Hung Out to Dry

Soberback Saturday left off last week with the observation that the Senate's failure to ratify the Treaty of Versailles meant that the U.S. remained at war, and wartime prohibition of the production and sale of alcoholic beverages would, ipso facto, remain in effect.

"The Crow and the Pitcher" by Carey Orr in Chicago Tribune, Oct. 30, 1919

Of course, had the Senate ratified of the treaty, it would not have repealed the Eighteenth Amendment, which expressly prohibited the "manufacture, sale, or transportation of intoxicating liquors within, or the importation thereof into" the U.S.

The Volstead Act, named for House Judiciary Chair Andrew Volstead (R-MN), codified the Eighteenth Amendment into law, by defining "intoxicating liquors," establishing the penalties for breaking the law, and extending enforcement power to the states.

Efforts to undo the Act were bipartisan: President Wilson vetoed the Act on grounds that its sections regarding the enforcement of wartime measures were moot. Republican Elihu Root argued before the Supreme Court that the Eighteenth Amendment itself was an unconstitutional seizure of property (specifically in his case, of beer brewed prior to Prohibition) without compensation. And in Ohio, a 1918 amendment to the state constitution required that a statewide referendum approve any ratification of amendments to the federal constitution; Ohio's legislature ratified the Eighteenth Amendment in January, 1919, but the referendum in November, 1919, went down to the wire.

"Giddap" by Sid Chapin in St. Louis Republic, Oct./Nov., 1919

But support for Prohibition was also bipartisan. It took less than three hours for the House to override Wilson's veto of the Act on October 27, and 27 Democratic Senators helped the Senate follow suit the next day.

"The Argufyingest Corpse We Ever Saw" by Billy Ireland in Columbus Dispatch, ca. Dec., 1919

The Supreme Court would take a bit more time to rule against Mr. Root's client. "To limit the power of Congress so that it may require discontinuance only after a reasonable time from the passage of the act would seriously restrict it in the exercise of the war powers," Justice Brandeis wrote for the majority.

"Darn It, I'm Beginning to Believe It's So" by Charles "Bill" Sykes in Philadelphia Public Ledger, ca. Jan. 6, 1920

The Court would also rule Ohio's referendum requirement unconstitutional, Justice William Day writing that in the U.S. Constitution, ratification of constitutional amendments is explicitly "limited to two methods, by action of the legislatures of three-fourths of the States, or conventions in a like number of States."

"Better Days" by Hal Coffman in Los Angeles Examiner, Nov. 24, 1919

There were still cartoonists such as Hal Coffman preaching the benefits of Prohibition, but some undesired side effects of the Eighteenth Amendment were already making themselves felt. A thriving bootlegging underground had sprung up to satisfy the thirst of anyone who didn't have a stash in his cellar or needed his bathtub for anything other than the making of gin.

"Which of You Own This Dog" by William C. Morris for George Matthew Adams Service, ca. Nov. 23, 1919

As John D. Rockefeller would put it in 1932,

When Prohibition was introduced, I hoped that it would be widely supported by public opinion and the day would soon come when the evil effects of alcohol would be recognized. I have slowly and reluctantly come to believe that this has not been the result. Instead, drinking has generally increased; the speakeasy has replaced the saloon; a vast army of lawbreakers has appeared; many of our best citizens have openly ignored Prohibition; respect for the law has been greatly lessened; and crime has increased to a level never seen before.

"The Anti-Camouflage Specialists at Work" by John McCutcheon in Chicago Tribune, Nov. 7, 1919

Nevertheless, flushed with his movement's success in subjugating the saloon industry on this side of the pond, American prohibition activist William Eugene "Pussyfoot" Johnson sought to bring Prohibition to Great Britain. Johnson had earned his nickname back before the turn of the century by going undercover into Oklahoma bars to gather information against their owners.

"The Statue of Liberty" by Percy H. "Poy" Fearon in London Evening News, Nov., 1919

His British visit did not go well.

At a speaking engagement at London's Essex Hall on November 13, 1919, he was seized by a mob of medical students who paraded him through the streets of London on a stretcher. Someone in the crowd hit him with a projectile, putting out his right eye. He was eventually rescued by police, but doctors were unable to save his eye.

