Give the man room

by Robert J. Casey; Mary Montgomery Borglum

Borglum thanked him. “Senator Reed,” he said, “I have not told you the half of it, and I can’t. I beg of you to give me the subpoenas and assist me in getting the evidence.” Frelinghuysen and Wadsworth seconded the motion.

The subpoenas voted by the committee were never issued, however. The chairman, in whose hands the matter was left, never seemed to find time. He retired to private life after the next election.

Borglum’s last interview with Hitchcock relative to the subpoenas was just about the last of his aircraft investigation. President Wilson telegraphed that Gutzon had “misunderstood” his letter of January 2, and that he wished the inquiry stopped. When the sculptor was slow in stopping, the President made his order of dismissal public. Borglum published a letter in which he asked: “What is it, Mr. President, in this country that you are afraid of? What is it in this America that the President of the United States dare not face?”

Charles Evans Hughes conducted the next investigation. He worked from May until October in 1918. The New York Times of November 1, 1918, printed his report. Gutzon said of it that it reminded him of the story of an Irishman who was sent to locate a bucket lost in the bottom of a well. He climbed down and he climbed back with great difficulty. Then he returned to his office and reported: “Sure, it’s there.”

And that, in truth, was the result of the aircraft investigation. There were other inquiries and other suggestions, but nobody went to jail. Nobody seems to have been seriously discommoded. There weren’t any airplanes that anybody could lay a hand on. And the $1,000,000,000 just disappeared.

Gutzon Borglum was much disturbed about this. He could get angry thinking of it to the day of his death. But it always seemed to a casual friend that he was puzzled by the wrong side of airplane production. What he should have contemplated as the scintillant miracle of all the days he was to live was the fact that he was allowed to make the investigation at all.

It is a little late after all these years to try to figure out how a billion dollars could disappear without leaving a trace on somebody. Borglum used to get indignant about the matter ten or twelve years afterward, but the targets of his wrath were always anonymous. He had some shrewd suspicions, but left at the bottom of the well was the evidence which in this situation would have been necessary to convict anyone of wrongdoing.

To give the fiasco a fair estimate, it seems likely that we were very young then. Up to the time when war was declared we had left the building of our planes to rugged individuals who whittled out the parts for them with jackknives and put them together in moldering barns and sheds. When we had to get an air force aloft we did the best we could, which wasn’t very good. We didn’t trust our cow-barn airplane manufacturers. Largely, they weren’t where we could find them anyway. They had gone into the air corps themselves.

So the searchers for planes took a chance on some people who apparently knew something about a gasoline motor and how to make forms out of tin—that is to say, of course, the automobile makers. These lads muddled through and nobody got any airplanes. They produced pieces in large numbers and blithely shipped them away to places where they were supposed to be assembled into airplanes. But, apparently, nobody had thought to provide an assembler.

It is one thought about this—a thought that would have meant nothing to Gutzon Borglum—that nobody about the airplane production, if it can be called that, got rich ... not so far as can be determined. Nobody seems to have had the remotest idea of what he was doing, and it takes at least a billion dollars to keep thousands of men in jobs where they have nothing to do but nothing.