A Call to Action

A tiresome rite of the presidential campaign is the release by candidates of tomes intended to enlighten voters about their lives, their views, and their qualifications to hold the highest office in the land. Most such literary efforts quickly find a well-deserved place on the remainder shelf at the local Costco – and none of them begin quite like this:

The author’s object in publishing this book is to call attention to some of the more serious evils which disturb the repose of American society and threaten the overthrow of free institutions.

These are the opening lines of the book written by James B. Weaver and published in the early months of 1892 as the People’s Party began to look toward the upcoming presidential campaign and consider who to nominate. Like many of its modern-day cousins, A Call to Action has languished in obscurity since its publication. As an important document of the Populist movement, it deserves a better fate.

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James B. Weaver, from A Call to Action.

A Call to Action is not light reading, but Weaver and his fellow Populists were not in a cheerful mood. “We are nearing a serious crisis,” Weaver warns in his introduction. “If the present strained relations between wealth owners and wealth producers continue much longer they will ripen into frightful disaster. This universal discontent must be quickly interpreted and its causes removed.”

The Agrarian revolt that had simmered on the nation’s farms and ranches in the decades after the Civil War reached its zenith in the early 1890s as the National Farmers Alliance and Industrial Union – or more informally, the Farmers Alliance – spread from the plains of Texas across the South and north into the Great Plains.

Their grievances were many. Farmers were being crushed by the tight money policies favored by Eastern financial interests. They wanted access to capital but found it hard to come by in rural banks far removed from the money centers of New York or Chicago. They sympathized with the demands of organized labor for better working conditions and higher pay. They feared and loathed banks. And they regarded Congress — and particularly the Senate — as hopelessly beholden to special interests.

Weaver touches on all of these themes — and more — in language that is indignant but not radical. A lifelong Methodist, the Iowan was a reformer by nature, not a revolutionary.

His formative political experiences came in the 1850s as a stump speaker and organizer for the new Republican Party. The political world in those years, the Iowan would write decades later, seemed to be “searching out a new orbit.” Weaver himself would spend much of this adult life seeking a new orbit of his own.

When war broke out, he enlisted in an Iowa infantry regiment after the fall of Fort Sumter in 1861 and fought down the Mississippi at Fort Donelson, Shiloh and Corinth. He rose through the ranks and ended his service in 1864 with the rank of colonel. He was breveted after the war as a brigadier general and remained a Republican into the 1870s.

But Weaver, an ardent temperance advocate, found that the party of Lincoln no longer shared his reformer’s zeal. Iowa Republicans rejected his bid for a congressional nomination in 1874 and one year later turned back his bid for the party’s gubernatorial nomination when party bosses engineered a convention floor stampede for Samuel L. Kirkwood.

By 1878 Weaver was a leading figure in the Greenback-Labor Party. Two years later he ran for president at the head of the Greenback-Labor ticket. He remained a temperance man, but the evils of strong drink were no longer his primary concern. Weaver became a leading supporter of the party’s namesake cause — the continued use of paper “greenback” currency to fight the deflationary pressures caused by the tight-money policies favored by financial conservatives who were represented in both parties.

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A newspaper illustration of Weaver and J.G. Fields, his running mate on the 1892 Populist ticket.

By 1892, the emphasis on greenbacks gave way to the call for the unlimited coinage of silver, but the desired end was the same. An “abundant circulating medium” is essential to a healthy economy, Weaver wrote. “We do not mean plenty of idle money, nor money which is so scare and hence so valuable that it can bring greater returns to its owner by being hoarded than by being invested. We mean money that is abroad in the channels of trade performing its legitimate office; money that works, and not money that shirks.”

Modern economists can take issue with the monetary proposals of 19th-century Agrarian radicals like Weaver. They may well have a point, but so did Weaver and his allies. Tight money exacerbated the deflationary tendencies that were impoverishing farmers and ranchers around the country.

