Now, my good friend Mr Hill seems to have grave doubts as to the capacity of the United States to handle its business with anything like the same skill with which he handles his (laughter and applause). He tells us that this Reclamation Service is costly—thirty, forty, or fifty dollars an acre, to be paid in ten years without interest—for what? To be able to make it rain just when we want to, and stop it when we want to; that is what irrigation is (applause). And Mr Hill would give five dollars an acre for twenty years if for all time and eternity he, his descendants and his assigns, could make it rain when he wanted to and make it stop when he wanted to (applause). Next to the owner of a quarter-section of land in Iowa I think that the man who owns fifty acres of irrigated land at fifty dollars an acre is a prince of the blood royal (applause and cry of "Good!"). It is the cheapest land in the United States, in the center of the highest civilization, the best education and the best schools. Mr Hill tells us also that the United States (I guess it was Solomon he had in his mind: he was the brother of a great waster) has received $400,000,000 or so for its Indian lands—he didn't know how much it cost to acquire them (millions, however)—and that he doesn't know what has become of the money. Well, I found since yesterday where some of it went—to this dam over here between Minneapolis and Saint Paul (great laughter and applause). He tells us that States are more economical than Nations. Now, isn't it a matter of fact that both State and Nation have been playing the part of the prodigal son, wasting our substance in riotous living—and that now we smell the husks?
Gentlemen, the agricultural colleges have wasted a good deal of money. The State of Iowa had a great grant of land for improvement, and I give you my word you could run the whole thing through a barrel if you had enough headway. We have been absolutely throwing away our resources—just like some of our wealthy gentlemen down in New York throw their daughters in the face of titled Nobodies asking them to take them "with the compliments of the author" (laughter). If this country continues to be governed, as it has been governed for the last twenty years, by great combinations of capital that get together in Congress or out of Congress to determine how much tariff they will levy and what else they may do in the way of getting hold of the public domain, it doesn't make a speck of difference whether our resources are governed by the Government or by the States; they will all be stolen anyhow (laughter and cheers, and cries of "Hit him again!")—just as they have been in the past. (Renewed applause)
A Voice: Conservation ought to have been started a hundred years ago.
Mr Wallace: You're right. But if the people of the United States have made up their minds that they are going to be in the future a Government "of the people by the people and for the people"; if we mean this in blood earnest (applause) and are willing to sacrifice our party affiliations (cries of "Good, good, good!"); if we are willing to pay money to attend conventions, without going on passes (cries of "You bet!" and cheers); if we are willing to make the sacrifices which always belong to a free government (applause)—then predatory wealth will no longer sit in the seats of Congress, and we shall have a democracy, a Government of the People instead of a Government of Plutocracy. (Applause and cheers)
Gentlemen, it is just a question whether we have the stuff in us to really be a great self-governing people, a Nation that stands four-square to every wind that blows, that regards a law of the Almighty as supreme law and right and the only manhood worth having as that which comes in obedience to those great laws that govern men in all nations of the world (applause and cheers); it is a question whether we will pay the price for the liberties that our fathers gave us. (Applause)
Now, with about everything that my good friend Mr Hill has said on the conservation of soil fertility I most heartily agree. I get an idea about once a year (laughter), and am able to put it in a way that seems fairly good to me: and for some time past I have been brooding over the thought that the great problem before the American people—a problem involving all other problems that vex us, tariffs, Conservation, trusts, everything—that the great problem we have before us is how to keep enough skilled labor on the land to enable the farmer to sell his products to the city at a price the people can afford to pay. Now, just let that soak into you (applause). The problem is to keep enough skilled labor on the farm to enable the farmer to grow the food for this and other nations at a price that the people in the cities can afford to pay. It is the biggest problem before us. It involves all other problems, when you come to trace it down to its roots. The farmer is handicapped by the fact that he no longer tills virgin soil, as his father and his grandfather did, and by the fact that he no longer has timber at his door. We have wasted our magnificent forests of oak and walnut, and given away an empire (for example, in Wisconsin) of the best pine lands that some fellows would put a road through, to get the lumber out under pretense of resisting a Canadian invasion (laughter and applause). Today we are buying fertilizers for all New England, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, southern Indiana, all the South, and even for Missouri; it is only a question of time when we shall have to buy them for all our land. Notwithstanding all of the millions of acres that have been put into cultivation every year, our crop production lags behind our population. In the last ten or fifteen years, our production of wheat per acre gradually but slowly decreased until within the last three or four years, when with my friend Secretary Wilson's help we began to do a little better.
The farmer is handicapped by the fact that he is tilling a partially infertile soil; he is handicapped worse in this way: he cannot possibly get, for love or money, the really skilled labor required to maintain the fertility of the soil while he is growing crops (applause). Why, you know how difficult it is in the country to get a hired hand, and you know that a hired girl in the home is a thing out of the question. There isn't a man here ugly enough, if he is a widower, but what could get two second wives where he could get one hired girl (laughter and applause). Now, we cannot use the labor of the city. Let a man go to town and become a lawyer or a doctor for ten or fifteen years, and then return to the country, and what is he good for? He has to serve an apprenticeship for four or five years before he is worth his board. We cannot use the labor of southern Europe except in the wheat fields or in the orchards; farm labor now is skilled labor; and we haven't got it. One reason we haven't got it is because my friend Mr Hill has been giving excursion rates up to Canada (laughter and applause)—for the benefit of his railroad, he says—and for the benefit of speculators who can paint a desert to look like the Garden of Eden, and make farmers believe that it is like the land of Egypt "as thou goest unto Zoar." If we could keep on the farm the boys and girls that grow up there we could give the people of the cities food at a price they could afford to pay; but there is the great problem. I will not solve it now, because I would have to discuss the tariff (laughter) and every other blooming thing that allures men to town—including high wages and easy times.
