Hector Cantu – Page 3 – The Intelligent Collector Magazine

Stop whatever you’re doing, grab the soap and scrub your hands

A group of three framed autographs by famed medical scientists, including Jonas Salk, went to auction in January 2017.

By Jim O’Neal

Franklin Delano Roosevelt (1882-1945) was a handsome, virile young man – 39 years old – when he contracted what was diagnosed as poliomyelitis. Polio is an odd infection whose history traces back to the earliest humans and is generally transmitted by water contaminated with human feces. It primarily affects children under age 5, with only 1 in 200 infections leading to irreversible paralysis.

In FDR’s case, the paralysis overtook all of his extremities, but he eventually regained use of his upper limbs and relied on a wheelchair or crutches for mobility. We know that he had a spectacular political career, culminating in being elected president of the United States four separate times. He is frequently ranked among the top three presidents, along with George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Political commentator George Will observed that some of that steel he relied on must have found its way into his soul and political will.

Some researchers now believe that FDR did not have poliomyelitis, but Guillain-Barré syndrome. If true, it seems to be particularly irrelevant since the treatment/cure was not discovered until this century, just a wee bit late, and it’s still in development.

Importantly, major polio epidemics were not common until the early 1900s, when Europe was plague-ridden. By 1910, frequent epidemics became regular events throughout the modern developed world. It peaked in the summer months and by 1950 was responsible for 500,000 deaths or paralysis every year.

To help fund research for a cure, in 1938 Roosevelt founded the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis, soon to become the March of Dimes. Dr. Jonas Salk was picked to lead search for a cure. Would FDR have made such a dramatic effort if he had something other than polio? Perhaps not, but it’s probably not practical to rely on this ploy to get to priority funding since we’ve learned it’s harder to find good presidents than breakthrough medical cures.

During the war, Salk had pioneered a highly successful influenza vaccine and then taken a position at the University of Pittsburgh … in need of research funding. In danced the March of Dimes and Salk began working on a polio vaccine in 1948. Since polio is a viral disease, humans build up immunities to viruses after direct exposure. Development of mild strains can occur if a viable delivery system is also co-developed (a difficult task).

Salk’s work generated national attention since national panics were occurring every summer and swimming pools, movie theaters and other gathering places were routinely closed.

In the summer of 1952, he injected several dozen mentally handicapped children with an experimental version of his vaccine (try that today!). Also among the first people to be inoculated were his wife, their three children and Dr. Salk himself. Two years later (1954), the vaccine was ready for extensive field trials. In the interim, 100 million Americans had donated money to the March of Dimes (the 1950 census declared that the total U.S. population was only 150 million).

Next, a literal army of 20,000 public health workers, 64,000 school employees and 220,000 volunteers administered the vaccine to 1.8 million schoolchildren. On April 12, 1955, Salk’s polio vaccine was declared safe and effective. This announcement was broadcast nationally on television and around the world on radio. Polio was finally defeated in the United States. Dr. Salk was in a position to make an enormous amount of money. However, when asked in a television interview who owned the patent, he simply answered, “There is no patent. Could you patent the sun?

I realize it is difficult to feel an increased sense of optimism about COVID-19 by retelling the story of polio. But, one source of encouragement is to listen more carefully to what we’ve been told (ad nauseam) about the powerful defenses everyone has access to: simple soap and water! The coronavirus that has changed our lives perhaps forever is enveloped in fatty layers that are easily dissolved by detergents, which expose the core of the virus and cause it to perish.

So stop whatever you’re doing, get to the soap and water and scrub your hands (just like your mother told you before every meal). I do this frequently while I patiently wait for the miracle vaccine.

What do you have to lose?

Intelligent Collector blogger JIM O’NEAL is an avid collector and history buff. He is president and CEO of Frito-Lay International [retired] and earlier served as chair and CEO of PepsiCo Restaurants International [KFC Pizza Hut and Taco Bell].

Descent into vitriol began long before our lifetimes

A quarter-plate daguerreotype of President John Quincy Adams, taken at the Washington, D.C., studio of John Plumbe in 1846, sold for $31,250 at a December 2017 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

“The whole country is in a state of agitation upon the approaching presidential election such as was never before witnessed. … Not a week has passed within the last few months without a convocation of thousands of people to hear inflammatory harangues. Here is a revolution in the habits and manners of the people. Where will it end? These are party movements, and must in the natural progress of things become antagonistic … their manifest tendency is to civil war.”

If you guess this was 1964 when LBJ was set to defeat Barry Goldwater, you would be wrong. Or perhaps 1992 when Bill Clinton and Ross Perot were trying to unseat President George H.W. Bush? Sorry. You’re not even in the right century! We’re in a much earlier time, a time without 24/7 cable news and its insatiable appetite for divisive issues coupled with scores of political partisans eager to share their opinions. A time when you could not discern political bias by simply knowing the TV channel.

The year was 1840 when the Whigs were trying to oust President Martin Van Buren from the White House. It was a boisterous time and the speaker was ex-President John Quincy Adams (1767-1848). These words come from a concerned man, but then again, political speeches were more impassioned than we’ve ever heard in our lifetimes.

