It was not alone the work done under that roof that went awry. Machines and tools were manufactured for the business of machining motors in a score of plants in Detroit—and they must be tools of a marvelous delicacy and exactitude.... What percentage of them were delivered in a useless condition will never be known, for it was a matter upon which the Signal Corps imposed secrecy.
“There’s an army of spies in Detroit,” a manufacturer declared to Potter. “Every plant is full of them—and how can we prevent it? Detroit was made to their order. Our growth has compelled us to scour the earth for labor, and we have imported labor by the excursion-train. In ten years half a million strangers have come to Detroit.... They haven’t been watched. In some countries, I’m told, the police have the dossier of every citizen. In America the commissioner of police of a great city probably hasn’t the dossier of the chief of the force. My plant is full of spies, your plant is full of spies, and before God I see no remedy for it or protection against it.”
“I was confident of delivering motors in November,” Potter said. “Maybe now I can make deliveries in January.... If that isn’t equal to a victory in a pitched battle, then I’m an imbecile.”
“Nobody realizes it. The Liberty Loan did something toward bringing the war home to our people, but it was only a beginning. Detroit rushed and pawed to make up its quota—but, after all, it was only a pocketbook affair. It brought no suffering, only benefits to most. It introduced the man with fifty dollars to investment. It made men fancy they could be patriots for a fifty-dollar bill. But it was a step toward arousing the people. We’re nearer.”
“When they give their sons—” Potter said.
“It will come closer then. The draft was a big step—and the people’s attitude toward the draft was an eye-opener. I’ve a notion we men who like to think we’re the most important thing in the nation, we wealthy men, don’t really know what the people are thinking about. Maybe they’re more serious than we think? Maybe there’s more genuine love for America in them than we think.... A year ago I would have said an attempt to draft would have brought on a revolution.”
“Thank God for the people!” Potter said.
“But even they won’t feel the war—not when their sons march off to training-camps ... not until the cables bring home lists of the dead. Then America will know it is at war.”
Potter dined at the Detroit Athletic Club that scorching September day which was to see the first draft men in their farewell parade. It was almost a gala occasion. The dining-rooms were crowded with cheerful men, and some of those men were to march in the parade. Most of those whom Potter saw were bent on holiday, wore a holiday expression; many carried a humorous expression. The air was not heavy with foreboding, but light with jest. A spectacle was in preparation for their eyes, and they were in humor to enjoy it.
Men arose and sauntered toward Woodward Avenue. A man at the next table said, jauntily, “Well, it’s about time we ambled over to take a look at the circus.” That was the attitude—a section of the attitude. Potter wondered how far it went, how deep its strata extended, how much of it was genuine. There was a thoughtlessness that offended him.