Today the townsman is in trouble. The fact is that he cannot get the farmer's products at anything like the price the farmer ought to have (Voice: "Now you're talking"). The farmer never gets more than two-thirds (Voice: "If he gets that"); frequently he gets one-third. Out in Fresno, California, we found they made a first-class rate at four cents on what I was paying sixteen cents for; the railroad got four cents, the wholesaler four, the retailer four, and the farmer four—and I pay sixteen. And there is another trouble (I am one of the unfortunates so I look at both sides of the question): the farmer in town pays 16 percent, so the merchants tell me, for the privilege of ordering goods by telephone instead of going to the market and getting them; and that is another reason he has to pay so much. But there is still another matter with the city man; it is not so much the high cost of living as the cost of high living and prosperous times (I borrowed that from Mr Hill); for the man in town now isn't satisfied to live as his father did, or his grandfather, or as he himself did ten or twenty years ago (applause). Why, he wants strawberries from Texas in February, and he wants green peas from Florida, and he wants fresh eggs at the time when hens don't lay, and he wants spring chicken in the coldest weather—and he gets it, but it comes out of cold storage (laughter). That is one reason why the townsman cannot get farmer's products at the price he can afford to pay.
Let us look a little further—but I must not detain you (Cries of "Go on, go on, go on"). This problem has been growing on us for years; ever since the iron rail and steam and electricity enabled us to build cities far remote from the lake or the river or the ocean, ever since we learned to get gold out of quarries instead of out of river sand, ever since human power was multiplied by machinery, ever since railroads netted the country with their systems: there has been a tendency to the development of great cities and a constant decrease in the number of men that work on the farm. We don't think now as we used to, because improved machinery (in most cases invented by farmers) has enabled the farm boy of fifteen years of age to do the work of eight or ten men—and at the same time has enabled him to rob the land more effectively than ever before. And this problem would have been met long ago if it had not been right here in this Mississippi valley there is the finest slice of land that the Lord ever made, to be given away by our benevolent Uncle Sam partly to the farmers and partly to the railroads—a country that needed neither spade nor axe to fit it for the plow; for the last twenty years we have been breaking it, mining it, robbing it, and selling its fertility to enable men in the great cities to live cheaply in the Old World and in this country (applause). The people of Kansas invited my good friend Secretary Wilson and me down there to talk about agriculture, and in going from our hotel to the place of meeting we actually fell over bags of bran that were put out there to send to Denmark to make butter and cheese to come back and be eaten in Kansas (laughter). This is the way we have actually been selling, piecemeal, our fertility. Why, you men remember when corn was sold at 15 and even 10 cents a bushel, and oats at 101/2—I myself have sold wheat at 38—lower than the cost of production. The people in cities all over the world have an idea that it was foreordained from all eternity that they should have cheap foods, but they are now waking up to the fact that we have been postponing the day of judgment by selling foodstuffs for about what the fertilizers would cost, if we had to buy them, to provide bread and meat for the hungry nations. We have sold the buffalo grass on the prairies to the people of Europe, in the shape of beef, dirt cheap; we have built up great cities and States; and the people have all the while thought that cheapness was normal, whereas we are now just getting to the normal basis. For twenty years I could buy bread made from American wheat, in the country on the farm, for three cents a pound, and now I pay five cents in town—and don't get as good bread at that.
The real problem is, how we are going to furnish bread to the people at a price that they can afford to pay? I have no hand-me-down solution for that; it is the biggest problem that I know of, and I can venture only some suggestions. First, we can add a little to our production through irrigation. That is a slow process, and limited at best. We can add some more by drainage. We can add a good deal to the yield per acre by better methods of farming. But we are limited, as I have said, largely by the lack of skilled labor. The merchant, the city man, if he is to live on his income, must improve his system of distribution; he must in some way or other, get rid of the go-betweens. Some things will have to be done by railroads and some by Congress, and a number of things will have to be done that they will all say can't be done—I'm tired of that story, that you can't do anything. Our railroad friends have told us that we can't pass interstate commerce laws, it's unconstitutional; that we can't stop the giving of passes and rebates, that it's unconstitutional. Now, we have done all those things. The people of the United States can do anything that is right! (applause), though they can't permanently succeed in doing wrong (applause); and these things we have been told we can't do we have done, and everybody says it is right. Sometimes I take great comfort in watching some of our great "captains of industry," railroad magnates like Mr Hill. To see them you would imagine they had been reading the Psalms of David and saying, "It was good for me that I was afflicted; before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I love"—the Interstate Commerce Law (laughter). The trouble with them is that they turn round and oppose our railroad laws, and the measures brought up by the voice of the people, and insist that they can't be enforced.