Eight years later, Congressman JQA, representing Massachusetts, rose in the House of Representatives to speak, but suddenly collapsed on his desk. He died two days later from the effects of a cerebral hemorrhage in the Speaker’s chambers. The public mourning that followed exceeded, by far, anything previously seen in America. Forgotten was his failed one-term presidency, routinely cold demeanor, cantankerous personality, and even the full extent of his remarkable public life.

For two days, the remains of our sixth president (and son of the second president) reposed in-state while an unprecedented line of thousands filed through the Capitol to view the bier. On Saturday, Feb. 25, funeral services began in the House. After all the speeches, and after a choir had sung, the body was escorted by a parade of public officials, military units and private citizens to the Congressional Cemetery. After the coffin remained in a temporary vault for several days, 30 members of Congress, one from each state, were ready to accompany it on the 500-mile railway journey to Boston. The train, with a black-draped special car, traveled for five days through a cloud of universal grief. The caravan stopped often to permit local ceremonies and citizens to stand in silent tribute.

Boston greeted his remains by exhibiting the insignia of mourning virtually everywhere. On March 12, every prominent politician in Massachusetts vied to join in escorting the casket to Quincy’s First Parish Church, where Pastor William Lunt delivered a moving sermon that ended with “Be thou faithful until death, and I will give thee a crown of life.” Later, Harvard President Edward Everett (of Gettysburg fame) eulogized JQA for two hours in the presence of the Massachusetts legislature, which had gathered in Faneuil Hall.

Only Abraham Lincoln’s death evoked a greater outpouring of national sorrow in the entire 19th century in America.

Eventually, JQA’s coffin was installed in a monumental enclosure with his mother Abigail to his right and his wife Louisa to his left. With the inclusion of his father, John Adams, it has become a national shrine; unique in America’s history since it marks the graves of two presidents of the United States and two First Ladies.

And what of the man who had been secretary of state and vice president for Andrew Jackson and was now trying to win another term as president? Martin Van Buren (1782-1862), the “Wizard of Kinderhook,” was surprisingly short at 5-6, and had been elected in 1836 when Jackson decided against a third term and threw his support to Van Buren.

The opposing Whigs were too divided to hold a national convention in 1836 since they couldn’t agree on a single candidate. Instead, they adopted a clever plan to support regional favorite sons with the hope they could deny Van Buren an electoral victory, force the election into the House of Representatives (as in 1824) and then unite behind a single Whig candidate to secede Jackson. The anti-Van Buren press was vitriolic and the New York American called him “illiterate, sycophant and politically corrupt.”

Van Buren remained implacable and on election day racked up 764,195 votes (50.9 percent) and his three Whig opponents were left to carve up the remainder. New York power broker and publisher Thurlow Weed summed it up succinctly: “We are to be cursed with Van Buren for president.”

However, on May 10, 1837 – only two months after the new president took office – prominent banks in New York started refusing to convert paper money into gold or silver. Other financial institutions, also running low on hard currency, followed suit. The financial crisis became the Panic of 1837. This was followed by a five-year depression that forced bank closures, economic malaise and record unemployment. Now flash forward to 1840, when Van Buren easily won re-nomination at the Democratic National Convention despite the economic woes. But the government was also mired down with major divisive issues: slavery, westward expansion, tension with Great Britain. Van Buren had not recognized what James Carville would memorialize 150 years later: “It’s the economy stupid!”

Other financial panics would continue to plague the country periodically until 1913, when President Woodrow Wilson signed the Federal Reserve Act. These wizards can create money out of thin air by using an electronic switch that coverts ions into gizmos that people will buy with money that is guaranteed by the federal government.

What’s in your wallet?

LBJ exhibited ambition, decisiveness, a strong work ethic … and fear of failure

Lyndon B. Johnson artifacts, including signed photographs and a Civil Rights Bill signing pen, sold for $15,000 at an October 2018 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

Lyndon Baines Johnson was born in August 1908 in the Texas Hill Country nearly 112 years ago. (Tempus does fugit!). He shined shoes and picked cotton for pocket money, graduating from high school at age 15. Both his parents were teachers and encouraged the reading habits that would benefit him greatly for the rest of his life.

Tired of both books and study, he bummed his way to Southern California, where he picked peaches, washed dishes and did other odd jobs like a common hobo. The deep farm recession forced him back to Texas, where he borrowed $75 to earn a teaching degree from a small state college. Working with poor, impoverished Mexican children gave him a unique insight into poverty. He loved to tell stories from that time in his life, especially when he was working on legislation that improved life for common people.

His real power was developed when he electrified the rural Hill Country by creating a pool of money from power companies that he doled out to politicians all over the country who needed campaign funds and were willing to barter their votes in Congress. The women and girls who lived in Texas were known as “bent women” from toting water – two buckets at a time from water wells – to their homes. Having electricity to draw the water eliminated a generation of women who were not hump-backed. They said of LBJ, “He brought us light.” This caught FDR’s attention and lead to important committee assignments.

He married 20-year-old Claudia Alta Taylor in 1934 (at birth, a nanny had exclaimed “She looks just like a “little lady bird”). A full-grown Lady Bird parlayed a small inheritance into an investment in an Austin radio station that grew into a multimillion-dollar fortune.

Robert Caro has written about LBJ’s ambition, decisiveness and willingness to work hard. But how does that explain the trepidation to run for president in 1960? He had been Senate Majorly Leader, accumulated lots of political support and had a growing reputation for his Civil Rights record. He even told his associates, “I am destined to be president. I was meant to be president. And I’m going to be president!” Yet in 1958, when he was almost perfectly positioned to make his move, he was silent.