"You Can Lead a Horse to Water..." by ___ in Morning Advertiser, London, Nov., 1919

I haven't been able to track down this cartoonist, whose caricature of Pussyfoot Johnson is closer to the real person than that of "Poy" Fearon, who made no attempt to capture his likeness. I'm guessing that it might have been published before the November 13 incident; but then, Johnson is drawn from the left side.

The Morning Advertiser, incidentally, is a biweekly trade publication founded in 1794 to promote the interests of British pub owners and managers, and is still publishing.

In the Good Old Summer Time

As vacation season winds to a close, Summerback Saturday takes a break from wars and riots and bombings to remark on a phenomenon I noticed while searching for century-old cartoons about all that heavy stuff. See if you can figure it out.

"Sketches from Life" by Harry C. Temple in Cleveland Plain Dealer, summer, 1919

One more cartoon should do it.

"When They Were Making Their Vacation Plans" by Wm. Morris for George Matthew Adams Service, summer, 1919

They called the phenomenon "The Summer Widower." It appears to have been a common enough thing to be the premise of plenty of cartoons, just like cartoons of young lads splashing in swimming holes and of the same lads woefully toting bundles of books to school in September.

"The Summer Widowers' Party" by Sid Chapin in St. Louis Republic, summer, 1919

I'm not sure whether Chapin's cartoon ran in June or July; if it was the latter, Henry must still have had some prohibited beverage there in the basement, which would explain why he's prudently staying outside the frame.

"When the Family's Away" by R.M. Brinkerhoff in New York Evening Mail, summer, 1919

Perhaps Dad staying home while the rest of the family goes merrily away on vacation seems perfectly normal to you, but growing up, I recall only one time when Mom took us kids off without Dad. We took the train up to see her parents once; I think Dad went separately to a churchwide assembly or somesuch. (Not most people's idea of summer fun.) Otherwise, Dad drove us in the car whenever we went traveling.

"Tragedy of the Summer Widower" by Kenneth Chamberlain in Cincinnati Press, summer, 1919

If summer widowerhood were all poker games and loafing around, it would have been called summer bachelorhood. Having the house all to oneself had its downside, however, especially in those days when Papa couldn't figure out how to operate a dishcloth.

"Portrait of the Man Who Told His Wife..." by Wm. C. Morris for George Matthew Adams Service, summer, 1919

To get serious for a moment, the reason these summer widowers weren't joining their families on vacation is that they probably wouldn't have had a job when they got back. Even if they did happen to belong to a union, unions were still working to win their members an eight-hour day and a 40-hour week; guaranteed vacation time wasn't even under consideration.

Not that it was unheard of. President Taft had proposed in 1910 that workers should have two to three months of vacation time every year, only to have the proposal go nowhere. Not until the Great Depression did employers start to see the value in letting their workers take some time off to recharge their batteries: first white-collar workers, then eventually blue-collar workers as well. Unions began to see vacation time as a valuable bargaining chip, and by 1943, 60% of American workers were entitled to paid vacation.

But unlike much of the rest of the world, the U.S. has no law guaranteeing paid vacation time for anyone but members of Congress and state legislatures.

"A Midsummer Day's Dream" by H.H. Perry in Portland Oregonian, August, 1919

P.S.: We mustn't forget the working women of 1919 ... although I doubt their husbands were off with the kids to play with the Esquimaux.

The Irish Question

"St. Patrick's Day, 1919" by John T. McCutcheon in Chicago Tribune,  March 17, 1919

And where would we be afther goin' this glorious Sláinteback Sathairn but the Emerald Isle?

"Give Her a Front Seat!" by Fred Seibel in Knickerbocker Press, ca. Feb., 1919

When we last checked in on century-old events in Ireland, Sinn Féin had just rejected British promises to grant Ireland home rule on Tuesday in return for drafting Irish lads to fight the Bosch today. Riots and repression followed.

"St. Patrick's Day in the Mornin'" by Bill Sykes in Philadelphia Evening Ledger, March 17, 1919

Today we jump ahead one year to find the Great War over, Britain and its allies victorious. Sinn Féin won a landslide victory in the Irish general election of December, 1918, save in Ulster, where the Irish Unionist Party won most parliamentary seats. Sinn Féin refused to join the British Parliament, instead declaring Irish independence in January and setting up its own unicameral parliament called the Dáil Éireann.