In his discussion of monetary issues, Weaver makes a telling reference, drawing on a passage from the Apostle Paul to make his case: “that if any would not work neither shall he eat.” It was not a throwaway line — the devout Methodist filled “A Call to Action” with biblical allusions and references. When discussing abuses by railroads, Weaver paraphrases a passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans when he argues that only way to bring the railroads to heel was to have the government take them over:

It is idle to talk of any other remedy. We have experimented through the lifetime of a whole generation and have demonstrated that avarice is an untrustworthy public servant, and that greed cannot be regulated or made to work in harmony with the public welfare. Like the carnal mind, it is an enmity to the laws of God and man and is not subject to the will of either, neither indeed can be.

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Weaver in his uniform. From James B. Weaver, Fred Emory Haynes.

Weaver titles a section of the book focusing on the yawning gap between rich and poor in a section titled “Dives and Lazarus” – reference to the Biblical story of the rich man who goes to Hell while the poor man who languished at his gate goes to Heaven.

Throughout A Call to Action, Weaver urges action to stem monopolies, purge Congress of corruption (he was an early advocate of the direct election of senators) and close the gap between rich and poor to forestall violent revolution. But Weaver did not want to overthrow the American economic system – he simply wanted it work for everyone.

Several months after publication of A Call to Action, Populists gathered in Omaha to nominate a presidential candidate. Weaver won the nod – but by then his tome had been overshadowed by the party’s platform. Today, students of populism are well-acquainted with the Omaha Platform and its assertion that “the power of government—in other words, of the people—should be expanded (as in the case of the postal service) as rapidly and as far as the good sense of an intelligent people and the teachings of experience shall justify, to the end that oppression, injustice, and poverty shall eventually cease in the land.”

A Call to Action has been largely forgotten. It demands renewed attention from students of the period.


You can find my biography of James B. Weaver, Skirmisher: The Life, Times and Political Career of James B. Weaver, at amazon.com

Amazon also carries my account of the Credit Mobilier scandal:

 

Oakes Ames, salesman

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Many of the most dramatic moments of the Credit Mobilier scandal occurred during the hearings held in the winter of 1872-1873 by the investigative committee led by Rep. Luke Potter Poland, R-Vt.

But it could be argued that the most significant events in the tawdry tale occurred four years earlier, during the late months of 1867 and the first few months of 1868.

Congress and the nation were preoccupied by the struggle over Reconstruction that pitted President Andrew Johnson against Radical Republicans who feared – correctly – that the Tennessean elevated to the presidency following the assassination of Abraham Lincoln sought to leave newly freed slaves at the mercy of their former masters. The confrontation escalated to impeachment and a Senate trial.

While the battle between Congress and Johnson dominated the headlines, Rep. Oakes Ames of Massachusetts was looking out for the interests of the Union Pacific Railroad and the company that profited from its construction.

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Rep. Oakes Ames. Library of Congress/

Ames, railroad financier known as the “King of Spades” because of his family’s famous shovel-making business, was a leading stockholder in the railroad and Credit Mobilier, which made its money by overcharging the railroad for construction and taking payment in railroad bonds and securities. Many of Credit Mobilier’s leading investors were, like Ames, also stockholders in the railroad.

In 1866, the Union Pacific suffered a pair of embarrassing legislative defeats on Capitol Hill. Congress allowed the Central Pacific to build its line farther east into territory that had originally been reserved for the Union Pacific. Lawmakers also allowed a Kansas-based railroad, originally intended as a feeder line for the Union Pacific, to extend to Kansas. The Kansas road then became, as Ames put it later, a rival instead of a partner to the Union Pacific.

He was determined not to let that happen again and decided to make the lucrative Credit Mobilier stock the tool to protect the railroad’s interests on Capitol Hill. As he confided to his fellow Credit Mobilier investor, Henry S. McComb: “We want more friends in this Congress, & if a man will look into the law (and it is difficult to get them to do it unless they have an interest to do so) he cannot help being convinced that we should not be interfered with.”