His close friend, Texas Governor John Connally, had a theory: “He was afraid of failing.”

His father was a fair politician but failed, lost the family ranch, plunged into bankruptcy and was the butt of town jokes. In simple terms, LBJ was afraid to run for the candidacy and lose. That explains why he didn’t announce until it was too late and JFK had it sewed up.

Fear of failure.

After JFK won the 1960 nomination at the Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles, he knew LBJ would be a valuable vice president on the Democratic ticket against Richard Nixon. Johnson’s Southwestern drawl expanded the base and the 50 electoral votes in Texas was too tempting to pass up. They were all staying at the Biltmore Hotel in L.A. and were a mere two floors away. Kennedy personally convinced LBJ to accept, despite brother Bobby’s three attempts to get him to decline (obviously unsuccessful).

The 1960 election was incredibly close with only 100,000 votes separating Kennedy and Nixon. Insiders were sure that a recount would uncover corruption in Illinois and Nixon would be declared the winner. But in a big surprise, RMN refused to demand a recount to avoid the massive disruption in the country. (Forty years later, Gore vs. Bush demonstrated the chaos in the 2000 Florida “hanging chads” debacle and the stain on SCOTUS by stopping just the Florida recount).

After the Kennedy assassination in November 1963, LBJ was despondent since he was sure he’d become the “accidental president.” But, when he demolished Barry Goldwater in 1968 the old Lyndon was back. The Johnson-Humphrey ticket won by of the greatest landslides in American history. LBJ got 61.1 percent of the popular vote and 486 electoral votes to Goldwater’s 52. More importantly, Democrats increased their majorities in both houses of Congress.

This level of domination provided LBJ with the leverage to implement his full Great Society agenda with the help of the 89th Congress, which approved multibillion-dollar budgets. After LBJ ramrodded through Congress his liberal legislative programs in 1965-66, it seemed that he might go down in history as one of the nation’s truly great presidents. But, his failure to bring Vietnam to a successful conclusion, the riots in scores of cities in 1967-68, and the spirit of discontent that descended on the country turned his administration into a disaster.

On Jan. 22, 1973, less than a month after President Truman died, the 64-year-old Johnson died of a heart attack. His fear of failure, a silent companion.

Late ’60s marked a dangerous era of tensions over Vietnam, Civil Rights

Posters by Walt Kelly with the popular slogan “We have met the enemy and he is us” (1970) occasionally appear at auction.

By Jim O’Neal

In 1968, we were living in San Jose when national politics got complicated after President Lyndon Johnson made a speech that concluded, “Accordingly, I shall not seek and will not accept the nomination of my party for another term as your president.”

The date was March 31 and less than a week later, on April 4, Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis. The assassin, James Earl Ray, was on the loose and believed to have fled the country. Later, he would be apprehended at London’s Heathrow Airport and extradited to face first-degree murder charges. He pled guilty in return for a 99-year sentence and died in 1998 while still in prison.

The year had started off with an upset on Jan. 20 when the University of Houston, led by Elvin Hayes, defeated top-ranked UCLA, 71-69, in the Astrodome before 52,693 fans. It had been billed as the “Game of the Century” and was the first NCAA basketball game to be nationally televised in prime time, ultimately leading to “March Madness.” Although UCLA would go on to thrash Houston in the semi-finals (101-69) and defeat North Carolina in the championship game, the loss to Houston snapped a 47-game winning streak. Coach John Wooden simply commented, “I guess we’ll just have to start over.” From 1971 to 1974, UCLA won another 88 straight games.

Ten days after the UCLA upset, on Jan. 30, 1968, about 80,000 enemy troops launched a surprise attack on over 100 cities and towns in South Vietnam. It was the single most lethal day in terms of killed or mortally wounded U.S. military troops. Although the war would grind on for another six years, the “Tet Offensive” would turn out to be the beginning of the end, since it put the war into 50 million Americans’ living rooms every night on all three TV networks, which dutifully announced all the Viet Cong that had been killed. Even then, I never understood the logic on keeping track of enemy KIA and territory gained in the vain hope it would somehow boost public support (especially since it was the same territory we had won six weeks previously). It seemed analogous to fighting the Battle of Gettysburg (once a week) and then reporting on whether the North or South had won.

After the April murder of MLK, a wave of shock and distress spread across the nation, with riots and burning in more than 100 cities. Then two months later, disaster struck again when Bobby Kennedy was killed on June 5 at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Tensions over Vietnam and Civil Rights were at a dangerous level and America’s leadership was being questioned. Walt Kelly’s frequently quoted Pogo line from that era – “We have met the enemy and he is us” – captured the mood of the country.

In August, we had dinner at the five-star Stanford Court Hotel on California Street on Nob Hill. Our host told us an amusing story about their last visit to the restaurant. Without mentioning any names, he explained that during dinner, the wife of his client had slipped a plate from the table into her handbag. Nothing was said, but when the check came, there was one line listed: “One dinner plate $75.” In a perverse way, it eased my concern that discretion and gentility were being eroded during all the domestic chaos.

