December 4, 2020
Divided We Fall: Why the
‘America First’ Policy Has Created New Problems
From the
vantage point of 2020, it can seem hard to imagine Americans uniting over
anything, much less a massive rescue operation for starving strangers. The
country has become so inward-looking that it has lost focus on the world beyond
its shores.
It was the kind of spectacle that only Hollywood could produce. Scores of searchlights crisscrossed the night sky, illuminating fancy floats below. Ten live bands filled the grounds with music fit for the extravaganza. And the stars came out in force because everyone wanted to be there. John Wayne was there, and so was Mickey Rooney. The “Brazilian Bombshell” Carmen Miranda enchanted the crowd, while others swooned at the French-born actor Charles Boyer, still glowing from his performance in the hit film Gaslight. More than one hundred of the most renowned celebrities performed, mingled, and jockeyed to be seen. Half a million spectators braved the cold November chills since most did not yet own a television. In 1947, TV was just beginning to penetrate American homes as the long postwar economic boom began, and TV crews were there to capture the event. The comedian Danny Thomas got a raucous laugh by shivering on stage, reflecting what the crowds were feeling. He bowed in mock reverence at California’s Governor Earl Warren, who was seated with his wife on stage. The mood that night was ebullient, a striking contrast to the abject suffering that had brought them all there.
It began as a publicity stunt,
the brainchild of Drew Pearson, America’s best-known syndicated columnist.
Pearson had witnessed Russian Army forces in France being lauded for supplying
food aid while American shipments went unnoticed. Pearson wanted America to get
credit for the humanitarian efforts it was making. Since 1946, Americans across
the country had voluntarily gone hungry several days a week, eating less to
make more food available for shipment to Europe. At President Harry
Truman’s urging, Americans observed “meatless Tuesdays,” cut down on
bread consumption and tried to reduce food waste. Exports rose but that was not
enough to rectify the problem. By the fall of 1947, the situation had grown
dire. The government intensified its efforts, but the public had to pitch in
more. In one of Pearson’s columns, he proposed a Friendship Train that would
race across America collecting food for Europe’s hungry masses. He thought that
if celebrities could accompany the train, the crowds would gather and donations
would rise. Europeans would then see the true heart of the American people. But
neither Pearson nor any others could have imagined just how ardently Americans
would get on board with the simple idea of giving.
As the train prepared to leave
Los Angeles, the nation’s most celebrated songwriter, Irving Berlin, led the
crowd in a round of God Bless America, a song he had introduced
less than a decade earlier. Hollywood’s show-stopping sendoff contained eight
freight cars full of food, including 160,000 pounds of sugar given by Hawaii,
whose Governor of course attended the glamorous event. From Hollywood, the
train sped through California’s breadbasket. Bakersfield supplied 80,000 pounds
of grain. Fresno donated crates of raisins. Merced gave more dried fruit and
canned milk. In Stockton, people held up signs reading “Hunger is the enemy of
peace,” “Food for our Friends,” “and Bonjour, vive La France.” Oakland, San
Francisco, and Bay area cities provided even more, throwing in a $10,000 cash
donation.
The train picked up more food in
Reno, where both the Mayor and Governor came out to greet it. Omaha added 50,000
pounds of flour plus more cash contributions. Stunned by the extent of the
average American’s generosity, French foreign minister Henri Bonnet flew to
meet the train in Omaha and witnessed for himself the spontaneous outpouring of
support. He called it “America’s far-reaching gesture of amity.” And that
reach just kept extending.
It was not just white Americans
who joined in giving. Black people donated across the country. A group of Black
Americans in Los Angeles pooled their funds to purchase a truckload of
groceries for the train. Native Americans gave as well. Sioux chief Ed White
Buffalo, his wife and their three children, all in traditional dress, presented
the train with seventy-eight ears of corn. Rich, as well as poor folks, gave.
Henry Kaiser, a leading industrialist and future founder of the healthcare
company Kaiser Permanente, made sure to be photographed loading boxes onto
train cars as part of his contribution. A seventy-three-year-old small-town
grocer, Frank Tessier, donated a sack of flour from his store. Even little
children joined in the event. One four-year-old boy donated four hundred
pennies to the cause, providing perfect footage for the newsreels.
Cities vied to give the most of
whatever they had. The tiny town of Sidney was not even on the schedule for a
visit, but the town’s leaders convinced the train to stop and accept the
contributions of its residents. One boy literally offered the shirt off his
back, which was immediately auctioned for the cause. Though the town barely
numbered ten thousand residents, it raised $12,000. In Aurora, John Crumm made
a special effort to gather food for the train. Crumm had been a prisoner of the
Japanese during the war and knew the pain of hunger. He organized a group to
pick the corn that still remained in the fields and otherwise would have gone
to waste. It was enough to sell for $825 worth of flour. By the time the train
reached Council Bluffs, it stretched to fifty-seven cars. And that town added
five more. The train then rumbled on through Iowa, picking up more food and
money everywhere it went. But Kansas broke all records, adding eighty-three
boxcars of wheat. Governor Frank Carlson addressed an audience of thousands
saying, “We have so much, the need is so great, and it takes so little from the
individual that we must not fail to do our duty.”
Try as they did, no city could
top the fanfare that New Yorkers gave: forty cars of food plus a ticker-tape
parade. More than 100,000 New Yorkers lined the streets to celebrate this
extraordinary act of giving. Even Hollywood’s audacious sendoff could not
compare to the show that New York put on. Two railway barges laden with food
took victory laps around the Statue of Liberty as jets of water one hundred
feet high arched across them in majestic streams. Then the Friendship Train’s
supplies were loaded onto the first of four ships that would cross the Atlantic
to deliver its
cargo to France. With the smashing of a champagne bottle on its bow,
the USS Leader was re-Christened the “Friend Ship” and sent on
its way. Those shipments would go not just to the French, but to Italians,
Germans, and Austrians, America’s former foes.
Politicians of both parties
attached themselves to the popular phenomenon. New York’s Republican Governor
Thomas E. Dewey, eyeing yet another run at the presidency, called the train “an
important contribution to world peace.” New York City’s Democratic Mayor,
William O’Dwyer, convened a ceremony at City Hall, where thousands of children,
released from school, were invited to participate in the festivities. The Mayor
proclaimed the episode “a material symbol of the desire of our
people to relieve the hunger and suffering of our fellow humans in
Italy and France.” Warren Austin, America’s Ambassador to the United Nations,
simply called it an act of “peace-mongering.” New Yorkers gave an
additional $73,000 toward the purchase of food. And throughout the episode,
every corporation and labor union—from teamsters to dock workers, from
railways to shipping lines—provided its services entirely free of
charge. The hope had been to deliver the food
to France and Italy by Christmas. At the ceremony, the French
Consul General called the Captain of the Friend Ship “a real Santa Claus.”
In the end, the Friendship Train
had swelled to an astonishing 481 cars, with the first shipment of food to
France weighing more than eight million pounds. The film producer, Harry
Warner, Chairman of the train committee, declared that “no other humanitarian
appeal in history ever had such a quick and tremendous response.” The committee
had chosen Warner (of Warner Brothers Studio) to oversee the effort precisely
because it wanted him to generate footage to play in movie theaters across
Europe. The entire project was intended as a propaganda bonanza, a chance to
showcase America’s goodness on film. It was as if Americans were desperate to
show the world who they truly were. But why?
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