According to members of Congress who testified to the Poland committee, the Massachusetts Republican congressman began to offer to sell Credit Mobilier stock at their face value of $100 per share, well below their actual value, in the fall of 1867.

Sen. James Patterson, a New Hampshire Republican, told the Poland committee that Ames came to the Senate “[n]ear the close of 1867” to offer thirty shares. “He represented at the time that he did this as a friend, looking to my interest.”

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Thomas Nast’s verdict on Credit Mobilier. Library of Congress.

Patterson initially denied – rather sanctimoniously – that he bought Credit Mobilier shares but was forced to return to the committee to admit that he had, in fact, bought the stock. The former school teacher squirmed “like one of the delinquents he used to torture” as he made his confession, according to the New York Sun.

Hoosier Schuyler Colfax, testifying to the Poland committee as his term as vice president was coming to an end, recalled the Ames approached him about Credit Mobilier on the House floor while Colfax was serving as Speaker in late 1867. Colfax told investigators that Ames made the investment sound “good and safe” but told Ames he didn’t have the money.

Colfax resolutely insisted to the end that he never bought shares in Credit Mobilier, but the preponderance of evidence indicates that he did — and that he profited handsomely.

Others approached by Ames pleaded poverty. Reps. James A. Garfield and William “Pig Iron” Kelley each told the King of Spades they could not afford to buy Credit Mobilier shares. But Ames was undeterred.

Kelley’s account of Ames’s salesmanship is revealing. The Philadelphia Republican remembered running into Ames at the corner of Fourteenth and F Streets as they waited for a trolley bus to the Capitol. Kelley had recently been linked in the press to another finance scheme, and Ames gently tweaked him about it.

“We fell into conversation,” Kelley remembered, “he congratulated me upon having become rich enough to have a thousand dollars to waste.”

Kelley said he told Ames that, in fact, his finances were “not then in the most flourishing condition.” Ames made an ingenious offer: Kelley could take ten Credit Mobilier shares at no cost with the understanding that he would pay the face value out of dividends and sales proceeds. “I said to him that I did not see how I could lose anything by that operation.” Kelley insisted the deal fell through, but congressional investigators determined he bought the stock made $329.

Ames reached a similar deal with Garfield, who also initially denied buying the stock.

Rep. Henry Dawes of Massachusetts got involved with Ames after discovering he had an unexpected balance in his House checking account. A colleague recommended he approach Ames about buying some railroad stock, but the King of Spades suggested Credit Mobilier as a better option. Dawes ultimately paid $1,041 for his shares, congressional investigators concluded.

Perhaps no one demonstrated Ames’s ability as a salesman quite as dramatically as Rep. John Bingham of Ohio. Bingham had good reason not to trust the Massachusetts lawmaker- in 1866 he put $2,000 into the stock of a mining company touted in which Ames served as president and lost every penny.

But when Ames approached him about Credit Mobilier, Bingham eagerly bought in.

“In December 1867 Mr. Ames advised me to invest in stock of the Credit Mobilier, assuring me it would return me my money with profitable dividends,” Bingham told the Poland committee. Bingham agreed to invest $2,000 in Credit Mobilier.

Ames was known as a man of few words. He made no speeches of record during his years in the House and preferred to operate behind the scenes. The testimony to the Poland committee indicates that he was very persuasive in that domain.

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Henry S. McComb. McComb Railroad Museum.

But, fatally for Ames, one person was not convinced. McComb, his fellow Credit Mobilier investor, felt he was entitled to additional shares as part of an agreement among Credit Mobilier stockholders in 1867 that ended a corporate feud between Ames and Thomas C. Durant.

Ames wrote three letters (one of which is quoted in part above) to McComb explaining why he had no more shares to provide. McComb was not mollified and filed suit against Ames in November, 1868. In September 1872 the New York Sun detailed the lawsuit in the explosive scoop that produced the biggest scandal of the Gilded Age.


Books by Robert B. Mitchell are available at amazon.com