Later I would learn that the hotel had been built on the same site that Leland Stanford (1824-1893) had built his magnificent mansion, which was legendary for its luxury and art collection. Finished in 1876 for the astonishing cost of $2 million, it was perched on two superb acres surrounded by a grand wall of basalt and granite. The Stanford manse was among the most elegant in the nation, but had been destroyed by fire in the 1906 earthquake.

Leland Stanford was one of the Big Four responsible for building the Central Pacific railroad that started in Sacramento and met the Union Pacific at Promontory Point, Utah, in 1869. This was the joining of the first Transcontinental Railroad that completed an “iron belt” around the country. Leland Stanford and his wife Janie are responsible for creating Stanford University in honor of a son that died. Leland and his cronies – Mark Hopkins, Charles Crocker and Collis Huntington – were well known in 19th century history as “Robber Barons” and Stanford’s correspondence leaves no doubt that he used every trick in the book to cheat his partners, investors, the government and employees.

I suspect he never thought about stealing the silverware or china from restaurants.

More than 50 years later, streets filled with a new generation, with new demands

A *Time* magazine signed by Martin Luther King Jr. realized $6,875 at an October 2013 Heritage auction. The issue is dated Feb. 18, 1957, two months after the end of the Montgomery Bus Boycott.

By Jim O’Neal

In the two decades following WW2, the African-American struggle for civil rights lacked focus and broad support. Americans had spent four long years fighting a bitter war to free the world from tyranny and were now intent on resuming a peaceful recovery. However, in the process of restoring a normal life, they became disgusted by racial segregation and systemic exploitation of minorities. As important legal victories increased, protesters and marchers were helping change attitudes as the basis for faster, more sincere progress.

Alas, irrespective of the legal triumphs and the changes in public opinion, Jim Crow segregation was deeply embedded in the Deep South and portions of the West. Discriminatory laws generally targeted Latinos and American Indians, in addition to African-Americans. All levels of state government often failed to honor court decisions, while civil rights workers were subjected to mob violence that even included law enforcement officers.

Finally, on Aug. 28, 1963, the largest civil rights protest in American history occurred when 250,000 people gathered on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., to begin “The March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom” (later known simply as “The March”). The highlight of the day was a 15-minute closing speech by the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.

In it, King offered his version of the American Dream, drawing on the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Emancipation Proclamation. It was quickly to become known as the “I Have a Dream” speech. The Dream included a hope that people “will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character,” that black and white children could “join hands … and walk together as sisters and brothers,” and that “the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.”

MLK cautioned the nation there was still a long way to go. He cited the broken promises Americans made after the Civil War. Slavery was gone, but vicious racism still existed in general society. He said bluntly, “One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination.” King also highlighted the curse of widespread poverty during an era of postwar prosperity. He closed by exhorting white Americans to strive for a realization of the cherished phrase “Let Freedom Ring” and join in the old Negro spiritual that proclaimed “Free at last! Free at last! Great God a-mighty, we are free at last!”

The March on Washington was pivotal in the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, which eliminated segregation and began dismantling Jim Crow practices.

On Nov. 21, 1963, Lyndon Baines Johnson, the eighth vice president to assume the nation’s highest office following the death of a president, was better prepared to take command than any of his predecessors. Despite the personal disrespect and abuse from the elitist Kennedy crowd (especially RFK), LBJ was a master politician, serving 24 years as a representative and 12 years as a senator. As Majority Leader, he was truly “Master of the Senate,” as biographer Robert Caro has written so carefully.

The new president stayed in the background as the nation grappled with the enormous grief that engulfed Kennedy’s family and the people during funeral services for the slain president. Then, five days after the assassination – on the day before Thanksgiving – Johnson addressed a special joint session of Congress. He challenged them to honor Kennedy’s memory by carrying forward the dead president’s New Frontier program, saying “Let us continue.”

He asked for early passage of a new civil rights bill “to eliminate from the nation every trace of discrimination and oppression that is based on color or race.” Congress responded by passing every law LBJ pleaded for. Yet, over 50 years later, our streets are filled with a new generation, with new demands, as Congress is deadlocked once again. So, no new laws…

Perhaps Cassius was right after all: “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.” (William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar).

John and Jessie Frémont were among our first ‘power couples’

An 1856 presidential jugate ribbon shows John and Jessie Frémont, who is often recognized as the first wife of a presidential candidate to catch the public’s imagination.

By Jim O’Neal

An old adage claims that “behind every great man stands a great woman.” There are several variations of this theme and the feminist movement of the 1970s offered a clever alternative: “Alongside every great man is a great woman.”

In political terms, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt and wife Eleanor Roosevelt (her actual maiden name) probably epitomize this concept … he with his New Deal and historic four terms as president and she with her four terms as First Lady, first delegate to the United Nations, a monthly magazine column, a weekly radio host and a civic activist. Or as Harry Truman dubbed her, “First Lady of the World.”

Pierre and Marie Curie represent another pair of great side-by-side couples, although in this case, the “great woman” probably eclipsed her husband’s accomplishments. Born in 1867, Marie Curie was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize in 1903 (which she shared with Pierre and a colleague). Then she became the first person – man or woman – to win this prestigious award twice, the second time in 1911 for her personal work in chemistry. She died on July 4, 1934, from aplastic anemia, almost certainly due to her habit of carrying test tubes of radium in her lab coat pockets. Pierre was killed when he was struck by a carriage crossing a street … probably deep in thought. It is likely he would have eventually died as Marie did since he shared her lab-exposure habits. Ironically, both are credited with the first use of the term “radioactive.”

