Peacemongers

On April 4, 1917, the Senate met, determined to stay in continuous session until a resolution declaring war on Germany passed. In the 13 long hours that wore by before the resolution was adopted, six Senators--whom Woodrow Wilson had dubbed "a little group of willful men"--vainly fought the resolution.

They were hissed, reviled; when they boarded Washington streetcars other passengers pointedly got off; their offices were searched, their pasts probed. The "willful men" were shunned by the world & his wife.

Last week undiplomatic Senator William H. Smathers of New Jersey said the delay in passing the Lend-Lease Bill nearly proved that Hitler was right, that "a little band of evil men could gang up to defeat democracy." The chief isolationist, Burton K. Wheeler of Montana, merely chuckled. For his strategic purposes, this irritated attitude was a good sign: consistently through the debate Wheeler and his henchmen have striven to assume the martyr's crown, to be regarded as a tiny group of courageous idealists struggling against hopeless odds. The tactic was working well, because the Administration strategy was failing. Majority Leader Alben Barkley had advised patience and silence, to let the isolationists wear themselves out. This plan of masterly inactivity had flopped frightfully. The isolationists were being supported enthusiastically by the nation's largest newspaper chains (Hearst and Scripps-Howard--although Roy Howard began to recant last week --see p. 59); by the nation's largest single newspapers (New York Dally News, Chicago Tribune); by huge, well-heeled lobbies (America First Committee, scores of others). Their Senate numbers grew slightly, and their leaders were daisy-fresh and whip-smart. Lanky, dimpling Mr. Wheeler daily needled his foes so expertly that they forgot their vows of silence in roars of rage, whereat Mr. Wheeler cut them down as efficiently as a Greek sniper.

The Lend-Lease opponents, ready for glorious martyrdom, with headlines and pictures, knew the bill would pass without substantial amendment. Yet they hammered nightly on the radio, appealing to U. S. mothers to write their Congressmen, protesting against the bill. Some mothers did. The group known as the "Mothers' Crusade Against Bill 1776" did more: they staged a sit-down strike in the Senate Office Building corridors before the door of bantam, spitfire Carter Glass of Virginia, who is ready to declare war on Hitler any time. The Mothers' leader, Mrs. Elizabeth Jane Dilling (author of The Red Network), mother of two, called Tartar Carter, father of four, "an overage destroyer of American youth." Persimmony Veteran Glass invited the G-Men to investigate the Mothers, added tartly: "It would be pertinent to inquire whether they are mothers. For the sake of the race, I devoutly hope not."

By early this week the bill had not even reached amendment stage. Leader Barkley bumbled about longer hours, which he hates, since as Leader he would have to sit longer than any of the others, had his bluff swiftly called. A Gallup poll showed U. S. sentiment for the bill down three points, though still 55% in favor. A disgusted Senator grumbled privately: "Wheeler's doing all right. He talked long enough to let Hitler take another country. If he can keep it up we won't need the bill anyway. It will be too late." The Senate talked on.

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