"May Make Somebody Sick" by Sidney Joseph Greene in New York Evening Telegram, Jan. or Feb., 1919

Along with an official declaration of independence and a constitution, one of the first orders of business for the Dáil was publication of a "Message to the Free Nations" demanding that Ireland be allowed to make its case for independence at the Paris Peace Conference. The British response was to appoint Field Marshal John Denton Pinkstone French, 1st Earl of Ypres, as "master of Ireland" with complete authority over the island's government.

"A Gordian Knot" by Grover Page in Nashville Tennesseean, ca. Feb., 1919

British intransigence was inevitable, given Irish revolutionaries' collusion with Germany, rioting on Armistice Day, and the assassination of two Royal Irish Constabulary policemen in an ambush on the same day that independence was declared. A diplomatic solution was not to be had. Increasing tension and sporadic violence would result in two years of guerrilla warfare with Great Britain (the Cogadh na Saoirse, a.k.a. the Black and Tan War).

"And the Cat Came Back" by Archibald Chapin in St. Louis Republic, ca. Feb. 1919

Given President Woodrow Wilson's proclaimed ideals of "self-determination of all peoples," there was considerable sympathy in the U.S. for Irish independence, as shown in this selection of cartoons. Even the American cartoonists who portray the Irish as unready for self-rule conceded that it should come to pass sooner or later.

"He's Going to Keep On Till He Gets Them" by William Hanny in St. Joseph News-Press, ca. Feb., 1919

It would have been interesting to see how an anti-Irish cartoonist such as Thomas Nast might have depicted the Irish fight for home rule. Nast never had a kind word for Irish-Americans, persistently drawing them as apish, violent louts; he was, moreover, virulently anti-Catholic throughout his career. (Nast's cartooning career essentially ended in 1892, and he died of yellow fever while visiting Ecuador in 1902; if he had survived another sixteen years, he would have had to reconcile his German heritage with growing anti-German sentiment in the U.S. during the Great War.)

The great "Ding" Darling seemed at this point to be rather ambivalent about Irish self-rule. In our last cartoon today, he makes a joke playing off the apparent attraction among urban Irish-Americans to law enforcement as a profession, but doesn't present the gentleman's proposal as either good or bad per se.

"...Before It Is Too Late" by Jay N. "Ding" Darling in New York Tribune, March 10, 1919

I just don't think the gentleman is quite dressed for the job.

One Flu Over the Cuckoo's Nest

This week's episode of Sneezeback Saturday catches (up on) the Spanish Influenza epidemic in the fall of 1918, which was at its worst in October.

"La Nouvelle Indisposition" by TEL in L'Homme Libre, Paris, August 24, 1918

But first, let's reach back to August, when the French cartoonist penning under the nom de plume "TEL" referenced the Spanish Flu in a cartoon about Spain's official letters of protest to Germany over the sinking of Spanish ships. Neutral in the war, Spain nevertheless lost a fifth of its merchant marine and at least 100 Spanish sailors to German torpedoes. In retaliation, the Spanish government threatened to confiscate an equal number of German ships if Germany did not guarantee safe passage for continued Spanish shipping.

"Speaking of Epidemics" by John McCutcheon in Chicago Tribune, September 25, 1918

There is a theory that Germany's defeat in the war was due in part to the Central Powers' armies being ravaged by the Spanish flu pandemic. That, and propaganda that the disease originated in Austria may or may not have helped inspire John McCutcheon's cartoon above. The Spanish flu was spreading through the Entente lines as well, however.

"Open a Window..." by Gaar Williams in Indianapolis News, Sept./Oct. 1918

As noted here before, the Spanish flu had nothing to do with Spain. The first documented case of the disease befell Private Albert Gitchell at Camp Funston, Fort Riley, Kansas in March of 1918; within a week, 100 more soldiers at Fort Riley had the disease, and it was spreading as the soldiers shipped out through New York to Europe.

"How to Get a Seat" by Maurice Ketten in New York World, October, 1918

Somehow, the contagion got the name Spanish flu even though there were no cases of the disease in Spain until November. In other European countries, wartime censorship kept the press from reporting the extent of the pandemic; the association of the disease with Spain may have had something to do with the lack of such wartime censorship there.