Another category for your consideration is “Invisible Women.” Two who easily qualify are Katherine Johnson and Dorothy Vaughan, generally unknown outside a small group of space pioneers. President Obama awarded Johnson the Presidential Medal of Freedom and NASA dedicated an entire building in her honor. Vaughan was the first African-American supervisor at the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA).

They were portrayed as unsung heroes in the 2016 movie Hidden Figures, which snagged three Oscar nominations, including Best Picture. It was the little-known story of a team of female African-American mathematicians (“human computers”) who played a vital role at NASA during the early years of the space program. Their contributions or even existence easily qualify them as prime “Invisible Women,” at least to the American public.

Another perfect example is Jessie Ann Benton Frémont, the wife of John C. Frémont. She was the daughter of prominent Missouri politician Thomas Hart Benton (1782-1858), who became a state senator when the Compromise of 1820 allowed Missouri (slave) and Maine (free) to enter the Union. He would go on to become the first U.S. senator to serve five terms. Benton had been a slave owner who later recognized the injustice of the cruel practice, putting him against his party and popular opinion in his state.

John F. Kennedy included Benton in his Pulitzer Prize-winning book Profiles in Courage as an example of a senator who lost his office over a matter of principle. Future President Teddy Roosevelt wrote a full biography of Benton focusing on his support for westward expansion. Historians credit Benton with sparking TRs interest in Manifest Destiny.

Benton’s daughter was a talented young lady who was fluent in French and Spanish and fascinated with her father’s political and western expansion activities. However, gender played a role at the time and stifled her ambitions. She eventually became involved with a youthful John C. Frémont, whose expeditions into the uncharted west would earn him the nickname “the Pathfinder.” Frémont’s activities attracted the attention of Senator Benton and, almost inevitably, of Jessie.

When they met in 1840, Jessie was a mere 16 years old – 11 years younger than John. They ended up eloping since John’s pedigree was too thin for the Benton family. It proved to be a perfect match, with Jessie creating the narrative and public relations to hype her new husband’s exploits. One of the leading explorers of Western North America, Frémont was not well known when he commanded the first of his exploits, but within a short time he became one of the most famous wilderness explorers. He was known as a gallant Army officer, highly publicized author and semi-conquistador. His timing was exquisite and Americans started naming mountains and towns in his honor before his 40th birthday.

One particular trek in 1842 included Kit Carson; they crossed the Continental Divide at a new gap in the Rockies near Wyoming. Jessie’s detailed rendition of the excursion became a sensational publication that was used as a quasi-travel guide for thousands of pioneers eager to go west! However, it was an 1845 expedition that changed the Frémonts’ life. Supposedly organized to chart a faster route to Oregon, it was really a trip to survey California should President Polk negotiate the land away from Mexico. When this occurred, they headed to San Francisco. When John spotted the bay, he gave the strait its name: the Golden Gate.

John C. Frémont would become a senator when California was admitted to the Union and in 1856 he become the first Republican candidate for president (losing to James Buchanan), but not before leaving behind another adage: “Every great man needs a woman behind him taking notes.”

Treaty ended lingering questions about Spain’s 300 years in North America

The Mexican War diary of Sgt. George W. Myers details his company’s travels and military exploits from the time they left Baltimore in February 1847 until they returned to New Orleans from Mexico in July 1848. It sold for $10,625 at a March 2014 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (Feb. 2, 1848) was a remarkable document. Primarily it was intended to officially end the Mexican-American War (1846-48). After being ratified by both countries, it was proclaimed on July 5, 1848. The war had started in April 1846 after the U.S. Congress overwhelmingly voted to support President James Knox Polk’s recommendation. For too many years, there had been a distracting dispute over the Republic of Texas and Polk had finally decided to elevate the issue in his hierarchy of priorities. He had committed to serving a single four-year term as president and was determined to resolve this issue in the limited time available.

The United States may have already had a legitimate claim on Texas, depending on how the legal boundary of the 1803 Louisiana Purchase from France was imagined. Some claimed that Texas was included (in toto) in the vast territory the United States had acquired under President Jefferson. Precisely what had been purchased was not clear since the wording of the agreement was vague and did not specify exact boundaries. Negotiations had intentionally avoided this level of detail in a rush to complete the deal.

Earlier, before the establishment of fixed boundaries, a Constitutional issue had questioned whether a formal amendment was required since the Constitution did not contemplate actions of this nature. In the end, it was decided to simply approve the purchase using a Senate-approved treaty and the vote was 24-7. It actually took until 1819 to resolve the boundaries and the fact that there were now 30,000 American settlers in Texas made it a rather moot point. However, military action was required to resolve the issue permanently.

There had been a chance to annex Texas in 1836 after the former province won its independence from Mexico, but the possibility of a war with Mexico delayed any action. However, in 1844, President John Tyler initiated negotiations with the new Republic of Texas and a Treaty of Annexation was agreed to. The U.S. Congress soundly rejected the treaty ostensibly because of the war issue, but really because admitting Texas to the Union would disturb the delicate balance of “free states-slave states.” Texas was firmly a slave state and would later secede from the Union and join the Confederacy during the Civil War.

