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Bryan: The Progressives: Part I
exhibit one in a gallery of men who fought the good fight in vain
December 1961 | Volume 13, Issue 1
Industrial growth meant the mushrooming of great cities. These gave birth to noxious slums where every kind of vice nourished, where corrupt political organizations like the venal Tweed Ring in New York were forged, and where radical political concepts like socialism and anarchism sought to undermine “the American way of life.” In the words of Jefferson, the farmers’ hero, cities were “ulcers on the body politic.”
Giant industries also attracted hordes of immigrants; these seemed to threaten the Middle West both by their mere numbers and by their “un-American” customs and points of view. Could the American melting pot absorb such strange ingredients without losing much of its own character?
Furthermore, to the citizens of Nebraska and other agricultural states, the new industrial barons appeared bent on making vassals of every farmer in America. The evidence seemed overwhelming: Huge impersonal corporations had neither souls nor consciences; profit was their god, materialism their only creed. The “interests,” a tiny group of powerful tycoons in great eastern centers like Boston, New York, and Philadelphia, were out to enslave the rest of the country. Farmers worked and sweated only to see the “interests” make oil with most of the fruit of their toil. Too many useless middlemen grew fat off the mere “handling” of wheat and cotton. Monopolistic railroads overcharged for carrying crops to market, unscrupulous operators of grain elevators falsely downgraded prime crops and charged exorbitant fees. Cynical speculators drove the price of staples up and down, sometimes making and losing millions in a matter of minutes, without the slightest regard for the effect of their operations on the producers whose sweat made their deadly game possible.
Conspiring with bankers and mortgage holders, all these groups combined to dictate the federal government's money policy. Population and production were surging forward; more money was needed simply to keep up with economic growth. Yet the government was deliberately cutting down on the amount of money in circulation by retiring Civil War greenbacks. On debt-ridden farmers plagued by overproduction, the effect of this deflation was catastrophic. Or so it seemed from the perspective of rural America.
While undoubtedly exaggerated, this indictment of the “interests” was taken as gospel throughout large sectors of the South and West. As a result, demands for “reform” quickly arose. The leading reformers were for the most part sincere, but few of them were entirely altruistic and many were decidedly eccentric. Participating in the movement for a variety of motives but without coming to grips with the main problem of American agriculture—overproduction—were coarse demagogues like Senator “Pitchfork Ken” Tillman of South Carolina, and unwashed characters like the wisecracking congressman from Kansas, “Sockless Jerry” Simpson. There were professional orators like the angry Mary Ellen Lease (her detractors called her “Mary Yellin’ ”), and homespun economic theorists like “Coin” Harvey and “General” Jacob Coxey, who believed so strongly in paper money that he named his son Legal Tender. The excesses of such people frightened off many Americans who might otherwise have lent a sympathetic ear to the farmers’ complaints; others who might have been friendly observed the antics of the reformers with contempt and wrote off the whole movement as a joke.
Since neither of the major parties espoused the farmers’ cause wholeheartedly, much of the protest found its way into various third-party organizations. At first, discontented elements concentrated on opposing the government’s policy of retiring the paper money put in circulation during the Civil War. To save these greenbacks from extinction a Greenback (later Greenback-Labor) party sprang up. in 1878 its candidates polled a million votes, but decline followed as currency reformers turned to other methods of inflation.
Meanwhile the Patrons of Husbandry, better known as the Grange, originally a social organization for farm families, had begun to agitate in local politics against the middlemen who were draining off such a large percentage of the farmers’ profits, in the seventies the Grangers became a power in the Middle West; in state after state they obtained the passage of laws setting maximum rates for railroads and prohibiting various forms of discrimination. The operations of grain elevators were also subjected to state regulation by “Granger Laws” in states such as Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. The Grange abandoned political activity in the eighties, but other farm organizations quickly took its place. These coalesced first into the Northern Alliance and the Southern Alliance, and around 1890 the two Alliances joined with one another to become the Populist party.
Although William Jennings Bryan was a Democrat, he had grown up amid the agitations of the Granger movement. His father had even run for Congress in the seventies with Greenback party support. The aspirations and the general point of view of the midwestern farmers were young Bryan’s own. Public men, he admitted late in life to the journalist Mark Sullivan, are “the creatures of their age. … I lived in the very center of the country out of which the reforms grew, and was quite naturally drawn to the people’s side.”