Why this appointment should have come through is one of the things that surpasses all understanding. It is quite likely that Wilson suspected what was wrong with aircraft production and thought an investigation by a recognized Republican not connected with politics might stir up some action without hurting the administration. That is one thought. It also comes to anyone who has watched political maneuvering that a good way to get rid of an investigator who was getting troublesome would be to put him where he couldn’t talk for publication.
Anyway, the sculptor went to Washington, notified the White House and the War Department of his arrival, called on the Secretary of State and was assigned to a room on the second floor of the War Department offices. Borglum felt that he would have every possible aid. The Secretary’s office door was just across the hall.
Gutzon went to work at once. He asked Mr. King to get him a report on how many war planes had been ordered and how many delivered up to January 1, 1918. The War Department’s answer was quickly brought and easily digested: “Training planes contracted for, 7,500; delivered, 1,444. Service planes contracted for, 12,500; 4,000 to be built by Dayton Wright. Service planes delivered to January 1, 1918, none.”
Borglum called that same day on Josephus Daniels, Secretary of the Navy, who telephoned instructions to the Intelligence Bureau of the Navy. Naval records were laid open to the sculptor and he went through them personally, making what notes seemed relevant. Three days later when he went to the War Department he was informed that they had none of the records he requested—nor any memory of any. He was virtually compelled to pick up a copy of the Aeronautics Committee report from the office of the chairman, who apparently did not even know of its existence. He was blocked in an effort to get Intelligence reports on spy activities in Buffalo. Secret Service men were assigned to follow him wherever he went. One of his aides in the War Department warned two of his witnesses not to talk to him. He was informed of the looting of a bank in Dayton, Ohio, by an agile group which substituted Aeronautics Board agreements and checks for tangible assets. He was invited to join the Aeronautics Board, but he didn’t accept. He discovered that his office telephone was tapped and that his mail was being systematically examined. He opened an outside office as headquarters for his own aides, investigators and stenographers.
By the end of February he knew that we hadn’t planes of any kind and that we hadn’t engines of any kind and that, nearing the second year of war, we had less than 130,000 soldiers at the front and that they were using shoes, socks and other equipment provided by France and England.
Borglum went to talk about this to Secretary Baker. Baker, slumped in his chair with his feet on his desk, puffed his pipe and listened with indifference. Not until the condition of aircraft manufacture was reached did he show any animation. Then he shifted his feet and said casually, “Why, Borglum, you don’t think we are actually getting into this war, do you?”
“My God!” said Borglum. “Do you mean to tell me that all this is just a gesture?”
Baker nodded and puffed contentedly.
Borglum couldn’t contain himself. “Do you mean to tell me,” he said, “that all America has to do is hint that she is going into war, loan Europe a lot of money, send over a regiment or two and that this is going to bluff Germany into retirement?”
“I mean,” Baker said, “that there won’t be any real war as far as we are concerned.” And so closed an astonishing interview.