John Tyler was elected the 10th vice president in 1840 on a ticket topped by William Henry Harrison, a military man born in 1773 and the last president born as a British subject in the 13 Colonies. Harrison died 31 days after being inaugurated, thus becoming the first president to die in office. After a brief debate, since the Constitution didn’t include any rules on presidential secession, Vice President Tyler became the 10th president. He holds the dubious distinction of serving longer than any president in U.S. history not elected to the office (four years minus 31 days).

However, he lost support for re-election in 1844 and on Aug. 20 dropped out of the race. In return, President-elect James Knox Polk agreed to support the Texas annexation. Lame-duck President Tyler managed to get a joint-resolution of annexation approved on March 1, 1845 … just three days before Polk’s inauguration. Texas was admitted to the Union on Feb. 19, 1846.

Now it was time to conclude the war with Mexico and all the lingering questions about Spain’s 300 years in North America. The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was a convenient mechanism since the Mexican Army was defeated and the capital was occupied. For $15 million, Mexico ceded 55 percent of its total territory, including present-day Arizona, California, New Mexico, Texas, Colorado, Nevada and Utah. The Louisiana Purchase had doubled the size of the United States and this treaty doubled it again … along with providing access to the Pacific Ocean.

President Polk served his four-year term and, as promised, declined to run again. On Nov. 7, 1848 – in the first instance of all states casting presidential ballots on the same day – General Zachary Taylor was elected president. James Polk returned to his home in Nashville, Tenn., and died on June 15, 1849, a mere 103 days after the inauguration … the shortest retirement in history. His mother Jane Knox would die in 1852, marking the first time a president was outlived by his mother.

For all his humanitarian work, Hoover remembered for one, crucial moment

A vibrant from-life oil on canvas portrait of Herbert Hoover, autographed, realized $5,250 at a December 2017 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

With the specter of another depression on America’s horizon, my mind flashes back to the past and sad irony of Herbert Hoover. He was born in 1874 in West Branch, Iowa – the first president born west of the Mississippi River. An orphan at the tender age of 9, he was taken in, luckily, by relatives in Oregon. The Minthorns were Quakers like his parents and they taught him the value of community service and hard work.

In 1891, he enrolled at Stanford University, the first year that classes were open. He was a geology major and after graduation ended up in London with a company investigating gold deposits in Western Australia. While at Stanford, Hoover dated Lou Henry, a fellow geology major and the first female to earn a degree. Hoover proposed to her in a telegraph from Australia and they were married in California in February 1899 – two mining engineers … both intrepid travelers.

Together they set off for China, where Herbert discovered coal deposits. The hard work earned him a junior partnership with his London-based employer. This was followed by a stint in Tientsin just in time for the Boxer Rebellion in 1900 when Chinese rebels rose up against colonial powers. The couple became fluent in Mandarin, a skill they would use later in the White House to communicate in private without the WH staff listening in.

Next was a series of trips starting in Burma (silver, lead and zinc), copper and oil in Russia, and then back to Australia in a quest for more zinc. After forming his own company in 1908, their fortunes began to accumulate and by 1913 exceeded $4 million. After the United States entered World War I in 1917, President Wilson asked Hoover to manage America’s domestic food supplies. In Washington, D.C., he was successful in establishing programs to control prices, eliminate waste and promote conservation by the public. His managerial reputation was beginning to grow and his ability to cut through government bureaucracy produced results almost unprecedented in American history.

After flirting with the presidency in 1920, the ultimate winner, Warren Harding, selected Hoover to become the third Secretary of Commerce. When Harding died unexpectedly in 1923, President Calvin Coolidge retained Secretary Hoover in the Cabinet. Coolidge had observed Hoover’s work and decided to expand his formal duties. He put him in charge of the American Relief Administration to assist the recovery of post-war Europe. Hoover was more than qualified and had played a role in assisting thousands of Americans get back home when the war exploded in 1914. In addition, he had helped Belgium and France from starvation after the German invasions.

He soon became universally recognized as the greatest humanitarian alive in the world. In addition to being widely admired, he had the distinction of having an orbiting asteroid, Hooveria, named in his honor. Earlier, Assistant Secretary of the Navy Franklin D. Roosevelt had proclaimed, “Hoover is certainly a wonder and I wish we could make him president of the United States! There could not be a better one.”

By 1928, Coolidge had tired of Washington and chose not to run for reelection. The 54-year-old Herbert Hoover was certainly not tired and was eager to demonstrate his extensive experience by expanding America’s fortunes even further. He easily defeated Al Smith, the governor of New York, with help from anti-Catholic voters and the burden of corruption associated with the infamous Tammany Hall group. The newspapers excitedly touted Hoover as an innovator and set high expectations for his administration. In his inaugural address, the new president confidently declared, “I have no fears for the future of our country. It is bright with hope!” The joy of his Inauguration day, March 4, 1929, seems totally incongruous with the events of the next four years.

Just seven months after he entered the White House, economic trouble trashed his campaign prediction about “being near the final triumph over poverty.” On Oct. 24, 1929, panic enveloped the New York Stock Exchange when almost 13 million shares changed hands. There was a short respite, but on Tuesday, Oct. 29, the market basically collapsed, heralding the beginning of the Great Depression. No one expected the Depression would last a full decade, including the American Economic Association. Virtually all the experts assumed it would be a matter of months until the normal business cycle resumed. Scholars are still debating the cause of the Depression and the stock market crash is only one of the contributing factors.

