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Loyalty

Chicago was an anomaly at the opening of the war. The city’s mayor, William Thompson—playing to the large swaths of German and Irish (who were neutral) citizens in his town—had come out against America’s involvement in the war in 1917 and protected the rights of pacifists to hold a peace convention in the city, even as the state’s governor sent in four companies of state militia in an attempt to stop the meeting. Thompson was viciously criticized by friend and foe alike for protecting the pacifists, and the incident shows just how divided the city of Chicago was during the war.

Few things mattered more in 1918 than loyalty—great, audacious displays of fealty to the U.S. and its war policies. The federal government established a committee, known as the Creel committee for its head, George Creel, which spewed Former AmbassadorJames Gerard Former ambassador James Gerard (at left) was a strong force for stirring up anti-German sentiment in the U.S. (Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress.) anti-German propaganda. That swayed American opinion, which had been fairly positive toward Germans, fiercely against all things German. The results were sometimes silly, and sometimes bone-chillingly fearsome.

On the silly side were meaningless acts of punishing German titles. Schools dropped German from the curriculum, the Bismarck School in Chicago was renamed “Funston School,” German waiters at private Chicago clubs were fired, sauerkraut was renamed “liberty cabbage,” and even German measles were called “liberty measles.” The statue of the writer Friedrich von Schiller in Chicago was painted yellow by vandals, and a statue of Goethe was put into storage for its own protection. One congressman from Michigan introduced a bill eliminating all American town names containing the word Berlin or Germany and replacing them with the word victory or liberty. Books by German writers were burned publicly, and recordings of Beethoven and Bach were smashed. Citizens with German roots were interned in three army camps around the country.

Some expressions of loyalty went further. In May 1917, Wilson had pushed the Sedition Act through Congress, making it illegal to “willfully utter, print, write or publish any disloyal, profane, scurrilous, or abusive language” about the government. Criticism, then, became a crime. Everywhere Americans squealed on fellow citizens for making disloyal comments. John Anderson, of Quincy, Massachusetts, was riding on a train near Boston when he was overheard saying that the war in Europe was a family affair in which the United States should not be involved. Enraged fellow passengers “were at the point of throwing [him] from the train.” When children trying to sell thrift stamps to Dr. Ruth Lighthall of Chicago were turned away, they told authorities that she said the war was one for capitalists. Lighthall confirmed that sentiment, added that she thought President Wilson a traitor—and she was sentenced to jail for 10 years for saying so. Millionaire Rose Pastor Stokes was sent to jail for 10 years after making an antiwar speech in Kansas City.

One of the more ridiculous examples of hyper-loyalty involved respected film producer Robert Goldstein. He had his movie, The Spirit of ’76, seized because it showed British soldiers committing war atrocities. Now, that probably should have been expected in a patriotic American movie set during the Revolution. But the British were American allies now. Goldstein was convicted of sedition and sentenced to 10 years in prison.

Former ambassador James Gerard was a great force in fueling American hatred of Germans. He was the subject of a movie, My Four Years in Germany, and was touring the country, giving a speech titled, “Loyalty.” In it he said: “The foreign minister of Germany once said to me, ‘Your country does not dare do anything against Germany, because we have in your country 500,000 German reservists who will rise in arms against your government if you dare make a move against Germany.’ I told him that that might be so, but that we had 500,001 lamp posts in this country, and that that was where the reservists would be hanging the day after they tried to rise.”

Early in the morning of April 5, 1918, Robert Prager, a 29-year-old unemployed baker, was lynched by a mob of 350 in Collinsville, Illinois. Prager allegedly made a “disloyal” comment while seeking work at a local mine. A growing mob menaced him throughout the day and evening, finally tracking down Prager after midnight. Originally, the plan was to tar and feather him, but with no tar or feathers handy at that hour, the mob hanged Prager instead. Five men were brought to trial for the lynching. They were found not guilty after the jury deliberated for just 45 minutes. The incident was a national disgrace.

But, then, hadn’t Gerard promised the German foreign secretary that his countrymen would hang from American lampposts?

Sean Deveney

Sean Deveney currently reports for The Sporting News. He covers Major League Baseball and professional basketball for the Sporting News. The Original Curse is Sean's first published book. Sean grew up outside Boston, MA and currently lives in Chicago, IL.

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