People generally had a fear about this Special Session, and were afraid it would hang and hang on amidst fervent patriotic speeches and many, many glowing accounts of the heroism of "our armed forces," and not adjourn sine die, maybe for the full 40 days. . .
The Session was remarkably free of drunkenness and wild parties— some of course, but not the usual amount. . . Thursday evening we had a private dinner in the "English Room" of the Claypool for quite a number of railroad executives who were in the city, partly on account of the Session. It started a drab and serious affair. The war was on and restraint was in the air. Railroad executives are like all other people—busy, serious and worried. The railroads are carrying an enormous load. Equipment is over- used and the replacements are just not to be had under the circumstances. And so, the dinner lagged. The talk ran to the Special Session, and each speaker praised the Legislature for setting in motion the plan to allow "our armed forces" to vote, and there was gentle inquiry as to how long the Session would last. Naturally, their patriotism would want it to be short, with nothing done against the carriers. Eventually they got to me, and for my opinion.
I told them I had sensed the restraint of the dinner, but as I had no further political ambitions, and was standing no stud horses, and had no past due notes in the Bank, I was more or less of a free agent, and would try to speak the truth; that it was my honest opinion the average soldier didn't give a damn whether he voted or not out there wherever he was; that not one out of four of our armed forces out there in the trenches would try to vote unless it was more or less compulsory, amazingly easy and did not interfere with whatever he or she was interested in at the time; that not one out of four of the ballots of those who did vote outside the U.S. would get back in time to be counted in the proper precinct for State and County offices; that I'd bet 3 to 1 that three out of four of said "armed forces", if given the choice between a ballot and a bottle of beer, would select the beer; and that over 90% of all this tremendous anxiety about the soldiers getting to vote was political hooey pure and simple. Also that no adverse legislation against the railroads would be offered, much less passed; that the Session should close by the end of the week; that the Republicans were already starting to take credit for this early adjournment by attributing it to a strong new leadership and a united militant front—which also contained a good percentage of hooey—and that early adjournment, if it did come, could actually be credited to two big factors: a world of back Spring plowing and the acute whiskey shortage— especially the latter.
You could just see them softening up and relaxing in their chairs around the table. They all agreed and from then on the dinner party went along like a good dinner party should go. The Session adjourned Friday night.
Now Margaret, if I were you, I don't believe I would show this letter to anybody. She won't know Pap and she might get the impression I was making light of the soldiers and the War. The Lord knows that is not my intention. Far, far be it from me to want to deprive soldiers or any other qualified person from voting. What gets me is all this fan-fare about setting up the machinery to allow a person to do what he has always had the right to do. That doesn't take any patriotism. That is simple justice. . . Those of us at home can show our patriotism by staying at home and off trains and away from crowded cities and hotels unless it is necessary; by raising more livestock, grain, grub of all kinds and fewer orchids and "rackets" of all kinds; and above all else, by cracking down on these strikers and damnable labor racketeers and stopping this criticism of the powers that happen to be Churchill, Stalin and Brother Roosevelt. . . . I'd like to carry the rosin bag for those boys. They are the ones who have kept most of the Russellville Bank stock in my name, and old Fred and Nellie and the work harness in the old log barn. I'm fer 'em.
Keep a stiff upper lip, and your hat on straight.
"Pap"
A PATRIOTIC CANCELLATION
(Undated)
. . . All our Indiana Railroad Lobby set-up except me are
Republicans. The State is Republican. Most of the Indiana Public
Service Commission are Republicans. They got the idea of a
National Public Service Commission Convention at French Lick this
August. So two of our set-up went to Washington D.C. to see
Brother Johnson, who is the head of the War Transportation
outfit, and arrange for cars . . . They had their story ready,
and particularly "the importance of the meeting."
Brother Johnson listened attentively until they finished. Then he uncrossed his legs and spoke about as follows: "There will be no convention at French Lick this summer. I wouldn't allow you one seat in one bus for the whole damned convention. We are going to move an additional 1,000,000 men and equipment in August, and 1,500,000 in September. We don't know how we are going to do it with what equipment we have left, but I know one way we are going to help—we are going to set off every god damned railroad executive and near-railroad executive we can find wherever we find him. That will help considerably. You go back to Indiana and tell those Hoosiers there's a War on in case they don't know it, and the thing for them to do is to stay home where they belong and not be cluttering up these trains."
That combination, "near-railroad executive," is what cooked our crowd. None of us is as high as a section boss.