradox of all. Vandenberg best symbolized all phases and shades of the opposition to embargo repeal, thus was chosen to open debate for the antis, while Clark (diehard extremist) was to manage the Floor fight; and Borah (traditional romantic) was to have the last word. Thus the "Big Michigander,"* always safe, sound, middle-of-the-road, now stood up to the Pretorian Guard of his party—Big Business. For there was no doubt he was flying in the face of Michigan's corporate empire—General Motors. Henry Ford, however, vigorously backed his stand. To the American Legion (convening this week in Chicago) he said: "This so-called war is nothing but about 25 people and propaganda. Get them and you'll have the whole thing. They want our money and men."
While the Gallup and other polls continued to show a majority cross-section of the U. S. for repeal, Congressional mail ranged 10-to-1 to 1,000-to-1 against. Even discounting half that mail as inspired by such professional rainmakers as Father Coughlin, there were enough sane, sincere letters in the downpour to give shivers to Congressmen, notoriously the most mail-pervious group in the U. S.*