Detail from "The Rectangle" by Frank O. King in Chicago Tribune, November 10, 1918

We weren't about to let it be called "Kansan flu," you know.

"LaBarouche Toreador..." by J. McIsaac in Le Charivari, Montreal, Canada, October 19, 1918

Not that we actually fooled the rest of the world, or at least our neighbors to the north.

"Grand-dad Inadvertently Sneezed..." by William Donahey in Cleveland Plain Dealer, October, 1918

In spite of the tens of thousands of their fellow citizens stricken with the deadly flu, American cartoonists seem to have had a flippant attitude toward the disease. If I didn't know better, I'd suspect that there was a deliberate campaign to downplay public fears.

"That Guiltiest Feeling" by Clare Briggs in Chicago Tribune, October, 1918

Well, I don't know any better, so I'm going right ahead with my plans to suspect a conspiracy borne of wartime censorship.

"It Happens in the Best of Families!" by Sid Chapin in St. Louis Republic, October, 1918

P.S.: Have you gotten your flu shot yet?

Reichedämmerung

The theme of this week's Sprechenzieback Saturday is Twilight of the Empires, because we have reached the centennial of the final month of World War I, and with it the final month of the German, Austro-Hungarian, and Ottoman Empires.

"The Twilight of the Gotts" by John McCutcheon in Chicago Tribune,  October 5, 1918

As American, British and French forces pushed Germany's western front farther and farther back, Entente cartoonists produced a flurry of editorial cartoons depicting Kaiser Wilhelm feeling betrayed by the German "Gott." It almost seems as if the ink slingers and charcoal smudgers were accepting the ancient Hebrew mindset that accepted the existence of other nations' distinct gods, believing however that their own was superior to the others.

"Le Délaissé" by Charles LaBorde in Le Rire, Paris, August 24, 1918

It's a peculiarity of common parlance, in the U.S. at least, that original German is the default for so many easily translatable words when referring to Germany, but Germany alone. Then and now, we always refer to Emperor William as Kaiser Wilhelm, but Austria-Hungary's Emperor Francis Joseph is never Kaiser Franz Josef.

"Some Folks Reckon They've Got a Monopoly of This Iron Fist Stuff" by David Low in Sydney Bulletin, September, 1918

Yet while any English speaker was familiar with some phrases such as "Gott strafe [fill in the blank]," others such as "Eisenfaust" did not leave the Vaterland without requiring translation. Australian cartoonist David Low, not yet having adopted the style of his more famous World War II cartoons, here turns around a famous comment by Kaiser Wilhelm to his brother, Prince Heinrich, in 1897: "If anyone ... should ever venture to wish to hurt or harm us in the due exercise of our rights, smash him with an iron fist."

"I May Have to Leave You" by Rollin Kirby in New York World, October, 1918

Anyway, with Central Powers' frontiers were collapsing on all sides, I'll let these cartoons speak for themselves with only minimal explanation from little old me. As Entente forces overtook the Hindenburg line on Germany's western front, German forces abandoned their occupation of Belgium, which had been Great Britain's reason for entering the war.

"La Couronne de Finlande" by TEL in L'Homme Libre, Paris, September 24, 1918

The Kaiser's dreams of a German-dominated Mitteleuropa were crumbling from the Baltic to the Balkans. I dealt more extensively with the Finnish situation in July, in case you missed it.

Archibald Chapin in St. Louis Republic, September, 1918

Czechs and Slovaks eagerly accepted promises that the Entente powers would recognize their independence from Austria-Hungary.

"The Reports of His Death Were Greatly Exaggerated" by William Hanny in St. Joseph (MO) News-Press, September, 1918

Serbia, where the first shots of the war had been fired, had been occupied by the Central Powers since 1915. Units of the Serbian army returning from exile liberated the country in September of 1918.  Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes would declare the creation of an independent state west of Serbia on October 29, but it was never recognized by the rest of the world, and would eventually be absorbed into the kingdom of Serbia.

"Didn't Get Away With It" by R.O. Evans in Baltimore American, Sept./Oct, 1918

French and Serb forces broke through the Bulgarian lines at Dobro Polje in mid-September. Bulgaria signed an armistice with the Entente on September 30, and Tsar Ferdinand I abdicated three days later.