Just as it was one of the factors that cost Hoover his job. He didn’t cause the crash, but an episode in 1932 certainly contributed. In 1924, President Coolidge vetoed a bill to pay war veterans a bonus to compensate them for loss of income during their military service. However, Congress overrode his veto and the money was to be paid in 1945. In 1932, 20,000 veterans marched on Washington hoping to get an advance payment to alleviate Depression hardships. Congress was considering a Bonus Bill, but President Hoover opposed it and the Senate rejected it. Veterans turned their sights on the Capitol Building, marching for three days and four nights in a “Death March.”

President Hoover ordered General Douglas MacArthur to force them back into temporary camps. MacArthur overreacted, using cavalrymen with drawn sabers and an infantry with tear gas. Six tanks joined the fray under Major George Patton. The soldiers attacked the camps and the angry veterans set their own huts on fire in protest. Colonel Dwight Eisenhower was shocked at MacArthur’s treatment and later said, “It was a pitiful scene, ragged, discouraged people burning their own little things.” The excessive use of force, especially against veterans, disgusted most Americans. Then Hoover made it worse by deriding the bonus marchers as rabble and refusing to criticize MacArthur.

When Democratic presidential candidate FDR heard about the fiasco, he simply said, “This will elect me.”

Let’s get this out of the way: Leisure suits were a disaster

Unopened test packs of Topps’ “The Six Million Dollar Man” trading cards from 1974 can fetch as much as $600.

By Jim O’Neal

In 1960, I was delighted when Continental Can transferred me from the Bondware Division (paper cups, plates and cottage cheese tubs) to the flexible packaging plant in South Gate, Calif. It was a much shorter drive and I was finally off the wretched swing shift (3-11 pm). In addition to being a “day job” in charge of accounts payable, all the men wore suits and ties, even on Friday. The issue was I didn’t own a suit.

However, I soon had five (one for every day) after Duke Snider recommended Academy Award Clothes in the garment district at 817 S. Los Angles St. On my first shopping trip, I spotted actor John Forsythe (Bachelor Father and later Charlie’s Angels). I had picked out a solid blue and a classic black plus three pinstripes and asked him for his opinion. He said they were OK, but added “with your build, you’d look much better in a Louis Roth.” Since I was so naïve, I gave it some thought, but without a clue for what a Louis Roth was. A man or a brand?

Roth (1884-1968) was born in Warsaw, Poland, and emigrated to the United States when he was 17. He started out in New York and after a honeymoon in Southern California, decided to relocate to Los Angeles. He founded Louis Roth & Co. in 1924 and would subsequently acquire Kuppenheimer Clothes of Chicago, Burberry’s International of New York, and Baker Clothes of Philadelphia.

Then on Aug. 23, 1976, in a cover story for New York magazine, author Tom Wolfe penned an essay that labeled the 1970s the Me Decade. In perhaps the most famous passage, Wolfe called presidential candidate Jimmy Carter, who was Born Again, a “missionary lectern-pounding Amen ten-finger C-major-chord Sister-Martha-at-the-Yamaha-keyboard loblolly piney-woods Baptist.” It didn’t seem to affect Carter, since he went on to defeat Gerald Ford in the only Democratic victory in a presidential election held between 1968 and 1992. Ford won 27 states, the most ever carried by a losing candidate. And the Me Decade name stuck, as well.

Coming off the free-wheeling, fun–loving 1960s, many people embraced social decadence with an enthusiasm not seen since the roaring ’20s. It seemed that whatever your vice (drugs, sex or rock ’n’ roll), it was there for the tacking. However, the absolute nadir of the Me Decade was … the leisure suit … a fashion trend that tried to blend the classic respectability of the business suit with the comfort of casual Friday. Predictably, it ended with disastrous results.

Typically made of polyester, leisure suits had buttoned jackets with wide lapels, large pockets and pants that flared into bell bottoms. Adding to their garish appearance was large, decorative stitching that contrasted with the suit color. Even worse were the colors: burnt orange, crimson, pink, saffron, cinnamon, tangerine and powder blue. Since ties were by definition passé, men complemented it with a silk or polyester shirt … undone … and the collars worn outside the jacket, with easy accessorizing with cheap bling.

Surprisingly, although associated with the ’70s, it was actually introduced after the war as casual vacation wear for the affluent. And the first true leisure suits were produced by Louis Roth Clothing and made out of wool gabardine. They had belted jackets with a pleat in back and sold for $100-plus, four to five times what off–the–rack suits cost in fine men’s stores.

Leisure suits had a great run on TV with The Six Million Dollar Man (Lee Majors) and in the movies, with Rollerball (James Caan). At their height, they were sold in virtually every department store and were ubiquitous in business and social scenes. Regardless of class or status, everyone was equal in a leisure suit. Then came the backlash from fashion experts like John Molloy, who declared leisure suits inappropriate for the office. The author of Dress for Success called them fads for fools!

Louis Roth died in 1968 and is buried in Hollywood Forever Cemetery, which is the final resting place for Tyrone Power, Douglas Fairbanks, Mickey Rooney and hundreds of Hollywood legends including Toto (The Wizard of Oz) and Dorothy Gale (Judy Garland). I never owned one of his suits with the sloping shoulders that were his unique design. He is still considered a master when it came to thread and needles.