"The Broken Span" by Maurice Ketten in Chicago Journal, Sept./Oct., 1918

Meanwhile in Ottoman territory, British forces had conquered Palestine and entered Damascus at the end of September. Cartoonists in Christendom were particularly enthused by the Ottoman-German army's retreat from Nazareth...

"Thanksgiving Is Coming" by John McCutcheon in Chicago Tribune, September 24, 1918

... but Great Britain's victory in Palestine would not be one that the English would long remain thankful for.

As far as Americans were concerned, Austria, Turkey and Bulgaria were but junior partners in the Central Powers alliance. Entente victories over them now seemed guaranteed.

"A Race to Headquarters to Turn State's Evidence" by Billy Ireland in Columbus Dispatch, Sept./Oct., 1918

"The Alliance in 1918" by Nelson Harding in Brooklyn Daily Eagle, September, 1918

"La Paix" by Lucien Métivet in Le Rire, Paris, October 12, 1918

The American press reported in the first week of October that Germany was prepared to surrender unconditionally. Another campaign was just underway in the U.S. to promote Liberty Loans; and with the end of hostilities visible on the horizon, that had to be an extremely difficult sell.

"If We Will Lend the Way They Fight" by Nelson Harding in Brooklyn Daily Eagle, October 6, 1918

Nevertheless, it had become possible to anticipate the shape of a post-war world. The victors in Europe, having endured four long years of war, were not in a forgiving mood.

"The Bill" by Percy H. "Poy" Fearon, in Evening News, London, September, 1918

The devastation in lives and property over those four years hit a generation of Europeans especially hard. Disillusionment with traditional pre-war values would produce nihilistic novels and poetry, atonal music, skepticism of authority, and an ethos of "let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die." The Great War directly affected a greater portion of the populace than ever before, through conscription, air raids, and sinking of passenger ships.

In the whole of the previous century, from the Napoleonic Wars to the Balkan Wars of 1912–1913, Europe had lost fewer than 4.5 million men. Now, at least 8 million had died in four years, while more than twice as many had been wounded, some of them crippled for life.

From his artist's desk in Munich, Erich Schiller predicted that the true winners after the war would not be the Entente Powers in general, but two of them in particular.

"Das Europäische Konzert nach dem Kriege" by Erich Schiller in Simplicissimus, Munich, October 15, 1918

All This, and WWI

I haven't posted any World War I stuff for Stealback Saturday in quite a while -- largely because the material I have on hand isn't a propos until next November -- but Mike Peterson posted some 100-year-old New Year's editorial cartoons yesterday. He included this one by Carey Orr (then drawing for the Nashville Tennessean, and soon to move to the Chicago Tribune's front page for many years):

"And We All Wanted It to Be a Girl"

I hope I've correctly addressed the link above so you can check out all the other New Year's 1916 cartoons Mike posted. Other times when I've tried linking to him, I've ended up having linked to his "Comic Strip of the Day" site generally -- which is always a good read, anyway.

In yesterday's post, Mike links to Terry Beattie's display of cartoons from a pamphlet urging readers to purchase war bonds. Since the appeal is for the "Third Liberty Loan," I assume that the cartoons are drawn well after U.S. entry into the war in 1917, but I'd like to include this Frederick Opper cartoon anyway:

The center and right characters are Paul von Hindenburg and Kaiser Wilhelm. Somehow, I had thought that the guy on the left -- and countless cartoons and TV/movie representations of men just like him -- were a stereotype that grew out of World War II; but I see that he is identified here as Crown Prince Wilhelm. The Crown Prince would still figure in the rise of Hitler, which is probably where my mistake comes from -- that, and the fact that WWII continues to have a much greater cultural impact than the original WW on this side of the pond...

...Even if World War I was seen as the greatest threat to the world of all time as it was happening, as evidenced by this Sid Chapin contribution to the booklet.

To close this post, let's return to the first week of 1916. With suspicion of Islam at a heightened frenzy today, here's an example by William H. Walker for Life magazine ("That Will Please Him," January 6, 1916) of how our fear of fifth columnists has a long, long pedigree:

The letter reads: "Somewhere, U.S.A.
Majesty,
Things are going well over here. Three munitions (3) factories blown up
this week and bombs placed on several ships.
Obediently Your Lieut. X.Y.Z."