Marshall proved indispensable during his 50 years of service to the United States

A signed photograph of General George C. Marshall went to auction in 2007.

By Jim O’Neal

French President (General) Charles de Gaulle was known for reminding his aides that “the world’s graveyards were filled with indispensable men.” Skeptics were offered a simple test: Stick a finger into a glass of water and describe the hole it leaves when it is removed. Somewhat quirky, but remember this was a France where de Gaulle complained “How can you govern a country which has 246 varieties of cheese?” Sacré bleu!

I suspect Amazon would yawn at the degree of complexity implied, but they have become almost indispensable in our home, just as George C. Marshall (1880-1959) was indispensable during his remarkable 50 years of service to the United States. When he died, he left behind a cadre of admirers like Harvard President James Conant, who declared that only George Washington was Marshall’s equal as soldier/statesman (which overlooks Marshall’s superb diplomatic skills). Others like Winston Churchill went even further, crediting Marshall with high praise as the “Organizer of Victory.” Recall that when Churchill was asked what history would say about him, he deftly replied, “History will be very kind to me. I plan to write it!” And he certainly did with his six-volume “The History of the Second World War.”

In order to squeeze in a small insight into George Marshall’s extensive career, it is useful to start at the beginning of the 20th century. The Russian Empire, ruled by Czar Nicholas II, was probably the largest territorial power in the world, with control over Eastern Europe and Central Asia. But they lacked a warm water port and had ambitions that included Korea and China. Japan was dominant in Asia and the two clashed in 1904-05, primarily in northeastern China and the waters surrounding the Korean peninsula.

The Russo-Japanese War sowed the seeds for World War I and although Japan, surprisingly, eventually prevailed, President Teddy Roosevelt won the Nobel Prize for brokering the Treaty of Portsmouth (Sept. 5, 1905), which formally ended the war. Some historians now call this episode World War Zero, since it was so closely linked to what followed a mere 10 years later.

Enter George Catlett Marshall Jr. on the last day of August 1899, when he decided to become an officer in the U.S. Army. However, his ascent to prominence and power began on Jan. 27, 1914 when 5,000 U.S. Army soldiers landed on Luzon and prepared to attack Manila, some 60 miles away. It was a maneuver to test the readiness against an attack on the Philippines by Japan. After defeating the Russians, the Japanese had completed the entire annexation of Korea and the American–controlled Philippines was logically next up.

The 34–year–old Lieutenant Marshall choreographed the myriad details of the mock invasion and eight days later it was being hailed as a brilliant success. The word began to spread widely that Marshall was not only a military genius, but one of the most talented strategic thinkers in the entire Army. General Henry “Hap” Arnold would write that he had “met a man who was going to be the Chief of Staff someday soon.” Arnold would have the distinction of holding the ranks of General of the Army and General of the Air Force. He was the only U.S. Air Force General to hold the five-star rank and the only officer to hold five-star rank in two different U.S. military services. He was a keen judge of talent and George Marshall would benefit during WW2.

Marshall assumed the position as Army Chief of Staff on the same day German Panzers attacked Poland and proceeded to transform our nation’s modest military forces into the most powerful war machine the world has ever seen. In addition to guiding global strategy, he demonstrated a unique ability to win the trust of both political parties, unionists, isolationists, pro–war factions and, importantly, the U.S. Congress. The result was legislation that enabled the country to wage war on both sides of the globe, with the full support of virtually every American.

Marshall was responsible for turning raw draftees into trained fighters while running military logistics in Europe, the Pacific, China and the Mediterranean. His genius for balancing economic, political and pragmatism with the gift of eloquence shaped the willpower of military staff and world leaders FDR, Winston Churchill, Joseph Stalin and even prima donna generals like Douglas MacArthur, who tended to be highly independent.

Instinctively, he recognized the strategic advantage of attacking France to regain control of Europe and was widely viewed as the logical commander to lead the D-Day invasion. Instead, this quiet man from Pennsylvania, who had become the nation’s first five-star general, was considered too valuable to the overall war effort and General Eisenhower was selected. President Roosevelt explained to him, “I didn’t feel that I could sleep at ease if you were out of Washington, D.C.” Eisenhower could handle the massive amphibious assault, but only Marshall could be trusted to manage both wars.

Finally, after all the guns and bombs fell silent, the 64–year-old indispensable man was ready to retire. However, fate intervened and President Truman asked him to help reconcile post-war China, but the Communists prevailed over Chiang Kai-shek, who fled to Taiwan. Then Truman fired his Secretary of State and called on Marshall once again. Despite being retired, five-star generals were still considered to be subject to service. Next, he became the Secretary of Defense. Later, when Truman was asked about who had contributed the most over the past 30 years, Truman picked Marshall: “I don’t think in this age in which I’ve lived that there has been a greater administrator; a man with a knowledge of military affairs equal to George Marshall.”

Amen.

He received the Nobel Peace Prize for his post-war work in 1953, the only career officer in the U.S. Army to ever receive this honor. The Marshall Plan merely saved Europe by restoring a broad area that had been devastated by the war and gave them an opportunity to rebuild and thrive during the 20th century. R.I.P.